The Lancaster ledger. (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, March 25, 1852, Image 1
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j DEVOTED TO LITERARY, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, GENERAL AND LOCAL INTELLIGENCE.
J VOLUME I. LANCASTER, C. H., SOUTH CAROLINA, THURSDAY MORNING, MARCH 25, 1852. NUMBER 7.
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LANCASTER LEDGER);
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SBLECTEII TALKS.!3
ANGEL GARRY, "
OU TIIK rj
FATE OF A DHUNKA1IDS CI 11 Lib s<
"My Carry has blue eyes and cherry *"r
lips, and pretty curling hair as any little "
girl in the land, I know ; murmured a fond
mother, as she suspended her sewing and .
sat gazing at a lovely creature full of wild w
gamlsils, now dancing around the hum- ?
nle room after the golden sunshine, now xv
pouring from nature's own rich lute, soft
strains of music; and a sinile which miule w
?!._ ... -
matt |iwr woman ? noiy laco played around
her own beautiful mouth.
Another moment and Carry's bright
eyes and winsome face jweped in at the
window, through the elfmhing rose hush ;
and the fresh crimson flowers laid on her C1
sunny looks, and kissed her cheeks and
flushed her white forehead with a pale r?>se '
red, and clung to her little shoulders ; and 111
again the mother as she lifted her now rshadowed
brow whispered with a fresh
love-bouud at her heart?44 (?od bless her." "
Then the tiny thing ran and laid down 04
upon the hank, and the slender wands of 04
Snss, among which sparkled here and
ere bright yellow buttercups broidorcd 04
her simple lihen frock, and cradled her as 11
lovingly, almost, as the arms of her motl ?r.
Sometimes tlio wild l?ees on ;hc wing
came close down, so close that for the u
warm, fragrant breath of the sweet intant P
they would liavo kissed her little rosy lips m
for no doubt ihcy took thetn at first lor "
new ripe blossoms, full of honey, and so w
' they were?hut not for the bees. Almvo M
the hal?o a linden tree throw its graceful 4>'
foliage, and bctweeu the d?'lieate leaves,
the blue shining heavens looked down hut
never on a lovelier sight. One branch as P
delicate almost as a gossamer spray, swung
dreamily hack and forth, rocked by the V4
weight of a yellow bird, that j?ouring its 4"'
ringing tones upon the still air, sang the
child te sleep. I'i
Wondering at last why the laugh of her w
little one was hushed, the young mother
folded by her work, nn<l hastened to the ,r
garden ; and although no painter's eve
was here, yet an her vision wandered far
way towards the hills, and gathered in w
the hroad, intervening field*, with their
serpentine swaths of uew mown grass, and
the orchard-trees, right and left liending
under tlieir precious burdens, and the wee '>
glinting stream, she felt all the emotions, ai
that, breathed out in choice words, stamp
the i>oot. w
The hedge of sweet briars surrounding
her humble home, was spangled with
clusters of dried roso-berrios, the spreading
grape vine and licds of tweet thyme, marigolds,
mignionette And hearts' ease were
glowing under the warm, mellow rays of
the high sun ; but precious above all these,
was the sight*/her dear I'ttle daughter,
tlumhering und-T the linden tree.
Sty* gazed upon it, strangely enough,
wrtlt tears; her soul expanded with the milltipl
icy of her cmotious ; she bent reverentIjr
<h>wn passed her loving arms under- ?
neath the hals- and again murmuring a>
it **<lod blesa her," liore her within the low1
)y cottage and laid her in her little cradle. er
1 Just then a wild huret of merriment ^ri
\ broke the drowsy silence; a coarse, gutteral
sound of men's harsh voices?in mirth In,
unnatural and strained ; the mother lifted
her ry?n from the shaping cherub, 1,1
JMtd looking heaven ward she mur.mured
as she cbtspcd her hands till
they grew rigid 44 oh! how small a saicfmoo
would this life be could it hut res<ore
him to virtue; will nothing bring him
4mdcto my love again f Must I behold *u
'him come home day after day, with tho
maniac's w ild eye and the drunkard's cur** ?
And shall my child be hrundod with his *r
disgrace f my winning, beautiful, delicate 'u
almost too gentle ami good fot earth, ^
jm she is, must she lie called a drunkard's *'
daughter! God forbid I" she continued ur
while ?ob after aob shook her whole frame,
"rather take her to Thee, Father, il thi*
mutt be, and I will strive to amilc over
^ tier little body, all cold and ahroudod for co
? the grave, and thauk T.heo that it ia no af
' worao." re
And Emily Alden roae from the aide of tu
her babe, and toppwuing the violence of ly
\bcr emotioua, reaumed her acwiag. aa
^The cottage room waa very neat; roae hr
inea crent over the window, and a few bl
mid bod* ventured through, and hung on wl
the wooden rilU. The floor waa sanded, of
the pine chair* atood evenhr against the
wUte-waabed wall, a round table shone he
in the oorncr, and over it hung the portrait he
Of a venerable old man, tho father of Emi- m
ly, once the ndniaier c4 the pariah, whoae tir
masaive brow and deep aet black eye*, in- ha
icated power that would have made him
giant aim nig statesman?that made him
father, a guide, and a counsellor to his
eople.
Near that was vnother; the proud,
right face of a young man, with a thoulitil,
student-like expression; the older imge
of the sleeping balwj?the husband,
nd the father.
These two pictures, as the little one call1
them, wore all of ornament the cottage
Duld l?oast; but there needed little of
int within, for nature had liberally beslwed
her choicest treasures all around
lis beautiful spot, and the valley m which
:ood the lowly dwelling was almost a paid
ise.
lint here, as in heaven once, dwelt Sain;
the rcu house to the right, with its
winging sign, and " entertainment for
lan and beast," was a tavern; a blot by
lie way side, and it seemed strange how
movent flowers could flourish within
iglit and smell of the loathsome poison,
lint was bringing utter ruin upon so may
devoted hearts.
Here was the place where young
dden had learned to be a drunk
rd; here he was leader of the revel
liief in the badianal feast; his talents
irmed him for command, his passions
uule him a slave. His career had heon
ipidly downward, and a terrible fate
jemed impending over him.
The elock struck, four; Emma arose
otn Ikt scat, lighted the f<'\v pine sticks
int were carefully gathered underneath
10 kettle, and as the hlaze leaped mei.*i,
upward, and the singing steam mingled
ith the white smoke wreaths, she drew
ut the tatile from the corner covered it
ith a neat cloth, and put on the few lite
supper things, ready for her husband
hen lie should return.
Kneeling upon the hearth to arrange
ic meal cake, she felt a slight pull at her
ress, and looking round, there sUxmI liteCarry,
with hotli chuhhv hands ruhhing
or hlue eyes, and half laughing as she
njoycd her mother's surprise.
"Carry got up still, to tighten mother,"
>jH>d the sweet creature,flinging hersnowy
nns around her mother's neck, and as
inma pressed her closer and more close'
to her hosoin, she slunhlered as she
louglitof her prayer; and a horror flash 1
through her soul at the idea that death
add chill the little heart beating so soft'
against lier own ; and again she hreath1
yearningly, "not death, oh ! not death
ly Father."
Released from her mother's embrace,
ic little thing went dancing around the
iljje, watching delightedly with her hunry
eye*, |he preparation* for lea. Pre?ntly
she went to the doer and stood
?ere gazing at some distant object The
est was directly opposite, and the setting
in, like a glolie of fire, reddened all the
otitis Wit li ;ifi intonuii .rliw mi KmIKm***
...... ....
iat the eye could not look thereon, but
s milder lustre softened by the atmosliere
came glowing down, and clothed
ill and valley with almost immortal Imaur.
And then it rested upon the young
iiild's head till her golden locks shone,
nd she seemed to stand in a halo of white
ght, like an angel ready to wing her
av to heaven.
Suddenly rocking her little lxsly to and
o, and clapping her hands, she cried out
oh mama, I see him ; papa is coming,and
e sees me ; come quick, come quick, 1
ant to kiss you," she shouted, holding
nt her arms towards him. "Come darng
father, ! want to kiss you?why how
innv lie walks," and she laughed merri'
at what she thought his attempts to
muse her.
" Here he is at the gate?oh ! papa; I
ant to kiss you mid the drunkard Ixuit
?wn as sin- attempt-d to sj>ring into his
j?om?a demon yell?a wild, unearthly
gnnising shriek, and tLen a stifled moan,
oor lialie! the father she loved so well
iid fallen upon her tender laxly, and there
le laid, crushed and disfigured.
Oh ! the agony of the poor mother, as ,
ic raised the mourning nalio to her lav i
mi, then with strained and tearless eyes'
?d from the cottage, nor stopped till she I
id gained the dwelling of a former
hool-mato, whose hushand was a phvsi-'
an. There they took the child from her j
mis as she fell fainting to the floor, and |
her long trance she was spnr?*l the misy
of its shrieks, w hile the dix-tor set its j
ucturcd limits.
She revived to learn that her child was
jured licvoiid hope of recovery . hut :
range to say, it lived?though henceforth
curably deformed.
AV eeks fled, days, months and years ; I
ie village had merged into a town, the |
wn into a city ; and in one of that city's j
ateliest homes, a marriage was to lx>con- j
nnmated.
Kuiily Ahlen was the hridc; a delicate
ought fill faced girl, with eyes of tender,
iritunl beauty. And around her ?t?xxl
>r nohle brothers, and sisters; hut
ough they were all happy, even gay,
ere was in each young countenance, an
ideflnable expression of sadness that i
emcd strangely to contrast with the wed-1
i^ m t in-.
And anon they *11 moved toward* a \
uch a little aside from the centre of the
Mirtineut where a pale, shadowy figure
pomyl. Tho expression on her wan f?are*
wax more than beautiful, it wa**aint,
heavenly; the glossy ripple* of the
mo shining hair, were lanl ItAck from
r white temple*, And thoao eye* of dArk
uo, had gained in depth and holineM
hat they lacked in the quick brilliance
health?health,alaa! forever denied her.
The father who had been the cauae of
* fffe-KUrg suffering, sat by the head of
t oouch; a thin waated, melancholy
an with an eye that attorned forever darig
reatlow.l v about. The marks of age
id come suddenly upon him, crew at tnc
time when little Carry was stricken to the
earth, for the next day his hair was white,
I and the wrinkles gathered on his hrow,
an<l sorrow pressed her burden upon him,
till his shoulders were bent with its weight.
Never had he tasted of the cup since
then ; and the mournful presence of his
injured child was a continued and awful
pledge of his reform. Nineteen years?
it seems a dreary length of time?had
that poor girl laid apon a bed of pain ;
for nearly a Quarter of a century her feet
had not touched the greensward, nor had
she ever plucked the wild flowers she loved,
from their native soil. From homo
to home she had l?een carried, each more
splendid than the last, and her mother, a
blig'?%' sorrowful creature, had hovered
abov e almost day and night, devoting
her energies, her life, to this her greatest
treasure among many."
Hut the sold grew on to perfection within
that deformed Ivodv; the wise, the great
i ? i -'? ? '
nun mi- inMxi sougni nor uarKonctl chainl>or
to gather fresh lin|>e and strength foi
the life jmirnoy; to listen to the sparkling
thoughts that fell like pure gems from hoi
pale lips; to wonder at the patience that
sat enthroned on her f ir hrow, while the
shadowy form of death moved never from
her side, or, as it were, tabernacled ?ithin
her very heart from hour to hour.
The bride knelt down bv her sister at
her request, and happy as she was, tears
gathered in her eyes and fell upon hoi
costly bridal veil, as the emaciated hand
was slowly lifted, and placer! on her head,
Th lips moved, the large eyes were upturned
to heaven, and all present felt how
sac/ed must lie the blessing so fervently
and spi'ituallv invoked.
And suddenly a change came?a change
for which nope were prepared, notwithstanding
it had l>Tn looked for daily, A
faint flush, and then a deathly pallor; a
slight tremor around the lieautiful mouth,
a flash of triumph from the dying eyes,and
with a smile of indescribable sweetness,
the purified soul mounter! with sister angels
to heaven.
After her burial tlie mother grew palei
and sadder;'the father still plodded on,
amassing wealth, and l?estowing much upon
the p<>? r anil unfortunate; he nover forgave
himself for clouding that young life,
never.
Hut the memory of Caroline Alden is
still blessed, still shrined within many loving
hearts. Upon her simple monument
is inscrilied the following:
" Our Caiioune,
A meek sufferer, an an yd on earth."
And those who know the history ofhei
life, weep a*. they gaze upon it.?Olivt
Brunt%. .
-j#
THE LITTLE BOUND BOY S DREAM.
written for and dedicated to tiie
children, 1iy m. a. d.
A little fair-haired child laid its pale
check upon a pillow of straw.
It had toiled up three pairs of narrow,
dark stairs, to gain its miserable garret,
for it was a little "Istund child," that had
neither father nor mother ; so no soft l>ed
awited its tired alinths, but a miserable
pallet with one thin coverlid.
It had neither lamp nor candle to lighten
the room, if such it might he called;
still tnat was not so bad. for the beautiful
round moon smiled in U|mn the poor little
lioiind Ih?v, and almost kissed hisforej
head, as his sue eves closed dreamily.
Hut after a while, as he laid there,
! what a wondrous change came over the
place. A great light shone down; the
iititre black rafters turned to solid oold
?fw -*
an.) these seemed all stn<lt!?*?.l over with
inv, precious, sparkling stones. The
broken floor, too, was all encrusted with
shining clmstals; ami the chil<l raised himself
ujmn his ellmw and gazed with a half
fearing, half delighted look iijmhi the glorious
sight.
(>ne sjmt on the wall seemed too bright
for his vision to endure; hut presently,
as if emerging from it, came a soft, white
figure, that stood by the poor bound boy's
bedside.
The child shut his eyes; he was a little,
only a little frightened, and his heart
beat quickly, but he found breath to murmur
"tell me, who you are? "
"Look up, l>e not afraid said a sweet
voice that souuded like the harps of heaven,
"look up darling, I am your brother
Willy, sent down from the angels to speak
with you, and tell you to try an<l hear all
your sorrow patiently, for you will soon
be with us.''
" What, you my brother, Willy ? oh !
no, no, that cannot lie; my brother Willy
was very pale,and his clothes were patched
and torn ; and there was a hump on his
linok, and he used to go into the muddy
streets to pick up bits of wood or chips, but
your face is quite two handsome; and your
clothes prettier than any I ever saw before:
and tberc is no ugly hump on your
back?besides, tny brother Willy is dead,
long ago."
"I am your brother Willy, your immortal
brother; my body, with the ugly
hump, is dead and turned to Ashes; but
just as soon as that died, I went up to the
greAt heaven, and saw sights that I cannot
tell you al?out now, they were ao very,
very beautiful. But God, who is your
Father and the holy name of Ktemity,
gave me these bright garment* that nev
er get Roiled; and I war ?o happy that I
expect my face war changed very much,
and I grew tall ami straight; so no wonder
you do not know me.
And now the little bound child's lean
began to fall?"oh!" he exclaimed earnestly,
"if I too could go to heaven T
"You can go;" replied the angel with a
*mile of ineffaceable awoetne?R. "von have
learned how to read ; well, to-morrow pel
your bible, and find very reverently?foi
it is God's most holy book?-these worth
of the Lord Jesus:?"But I say unto yoi
love your enemies, bless them that curs*
i you, do pood to them that hate you, ant
i pray for them which despitefully use vol
| and persecute you."
Do all these, and vou shall be the chili
of your Father which is above."
"Even if they beat me J" mnrmuret
the little bound boy with a quiverinp lip
A flash of lipht passed over the anpel'i
face, us he replied. " the more you forgive
i the nearer you will bo to heavan."
In another moment the vision ha<
gone, hut still the room was all blazin}
with unearthly radiance.
As the little l>oy fell hack upon his pil
low, his w an face reflected the angel'
smile, and bethought, "I will forgive then
even if they Wat me."
Suddenly a more musical voice thai
the former fell upon his ear. This time In
, was not afraid, but sitting upright on hi
, miserable couch he saw a figure tha
. seemed to lift itself to the wall; a ray o
intense brightness outlined all its form
its eyes blazed, yet there was a mild heati
ty in them every timo he looked into hi
own.
"Little one, I am thy father;" said th
form in melting accents.
| | "I don't think you can l?e my father;'
. whisjMTed the boy timidly. "Sfv fathe
I used to look very old indeed; and he go
hurt and wore a crutch ; there were wrin
kles on his face and all over his forehead
r and his hair was short and white; no
long like yours. And my father used t<
st?M>p over, and wear a little hlack apron
, and put patches on shoes in a little darl
room."
" And what else ?"
t "He used to pray and sing very sweet
ly, hut I never hear any praying am
[ singing'now," sobbed the child bursting in
to tears.
[ "Iton't cry, dear little l?oy, hnt listen t
me. I sim your father, your iminortii
, father; that poor, lame body is a'l gon
now, mingled with the dust of the grav<
' yard. As soon as the breath left that d?
formed ImhIv.I was with the shining angel
hosts and hosts of them bore me up t
' heaven; and the king of that gloriou
place clothed me in these rol>os, white am
stainless, gave me this tall beautiful l>od\
| which shall never feel corruption. Am
I this was the reason, dear littie orphan ; Ix
I.......... i i 1 u:? ?? ?
i v auw i ioh-u nun ami my cmei uciigti
was in praying to iliin,and talking aUm
j Him, anil although I was very poor,
. trio?l to bo honest, and many times wen
, hungry rather than do wrong.
And jou, if you will never forget to sa
your little prayer tliaf 1 taught you, if yo
will keep (toil's holy commandments, an
trust in !iim\ilways,shall you soon be wit
me in my sweet heavenly home."
Once more the child was left alone, bti
still the rafters were golden, the wall
pearly, the old floor studded with hril
liants, and the same soft mysterious ligli
over all.
A strain of holy music fell upon his ci
raptured senses; it grew louder, and earn
! nearer and nearer to the head of his littl
I bed. And then a voice?oh ! far sweotc
i than either of the others, sang, " m
| child, my little earth-child, look upon in
| I am thy mother."
In a moment, what emotions swellci
I the liosom of the ! 'tiely hoy. He though
J of her cherished tenderness to him lonj
years ago; of her soft arms around hi
| neck, her gentle lips pressing his forehead
then came up the cruelty of strangers
I who, after she had been put away in tin
] deep ground, treated bint with harshness
He turned towards her; oh! what i
glorious 1 N-ing; her eyes were like stars
her hair like the most precious gold ; hu
there was that in her face that noncothc
might so truely know. He had doubtei
?if the tirsl-risen w as his brother, if tin
| s*>cond was lii* father, hut not once did h*
! doubt that this Itenutiful Wing was hii
| own dear mother.
| A little while he kept down his strong
j feeling, hut the thoughts of the past an*
present overpowered him.
"O! mother, mother, mother," he cried
stretching forth his little hands, "let in*
come to you?let ine come; there is no
b**ly in this world like you ; no one hissea
me now, no one loves me, oh ! moth
er, mother, let me come?and the hoi
tears rained down his cheeks.
"My orphan child," she said, in low
tones, that thrilled him to the heart, "you
| cannot come to mc now, hut listen to tne
I am very often near you when you know
it not. Every day I am hy your side, and
w hen you come to this lonely mom tc
| weep, my wings encircle you. I Itehohl
I you suffer, hut 1 know that God will not
give you more sorrow than you can hear,
When you resist evil I whisper calm and
tender thoughts into your soul; hut when
you give way to anger, when you cher
ith a spirit of revenge, you drive your
mother from you ; remember that, my lit
uv uiiv, juur *111 unvtn jour HlOinCT iron)
you, and displeases the great and holy
Ood.
Be good, l>e happy, even amidst all
your trials, and if it is a consolation, V now
that thy immortal mother often communes
with thy soul. And farther, thou
shall soon l?o with me."
"01 mother, mother, mother," murmured
the l>oy, springing from his bed,
and striving to leap towards her. The
keen air chilled him ; he looked eagerly
round?there was no light, a solemn stillness
reigned, the radiencc, tho rafters ol
gold, the silvery beams, the mnsle, the
angels?all were gone. And then he
knew that he had been dreaming; but
oh! what a dream : how BtroncrthAnincr
how cheering ; never, never would he forget
it
The next morning when he went down
t to his scant breakfast, there was such a
r beautiful serenity upon his face, sticli a
t sweet gladness in his eyes, that all who
i looked upon him, forbore to taunt or
j chide him.
I He i<>|,5 his dream and the hard hearts
i that listened were softened; and the mother,
who helil her own babe, was so choked
i with her tears that she could not eat : and
the father said inwardly that henceforth he
1 would l>e kinder to the poor little bound
. l>oy, and so he was. The child found his
s way into their affections, he was so meek,
, so prayerful, so good; and at the end of a
twelvemonth, when the angels did in very
1 deed take him to heaven, the whole famiX
ly w?-pUAP>und the little coffin as he were
one of their own. lint then they all felt
- that he was in the bright heavens with
s his brother, his father and his dear angel
i mother.
The Crniots Man ani> the Pokt.?
The subjoined amusing anecdote ofM'
' Donald Clarke, the mad poet, appeared
s in the old New York Spectator in 1827.
A certain poet, whohas w ritten some of
ho best st nzas, and some of the worst lilies
of any American bard, and who, for some
| particular eccentricities, hashcen reputed
s mad, being sometime since at the Assem|
1?1 v Room, at the City Hotel, was interc
upted in his dreams of fiction, l>y a stran?
ger, who thus aeeosted him.
Is your name Clark, sir.
Clark, is my name.
I have C" me a groat distance, sir, for the
" express purpose of seeing you.
' Indeed! And do you consider yourself
* amply remunerated for the fatigue ofa
long journey, by a view of my dcleeta1]
hie jH-rson.'
\ es?you are a strange looking creature.
Some people say you are mad;
and I have heard a number of ladies
j assert that if you paid proper attention
to your dress you would In' a very pretty
1 man.
A pretty man! Now, by ITeaven, sir,
'J I consider that one of the most rascally
1 compliments they could have paid me.
0 A pretty man, sir (like yourself, for instance)
is, in my opinion, one of the
most contemptible objects that ever
s came from the manufactory of Heaven!
" Why so, sir ?'
^ Ih'causc, sir, the epithet implies
' the absence of everything that is manlyThey
mi dit as well apply the term to the
Ocean in a storm, an eruption of Mount
vKtna, or the falls of Niagara.
1 Well you are really a strange fellow,
and in my opinion, a greater knave than
fool.
l)o you think so sir? I really wish 1
could reciprocate the compliment. Hut I
^ am certain that not a trait in your ehaarc"
ter wiil bear any comparison with your
. silliness, which like Aaron's rod or
' Pharoah's lean kine, swallows up all the
rest.
You are severe,
l" You say that you h ive come a great
distance for the express purpose of seeing
' me as you would go to see a Hear and
lottlifl nt Ar ? llofttonbit \
?~Y^r ,,Ui"
0 Now, sir, comply with the terms, fifty
e cents a sight.
r Indeed! Well, there. lie gives him
x the money.
L Stay,sir, take hack twenty five cents; cliil.
tlren half price!'
Again! Why, you show no mercy to
one who is anxious to serve you.
To serve me! Then unite your fortune
s with mine. Every wild beast that is ex'
hihited in this city, is accompanied with a
'' monkey.
The stranger finding the poet t<>o inucli
for him as the pugilist's say,and perolviug
x that he was no more deficient in feelings
' than in wit and talents, begged his pardon
1 for having so rudely intruded upon his
i meditations, and was al>out retiring, when
the poet returned the money; ami taking
" him by the hand, assured him, that as
" impudence and ignorance are always
' united, he could very safely pardon his
f presumption.
I Gknkual Hamilton.?A Reminiscence
of the Revolution,?We find the follow,
ing extract of a letter from General Hain!
ilton, expressing his sentiments upon the
fate of the unfortunate Major Andre, in
the Washington L'nion. The editor says
that " he does not know that it has before
t nppeard in print." It is new to us, and
well illustarates the refined and knightly
oharcaterof Hamilton,
1 Taitan, Oct. 2, 1780. )
Headquarters of the Army, f
1'oor Andre suffers to-day. Every
1 thing that, is amiable in virtue, in fortitude,
1 in delicate sentiment and accomplished
manners, pleads for him; but hard-hearted
policy calls for a sacrifice. He must die.
I send you my account of Arnold's affair:
and, to justify myself to youi sentiments,
1 I must inform you that I urged a compliance
with Andre's request to be shot;
and I do not think it would have had an
ill effect. Hut some people are only sensible
to motives of policy, and sotnetimos from
a narrow diposition, mistake it.
When Andre's tales comes to bo told,
a.wl ? : .? _
v? |/itw ?u iwiiuiiciu i5UYi'rfiue miwiijj
him the privilege of choosing the manner
ot his <lentl? will lie branded with too tnueh
obstinacy.
It was proposed to me to suggest to him
the idea of an exchange for Arnold; but 1
knew I should have forfeited his esteem by
i doing it, aud therefore declined it. As a
man of honor, he could not but reject it;
and I would not (or the world have pro'
poned to him a thing which must have
placed me in the unatniable light of supposing
him capable of meanness or of not
, feeling myself the impropriety of the measure.
I confess to you I had the weakness
to value the esteem of a dying man,because
I reverenced his merit A. Hamilton.
To Miss Scih tler.
A Gentle Hint.?A middle aged farmer
and liis young wife were enjoying a
winter evening cosily together when the
conversation turned upon religious matters,
as described by the Itible which the
man had nj?en before him.
"Wife,* said the farmer, "I have been
thinking what happy society Solomon
must have had in Ins day, with so uany
wives, ?Ve.. as is here represented."
"Indeed/" replied the wife somewhat
miffed "you had better think of something
else. then. A pretty Solomon you would
make, truly; yon can't take proper care
of one wife. What a figure yon would
eut. then, with a dozen wives, and all of
them as spunky as I am."
The farmer took his hat and went to
the stable to food the cattle for the night.
"Daddy, I want to ask yon a question."
"Well, my son."
"Why is neighbor Smith's liquor shop,
like a counterfeit dollar?"
plied, "I will bring him wh it gold cannot
purchase, a heart unspotted, ami virtue
without a stain,which is all that descended
to me from my parents."
The family that never took a newspaper
has moved to Illinois. The old gentleman,
was surprised the other day to
loam that gold was discovered in California
; ami the eldest daughter w as rejoiced
to learn from a neighl?or, that Weljster
had l?een hung, as "she'd never again he
troubled with them pesky sj?ellin' books!"
Never Give A kick For A Hit.?
I learned a good lesson when 1 was a
little girl, says a lady. One frosty morning
I was looking out of the window into mv
f.olw.-v \ A -.1 1 ?j
a ifbiii-j?m,wm-roawgu many cows,
oxen and horses, waiting to drink. The
cattle all stood very still and meek,
till one of the cows, in attempting to
turn rouud, happened to hit her next
ncighlior, where upon the neighbor kicked
ami hit another. In five minutes the whole
herd were kicking each other with
fury. Mv mother laughed, and Mid, 4f*eo
what comes of kicking when you are hit,'
J ust so , I have seen one cross word set a
whole family by the ears some frosty morning.
Afterwards# my brother or myself
were a little irritable, she would say
"Take care, my children, remember how
the fight in the barn yard began. Never
return a kiek for a hit, and you will
save yourself and others a great deal of
trouble.'
"I can I tell, my son."
"Because you can't pass it," said the
boy.
I >i?l any body ever hear the story of
two bachelors, down in Tennessee, who
had lived a sort of cat-and-dog sort of life,
to their own and their neighborhood's discomfort,
for a good many years, but who
had been at a camp-meeting, weie slightly
'convicted,' and both of them concluded
to reform.
"Brother Tom," says one, when they
had arrived at their home, "let us sit down
now, and I'll tell you w hat we'll do. You
tell me all my faults, and I'll tell you of
vourn, and so we'll know how to go about
mending of'em."
"flood I" says Brother Tom.
"Well, you begin."
"No, you In'giu, Brother Joe."
"Well, in the first place, you know,
Brother Tom, you will lie."
i C'rack! goes Brother Tom's'paw' between
Brother Joe's 'blinkers,'and considerable
of a 'scrimmage' ensues-, until in
the course of about ten minutes, neither
arc able to 4 come up to time,' and the
reformation is postj>oned sink die.
Augvmf.nt.?Never waste arguments
on people that don't know logic from logwood?which
is the case with half the
people who love disputation. The best
reply to a stolid dogmatist is to say, /certainly?nodonbt
of it?it's clear as mud."
there's no "i>oser" like a springly acquiescence
to your eternal wrangler. Let him
have his own way, and you confound him
at once. Leave him to himself, and you
make liiiu so uncomfortable, that he w ill
leave you?"a consummation devoutly to
lie wished." Conviction seldom comes
of personal disputation, in which the battln
1 ? o?
v.v .? iiiMvn UIUIIUI n?l >uiur> Lllilll
truth, except a conviction that the other
party is very dull, or very dishonest, liesides,
few persons take their opinion thro1
argument, in the first place, and Dean
Swift said with the utmost truth, that "it
is useless to attempt to reason a man out
of a thing which he was never reasoned
into."
Cupid's bow, the Asiatics say, is strung
with bees, which are apt to sting sometimes
fatally, those who meddle with it.
Y?H who wouldn't occasionally writhe w ith
pain, rather than know nothing of life's
most exquisite pleasure ?
A Greek maiden being asked what portion
she would brine to her husband re
From the Casket1.
A Fidler Converted.
Wo recollect a singular circumstance
that was related to us in Kentucky, by
Mr. li , who joined the chureh under
our ministrations, when he was probably
past fifty years of ago. He had been a
man of the world, and given to dissipation
and pleasure. He bad a family of
several daughters, that were grown. He
; w as particularly fond of dancing parties,
j which he had frequently at his own house,
j He would play the violin, while the voung
j ioiks oanceu, tor lie took a pride in his
skill in performing on that instrument.
| A dancing party was to come off at his
-i house on one Christinas ere; and on the
evening previous, lie had been busily cnj
gaged in making the necessary preparaI
lions, putting his violin in order, practising,
<fco. Hut on the ntght he dreamed
the party were met at his house, and all
were happy and delighted?that the
dance was progressing, and that he was
the musician, applauded by all for his
' performances. Uncxj?ectcdly he thought
in his dream, that a negro man entered
the room, and coming up to him, said ho
also could play on the viol n, and asked
permission to do so. lie handed him tho
instrumcn, as he thought, and instantly
I he liegan to play. As he proceeded tho
I sounds became richer and sweeter, and
i the music surpassed anything he thought
lie had ever heard. In surprise lie turned
to gaze upon the strange performer?his
, i apearance was changed?it was no longer
that of a common negro?he had grown
to a gigantic statue?his cyets gleamed
upon him like balls of fire?and he felt
that bis visitor, who was playing for liini,
was the devil himself, und no mortal.?
I Horror struck, he awoke and found hiro!
self trembling with the fright the apparition
had caused, and the cold sweat rolling
dow n from every part of his body.?
It is needless to say that the party of
pleasure, anticipate 011 the next evening,
did not take place. Mr. B. had no more
dancing parties at his house. lie never
played the violin again. We do not say
that his dream was the means of his cor.,
version; nor do we put any implicit confidence
in dreams. But we know, it wa?
the circumstance, which led to an outward
reformation immediate and entire.
And from that day Mr. B. began to attend
on the external means of salvation,
j which be had never done before, in conscj
quence of which he became hopefully converted,
and joined the church with several
other members of his family. It was
after his connection with the church that
he related the circumstances which we have
I just detailed. I believe he is still a rcsij
dent of Lewis county in Kentucky.
I The Croup?How to Pre ,nt it.
1
A correspondent of the New York Mirror,
a medical practitioner, in an article on
this subject, says:
'The premonitory symptom of croup is
a shrill, sonorous cough. The patient is
not sick?has no fever,as often in a common
cold?is lively, j>erhaps even gayer than
usual; his hands are cool, his face not
flushed, possibly a shade paler than usual.
The solitary symptom may last for a few
days, with no muteriul increase or abatement,
and without attracting any notice;
suddenly, however, the disease, hitherto
latent, bursts forth in all its fatal fury, and
too often continues its ravages unchecked
to the dreadful consummation. The remedies
for this symptom of croup are simple,
and in most instances perfectly efficient.
They are; a mustard p ultice, or a
i strip of flannel dipped in oil of turpentine,
or spirits of hartshorn, applied to the
throat, and nauseating doses of Hive's syrup,
to be continued as lon<? as the eouirb
o O"
remains. By this timely employment of
mild agents, I unhesitatingly assert that a
multitude of lives might he saved every
week that arc now lost through negligence
and delay."
[The experiment of more than 20 years,
has taught us that the above prescription,
provided the Hive syrup be given, m
obstinate cases, in doses sufficient to produce
vomiting, is an efficient and alnost
unfailing remedy. In very severe attacks,
if the fever and other symptoms are not
removed by the emetic, the warm bath,
and calomel promptly used, wrl> scarcely
ever fail to relievo the patient?.Star.
Art intkrehtino K*i.tc.?At a recent
conference of the chntdiM in OmRm*.
Mhw., the identical Bible med by John
Kogera, the maty r, and carried by him to
the atake, aome of the leave* of which
bear mark* of the flamea, waa liwglit
to the meeting by a descendant of the
martyr. v 4
?
Hello, ia thia a co^f*meti<m t naked oat 1
Deril, aa he showed us ft hyphen f
\