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ns A Faniy Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c Vol. X - WEDNES)AY MORNING, JANUARY 28, 1874. No.4. THE HERALD IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MOR1NING, t - ait & ea r m o is p i A o f Gragers sta4 %ib the~*~ tatomat tI r %e3 m he skips o'eto e stiov. s s - 1i pr0=gifiklge'fg ! ,Asli-. patent keather Plow. My boots a bWlt bFe,Aidej Aud my pasof roy; And if I we ain, I'd be a bike IT' c .c n sng. - [From Brainard's Musical World.} UNG MUSICIAN. ING DvS~ some quaint Mittle to ) he and there firthe. .Pe ich Jew -of the rldire de by Germans, a - two ago, who cazzied n eir own tiadi i~io customs, and ever ce. .The young nmme of thesefammiles do not "go West," as other Americans do, to pusli their fortnes; thetyoung.womeni marry ualyamong their own people. d|t% ugag the central mountans *of ethe#,tate-. It lies off of any post-road; i4dis too insignificant to d g ethe map. 62 . You afgiide for a day or two throug$4beets paek and syca *more, wi~ the ocsionual glimpse of a.deer,, if luck'favored you, or, - '5es,ofa blear;befoe you wauld e~ to Midonelghfvhich, after all consistag but:of half-a-dozen ~ou3TIes -ied-reofed barns, with smail ,.dgellings, attiched. After -.esihing for a while, you would" 'b~ fouiiyears ag, one of these lhous with.a broader porch than -~eotes,a on which two sleepy fat Dutchmen rocked themselves in thay ,s/6andgzgiand;smnoked while saudM6a rte guests that never came. By the side of the mountain, too, gth pringiped. tnto acxggssy, wooden trough, whic$ ran ovr oxi thirad, making a: delectable pud dle for the ducks. This was the most prominent sign that old Peter elshouse gvasje ~ inn. Thb^ codntenances of the peopl1e 3ere~ h:eavy.. There was nothing .lifanor:beaudful in them; iohint of any feeling beyond a duli appe tite for serapple or wurst. The on,too, had a heavy, listless ap pearance, with butt two singular ex c#ptions-tlie'zare-ad*ovely flow ers in front of-every dwelling, and eies~ ith whjichUn the evening daerls e iled. All Germna care for. music, but it was Herr Weber whio hiac taught the boys in Parrendol-ff such woii derful skil.lionidj of them, except ,onmd Rosen, the carpenter's son, libad anything else to do after the ploughing and planting were over, than to scrape away on their vio But long before Conrad was born,. his father found out there was no -capntering work to be done in Parrendori. His farm was poorly maaed, the crops died out, acre after acre was sold, and the,end -of it all was that Rosen with the rheu T mtism,' and his wife withe lame leg, and Conrad, red-cheeked and bright-eyed, were the poorest and jolliest family in Parrendorf. The old man and woman sat and smoked their pipes at each side of the clean hearth; Conrad dug, and ploughed, and reaped for half the farmers in- the country, to keep meat in the pot. Worst of all - about this time the lad began to cast his blue eyes on Greta Brandt, and to take his fiddle into Brandt e porch, in the few hours he had to. play on it. Greta was then a plump little girl of sixteen, rosy and fair. In the last month or two, she had tied her long yellow braids with bits of a ~ueibon, and knitted open work. det% the white stockings that covered d tu nhs s- stut anerShelbgnt nVs o g Peterfhl : Schel beg o _ an,awain theaenings, teeth, and held out her soft, warm hand just.- as quickly to welcome one as the other. Conrad laughed back at ier, but, Peter struck a mel. ancholy note on his violin. He was a tall, thin, dark fellow, with a de terminate gloomy face. Very probably,: Conrad, who was a reckless, topsy turvy, good na tured fellow, never had a serious 'thoughtas to how it7all Would end, untiI, one evening. he chanced -to be sitting in Greta's kitchen alone, when her .father 'and Peter Schnell were - outside. ."How's this?" grunted old Peter. "Is it Conrad Rosen that I hafe seen here again? .I do not like dat, Jacob Brandt. What shall that beg gar be friends mif the girl for ?" "Dey 'are only children," puffed Braudt. "Tgt is dat, dat he plays on de violin foz;her ?i^ DAt is noffing ? I fant you to remeinber," knocking his pipe on his knee, by way of em phasis, ".that your girl is bespoken mit my boy, before as she could walk alone. 'Dat meadow lot you will give me with her, pesides all your havings aLd holdings, ant shall be hers when you are dead." Bra4dt nodded. "My boy Peter shall hafe de Platt Farm. Hismotherhafforhimtwen ty-two pillars, ten feather beds." Brandt shuffled his huge body un easily. "Yes; I know all dat I hafe prom ised.. In two years Peter shall mar ry her" After that though Peter laughed and joked no less, he had an anx iohs look at times wlah had not be longed to him before. Just then the' great event in the history df Parrezidorff occurred The Grand Duke of Hesse-Cassel came to -visit it. This grand dukej as our- fathers remember, - made aU tour of the United States when railroads were not, and steamboats were unknown, and when grand dutkes -and -princes of the bloocT were not so common as totuists among us. Herr -Weber had bheen his tutor,' the people were' all from his duchy: it entered therefore, into his high ness' whimsical brain to go up into "'the mountains, and see liow it far ed with them. Perhaps too, he had an attack of longing to hear hisown tongue, and eat a bit of gnuine wurst ag'ain. However that my be, up he came with two or thee stout, plainly dressed Gen. mans like himself. An American viIlage would have b.enin aiiuproar,andhurraheditself borse. The Parrendorffers only put on t?- Sunday clothes and red stokings, and pufred harder at their pipes. ~The grand duke, in the evening, found Herr Weber and his violinists ranged on Peter S.chnell's porch,and ,edtbhem play. He:was a shrewd as weE as 'kindly man.' "They play well," -he said to Wc ber- "There is' one, at least, pow erful youth among them." 'Aid afterward, "Your muisic will be the salvation of this town. It will save it from sinking into the mire of eating, and drinking, and snoozing, like the pigs yonder. I want to bestow a gift, to leave some kindly memento of myself. I think it will in some way refer to this music." Herr Weber, therefore, was not surprised at night when his high ness sent for him, and stated his intention of taking 'one young lad from the village, and giving to him the best musical education which Europe could afford. "I shall thus bestow upon hini the chance of helping the world by something better and loftier than fat porkers and mammoth potatoes." "And how will your highness make your choice ?" demanded Herr Wber. "h!Ihave thought of that. In fur weeks I shall return. Let each pupil play before me some Ithing of his own composition, no matfer how simple or short, but it must be altogether his own." That night the grand duke slept on four feather beds, with two on top of him, and departed the next Imorning. leaving the village of Parrenorff stunned with gratitude and amazement. It was quite as thogh a royal highness was to be born among them. A lad of Par rendorf to become a'pupil in the conservatory of Vienna ! To choose his instructors among the great Steghers of Paris! For three weeks noting was Iheard but thrum-thrumming and scraping. The farm-work was left ; the horses were unfed ; the cows were seldom led to pasture, unless I the girls choose to take them there. Conrad was busy with the rest. They met in thi evening to prac tice and compare their score ; but a week before the time of decision. onad had a yet done nothingr. "What does this mean, my boy ?" said Herr Weber. And Conrad was but a ruddy, ap ple-cheeked boy, after all, and the others were, young men. "It is because. I know so little," he broke out. "Hans has a battle piece. You can. hear the cannons, ad the rolg of-the drums, and the shrieks of the dying. And Sep pell has a nocturne, "Moonlight on the Sea'; and he bade me observe te -) rin bf the waves aii&the effect of the mooifs first rays on the tide. And Peter Schnell" coloring hotly-"has an aria called 'Love, -and it is full of sweetness and passion. But I-wbat do I know? I- have seen nothing but Parrendorff; done nothing but plotghnddig!" "I do not know," said the Herr, gravely, "how you are to equal these masterpieces. But be sure of one thing, my son, you can only describe what you know." So Conrad went his way. The grand duke was back. Par rendorff again wore its Sunday pettic6ats and red stockings. Early in the morning, the little band of musicians, Herr Weber at their head, marched up the sunny street, each with his violin and a roll of paper, and a rose in his jaket. Their sweethearts had sent them the roses. Greta sent a bud to Conrad, but his old mother hobbled in with one the next moment, when he hid Greta's, and -wore his old mother's. All the old people of the village were gathered about the spring, boasting of Hans or Seppel; But Conrad's father and mother slipped offdrom.tha.others, and prayed for i. Ftn4ran Rosen began to cook his dinner. "HewilHos of course, poor boy; so I will make glad for him just as much as if he won." Meanwhile his highness sat nurs inone leg over the other knee. listening ,to.the competitors. "And was ist 'das ?" when Hans had. scraped and tugged until the perspiration. poured down his face. "Battle, eh? Cries of the wounded? Cannon? Pah! pah! Y. never saw a battle, young man ? Pray God you never may! Meanwhile. that tum-tum sounds like a child's beating on a tin pan. Stand aside. Moonlight ? Waves ? That is the splash of suds from a tub, if it has any meaning And you," waiting for Peter' Schnell, "you discourse on love and jealousy? A most maud lin wail, verily ! Who comes next ?" a Conrad took his place. " 'Morn ing on the farm?' Aha ! Now we are coming to.Parrendorff again !" It was no help to Conrad or his music, that the grand duke should talk as he did. at the top of his voice; but he played lightly and with spir it. The duke listened sharply, then began to laugh and nod. "I see ! I see! Qiet, and then a stir among the leaves, and then the ploughboy whistling the air. The birds-these are the partridge, and quail, and one I don't know-the air whistled again-and-there we are in the barn-yard! Do you not remember, Weber, the farm house where'I was a boy? Just as the birds sang, and the chickens clucked, and the maids called the cows! A gain, agafn, boy." The grand duke's face was heat ed. and his eyes sparkled like any or dinary man's when pleased. "What is this lad's name, Weber? How do you call him ? He is my pupil. You are my pupil, Conrad. The man who hears the music in tle common things he knows is the musician for me !" How Conrad went and came again, and built a snug house for his moth er and father, and married Greta, and wrote songs which we all sing have you not all foreseen that from the beginning ? THEr GRAVE OF DICKJS.-I nev er am near Westminister Abbey, says a London letter to the Indianapolis News, without going in, if but fox half an hour. I gain re'gard then for the people who so honor the men who have given the world better thoughts, and lived heroic lives in army or navy. The corner in which Charles D)ickens lies buried, with but a plain slab over the grave with his name and age upon it. :dlways attracts ime. Aside from thlis and the many graves of g.reat men about it, there is a fasciuation to me in seeing people search for the grave of ]ickens. They know the coroner from the guide book, and as the names of oth er men are upon the walls, they natur ally look there for Dickens. Every day 1 am there I am asked by some, generally by women, timidly. "Can you tell us where Mr. Dickens is bu red ?" The answer. '-You are stand on it,"' will sometimes strike them so suddenly and keenly that the color fades out of their faces, and they act as if guilty of sacrilege. I have seen persons thus affrighted spring away as if a danger was in the spat. Handy book-markers-dirty fin gers. MP*OliERN "CRITICISM." A FREE PEN PORTRAITURE. The Toledo Blade thus revels in the realms of modem "criticism."' The effect illustrates the admirable adation of this noble art to eluci dating productions of the humblest character. Readers who carefully follow this master in the analysis of "Jack and Gill" will readily perceive what a wonderful thing modem "criticism" is: Jack and Gill went up the hill, To get a pail of water. Jack fell down and broke his crown, And Gill came tumbling after. In-conducting a criticism of this beautiful poem, we shall first attend to what may be called the rythmical and dynamical qualities of the verse. Observe the perfect measure: Jack-and Gill-went up the hill. The first part of thc first foot is lacking but that is fully -compensa ted in the next verse, which is hy percatalectic: To get-a pail-of wat-er. The er, in this instance, would exactly fill the incomplete foot of the first verse, thus producing a grand iambic, diamer. and leaving the see ond verse a delightful tripody. -The next two verses display the same wonderful poetic structure: I Jack fell-down-and broke-his crown, And Gill-came tumlb-ling aft-er. Observe the pleasing and highly musical effect produced by the ad dition of the fractional foot. er: And Gvill-came tumb-ling aft-er. Let us now turn our attention to what are really the essential ele ments of poetry-the nature of the thought and the quality of the sen timent. First, the thought. All true poetry is highly imaginative. This is highly imaginative: Jack and Gill went up the hill To get a pail of water. The poet imagined that they did, and in this consist, very largely, its poetry. Again, Jack didn't fall down and break his crown, and Gill didn't come tumbling after. The poet simply imagined all this, and hence it is all the more poetic. A gain. this'is ani upward flight of imagination. Jack and Gill went up the hill. They also went up to get water, which makes the conception still more striking. It would have been common-place and matter of fact to go down the hill for water. Notice that in the next line it is not the imagination that falls, but Jack-Jack fell down. Notice, too, the result. He did not break the connection of the story; he did not even break the flight of the poet's fancy; he simply broke his crown. We may suppose it was afterward repaired- We have as good right to suppose this as the poet had to im agine it all all. And now the final catastrophe: And Gill camue tumbling after This is perfectly harmonious. We should naturally have expect ed it. We may inppose that Gill was leaning on Jack, and that there fore, when Jack fell, Gill, by neces sity went tumbling after; or we may suppose that Gill loved Jack more than we can tell, and that, when she saw him fall back and break his crown in a fit of sheer desperation she threw herself after him. Either hy pothesis would fully account for the facts, but I am inclined to accept the la tter, it being the more poetic and thoroughly conson.nt with the pa thetic nature of the scene. Lastly, let us study the sentiment. Jack and Gill went up the bill. Here, we see that Jack and Gill were industrious. It requires an ef fort to go up hill. This was proba bly a long, steep hill. At any rate we may suppose it was. If it was, it would require all the more effort to go up it. We have no evidence that Jack and Gill repined. It is not said that they went up the hill under protest. They appear to have gone up cheerfully ;and what a les son of cheerful industry is here taught us ! The object of their go ing up the hill to get a pail of water is a matter of mere conjecture. I have sometimes thought that they wanted it to drink, and have again supposed they were getting it for a sick comnpanin. Either purpose would have been praiseworthy. It is not stated what became of the water when they fell down. Perhaps it is not known. Possibly in the general overturn it was spilled--but this would detract nothing from the honor due to them for going after it. The misfortune which overtook Jack and Gill is singularly impres sive. It shows the uncertainty of all things earthly. Quietly return ing down the hill, bearing the pail of water and suspecting no evil, sud denly they fell. It is not stated that a serpent tempted them. It is not even stated that they slipped. The record is simply that they fell: we can only imagine the cause, and EARNESTNESS. A chief source of failure in the va rious pursuits of life is the lack of earnestness. There are those who can not be accused of idleness, or charged with any vice-they are hon est, temperate, frugal, and even in durtrious, yet they lack that earnest ness of purpose and strength of res olution that are necessary to insure success. Much of the work of the world is of an essentially inferior character, owing to this cause. It is a common mistake to suppose that manual employments do not need the assistance of the mind to perfect them. While some occupa tions doubtless call for more mental vigor than others, all are dependent upon it for a large measure of their success, and even in the most me chanical pursuits the execution will fail to reach its highest excellence if the heart of the workman be not in his labor. Ruskin says truly, "We are always in these days, trying to saparate labor and intellect; we want one man to be always thinking and another to be always working, and we call one a gentleman and the other an operative,whereas the work man ought often to be thinking, and the thinker often to be working, and both should be gentlemen in the best sense." And again the same author urges employers to aim at inspiring the higher uatures of those who la bor for them, and says: "This is what we have to do with our labor ers to look for the thoughtful part of them, and get that out of them, whathver we lose for it, whatever faults and errors we are obliged to take with it. Teach a carver, for example, to think, and ten to one he makes a mistake in the first toich he gives to his work as a thinking being. But you have made a man of him for all that. He was a machine be fore, an animated tool." No one who will honestly *strive to cultivate a spirit of earnestness in his labor, and put his whole mind into it, be it what it may, will fail to reap a full reward in the improved quality of his work and its appreci ation by others. There is, however, another part of life needing the same spirit to inspire and animate'it, and to our own best faculties-that by which we embrace and encourage good, and shun and discountenance evil. The Greek philosophers des ignated " a good man" by a term signifying "one who is in earnest." With most of us the cause of moral failure is not that we love evil, but that we are indifferent to it. We make, p)erhaps, many efforts to repel it, but they are not made with the whole strength of will and fu'mness of determination by which we con quer difficulties, and carry out pur poses in our external affairs. It is quite possible for the energies that give success in our daily calling, and in our'social intercourse to be exerted to the utmost, 'while yet those that should judge of right and wrong, and choose between good anil evil, may be slumbering on but half aroused. We may have the in terest and activity of daily life with out feeling its responsibility. In cli nation, however, never slumbers, and its demands, if not met by a discriminating sense, and controlled by the superior authority of consci ence, will become more and more imperious and exacting. The want of earnestness in the moral nature greatly diminishes the love with which we regard good, and the abhorrence we feel for evil. Whenwrong-doing ceases to affect us with pain, its irregularity and want of harmony with all that is good and beautiful often excites the sense of the ludicrous, and thus tri fling follies, and even greater sins, are too often the subject of mirth rather than sorrow, It is then but an easy step to follow the evil that had excited only levity and not dis pleasure, and the downward road is thus too often trod simply from a lackof earnestness in avoiding its first approaches. If we would im prove as 'moral and accountable be ingrs we must intensify our love of good and -our hatred of evil, we must put the same earnestness into our spiritual life that we do into our daily business or our pursuit of pleasure; then shall we measure things rightly, because we feel them strongly, and so develop our best faculties and highest natures. One day, when at St. Helena, Napoleon was climbing a narrow mountain-path, with a lady. Half way up the mountain they met a la borer descending, bearing a heavy burden. The lady asserted her right to the path, and wished the man to turn out of it ; but Napo leon drew her aside, saying, "Mad am respect the burden." Chicken-buds, is the Hoosier for eggs. A round robbin'-nearly every BOB, THE CABN BOY. Thre had been a quarrel be tween the captain and the sailors, and in this instance, as is not usually the case with such in stances at sea, the sailors were to blame. The captain was a man of warm, tender feelings, and had been so yielding to ',hose -under him, as to quite lose his authority, and his efforts to reassert it were resisted by all on board. The captain though long a sea faring man, had a spirit that could be easily crushed. The mutinous conduct of the sailors so preyed upon his spirits as to produce in somnia, and thus to make him very nervous, and at last very ill, so that he was confined to his room. None of the sailors visited him. No one thought of speaking a kind word to the captain but poor little Bob. Bob was the cabin boy. He had a pious mother, whose precepts he had never forgotton amid the hardships of the sea. He had promised her that he would read the Bible daily a promise which he had faithfully fulfilled. His Bi ble had taught him lessons that the other sailors little understood. It had taught bim to be gentle, lov ing and forgiving; to be helpful in misfortune, a burden bearer for those in need. So Bob went to the' captain's door and knocked. The captain was a changed man now; he had become irritable, and so despond ent that he felt that life had no thing more for him, and he did not wish to be disturbed. "Who's there?" asked he, in an impatient tone. "Bob, sir. Can I do any thing for you ?" "Go about your work, boy; and don't come troubling m&' Bob stole away more softly than he came; but he still pitied the captain, and cherished no angry feelings. He prayed for him that night, as he lay down to sleep, and still hoped in some way to prove a comfort to him. 'he next day, Bob resolved -to try again. He saw that thb cap tain did not appear on deck, and again he went and knocked at the door. Who's there ?" "Bob, sir. Can I do anything for you to-day, captain ?" "No; go away." Bob was pleased to notice that there was something of hesitancy and indecision in the captain's ans wer this time, a certain mellow ness and regretfulness in his tone, and he resolved to try again. Meantime the captain's heart grew warm toward the little fel low. He thought how differently the boy had acted from the un feeling sailors, who had not once inquired for him all the time of his illness; and he resolved that, if he came agsin, he would let him in. When Bob came the next day, the captain said: "Come in." Bob walked very softly, and said very feelingly: "Please, sir, can I do any thing for you? Shall I make your bed, or get you a cup of coffee ?, i'll do it in a minute." "Some coffee, if you are wil ling." Away run Bob, and in a few minutes everything was r-eady, coffee and hot toast, which he brought on a tr-ay to the captain's bedside. Bob always carried with him a Bible in his pocket-the gift of his mother-and the captain's eye discovered the book. "What book is that ? said he. "My mother gave it to me," said Bob. "Can you read it ?" "Oh yes; and I would like to read it to you." "Well, after I have finished my coffee, 1 would like to hear you,my boy." Bob took away the tray, and then sat down on a box near the. captain's bed. He read the 13th, 14th and 15th chapters of the gos pel of St. John. The captain !is tened very attentively. Bo~b was about leaving the room, in .the act of~ closing the door "Bob ?" "What sir," ''Come again to-morrow."~ Bob came again on the following day. The captain was paler and thinner. There were dark circles under his eyes and deep lines in his deathly face. Bob read to him again. It was the raising of Lazarus. "I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, vet shall he live." - "Bob read that again." The boy read the verse again, more carefnlly than before. "Bob " "Well, sir?" '-1 wish I could believe." There was a niaisture in the cap tain's eye, ard a hurt look in his face. Bob finished the chapter. "Leave me that book of yours, Bob. I would like to look at it my.elf." Bob willingly left it. The next morning the boy went, as usual, and tapped on the cabin door. No answer came Again he tapped, and iouder. Still no answer. He opened the door and walked in. The captain was on his knees, and the Bible was lying open up on the chair before him. "Captain ?" Still no answer. Bob came nearer, but the cap tain did not stir. He laid his hand on his shoulder and gazed into his face. He started back-the captain was dead. The morning light streamed o ver the solitary waters, and pene trated the room. It fell upon the captain's hair, sprinkled with grey, and upon the thin white hand that lay upon the book. One finger rested upon a single verse, partly obscuring it. Bob looked down, and read through misty eyes these words: "He that believeth-" A JorE in CaupcH.-Some years ago there lived in one of our large cities an eccentric character known as Uncle Zeke, who never lost a chance of perpetrating 'a practical joke. Any place or occasion suited him, provided he could make his point. One fine Sunday he repalr ed to a fashionable chuich, some time after the services had com menced, and as there was not a seat vacant he took a prominent position in the center aisle, where he stood bolt upright, with his stove-pipe hat clapped tightly on his head. Of course he attracted much attention and very soon the sexton, a man of whom Uncle Zeke had an especial dislike, 'erept up to him, and whis pered that he must take off his hat. "That's agin my. principles," said Uncle Zeke. "I can't help that," said the sex ton, impatiently, "you must take it off." "But I won't," replied Uncle Zeke. "Then I shall take it off for you," said the sexton, who was becoming very nervous on account of the at. tention his whispered colloquy had occasioned. "All right," said Uncle Zeke, "you can take ,it off. That ain't agin my principles.. The sexton thereupon took hold of the rim of Uncle Zeke's hat, and dexterously lifted it off, his head. But what was the respectable sex ton's horror when about two quarts of hickory nuts rolled out of his hat, and went clattering and bang ing over the church floor. And that was Uncle Zeke's joke on the sexton. Parrna ENcoUNTrERED IN SEARcHING FOR THE QUIsNN PraN.-The casca rilleros or bark-hunters, are very avaricious and very brave, go ing out alone, setting up a hut in a probable-looking spot, and diverg ing from their headquarters in ev ery direction. If by any accident they get lost or their provisions are destroyed, they die of hunger. Dr. Weddell on one occasion in Bolivia landed oIi the beach of a river well shaded with trees. Here he found the cabin of a cascarillero, and near it a man stretched out upon the ground in the agonies of death. He was nearly naked, and covered with myriads of insects, whose stings had hastened his end. On the leaves which formed the roof of the hut were the remains of the unfortunate man's clothes, a staw hat and some rags, with a knife, an earthen pot containing the remains of his last meal, a lit te maize and two or three chunus. Such is the end to which their haz ardous occupation exposes t he bark-collectors--death in the midst of the forests, far from home:; a death without help. and without consolat'on. An exchange says: A physician at New Albany, Ind., s p e n t twelve hours last week in taking an eighty-foot tape-worm from a boy two years old. iIe could have taken the boy from the tape worm quicker. Our exchanges are considerably agitated over our Indian trouble. We are worried to death ourselves about it, although we never say anything. We. prefer to let the grief eat into us-eat into us si. lntly-..Danhury News. THE LEGAL PROFESSION. BY REV. wILLIAM WILLIAMS, D. D.1 P R 0 F E S S 0 R IN TIE SOUTHERN BAPTIST THEOLIGICAL SEMINA RY, GREENVILLE, s. C. It is believed, therefore, that the legal profession does not, in itself; require any relaxation of the strictest principals of honesty, truthfulness and fairness; that its highest honors may be reached with a pure heart unstained and and an honest character untarnish ed. Its temptation in this respect, it must be admitted, are very great. But every calling has its great temptations. They are not irre sistible in this any more than in any other. It only requires, on the part of him who aspires after the highest style of a lawyer, a due appreciation of them,. and a fixed determination to resist them. Pecuniary success may probably come somewhat slower to such a man than to one- who seeks it by the crooked ways of the profess ion, Shak e sp eare says, "this world is given to lying." He might have added without any great stretch of poetic imagina tion, that it is given to cheating also. And 't much likes to find a ready and capable agent by whose proxy it can do its lying and cheating. The lawyer who is willing to use his profession in such a way as to be the world's proxy in these achievments will not lack for clients. His immedi ate success may much outrun that of him who is not willing. But success is sure to c:me to the lat. ter-a succss not in emoluments only but, in the honors and bene factions of the profession, which may rank him with a Hale, a Mansfield, a Marshall and a Hoff man, And enroll his'name among the world's benefactors, as well as the law's adornments. There is another objection to which the Profession is open and with much more truth, as a pro fession,than the popular one which has been considered, but which it is not proposed to discuss but on ly to mention. '-The indiscrimi nate defense of right and wrong," says the author of Junius, "con tracts the understanding while it corrupts the heart Subtlety is soon mistaken for wisdom and im punity for virtue." Coleridge, in his Table Talk says : "I think that upon the whole the advocate is placed in a position unfavorable to his moral being, and indeed, to his intellect also, in its higher powers. Therefore, I would recommend an advocate to devote a part of his leisure time to some study of the meta physics of theology. Something, I mean, which shall call forth all his powers, and center his wishes in the investation* of truth alone, without referrence to a side to be supported. No studies give such a power of exstinguishing as meta physical, and in their natural ten dency they are ennobling and ex alting. Some such studies are wanted to counteract the opera. ion of legal studies and practice, which sharpen indeed, but like a grindstone, narrow whilst they sharpen." The Christian lawyer has, in his profession, a wide opportunity for usefulness. By his consistent Christian deportment on the cir cuit, in the exciting contests of the court room, and in free, social intercourse with his professional brethren, he may effectually serve the cause of Christ by impressing, them with the reality and power of religion. IIe need not to this end obtrude his religion upon them nor even say anything about religion. It is only necessary that they shall see that he is care ful to mantain, in all places, and under all circumstances, a consist ent religious life. And ther, too, his practice and facility in public speaking gives him an advantage for usefulnes over other private numbers of the church, in confer ence and prayer meetings. Might not he, who can so well plead the cause of his fellow man in the court room, plead the cause of) Jesus sometimes in the prayer meeting? Shall he be ready and willing to speak on all occa sions, a religious meeting only ex cepted? But this communication is already too long, and must be closed. If these. lines should chance to meet the eye of any young Christain lawyer, will he not seri ously consider the special opportu gities and means of usefulness which his profession furnishes, and e ar nestl1y resolve to improve them. Somebody inquiring at the Springfield Ill. postoffice for a let. ter for Mike Howe, received the gruff answer that there was nc letter there for anybody's cow, Adverti-ements inserted at the per square-one inch-for first in ic. for each subsequent insertion. column advertisements tenper cent on Notices of meetings, obituaries and of respect, same rates per square as ordiiy advertisements.- . . ., , .z : Special notices in local column 20 cents per line. Advertisements not marked with the num ber of insertions will be kept in tff forbid and charged accordingly, Special contracts made with large adver tisers, with libril deductidus on aove rates. Jes PsLINM Done with YansAnd Dispatch. Terms Cash. JOSH BILLINGS ON MAR RIAGE. Marriage is a fair transaction on the face ov it. But there iz too oft6n put up jobs in it. It is an old institushun, older than the pyramids, and as phull of hyrogliphics that nobody can parse History holds its tongue who the pair waz who first.put on the silk en harness, and promised to work kind to it, thru thick and thin, up hill and down, anion the level; rain or shine, survive or perish, sink or swim, drown or ftotc. But watever they waz. they must have made a good thing of it, or so many of their posterity would not have harnessed up since and drove out. There is a grato moral grip,to marriage; it is the matter that holds the soshul bricks together. But there ain't but darn few pholks who put their money in matrimony who could sit do-wn and give a good written opinyan whi on arth they cum to do it. This is a grate proof that it iz one of them natral kind ov acksi dents that must happen, jist as birds fly out ov the nest, when they have feathers enuff, with out being able tew tell why. Sam marry for buty, and.never discover their mistake. This is lucky. Sam marry for money, and don't see it. Sum marry for pedigree, %nd feel big for six months, and then very sensibly cum tow the conclusion that pedigree ain't no better than skim-milik. KSam marry bekaze they hav bin highsted sumwhere else. This is a cross match-a bay and sorrel. Pride may make it endurable. Sum marry for lav, without a cent in their pocket, nor a friend in the :o rid, nor a drop of pedi gree. This loolis desperate, but it is the strength cfisk1e game. If maryin for luv ain't a success, then matrimony is a dead beat. Sam marry bekaze they think wimin will be scarce next year, and live to wonder how the , crop holds out. Sum marry to get rid 'of them selves, and discover that the game was one that two could play at, and neither win. Sum marry a second time to get even, and find itT gathbling game the more they put d6wn, the less they take up. Sum marry to be happy, and not finding it wonder where all the happiness goes to when it dies. Sum marry, they can't tell why and live,they can't tell how. Almost everybody gets married, and it is a good joke. Sum marry in haste, and then sit down and thinks it carefully over. Suin think it over carefully fust, and thou set down and nmarry. Both ways are right, if they hit the mark. Sum marry rakes to convert them. T his is a little risky, and takes a smart missionary to do it. Sum marry coauettes. -Thbis is like buying a poor farm heavily mortgaged, and working the bal ance of your days to clear off the mortgages. Married life haz its chances, and this is just ,vhat gives it its flavor. Everybody lays to phool with the chances, bekauze everybody expects to win. But I an author ized to state that everybody don't win. But, after all, married life is full as certain az dry goods biziness. Kno man can swear exackly where he will fetch up when he touches calico. Kno man can tell just what cal ico has made up its mind to do next. Calico don't kno even herself. Dry goods ov all kinds is the child ov circumstances. Sum never marry, but this is 'just as risky. The disease :s the same ,with another name to it. The man who stands on the bank, shivering and dassent, iz more apt to catch cold than him who pitches his head fast into the river. There is but fe w who never mar ry bekauze they won't. They all hanker, and most'of them starve with bread before them (spread on both sides,) jist for the lack of grit. Marry yang! iz my motto. I have tried it, and I kno what I arm talking about. If cnny body acks you why you g cot married (if needs be,) tell him you don't recollect. Marriage is a safe way to gain 'ble. If you win, yon win a pile; and if you loze, you don't loze en nything, only the privilege of liv ing dismally, alone and soaking 'your own feet.. I repeat in italics, marry young! ~