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2 Democrati 3ournal, ewatch to lyt Soutly wa Soutlytu digLieties, adt it mustfl, Ciue & ais taeau rclue& "We will cling to the Pillars of the Temple of o Liberties, and Iit must fall, we will Perish umidst the 3lut." SIMKINS, DURISOE & CO., Proprietors. EDGEFIELD, S. FEBRUARY 24, 1858. ~ * I WEPT WESIDE TRY GRAVE, MOTEEE. BY PRANK MYRTLE. I wept beside thy grave, mother, My heart is weeping still, And fondly lingers near thy tomb On yonder lonely hill. I did not bear thy parting words, I did not see thee die; But thy last message came to me, When death was hovering nigh. I'rve been a truant boy, mother, And caused thee many a pain, But I would heal the wound I made, Could'st thou return again; My boyish heart would not obey Thy mild commands, I know, And o'er my waywardness to thee, My tears will ever flow. I was thy cherished pet, mother, Thy love was fond and true, Thy kisses oft bodew'd my cheek, Ere manhood's care I knew; Affliction's child from infancy, Ye loved me but the more, And o'er me wept as oft ye tho't, Life's pilgrimage was o'er. I've wandered many a league, mother, From where we used to dwell; No cherished one is near me now, Of those I loved so well; But oft my weeping heart return' Across the foaming sea, To where thy precious relics lie, And there it weeps for thee. WHAT VAKis A MAN. Not numerous years, nor lengthened life, Not pretty children and a wife; Not pins and canes and fancy rings. Nor any such like trumpery things; Not pipe, cigar nor bottled wine, Nor liberty with kings to dine; Nor coat nor boots, nor yet a hat, A dandy vest not trim cravat; Not houses, land or golden ore, Nor all the world's wealth laid in store; Not Mr. Rev., Sir nor Squire, With titles that the memory tire; Not ancestry, traced back to Will, Who went from Normandy to kill; Not Latin, Greek nor Hebrew lore, Nor thousand volumes rumbled o'er; Not judge's robe, nor mayor's mace, These all united never can Avail to make a single man. A truthful soul, a loving mind, Full of affection of its kind; A spirit firm, erect and free, That never basely bends a knee; That will not bear a feather's weight Of slavery's chain, for small or great; That truly speaks from God within, And never makes a league with sii; That snaps the fetters despots make, And loves the truth for its own sake; That worships God, and him alone, And bows nowhere but at his throne; That trembles at no tyrants nod; A soul that fears no one but God; And thus can smile at curse or ban; That is the soul that makes the man. BETTER THANt2LD. BY MRs. MARY A. DE.NIsoN. " There ! Who savs I have not been happy ?" cried the beautiful Smily Travers, as she threw her jewels carelessly into their casket. " This cant and hypocrisy about earthly ploasures, and all that ! I'm sick of it.' What's the use cof one's secluding one's self forever from the mul titude. I was made to reign in society, and to night I have received confirmation of my royal right. Hleigh-ho! There were none there more beautiful than 1, none as brilliant, they told me." Then why that sigh, lady? Why the listless gaze at the tall French mirror, as if memory were turning away from the gate of splendor, and looking down~ some quaint old road back to the ancient gamble-roof of the homestead she has left ? Why,.if she had been as happy as she said, came that look of listless indifference, as, one by one, she suffered her maid to lay by the pearls and the bracelets, the rings and bands that had bound back from her snowy temples her gleaming curls ? Because it was the first time for months that she had gone as a partici pat amidst scenes of heartless pleasure. She new the measure of their hollowness. She had tasted the bitter fruit of flattery before. She had seen the golden adulation anud the dros sy scorn of what the world calls Societr. Two years before, her father had died a beggar, and byte labor of her hands, had Emily, the peer less, supported herself bravely; but in that time of trial no homage, clad in queenly gar ments, came to her poor home. She had for gotten none of her former wealthy friends; they had forgotten her. D~uring that time, and before the period of mourning had elapsed, Emily had bcnt her steps towards the worshipping place of the humlde the plain, unpainted village church. A man of slight figure, but surpassing eloquence of look and manner, occupied the low pulpit. Simple in speech (yet a simplicity attained by his best years of arduous study,) the stranger more than interested her. From Sabbath to Sabbath, the little church was her sanctuary, the village pas tor her spiritual guide. Dearer than all the flattering unction of her former friends was his low and thrilling salutation when he had learn ed to know her ; and when at last they loved each other, as both did, not matter how the knowledge camne to each, she was more tender. ly and thoroughly happy than in her palmiest days. Innocence reigned over her heart. It seemed as if angels were constantly coming and going, bringing and bearing away messages of love. The humble room in the little cottage where she boarded became a parailise to, the once haughty Emily. Her labor seemed in a manner sanctified by the sweet mission of her inner nature; love had changed, regenerated all. Love made her beautiful face more beauti ful; the language of her eyes needed little in terpretation ; every glance, either lifted in wor shipping homage to Heaven, or bent down upon the dewy splendor of earth, seemed to say, "I love." And all this the spiritual Linaden saw, and a al tis umble thanked God. He had found at last the treasure so long sought; he had found humility waiting upon regal beauty, gentleness joined hand in hand with lofty ge nius, and seemingly genuine piety following all her words and works. The time came in which he resolved to unfold his love, and, at the spne time, his secret-for he., pure and good, and.set aside as he was from ordinary mortality, had yet a guarded secret but be sure that it affecfed not his honor. He had been for a few days in the neighboring city, and consequently knew not into what a commo tion the village had been thrown by the depar ture of a new heiress. As soon at supper was dispatched, he threw on his cloak and bent his steps towards the home of the beautiful Emily. No sound of happy singing came from within. He even ventured to look ovet the low blinds into the room where Emily usually sat busy with her embroidery-frame; only an old lady bent drowsily knitting by the fire. The cat filled her accustomed place; but the little stand was not drawn into the area of chimney com fort, and the new glass lamp stood, tall and un lighted, on the mantel. Still, he laughed a lit tle at the sudden gloom that fell over him, and knocked at the door with a motion braver than his heart. "Oi, come in!" said prim little Mrs. Coles, with her usual bustling manner. " Happy to have you here again so soon, minister, only it's queer how we've lost Miss Emily, ain't it?" " Lost Miss Emily !" exclaimed Linaden, with an emphasis that made Mrs. Coles feel double imrortance as a newsteller. "What do you mean, madam ?" " On, sit down, minister! They say bad ti dings comes easier that way, though the tidings isn't so very bad neither, only that Miss Emily's a great lady again, and her uncle that was-I don't know his name-has died and left her a large fortm-I can't say how much-and the t'other uncle that is has come and taken her away in a grand carriage, and all that, and-'but how's your health, minister ? Well, now, that's queer, too," she continued, with a mortified air, while her needles stood bolt upright with as tonishment. " Wonder if he calls that a pas. torial visit ? Who did he come to see, I won der? What does it mean? im sure I never thought on such a thing," she mumbled, half audibly, after a momentary cogitation, falling -man her stocking-toe again; "but it might be." lie good dame's soliloquy, and her slight show of anger, were not entirely uncalled for. Linaden, at her strange story, had suddenly paled ; he felt his brain reel, snatched up his hat, and, with hardly a civil good-by hurried from the house. The news had seriously affect ed him. Never before had his love been tried, and it was stronger about his heart than bands of iron. Emily was gone-and whore? The Imble, childlike, yet too lovely creature thrown suddenly upon the glittering surface of a golden stream, dazzled by splendor, surround ed by assiduous flatterers, he feared for her in tegrity; he would not say to himself lie feared for her love. Yet it seemed so almost cruel. lie had so longed to win her from a cottage home, to wed her in the free, glad country, to cultivate her noble nature, and fashion it to the mould of his own; but now Again rich, envied, courted Emily's weak will (weak only in the first flush of gratitude) led her with the tide, although her heart, onice wounded by the thorny pride and neglect of summer friends, bade her beware of their ca resses; yet, little by little, she yielded. Once mwore she occupied her olden seat at the gray cathedral; and Emily tried to believe that the dark-visaged pastor, whose bands and whose prayers were always just so long, imaged young auburn-haired Linaden, with his earnest eye and graceful motion, but in vain. The sweet, eloquent fice of the village preacher vanished before the stern lines nature had given the ex cellent curate ; and sorry am I to say that Emily's head was too often bent upon the gol den-clasped prayer-book, and Emily's heart and thoughts travelling to a distant hmnble pulpit, and resting fondly upon its occupant. " Why did she not go there ? the reader will say. In vain might I try to explain the subtle reasoning of a woman, especially one loving as she did, and remember that on neither side had the love been spoken ; remember, too, that to her he was now the poor pastor, whose pride perlance might smother the germ that lovli ness had fostered. 1Her delic.acy of sentiments prevented her from goinigin person, although she often yearned to visit the humble church where she had spent, she could not but ack nowledge, the best years of her life. Her un c's home was one of beauty, luxury, and re fiement ; ever ready handmauidens waited on her every wish ; while, like courtiers to a queen, caie suitors of distinction; and the gay world marvelled that she gave them no heed. Tfhe first grand fete of the winter caine off. Emily attended, and pursuaded herself for a while that it was very delightful, that she was immensely happy ; but in a pause of the dance, she fancied (it could surely be but fancy) that a pale face lifted itself above the crowd of list less gazers at the saloon-door, that those deep, searching eyes, those sof t auburn locks ciuld belong to no other than the village pastor. For a moment, her heart stood still; the bright blood flushed her temples, then receding, left her deadly pale; and not till she had taken several measures in the now uncared-for dance did absolute consciousness come back. In dreamy morod, she had seated herself on her return to be attired for the night. " Who says I have not been happy !" was on her lips-.-.' am very, very wretched," in her heart. As slender fingers carefully smoothed out and ainnointed the glossy curls, Emily glanced at herself in the mirror. She made a pretty picture, she and her maid ; more beautiful was fair Emily, with her locks banded back and simply knotted on the crown, than in all the array of costly jewels. Suddenly, her eye fell on an unsealed note. She took it mechanical ly, and started to her feet, exclaiming : " Why was this not given me on my return ?" and again she read the few, but significant lines " Dzaa FRIEND: Come to me, for I am dy ing. Oh, I must behold your face once more, beloved E:mly." " It is'not yet too late !" she cried, moving hastily forward. " Tell Philip to put the horses in again ; quick, tell him quickly-it is a mat ter of life and death." Preparing herself hurriedly, she paced the floor till the carriage was ready, then praying she miighit be in time, silently entered, and was driven through the faint starlight far out on the country road. * * * * * * * The night, or rather morning, was very bleak, and Emily shivered in her snug corner; not only with~ cold, however, for the transition was so sudden, so awful, from the gayly lighted ball room to the chamber of the dying or the dead, it chilled her to the heart. It had grown quite lark when she reached thme plain wooden man sion, whose faint lights fell feebly on the road side. It was that chamber ; she knew it, though tme blinds were closed. Often had she sat there by the jasmine-covered window, with the sweet s maid in "-.alI the country round." Her blue 'eyes and her 'golden tresses-how were they .ow...14he anid damn with the death-dae. "She will not come, and I shall be gone to morrow. Oh, tell me, my dear friend, how did she look? You saw her; tell me." "Glorious as a queen," murmured a voice, tremulous with deep feeling; " but the brilliant and beautiful were with her." " And she has forgotten me," said the dying girl, her tones plaintive with the grief of a first neglect. "I loved her too well! So all earthly loves perish; only Heaven is real." And she lifted the gentle eyes, on which hung, glitter ing, the last dew of life's last day; henceforth, they were to shed tears no more forever. "Hark!" "She lifted her head and looked forth eager ly. Her mother entered, followed by Emily. " Oh, bless you-bless you, sweet friend," whispered the sick one, holding forth her white wan hands. "I did not look for you now. How kind you were to come, to come and see me die, Emily." " You are not so very ill !" cried Emily, sink. ing on her knees at the bedside. " You must get well and go home with mne. You are stron ger than you think; you are frightened, my love." "Look at me, Emily !" exclaimied the dying girl, with sudden energy. " Do you see any fear in my glance? Oh, no! Why should I fear when I am going home to my father. No, I deceive not myself. I am very weak; feel how my pulse is fa'iling. But I am so glad you are here! See, Emily, here is our friend, our good minister; he has been very kind to me." Emily dared scarcely raise her eyes. She trembled in every limb; but when she found courage to murmur welcome, she saw that a change had passed over the ministers face. It was not only pale, marble pale, but sad, as if his heart labored with some great and deep sor row. A maurnful majesty seemed to sit on that matchless countenance. And the look lie gave her, so indescribable, and yet so suddenly inter preted I There was shame in Emily's heart hame for the vain thoughts that night cherished - hame that he, living above earth, as he seemed to her, had seen her in the thoughtless, revelling throng, and deemed her happy. " May we be alone, mother-kind Mr. Lina. len ?" asked Jessie, faintly smiling. "It is so long since Emily was here, and I have much to say. Blessed nother !" she murmured, in an undertone. " It is hard to leave her." Both moved into the adjoining apartment. Emily at first grew faint with fear, lest cre they returned the spirit should be sunnmoned; but tIen the voice was so cal m and steady; a' flush ail softly on the cheek; the eve, Iarge and hollow though it was, sparkled with an intense brightness. Emily dear, do you remember the little church ? Do vou mind how the sutner sun sed to slant over the graveyard where we walked in the caln evening with Mr. Linaden ? I loved that little church. I love to think how the ivy twines over its door, green and bright, even this winter's morning. You know we both had a weet little Sabbath-class. Matty and sunny eyed Mary were in yours ; they are both in Eleaven." She paused a moment. Emily could not speak. " We used to -have such holy prayer-tines; ind how softly and beautiflully our dear minister taught us of Heaven! Oh, he has a voice of ausme! Emily. he is almost an angel, some ines I think. Bunt away with earthly thoughts!" she said, a grieved expression stealing over her race. "I want to say something more than this, somthing to you; an what diudl I say ? how sall I sav it?" Say what You will," replied Emily, in a bro ken voice; "reprove me. I an very sinful. ell me that I have broken my vows, anid lde wryi, no merey. I need it all." "Oh, Emisily, you always seemnud so f'dl of oolemss to me that perhaps I ought not ! Still, houtghts of olden times have been busy Nvith nv memorv to-day. I recalled you. hunble, while vet so gloriously beautiful. lamnb-like in yntleess; then I toiught of your sudden wedthu. You seemed to nie standing on some ereat elevation above all others ; and yet the laner-the danger of your- fall from that dizzy eight. Dear Emily, forgiv'e me for warniing rou ; but remenmber that I atm this moment o e verge of eternity."I "Say on my best friend~, and let me confirm your imupressions. I have not been happy since i left this pleasant place-no, not for a muomenct." "And Linaden-does lhe know this ? Have you seen him much ?" "No no,!" said Emily, shuddering, for she remembered where she had last met his gaze. "He, too, has forgotten mec. 1 Oh, sometimzes wealth is a heavy misery! I' "A great change has conic over him," mur mured the dying girl, with an effort; "nd I believe it is partly that makes him seem so much above all others. Sitnce you left, Emily, our blessed minister has been an altered tman. Some times, I fancied he loved you, had spoken of that love, and you had slighted himx ; but no, io-that cannot be. What woman, h~e she uieen or peasant, but would be honored by Linaden's love ? Oh, love for him must be abnost wor ship P' She had slightly raised her hands as she said this. A deeper red diffused itself over her trans parent cheeks; a raptture too intense for comn mon friendship lighted up her glance. Emily started. As suddenly as it had broken forth was the truth revealed to her ; this sweet, fadlin" flower loved the gifted child of Heaven, ana perhaps-she could not tell-was offering up her young life as a sacrifice upon the altar of ia love -alas, hopeless. The sufferer's lip quivered, and she closed her eyes to sljut back the comning tears ; then, after a long silence, she raisedl her arms and motioned that her head should rest upon Emily's bosom. " You have seen the struggle," she whispered. "Hecforth, when you remember mes, you will pity what earthly lot was mine. But oh, Emily, I beseech you, by all my suffering, let him not suffer I Something tolls me that you love him:; it must he so, for I am near eternity, and my vrision is clear. lIe taught mue to be a Christian, Emily. He loved me only us a cherished sister ; he dreams not of what you have interpreted. But oh, Emily, if you kntew-if yoti but knew the depth and tenderness of that soul, the almost woman-like softness and devotion, the stern Ro man depth also, the mighty earnestness of that nmoble spirit! You are rich, and lhe is poor; hut what is gold in comparison with stuch love ? Otnly promise me that you will not make him suffer ;i bless him, and~ if it is in the power of released spirits to grant otne favor to embodied soul, I will bless you, dear Emily. You promise, amnd I am happy. You were not made for the idle throng. What noble helpers you will be! I am so light and happy now. I half believe Heaven has be gun. Lay me back love, and, if you please, call thema in. One prayer more-one prayer, dear minister." Sometimes, the throngr of gay dancers, the flashing gas-lights, the trifling words, the un mueaning laughter of the few previous hours flitted through Emily's mind during that prayer. It was, she felt, for her as well as for the dying. rears-not " idle tears"-chased rapidly down~ her cheeks. Her hand laid on the bedside ; she had been resting her head upon it. She,felt the pressure of col' fingers ; close beside was the hand of the pale pastor, and that of the dying* girl lightly laid on both. A thr-ill passed through her framno. It was a solemn token of union, for face of her friend, the; hand stiffened-dead was before her. * * *- * * . "Uncle, I have de.' d. I love him. I lov no other. I will marit im." "Then none of yo- nting hypocrites slhal ever enter these doors A tall, stately fig ur that moment made it appearance. Emily gfrom her seat; hei uncle, abashed before e calm, lofty gaze o1 the stranger, stood un ided how to act. "Uncle," said Emil "Mr. Linadan heard you just now; but y ee he is here-he, the worthless country pa , the poor preacher, stands before you. at him, uncle, and then say if you blame for my choice?" And the sweet girl gazed picdly upon her lover. But her uncle only Pwed with a cold and stately air, and left the ln. "It will be a sacrifi 'my Emily," said Lina den, leading her to a ,L ! Think long and calmly upon the ch." 6 of your happiness. The life of a country- rson has many cares, perplexities, and cro .. Much self-denial it must coqt you to give .fi this splendor. "Remember Jessie' death-bed!" exclaimed Emily, in a low, firm. oice. "Think you not that before such a see earthly splendor fded from my vision, never ook all glorious again ? No, Linaden. I have imething to live fbr something beside imy selfish cares, joys, and sorrows. I regret no ng with you. I shall forever have nothing regret, except that I cannot love you more pafeeth." And Emily was wed d, not in the home of her rich uncle, but in #e sweet church from whose pleasant wiindowhe could see the plain white headstonie that mfked where J.essie laid. It was a balny summe4 morning ; and all the little village had assem d outside and in, and every heart asked for lessings on the happy bride. Emily was robe- in a dress of simple muslin, with no ornam' save the bridal wreath; and pure and graceful e looked, most fitting the holy place, as sheji sed down the rustic church, at the conclu' a of the cerenony. A horse, richly but neatl caparisoned, stood be fore a beautiful little cae- and, to Emily's astonishment, her husbiad Ced her to it, and seated her and himself- ithin. " Whose beautiful .' icle is this ? and why do we ride 7" asked E 'ly, her hand upon her husband's armii; but henl smiled a smile full f trust and promise, ' she was contented with his silence. "How perfect !" exclmed Emily, when at a turn in the road appeased a large and beautiful cottage, surrounded byxiawn and gardens, and glorious growth of foresttrees. " Whose charm ing place is this? It isa new spectacle in out pretty village." " Suppose we get outlere," said her husband, turning his horse's head"towards the broad and evenly rolled avenue ding to the house; and suppose," he ad.d, "I[ present to the cottage, with all the charming scenery, its ow ner and sweet mistress, Emily Linaden!" Mute with astonishment, Emily suffered her elf to be led through'Iae hall, where several well-trained doaiosticA Ude her a civil welc.'ome intt large, graceful roofds, appropriately fitted ,'Does it please f m TIliuldde lighted with her wondering amaze. " It pleases me; and yet," she answered, in i low tone, "it is not w hat I have droamed of little humble home, a pleasant parsonage, where te p~oor maay not fear to comte. Is it not too too"- . " Too beautiful, extravagant," you would say my sweet Emily. "It is not too beautifaal foi you, neither have I gone the length of a slendoi purse. Here, ny love, the poor will come; fin it is not the iouie thto. precludtes ionvst pride, but the hearts within it. Emily, I am not v loor man. You start with wonder; bit it i true. You have trusted in me, givr-n your-sel to at stranger for the love of him and the prin iples lie professes. You have not trusted iii vain. Seven years ago, I left ay home in ling land, left a peerage and part of a p:ineely fur tune for the sake of Christ and my poor invalid ibother. My fither, in a freak of pasiion caused by any brother's naarriage with onie he dli-liked exceedingly, banishted himi fromi his homie, anud died, leaving everything to mae. My brothera pied, and yet his pride allowed iae not to ad himt; so, at last, having a yearning desire te visit this new lanad, I llade a lastiang farewell te ny country, settled two-thirdls of any fortune upon mny ba-other and his little fiamily, an abandoaned the honors and emoluments which, though showered upon me, fitted not my nature, And now come with me, and look through out house. Ihere," lie continued, as lhe threw opent the door of a wide arootm, high ceiled andl lainily furnished, "here is the room which I meaan ic dedicate to our people. We will have pleasant 'atherinags, where the old anad the younag, ever the little childrena shall gather, wher-e, with sitm ple andl innocent amusements, they may pa the haappy hour-s. Out of this leads a dianing room capable of seating hunidreds; here they shall have thteir Christmas dinner in good old Eghsh stylo. Yonder, I have caused a youang pine-tree to be transplanmted. You naotice tha great box is moved by pulleys from t he window and by the time we shall need it, the Krisi Kringle boughs will be flourishing amid beauttiful You, any sweet Emily, shall puratChasse all th gifts, and distribute them with your own hand Here is another room, somewhmat smaller, t which children alone shall have free access. Th< floor is uncarpeted ; and I intend to have seve -al gymanastic gaines, for - the purpose of devel oping their physical powers and promoting gracE anal energy. The walls, also, I intend to covel with books, and to-morrow you shall aid mue ir selecting them. The conditions of these enter tainments shall be cleanliness, industry, studi ous habits, and good behavior ; thus, we shah promote their welfare in every imnportant par ticular. Her-e is a smalL reading-room that h to be furnished with seats, tables, papers, an good books ; hither I will endeav(or to persmada the young men of the village, for I ace tha several of them begin to frequent the ale-shops of the public hotels. If thmey are fond of music nothing will delight me more than to please thal exquisite taste, beautiful alike 'n all conditions o life ;" and he pointed to a hbi y wrought ant finished flute-stand, with its accompaniments, guitar case, and several musical instruments Again lie smiled athis young wife's loving glanci of astonishment. " I have long looked forwar< to these plans," he added, "but found no on' whom [ could take fully into nmy confidence tun til I found my Emily. And once my whole lifi was overshadowed. I dreaded that you, too would be lost, to--if it had been so-but it i not wise to speculate. Now, we will go int the grove." Arm in arm, the young and happy coupl' walked slowly from the house, and entered the thickly- shadowed walks of a wild maple-grove The moss was crisp beneath their light tread and many a little flower meekly asked for mere; as the foot that brushed it bruised not its loveli ness. The heart of the grove beat with mnos musical measure, for is not the twitter of th< young birds the pulse of the greenwood? i sounad of breezy voices swept ever across thei path, until at last they camne to a beautiful in closure, where perhaps the Dryad nymphs had in olden time, held their festivals; there, raise< by art, and draped by ingenuity, stood a beauti 0ianw-ehron. oe-bushes, the floweism mi, into autumn, were planted at intervals, and lit tle plats of choice flowers threw, with lavish munificence, the full bounty of their fragrance. From the boughs above hung colored ropes; at their extremity fanciful boxes were securely fastened, in which little ones night swing with out fear of injury. In an outer circle, table.; were " planted," their support the boughs of strong and slender trees. "This is so beautiful !" murmured Emily, with tears in her eyes. Planned, too, I an sure, for the pleasure of your peeple. How thought ful! How different from all mankind you are, dear husband!" And more surely she felt the great bliss of her lot in being the nearest, the dearest eartbly friend of such a man. "My love, the i nly difference between my self and other men who have large poxssessions is this: they call their wealth their own-I feel myself but the steward of my Master, and I trust and strive daily for the pl-osession of prac tical piety. God has given these people into my keeping; he has aiven me of this world's good, but no surety of life be% ond the present moment. Why, then, s honld I hug iy gold, perhaps for the idle and dissolute, when I have the power of be. towing so much jioy on all about ily path? Think you 1 would exchmnge the sweet peace taiis thaiot sacred plea.-tre gives tie night and d I for the paltry conscisil, ness of what I am wonat 7 No, no; it is btt Iur than gold." The cheerful sound of many voices roused them from the plewe.unt reverie into which they had fallen under the shadow of the old inaple. They hastened to the bouse; the rooiIs weIe filled with joyous faces, and the eager notes of childhood rang, like flte-toies. over tile hawn. How they crowded around their noble pastor and benefatctur as lie entered with his bride!' With what loving looks and cordial haiid.; they received his silent benediction! IHow like the great Shepherd in earthly guise seemed the lov ing being who stood in their midst, with sweet words and welcome for all ! "Fear not that I shall ever sigh for the vain world again," whisperedt the gentle bride, her eyes tilled with happy tears. " Truly, this is worth the splendesr t* millions such ; and the joy of my heart at this mo.inent is 'better than gold.'" F0IUTUXE UP AND IOWN. The B.ston L.-tjer, of a late date publishes the fillowig: In 1787, a youth, then residing in Maine, owned a jack-knife, whic:h he, licing of a sone what tradmg and ntsitey mnaking dispositioun, sold flor a gallon of West India rumn. Thli lie retailed, and rith the IrocCods he p:ur:cled two gallons, and eventu:ily a barrel, which wa., followed in due thi by a large stock. In a word, he got rich,and became tme 'Sqpuire of the district through the pos.ession and sale of the jack-knife, ani an i?dornitable i radhig indu.,try. He died worth property in real estate and ino ney, valued at eighty thousatid dolhrs. This itwas divided by testament, anng four children -three boys an-l a girl. Luck, which ssenmed to have been the guardian amnel of the father, deserted thk children ; f'or every folly and ex travirgalee they could- engage ln--eened-to oe cupy their exchii-ve atten ion and cultivation. The daughter married untbriunatel,. and h1er patrimony was soon thrown away b1Y herspemd thrift of a hsusaml. The . ts were no more fort nuaie; alid tw' of thein dIe l of '.L47illafiii. and in alnost poverty. The daughier aluo liel. The last of the fatmily, for Inany years past, has lived en tile kinnlie.s of those who knetw him in islays of l itol)ely, as pritie would not allow him to go to tA n)or i-il. A few sinyl ago be <liedl.-ud denly lai unat tendel, inl a aUra whi'rte he ltl aiid liiacLf down to take a ilrunken --Ioep. 01n his pockets being exanmwvd, all tiat a lomind in themiivas a sinall piece of string 'Il .; .wk. kitt/u So, the forsiume that began with an iml ipi'ent if' that kind, left but its simiple dupli Cate. We leave tfhe inuoral to be drlaw. inl whatever fashion it na% y su.gest itself to the reader-S i.i plyV Statilng that the stUorv i a true. *one, and all the facts well known to niumy" wihomn tis relatin will doubtlIess reaeb. Srt;'m. i o.-\ounig matn, you wh".o take your glass of greg, bescaii.-e it i.s thLaionablle, aie ept a war'ning of your tiger* anit stop in thmne. 'The customi is franuu wita dainger, and' so sure Ias yojuhpersit in it, so sure you will become a slave to the botte. Youi may think there is no danger of this-that you ar'e so .,trong within youirself that you cani stop at any pin~tt upon the road to ruini and retrae your .-ep with *ease. .lluded raa.n, you uy see your error whenu it is too late;lfor there is a pjoint upoen the dangerous road bey ond which f'ew have ever Ireturned, and th~e.-e fewu have pserfonniedl t he i-at wtith superh unmam -.trurggles. You cani break thme habit nmoe-its fetters are not rivetted as yet, antd now is the timae is break li oe froms a cus tomu wich wuiill inev'itably ruin you if' yon la-r sist ti its~ practice. You atre strong enmough now to stop, and~ you peril yur life and souml by risking thet gathering: <bogemr any longer. Y outr h~elple, weaknce wilf comne uponi you in an hourt wheii you least e.':pect it. You will be in thme midst ot' a deb.neiinna: revel, andis g:munt dansger' will suddenly sinmd ut bjelre yeu, anud you will thlen feel your helleha'ness and want~ oh power to grapple i4th a curse the mnost ailie tive :.hat ever' scournged Lumianity. Stop int tuie. In the hearing cf an Irish case for assault and battery, a council, wvhile cross examiining one of the witnesses, asked himm what they had at the .first place they Stoui ped at ?. "Four glasses of ie." "What next?" :" Two glasse-- of whiskey." "~ What next ?" ":Oneglas of brandly." "Wa ext ?" "Afight." At Hamilton, Canada, thiere is a woman in prison fur civil debut. She has been there for seven years, and still no prospect fur her release. "There is a divinity that shapes our ends," as the pig remarked, when he was contemplating the kinks in his tail. A certain preache~r having changed his relig ion, was munch blamed by his friends fur having deserted them. To excuse himself, he said he had seven reasons, and being asked what they were replied," "a wife and six children." mny;Icharge five f er cent. a month[, and as you want o a huderta lea ejus fote dollars coming to you." Innocent borrower " Then if I wanted it for two years, there'd be something comitng to you chi?" Never let people work for you gratis. Twc years aigo a man carried a bundle for us, ant we have beeii lending hun two shillings a weekm ever since. -- Why is a loafer in a printing office like shade' gee ?-Deicause we are glad' when~ hu 110HE AMUSEIENTS. Home auusement-, of some kind, we hold to be necessarv ; and if ilecessary, then usefud. Alni in what they shall consist ? I should be gIal to have those who arecontiimally discoun tenancing this or that amusement to practice, suggest wome substitute which they could ap Iove. They take but do not give. The truth i;, there is reason to believe, many of them, at lea.it, having passed beyond tie period of youth t1emaelves, dismiss the idea that any amtise ments for this elaws. are necessarv oce at all desi rable. "1 When the young men and women of a fami ly come together it evening, having labored during the day behind the cotiner, perhaps, and inl the .chool room or shop with the younger children, who also have been tasked with the le,sons all that brain and nerve could bear, and Imayhgp soe associates of the former drop in to pend an hour in their company, shall relax ation and diversion be excluded? All will reconiize how aturvaly at uich scenes come in the 'iound of small talIk, which exi-ands into' Ilagrant gosip,-and how those too young to enjoy this kind of amusement, grow ill-natured, and engage in hickerings among themselves, till linally taey are sent dissatisfied to bed, in pun imbileent of olfences for which the head of the fami ly is ino.,t justly re-p..,ible. Within a few miionlths i intened to a some what noAite(d preacher of' our denomination-who settled ii another city, was on an exchange with a brother in Boston. le ended his sermon with ,.ase discussive remarkz by way of exhortation to his nea'ers, in the course of which he spoke to this efeet; ' I wiI,' said he, -you could see two httle boys of my conIgretationi, who have bvtely becoae subjects of divine grace.' He proceedei to repeat what these had related of themselves in the conference meeting. Oe said 'I uied to love to play with my little mates, u.'.31i to love to fly my kite-but now to read my Bible, is all I want.' To the preacher it seeied a matter for heaven ly congratulation, that. this tender child was in dutced to re.sign thus his playmates and plays to me it was rife with sad suggestions. Wbero, t wei ty years hence, will be that little buy who se:e~ellnenp t.> i Ohva that he could hest pi.:a-e tuc dart :.tviour 'vv continuialy eramping N ni-, growing Iraitme into a position and a place suited to study and soldering his inflexible mind to U. C tMeme, however pure and good. Pray God he may make a good miiionary, an editor of a religi-su, journal-a holy man in some ca pacity. wtiatsoever He appoints; but the child is a score of #ines inure liable to go to his grave voung., become the iinate of a madhouse, or, tader itill. turn from the way which seems to exaCt beyond what is nature's to give, backto the WCa.z andU beeiarly eiemients or the world. -- idu. I enr-eat, do not deprive the Cil-' dren n youth of the ainu.sements they value and wichlthe' enjoy with infintely more relish if their parents anu elders occzsionvlly engage with tuem, and give thiemn nothing suited to their years and ta.,tes in return. Prescribe while you proscribe."-Chistian Era. LIFE IN TEXAS. --K*V enihi -one,, hrrprea-g the N'.w Orleans Picaymien, owns lhirge estates in Texas. Writing to a friend in Boston, he d eteribes lii mode of life asjollows: You may. pierliaps. wish to learn the mode and manner of my life hereaways ; let ie en lghten vou. Three days in eaco week I ordi n'rily pas., at miy rncio here, three or four m1ile ,m New'1:annfes, with my lamily; I %o da.S [ sA.1ed at the Est:Cia, a 1.lace of mne . inilei We.,t, awdt where.ny flocks .. si'p u'e part-el ; :1id the other tw1o I am on i r. '.i h.&weV 'l., and irward.:, my con v ,..e an .1.1 .J..ey wr:g~n, with Iwo trusty harIs. '1 hee is e :ai, f4 eigt tu iles oll the rea'l u a1.nI a io-e. andA anlot hr of1 twelve yet the way is not I,;:me. uever pass over it wi.out sceir:g an:ai:mnee of deci:, turkies, dh:'. pamtides, and the lik e I carry along -id ofm a double-ferel gun, a Sharp's rifle, and one of C.lt's rechers, and somne kinl of gamle is aur'e to grace may wagon both going and coig. My "lheep now naumbe'r some three thousand,, :ni liner' flocks yout never mset eyes upon ; in .May heeo.e to bel :ale to conult upwin-ds of fouri th'i.--aml. as my lambls ceo me inl Ai~ril. 1 have, beides. a emne gAng of brood nmre--, besides soe forya cows, and like the clder M:'. Norval, "to i'eet my3 flock and increase my atore'" is now "my con:..tant care." I id I not once tell you that I imdl much rather see my lamebs skipping. npl' n t he lhil i mdl p'ai ng in t he valleys the' i ito ~ i$ wi t eiireauette.- and entehalS 01 the be.,t acorps. de ballet that ever existed ?. If I did not,.-ay as nuch to vou it is ne.vertheless true. I havr~e -eenm a good deal in may daty, .Jim.--the w'orbl. thle elphant,. &c., but neCver saw any' a iaa ;l cks whe'n dom'n well. A\nd .ince I hve'Ateen here on the spiet inl paer.ions, nlow nrh two vear's. I have haid extr'aordinary goodluckl ; I have not lost two lper cent. of my sheep peer ainn, and when 1 tell you that twenty per cent. 1s the avinLe 1-us4 the~ wor'ld over, 'you mnay well iml:,i'e that m~y success is reitmarka&bl'.. I never -eli a ewe or anything which prodluc'e<; I have ;a~nturage for twenty thmilaltd sheep aind an~y nuiber' ce orses and cmat tle ; and to see all this space ceredea is tio' what I aia working foi'. I don't bother my mind a mnomen~t about. Kansas, or Brigham Young, or pa hitis aof any kind--doni't care who. i~ l're~sidot--fear' God and hate the Indians am mndifferent about, Walker and thme devil try to keep my feet warum and head cool-and sn:ke my pipe in peitee with all mankind.. llere, notwithstandmng we occa-mionally have a cold aind bhustering norther.' our climato is d.elii'"m; I mamow writing, on this 1st Janna r', A. D., .I85, sitong in nay shirt sleeves, dors and window.- wide opaen, no lire, and ro biiis iad other summiiler birds singing in the gren lhve *.akds of1 my yard. Th ink of that, all maufled nyp :s you are, andI weep. A nid then here among ihe mzountains we hatvc no fevers, no chills, no' consumptions, no sickne:.s of any kind. Thbre's hahm in Texas. Tuia Cuina or IN-rEMPERlArE 1lABITS.-A no tionl pr'evails that a person addicted to alcohol stimuants cannot at once leave them oil with out danger of illness,'or great and long contin ucd snfferingr. TPhis i., an crror. A cup of' tea or' coff'ee will supply the needed tonic whmen a sense of ext austion is felt, and we have the au thority of an eminent physician for stating that no constitutional injury will be suffered from immediamte and total abstinence. The uncoum fortah'.e feelings will subside in forty-eight hours, and will be eniig over' ini a J'orluightl. Any mana who hats fmrm resoiution c'ani break himnself at once of the degrading and fatal habit of driking. Sesm'es~ PoETRIY.-It is really refreshing to cef across such a gem as the following. We would Jlike to read the entire poem of which this is hut an extract. The first bird of sp~ring attempted to sing, But ere he had .counded a note. lie fell from the iglb-ah, a dead bird was him Th'om'ale hll fis i hi thrat N.Ai'Y CHAPLAINS. The accepted mode of selecting Chaplains for the Army and Navy of the United States is strikingly at yaiance with tle spirit of our Federal and ..,t0 Con-,titutions. 'hese aflirim that the care of souls i4 a matter of strictly individual and not of public concern-that eve rv adult rational being should be left free to select his own creed an'l his own expounder of that creed-and that Governmnent sbould con 1ln'' it'elf to teInporal concerns, including the securing to each inlividul of his natural God given rights, leaving his spiritual and eternal well-beingr to tle ruidance of his owu judgment and. ebi-science. Ili the Army aid Navy all this is rever.cl A Chaplain is appointed to a vessel or a regiment withotit even a pretense of cnnsulting tle wishes or humoring tile religious conviction< of thoe to whom he is to rminister: they may be mainly Roman Catholics, while he I; a roaring denouncer of Popery-perhaps a Unitarian or Universalist,- whose clerical incul cations niust be niakedly aouminable in the eyes of the great body of the flock. It may thus be a matter (if conscience with the crew or regiment not to attend nor countenanee tiue m1ii.i'i ration1 of him whorm the Government hIas Np"poilteI tIleir spiritual g1ide. 01f course, l.; :,ervice.4 are wor-s than usele-s, and his 'alary a shecer r4lierv of the TrewNtiry. T/.EaiIer, an allytitan Iin 101r city. Ilirm., th-q, there. i.- :, pret y gIenleral til derstanding among the officers (not the seamen) Of c.:e NAVV, to Celce tIhe ue f the PoteitaIIL Episcopsal I.irurgy by the C.vl:aihn<, n1141 IIL.er of wh.t deinaoiltilu ionm. We learn th:It of the twenty-Iiur C h;.iai ens in our Navy, eleven a E ....lle of the thirteeun Ip i ted from :sopw: all oter. deliti o n Ilisllltiohl (compri sing, at :.entt nine-tetths of the AmriePn l'eo ple.) all bit l-2 have been dagoo::ed into tLe Use Of the Episcopul Liturgy. ie Examiner has a statement showing such results as might have been expected of ths quasi Chnreh Elablishmnent ill this free land. The Rev. Joseph Stockbridge (Baptist.) a Chap lain of si.xteen %:u.' .la wn4lr. was Urdered to and joined the Savannah, in t h'e R11 do la Plata, in Felr:.u-y, 1.0 i. lnt-.!:e Co nlllencing his first Sabbi h sv ice, he was re.n--te, byV h1", the Ca;pt:in and i: e Co:mnso-ore 1o nlev I;;:, P-pisCopdl Utnrtgy. whife hI rer:lined to 14). The niot Sumb lbrught a likm rlue0lst, Wit h :n intimation 1 ltet h iht he :-uperseled if he refused comp1liance. le did refn:e, never tlCless, and this rensai was the :i..tnal for the coinmmenement of system:tic vex.i1ion and :m novance00. He WaS first r.otified. Ib t.e Fir-t Lutenan~t tlhit :sngin:.. a.< a p;:rt ft di.'. ine sI r vi:e, wo111,1 by tile C Apains orurr, h1 ien e. Witi next, li. Slimd.1 * a reou wa I-cited with orangepeel ind otheit i mI it was broken I:1p; then he lountd Inusilf ex elide-I from s;ouial ilte'lu'Se :mdl the ur mian.iftletations of hospialit biv I le higher li cer.s ; at length a tumbier of water was thrown at him, w..ile at dinner, by a jlnior iller of ma-ries, whose arm was arrested by a: ,uperior cAllieer 4aS lie attempted to throw another tonz bier; aitnd ail the pinislieit vyiited oi the oifender was a formal reprilmaml. On appeal tnthe(hite) - ..:::ry. of the4avyittis4n:l swer was returned: " From examinin: all tihe i.::per;, I do not think tilat Lieut. li- inltenlded to S'riuk,, :It mrelv tu ijult or' iortiAy. by thro-win- water at the ch::phtil. * I do 1!otoniderq the case wort l of tie tijgnity01' U *-miL 2.2 * If a junior lieutenanft cod' b11 ". 3t a mnorv u'ngenith-numly or ims .:rM a a that w tf o.in-. 4 ton ih-r w : ni l i ";;If -- IV to insult or '. the b::!;5 t * : ; - - .,V~t thi:J :11t en dI- h ih ho : he tunilfr14 at the 4onan;n4l- N'y.:.-! I t' foll.,w it Ili y t:row i lthe, .d ih ha 1"ve Lwieen let "ff.,Iail W e tned. 1t ; ii . , e u .0. . I ipit. ti- 1 0 of~ t'oi. ti-'n II ' hi42. -\.A. '. and hiso-otnte .rneh-.wr:e - p ltei*v bi))en(' do4wn, be.'.e -4 d. i i b.: .r .t.CI t ;I u .1 te liur.r f1 an.er chV2 ma *I I : :aItL of wien lhe wI.. a me::b . 4n111r j l4in!i 'en ii t s Fe'.;al G~on' rn::.ent wold i..sis it-s Armaiy andi Navy ChaplainN, reslving~ neverL' to e!1lplo.-'~t ianm.'2. exsept by~ hir al1iope vo4e ofL the cre or r*..~egnet which i.; to be prolited i s'y the .ervi'e~s of sneh eiilin, its ownl co2n."deney~i wol be vidi catdu an~ud tue caus-e of1 reI4li d eiedl pro0 A notl Isr-:ns.Lt. 3[.'lni.-.Lii mt duiring ttempf wa~s made onl Wednesday4il1 :lom'l") . Phi.14b-hhia, to d4etroy' hi::ani l ig by i an I anl "if4t*-nal macine." Sita4lted no 1t a hudri"'d mi.e.; [romi the Ex:-han~tgc, ~.iL' 11I:iLa lce of bu: ne52s oft a1 well known barber, who ai '2clebate tr his early risiigr. Wes2ay n~ti rn11III 1' he camne to his shop just as. thle day ..- was h':;mon o dawnm:nd whi~ia &Iamt t-) 4nter he d1i-'overed' a1 veryI' nice: Iookn~ eigar ing' onl the .t-- . A the ' we:d" appeared1's to be v.:'ry chs';. lhe phie' it upi an2d lniaeed it in his pokeot. he wen4%1 hom1e to :,r ks'it, after which f..ing' like tinui a s-i-. s., h " !: 2ir 1d np" th ei:ar. i're'sently is not :te::d to) wh!'il* ,4moh4ing. anld lay:ig 'Nhia vania" ui. 41:i the muantetl.piece, hie rem~hi ed1 "thut is a.-.;-, bad igar." 1ua2 a1 ihor titme hiis sill. a1 $1mall t'i.ild, cioiamen1ced1" cu.5ims e)p lhe clr w-he~s he4 thuud in theo ee:4 Ire ; 'T.:;I aun twr1 inblus in lemvg.:th, canin21iigo p.a l-r and4 s -it The en-ds were 5so arrai~ned ats wihn .the IL-e r acbed tihe quill. thle shost would ty 11mo 1~ mouth of hes sta -ker! TIhis was ivA-ed, a very nrrow 4scape. The was t> be ~rcen is, a1 lni t, ill .Ins1ive\ ml.tfn : and~ ih eml.vuinaltpnC who tht. villhian who preparedt'4 ti.t'' "1.Cme1m- IS. P eronls' iren. to it2Itaserin the true2 statte 21 their lung, aedrce odwi suc breath as5 they convenienltly can ; they tare then o count ats ihr as the'y are able', ill a slow and. Iaudible voice't. withoutt draswings iln Ill))r breath. Thie ntumber of' sseounds ths:y '.) can <.aunne( coun21 tng must5 ihe calrefiuly obse4rved : ini at emanasIip tiv tile time does not exceed ten,. and j. fre quently less than six seconds , in pleurisy and pnleumoia it ranges fromnl' nine to line second4(i. When the lungs are in a sound cowuton, the time ill rauge as high as frm twemy2 to thir:y live seconds. AMssNN OF l'A1N5~.-48-The Washington cor rspon lent of the Richmond Ews2ndrer', dated 1111 instat, says'. It is now readily admitted 0on all sidles that the Administration will triumph, andi that Kansa: will be admitted under. the State Constitution a: now presented. Thu snbject was withheld f'ron te terrritorial commnittee by a vote of II toi 11 --how ing a defeat of the Lecomptonites by : single vote--with ae rserved strengtlh of' five '40te2 for Kiansas not yet polledl. Even if this resertVe4 strength could not be brought to belar upon)1 tin final l.sue, when reporte-d back fronm the specml Oemm ilittete, there is no doubt thet influence oif thll federal Admlinistration is sullicient to change: 'ote where the adverse majority is so smal!. A little stealing is a dangerous part, but seal ing largely is a noble art ;' 'tis mean11 to rob l en-roo..t of a hon, but stealing millions make I U)b@Mbnlene.