Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

THE HERALD ZVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING, At Newberry oe ii, BY TR. F. GIENEKR, Terms, $2.50 per Jnnum, A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Mscelll Invariably in Advance. ly- iegjr i!stopped at the expiration Of TN ,J timep urt ev in itMPi v &MM4zNoiexpiration ofo sb WEDNESDAY MORf meetnss and iba Gwen.r ers Cas T ARIE'S NEW POEM. - ,. LUKI. (In thi Colorado Park, 1873.) %f:*ot'edat yoa're.eadin'?-anoYel? Anov el-well darn my skin! You a man groW: a.ud bearded, and histing such stuff ez that in Stuff about gals and their sweethearts! So wonder you're thin as a knife. Look at mel cler two hundred-and never - twetd Que In my life. Msatsmy opinion o' novels. And ez.to their yin' round here. They belonged to the Jedge's daughter-the Jedge who come up last year On ount of his lungs and the mountains and the balsam o' pine and fir; And his daughter-well, she read novels, and --tuaes what's the matter with her. Yet she was sweet on the Jedge, and stuck by him dar-and night, Alone in the cabin up yer-till she grew like a ghost, all white. SShewas only a slip of a thing, ez light and es up and away Es ride smoke blown through the woods, but she wasn't my kind-no way! Speakin' o' gals, d'ye mind that house ez you rize the hill; A mile and a half from White's, and jist Sbove Mattingly's mill? You do? Well,now, thar's agal! What, you saw her? 0, come now, thar, quit! T 7T, Wonly bedevilin' you boys, for to me ihe don't cotton one bit. * so4 e 8 what I cill a gil-es pretty and plump ez a quail; teeth ez~white es a hound's and they'd go - though a tenpenny nail; Eyes ta can snap like a cap. So she asked to know "whar I wus hid?" She did! 0, it'sjest like her sass, for she's k eart ez i Katy-did. But what was I talking of?-0! the Jedge and his daughter-she read oels the widle day long, and I reckon she red Shem abed, And sometimeu she read them out loud to the Jedge on the porch where he sat, And 'twas how "Lord Augustus" said this, and how, "Lady Blance" she said that. But the sickest of all that I heard was a yarn that they rea&'bout a chap, * asther-Stocking" by name, and a hunter chock fall o' the greenness o' sap; And they asked me to hear, but I says, "Miss Mabel, not any for me; When I likes I kin sling my own lies. and that chap and I shouldn't agree." Yet somehow or oth: she was alway sayin' I brought her to mind Of folks about whom she had read, or suthin belike of that kind, And thar wa.r'% -no'end o' the names that she give me that summer up here, 'tobiu Hood," "Leather-Stocking," "Rob Boy,"-0, I tell you, the critter was queer. And yet, ef she hadn't been spiled, she was harmless enough in her way; She could jabber in French to her dad, and they'say tha:, she knew how to play; And she worked me that shot-pouch up thar -which the man doesn't live en kin use, ?n'd slippers-you ~see 'em down yer-ez would cradle an Injin's papoose. Yet along o' them novels, you see, she' was wastin' and mopin' away, And then she got shy with her tongue, and at last had nothin' to say; And whenever I happened around, her face it washbid by a book, And it warn't until she left that she give me eznch ez adook. And this was the way it was. It was night 1 rbenlIkemup here Te say to 'em all "good-by," for I reckone -- to gofor dear At "sun up" the day they left. So I shook 'em all round by the hand, 'Cept Mabel, and she was sick, ez they give me to understand. Busjist as I passed the house the next morn * ing at dawn, some one. Like a little waver o' mist, got up on the bill with the su Miss Mabel it was, alone-all wrapped;in a mantle of lace -And stood there straight in the road, with a touch 'o the sun in her face. And she looked me right in the eye-I'd seen suthin like it before -When I hunted a wounded doe to the edge of Clear Lake shore, And!I had my knee on its neck, and jist was raisin' my knife When it gave me a look like that, and-well, it got off with its life. "We are going to-day," she said, "and I thought!I would say good-by To you in your own house, Luke--these woods and the bright blue sky! You've always been kind to us, Luke, and papa has found you still As good as the air be breathes, and whole some as Laurel Tree Hill. "And we'll always think of you, Luke, as the thing we could not take away; The balsam that dwells in the woods, the ~ainNw that lives in the spray, -- AnDyOn'll sometimes think- of me, Luke, as you know you once used to say, A rile smoke blown through the woods, a moment, but never to stay." And then we shook hands. She turned, but a.sndenit she tottered and fell, * ~n-I aught her sharp by the -waist, and held her a minit-Well, It was only minit, you know, that en cold and ez white she lay Es a snow-fiake here on my breast, and then -well she melted away And wasgone* And thar are her books; but I says not any for rme, Goqd enough,may be for some, but them and I mighn't agree. They spiled a decent gal en might have made some chap a wife, And look at me!-clar two hundred-and never rad inmy life!i -. -Sribner's. ~It iseasy in the. world to live after the world's opinion; it is .easy in solitude to live af ter your own; but the great man is he who, -the midst of the crowd, keeps eth perfect sweetness the inde Sdence of the solitude. his la sense and exalted sense are s~y hal1f so valuable as common *f P8%d yet dollars and cents out it. lay he al [From the Rural Sun. A Meat and Bread Ser mon for Improvident Farmers. BY BOAZ. Children have you any meat? John, chapter-verse-, - I once heard an old minister preach a funeral sermon from this text, and he said that it could be found somewhere in John. I don't know whether he told the truth or not, but, for the purpose of this ser. mon, I will be rash enough to take for granted that he did. I do not remember that I ever saw it there, to my shame perhaps be it said, but if my present hearers know as little about the matter as I do, I can assert with assurance, on the authority of our beloved bro ther of a peculiar persuasion, that the text is there, and none of you can say aught to the contrary. Therefore I will say to you, Iry scaly back auditors, that my text isinJohn,andwountoyouand your children, and unto your children's children for coming generations ad infinitum, if you give not great or heed to that which your hum ble preachist has to say about the passage then to the particular lo cus in quo the beautiful language was originally written whether in the Bible or almanac, or the dic tionary, or any book under the sun. But the word "originally" brings me back to the origin of my remarks, and forces out of my burdened heart the pathetic inqui ry, CHILDREN, HAVE YOU ANY MEAT?. Before proceeding to unveil the mysteries and to elaborate the beauties of my text in all their in tricate ramifications, I feel con strained to say that I suspect.our peculiar brother misapprehended the meaning of the language, as he stood in the midst of the weep ing relatives of the defunct whose funeral he was preaching, and, with his eyes turned skyward, propounded the searching inquiry, unless peradventure, he had failed in obtaining his matutinal repast, in which event it was natural that be should have been more thought ful of the comforts of his craving stomach, than to the bereaved barts of his h'earers. I am not preaching a funeral sermon my beloved, but verily I say unto you, that a failure to give proper heed to the teachings of this beautiful text 'sill be a public invitation to the funeral of your fortunes, your farms and your country, and you will: wanderithrough the land, like the lain ind melancholy ghost thatichases along.the River Styx without the cash to pay the fer riage, "and your voices will be bea'id ike the voice of the Hie brews by the rivers of Babylon, owling to every passing breeze, CHILDREN HAVE YOU ANY MET9 Awake, therefore, ye slothful agriculturist, awake, and lend me your ears, 'while.I elucidate and frctify the everlasting truths that corruscate along the everlast ing crests of my text, like-like like-plague it, like. "John Brown's soul that still marches on." I propose, then, to consider the meaning of the words in this beautiful passage, in a two-fold light.. I-INDIVIDUALITY. II-coLLEcTIVELY. I would remark that there are only'two words in the text which I1 deem it necessary to individual ize, and to catch the true ring of, as the miser catcheth the ring of his coin before lhe drops it into his old sock and hides it under the hearth, and those two words are "children" and "meat." I opine, my beloved, that the word chil dren in the text ha,s a much broad r signification than that segment of the human family which the old woman of the country spank with impunity, and glory in the blessed consciousness that they can do it again if they want to. I am per suaded that in the full amplitude of its height and depth, its length and its' breadth, it includes every native born American citizen, wite and black, blue, and yellow and gray, male and female, old and young, together with all the rest of man and woman on the face of this time-bound earth, and I do not think, therefore, my be nighted friends, that I would be stretching my imagination too far if I were to venture the asser tion that it includes even you. The word "meat" meaneth not alone the aggregated globules which formeth the fleshy portions of the corporeal tabernacles in [whic the spiritual essences of the beasts of the field, the fowls of the air, and the fish of the deep st "live and move and have their be ing," but to every eatable thing ei under the sun which the tongue of n< man bankereth after, or which he tl hideth beneath the broad bosom of his abdominal ocean, for it is tr said "his meat was locust and wild tl honey." I say, therefore, my bre- di thren, that meat here means "vit- b] ties" whether it be "chicken fix- g< ins" or "flour doins," ham bones hi or corn dodgers, pickle pork -or y< biled cabbage and I challenge the isv universal creation to refute the w correctness of my doctrine. m Judging by the shine of your A eyes, my hearers, that you have ki imbibed my meaning thus far, I at will now proceed to the second head and take a bird's eve view of cc my subject. - L COLLECTIVELY. d< Having eliminated the true doc- at trice involved in the words chil- 1o dren and meat. It is easy to arrive P at the collective meaning of the sl whole passage, and instead of say- h4 ing, children, have you any meat, b we may express the same senti- r ment in the more artistic and P poetical paraphrase, 0. Ir' o! FARMER, HAST THOU ANY "VIT TLES?" pi "Aye, there's the rub." Hast PI thou the wherewitbal-not to 0, gorge thy everlasting stomach at the next meal-but to feed thy- c( self and thy family, thine ox an h thine ass, thy hogs and thy cattle, even unto the sheep that browse upon thy pastures, and the gob- fu bler that struts in thy barn-yard, A until another crop shall come in the fullness of time. IV 0! my brethren if I could con- fr vert myself into an angel and soar with the speed of thought through-5s out the length and breadth of this Southern clime, and paus- e. ing at every doorstep, exclaim in st "thoughts that breathe and words that burn," FARMER HAST THOU ANY "VITTLES?" how many in this congregation s could rise up and, shaking the dew bl drops from their sbaggy manes, answer proudly, "YEA FATHER, I HAVE. Weeping, I pause for a reply. Oh I my brethren, many are call- ot ed but few are chosen, and hang- SI dog looks proclaim .with trumpet G -tongue that most of you are in the ti vocative. Then wo unto you, fool- m ish farmers, for verily you are lay- tU ing up for yourselves hunger against the day of hunger. Wo - unto you I say, for the folly of the foolish virgins that trimmed not their lamps was wisdom com pared with your idiotic neglect. Wo unto you and unto your io wives; wo unto your flocks and ti unto your children. Wo! wo! wo ! Alas ! echo answers wo ! Excuse me, my beloved, while I pause in the presence of this pic ture to weep and-blow awhile, hi Vanity of vanities, saith the s preacher, vanity of vanities; all is 01 vanity,-the- son of David, king ci of Jerusalem, must have invented ~ that idea on a '.full stomach, c whereby his reason w as clouded, s' for the doctrine which he there p propounds is not altogether cor- 1 rect. A myriad of voices spring ai spontaneously from the universal ti animated creation, and uniting in S' one grand choral strain, proclaim cC in tones of thunder that "vittles" ~ is not vanity, and I feel sure, my ce brethren, that you will all take s1 stock with me in that beautiful ' and pathetic sentiment. Give me "vittles" or give me death.b It has been beautifully said that u bread is the staff of life. I can tI vouch for the truth of this re mark with painful fervor, for ~ verily 1 say unto you that, in my bi meanderings through these low a grounds of sin and sorrow, it hath s often happened that portion of my ,u earthly tabernacle, which is grace- 0 fully encircled with the waistbandb of my breeches, hath travailed forb 'vittles," and, even so have I been forced to cry unto the children of J Mammnon in the language of my text,h CHILDREN HAVE YOU-ANY MEAT?9 If therefore ye raise not the a "vittles," how can ye have the ci staff, and if ye have not the staff how can ye support the life, and d if ye support not the life, what in the thunder is to become of the b country and the preachers? I will tl tell you, my agrarian brethren, a what will become ot you. You will sit, like the prodigal sonc among the swine, and dolefully sing,d I want but "vittles" here below, I' And want that "vittles" quick, Or I shall wipe my weeping eyes, And the bucket soonly kick. t "No we wont," some chuckle ii headed brother will say, "we will d arise and go unto our merchant I and huy the fatted calf Qfn tick." i But what if the merchant should i "0 foolish and impecunious gen- t ,ation, ye seeketh after tick, and c > tick shall be given you savc r c tick of the prophet Jonah." i You know; my brethren, he ied to obey the Lord on tick, and t e consequence was that he got a icked in the sea, and swallowed t a whale, and walloped around t nerally in the way that made e m "git up and git." Just so will t on get soused in a sea of trouble, ,allowed by a whale of debt, and ( lloped about until you will look p eaner than that yaller - dog that v lam found slinking around his s tchen, and has slunk around the t iiversal creation ever since. i 0, misguided brethren, are you a ntent to sit, like a legion of r izurases, at your merchant's r >or's and feed on the crumbsyou c e free born American citizens as t ng as you whine after others for d >ur "vittles ?" Then rise, rise, ye t >thful tarmers, from the bog C )les of credit, soar aloft on the i essed consciousness of having 1 ised your own "vittles," and E ar after year you will rise high and higher, and when your es shall reach the 'sere and yel- E w leaf," you will perch on the E nnacle of independence, and, I anting the point of your thumb I i the apex of your nose, you will C able to twist your fingers in < intemptuous defiance at t hei >rdes of Shylocks who lie in i ait for the unwary farmer, try g to gobble up all he makes by rnishing him with "vittles." < nd when the caterpillar, like the E gel of death, shall spread his ings on the blast. and sweeping )m cotton field to cotton field; all gather into his capacious ] omach the crop of the South, F en rising from his feast, like an I gle with bloody talons, shall artle the land with his exultant reams of [ILDREN WHERE'S YOUR VITTLES ? en you will be able to smile vith a smile that is child-like and and," and shout back the defiant iswer: "I got you that time old fellow, raised 'em myself." Then from every hill-top and it of every valley between Boss ieppard's ranche, a n d t h e reasers of Mexico, ten thousand nes ten thousand "sperits of just en made perfect" will kick up eir heels and shout, BULLY FOR YOU. We copy from the Christian Un n the following pen picture by e0 Rev. Henry Ward Beecher: THE PROSTRATE STATE. It would be hard tL . nd in the story of modern nations a morei .ddening or disgustful picture 'the wreck and desolation of so ety than is presented at this me ent in South Carolina; and the< indition of South Carolina, we I ippose while p erh a ps more1 eturesquely miserable, is but a < npe of the social wretchednesst id the political shame which at *ch to the other States of the fari uth. These are facts whichi meern not alone the States im ediately immersed in this civic iaos. The nation is a partner lip in diseases and disgraces as< el as in benefits; with the suf ring of one member all the mom-i ~rs suffer, and whatever is a blot >on Texas or Georgia stains1 rough to Maine. The time has 11y arrived when all citizens ho do not believe that "our po ~ical system can stand anything id defy anything" should condo end to cast some serious glance pon the hapless circumstances of ir friends and brethren of the uthern States. Of this we mayi sure: that the present apathy1 :Northern people upon this sub et is. largely conditioned on their norance of the real state of the ~so; and the diffculty with us as been that we could not all go the South to see for ourselves, ad that we could not thoroughly >nfide in the testimony of those ho did go. It is greatly to be ssired that some Northern men l real ability, and of unquestiona le repute among us, could pass irough the Southern lands and ~udy the actual situation, and re ort to us in terms which we yuld altogether trust. From this point of view, we eem it an event to be particular r mentioned that one such citizen, [r. James S. Pike, an old aboli onist, a journalist of high stand ig, and, by appointment of Presi ent Lincoln, late Minister of theI inited States at the Hague, took ae trouble to go to South Caroli a during the last session of its jegislature, and to spend two aonths at its capital in the study f men and things. He has now aade his report, and has embodied t in a little book, just issued by the Lppletons, and bearing the gloomy itle that stands at the head of this ,rticle. The book is so small 14t it can be read in an evening, ut it is large enough to give to very American anxious refl'ection Dr many a day. Mr. Pike finds society in South ,arolina "bottom side up." The eople of character and culture, 7ho, in a normal and righteous tate of affairs, would give direc ion and tone to public proceed ags, are trampled under foot by host of voting barbarians-"the lost ignorant democracy that iankind ever saw"-"the dregs f the population babilitated in he robes bf their intelligent pre ecessors, and asserting o v e r hem the rule of ignorance and orruption through the inexorable nachinery of a majority of num ers." Carpet-bag rule is at an nd in South Carolina, for the arpet-baggers were,on the outside t least, white men. Even ne ,roes tainted with white blood,and o unfortunate as to have the no )le blackness of the ancestral com )lexion debilitated into some shade f yellow,are beginning to feel the ontemptuous antagonism of the inmixed African, who means to iave things all his own way there. 3y sheer force of superior numbers he ignorant aud unprincipled lass have taken complete posses ion of the government of the 'tate. And what sort of a gov rnment have they formed? Ac ording to the testimony of Mr. ?ike, the rule of South Caro!ira hould not be dignified with the iame of a government. It is the nstallation of a huge system of rigandage. The men who have kad it in control, and the men vho now have it in control,are the >icked villains of the community. Choy are the highwaymen of the >tate. They are professional legis ative robbers. They are men vho have studied and practiced he art of legalized theft. They re in no sense different from, or >etter than, the men who fill the )risons and penitentiaries of the vorld. They are, in fact, of pre isely that class, only more daring .nd audacious. The sole, base >bject is to gorge the individual vith public pl1u nd er . Having lone it, they turn around and buy mmunity for their acts by sharing heir gains with the ignorant, >auperized, besotted crowd who iave chosen them to the stations hey fill, and which enable them hus to' rob and plunder." If be asked how the corrup ions of the South Carolina Gov ~rnment differ from the exception I venality of certain Northern leg. slatures, this is Mr. Pike's answer: C~he latter, while less in effrontery mnd in degree than the former, and pringing from different causes, an also "be promptly remedied >y exposure and by an appeal to he intelligence and virtue of the ~onstituency ; in the other case, here is no such tribunal to appeal o. It is a moral morass in which here is neither standing nor hold ng ground." "So tainted is the tmosphere with corruption, so iniversallyimplicated is everybody bout the Government, of such a :haracter are the ornaments of society at the capital, that there s no such thing as an influential ocal opinion to be brought against he scamps. They plunder and ~lory in it. 'How did you get tour money ?' was asked of a rominent legislator and lobbyist. I stole it,' was the prompt re The impression made upon us >y Mr. Pike's report concerning I'he Prostrate State is that noth ncan save society there from itter dissolution but the speedy ichievement of rule by the classes wvho ought always rule. We re ~ret that Mr. Pike, in announcing in opinion substantially the samec as this, seems to us to imply thai these classes can be ascertained by :olor. We know that this cannel be his real meaning, but the force and value of his book are likely te be adapted by a certain indiscri. minmate denunciation of black met because they are black, and at equally indiscriminate commenda tion of white men because they are white. What is wanted to save South Carolina is not a rally o: white people against black people but of honest men of all colorn against scoundrels of all colors. We must-not despair of the Re public, even though that Republi be South Carolina, and ever though it have become a den o thieves. And the specific advic< which Mr. Pike gives a a suggen iem also away. These two men will ize into each other's faces-wan, iin, hungry, shivering, despairing. peech will have deserted them. Si- v nt, gazing each into eternity-more s !ad than living-an overpowering em ion-an inspiring hope-and one of r iem drops by the feet of the sole sur- s: vor of God's intelligent race. h "Who can say what a tide of re- n e.tions will rush for an instant v Lrough the soul of the last man? Tho shall listen to his voice, if he 0 eaks? On whose ear shall fall the d -cents of his sorrow, his wonder. or s hope? Thrice honored, thrice ex- a ted man! He stands there to testify V r all mankind. On him has been v -volved the unique duty of uttering U ie farewell of our race to its ancient t id much-loved home. In what words V ill he say farewell ? : "Thelast man has composed his body I eternal rest. The once fair earth C a cold and desolate corse. Nature's ars are ice; she weeps no more. The 1 ce of the sun is veiled. It is mid- S ight in the highways of the planets. f he spirits of heaven mourn at the f iueral of Nature. a "Let not the reader be distressed at 2is picture The last two men will c e neither our children nor our chil- r ren's children. Our thoughts have I een wanderings through cycles of ears. The clock of eternity ticks not .conds, but centuries. We shall not nxiously measure the sun's intensity I rom day to day, nor from year to i ear,lest we be able to discover his wan- < ag strength. The embers of a bon- I re will furnish warmth for the life of I n ephemeron. A molten lava-stream 1 onsumes a hundred years in cooling. 'he great globe of the earth, which I cooling now at the rate of a degree in 1 hirty-five thousand years, was once a phere of molten granite, and has con- 1 umed time enough to pass from that tate to this. The sun is so vast that hough he began to cool at a still re aoter epoch, the temperature retained o-day is 46,000 times as high as that ,f the surface of our planet. The poch when his rays will be sensibly reakened is at a distance expressed y million of years. "What thoughts rise upon us as we Ltter these words! We hang here upon ur planet, poised in the midst of in Inite space and infinite time. Whence re came, we know not; whither are we ound, hope and faith only can reveal. Ve open our eyes for a moment, like .n infant in its sleep, and anon they re closed; or, perchance, like the raking somnambulist, in his fall from he house-top to the pavement, we ouse to an instant's consciousness of he rush of events and the coming rash--and the busy activities of Na ure move on as if we had not exist OPEN FIREs.-A furnace in the ecllar may be good to take the hill from the house, and to heat its ialls and passages, but it ought uot to supersede the fireplace in >arlor and chamber, at once the rEntilater of the room and its cen er of cheer and joy. No appara us of ventilation has yet been de ised equal to the old-fashioned himney. Even when no fire is nade in the aperture, this avenue uf the open air draws its currents Lnd keeps the atmosphere pure. here there is no open fireplace, o0 free flue, there will be a sense f asphyxia in those stormy nights w'hen the windows must be fastened >lose. Every room in the house vhich is used to sit io or sleep in >ugtht to have a sufficient oponmng nto the chimney, larger than the >rifice of a stove pipe. No matter f the heated air escapes by it; it s better to lose half of the heated tir than to be breathing stagnant tir that is already deprived of its >xygen. In the spring and au umn, the fireplace with wood on he andirons gives all the heat that ~i!I be needed, and gives it more ~racefully than the blasts from any 'register." T HE ELooMr OF AGE.-A g!)od wo nan never grows old. Years may >ass over her head, but if benevo ence and virtue d wellin her heart, ~he is cheerful as when the spring >f life first opened to her view. WVhen we look upon a good woman ve never think of her age; she looks is charming as when the rose of routh first bloomed on her cheek. rhat rose has not faded yet; it will never fade. In her neighborhood she is the friend and benefac tor. Who does not respect and Love the woman who has passed her days in acts of kindness and mercy? We repeat, such a. woman can not grow old. She will always be fresh and buoyant in spirits, and active in humble deeds of rner cy and benevolence. If the young lady desires to retain the bloom and beauty of youth, let her not yield to the sway of fashion and folly, let her love truth and virtue; and to the close of life she will re tain those feelings which now make life appear a garden of sweets vne fresh and new. ON WASTING TIME. t t "Here you are, sir, wasting your r aluable time-as they say to me," b Lid Charles Dickens one morning, iany years ago, as his little boy in up to him on the Broadstairs inds, spade in hand. And we ave often wondered since how t iany people there are who know rhat is meant by wasting time. It is very easy to make mistakes n this subject for nothing is so eceitful as appearances. We all now that Penelope, that classic I model of propriety and all the irtues, employed her time in reaving a garment by day, and nraveling it at night. She did his to keep off her lovers, who ranted to pursuade her that her u s b a n d Ulysses was dead. hen the suitors found her out, f course they accused her of wast 3g time-but at that moment Ilysses knocked at the door, after eeing many men and cities. In act, he had come home, and the %ir Penelope had her reward after 11. Surely it is waste of time for that ld tortoise to try and beat the timble hare at racing, but the sil y old thing will crawl on without topping, at about the pace one ,ets down the Strand on a rainy lay. Presently, down comes the iare at a furious pace-there is no vasting time with him at all ivents-but, alas! when he arrives >reathless at the winning-post, he inds the old tortoise there before lim, and fast asleep, too, Ah !" ays the hare, "I wish I had ta ren my nap at the end instead of ;he begining of the race, and then [ should have won it and that tor oime might have crawled in vain; Ls it is, he has made good use of is time, and I have wasted nine. What an idle man that is yon ler, fishing hour after hour ! Truly i melancholy spectacle, as stern >ld Doctor Johnson would sav. 'A line with a worm at one end ind a fool at the other." Wrong igainl That man is an eminent itatesman, who has escaped to re ,ruit his weary brain in the com pany of the kingfisher and the her >n. What eloquence, wisdom and wholesome legislation do not we Dwe to such hours of idleness! NTay, do not some of our best and kidndliest thoughts often come to us as we sit on the beach and toss pebbles into the shining sea coy 3red with its "innu merable smiles ?" Recreation is non waste when it is a rest from real work. and a pre paration for more. We confess we never feel at home with a man who must al ways be doing something. There was a French statesman who wrote a huge book by snatches, in those accasional intervals when he hap. pened to be kept waiting for his sinner. We have not the slight sst wish to see this ante-prandial performance. We do not doubt it was a very dull book, for men who are never at leisure are always dull. Fussy men and idle men are e :iually insufferable to us. The real worker is never in a hurry, and the real idler, we may add, is never anything else. Who ever heard of Lord Palmerston, or the Duke of Wellington, or Lord Brougham being in a hurry ? When we see a man in a great hurry, we may be pretty certain that his profession consists in doing nothing, and that he is doing that badly. The idlest man we ever saw was always so much pressed for time tbat he never had five minutes to spare ror anything. No one need ever be in such a terrible hurry as this. If we ever find ourselves so, it is probably because we have been wasting our time. We have had no system, and have, therefore, :ione in an hour what ought to have been finished in twenty min ates; or, like the hare, we have loi tered on the way, and then we make a push for it, and arrive just in time to miss the train. How many hares there are eve ry morning who arrive breathless in the city, because breakfast was half an hour late, or because they would not get up when the clock struck seven. But our readers have a right to ask what constitutes, as a general rule, waste of time. We answer in a single sentence-whatever hinders or prevents your doing your work in life. Every one should realize that his duty here consists in applying himself to some worthy work, and his time may then safely and withon.t waste be divided into three periods-pre paring for work, doing work, and resting fromwork. Waste of time, then, becomes a thing.purely rela tive. What is mere waste in one case is real profit in another. The idle man who- travels simply for nleasure. is simply wasting his. tion of remedy t the people of ti that State is in the main wise and g good. He advises them to hold tl on to the faith that the State can S be redeemed; to make a systemat- le ic effort to attract foreign immi- d gration to the State ; to get rid of oi their hereditary prejudice against ti strangers, and of their old-time v intolerence of opposing opinions. It is not a war of races or of colors fi that should be brought on; but ti a calm, resolute patient increase V and combination of tho forces of sl good in society against the force a of evil. Society needs to be turn- h ed right side up; and in this ef- al fort let all men help who can, fc whatever be their color. d t] We extract from a book published' a, in 1871, called "Sketches of Creation," V written by Alexander Winchell, of Michigan, the following fine piece of t< composition. We have no doubt that i4 many of our readers who are looking t( forward to the great Conflagration Day f will be startled at a view so different n from their own. After stating reasons 'I which, from a scientific point of view, f are plausible, he says : "The conviction can not be resist- t] ed that the processes going forward b before our eyes aim directly at the fi- d nal extinction of the solar fire. Helm- b holtz says: "The inexorable laws of y mechanics show that the store of heat s in the sun must be finally exhausted." a What a conception overshadows and f overpowers the mind! We are forced y to contemplate the slow waning of that i beneficent orb whose vivid light and f cheering warmth anmate and vivify a the circuit of the solr= system. For c ages past unbounded gifts have been wasted through all the expanding fields of space-wasted, I say, since t less than a half a billionth of his rays s have fallen upon our planet. The s treasury of life and motion from age s to age is running lower and lower. t The great sun which, stricken with 1 the pangs of dissolution, has bravely looked down with steady ani undimmed C eye upon our earth ever since organiza tion first bloomed upon it,is nevertheless i a dying existence. The pelting rain of I cosmical matter descending upon his surface can only retard, for a limited i time, the encroachments of the mor- < tal rigors, as friction may perpetuate, f for a few brief moments, the vital 1 warmth of a dying man. The time is I coming when the July sun will shine with a paler light than he now gives us at the winter solstice. The nations of men, if they still exist, will have emni- 1 grated from the temperate to the equa torial regions. New diseases will have diminished their numbers. Polart frost will have crept stealthily and< steadily from Behring's Straits to the I Gulf of Mexico. Continental glaciers will again have brooded over the land. The prairie blossom will-have perish ed beneath a mantle of snow as limit less as now the prairie expanse. The fluent rivers will have been chained to their rocky banks. The ruins of great cities will be bemoaned by wintryI winds howling past in rage at the pre sence of unending frost. If yet a nar row.belt remains where sickly ver dure maintains the desperate conflict with the powers of cold, it is a dwarf ed and arctic vegetation. The magnolia I has given place to the birch. The cypress has been supplanted by the1li chen-covered fir. The emerald has de parted from the shivering leaf, and I even the hardy violet is pale unto death. All things have assumed a faded and leaden hue. The Mongo lian is not known from the Caucasian. Even the sooty negro, if he be not ex tinct, blanched from the want of light and heat, can only be recognized by his features. Pale, thin, and feeble, the shivering remnant of humanity have gathered themselves together in to compact communities for economy of vital warmth. Forests are con sumed to thaw the soil. Temples,1 costly structures-the patient rearing of the golden ages of the race-are pull ed down to eke out the scanty supply of fuel. Men return to caves, whence they came in the beginning. Na ture has become their enemy. Science and art are forgotten. The page which narrates the glory of the nineteenth century is like the narrative which tells us of the labors of the men upon the plains of Shinar. Year by year the populations become less-year by year the dread empire of frost is ex tended. Forests have been consumed; cities have been burned; navies have rotted in the deserted, icc-locked har bars ; men have immured themselves in gloomy caverns till they have al most lost the forms of humanity. "The end arrives. Unless some sudden catastrophe shall sweep the race from being in a day, t e time will !come when two men will alone sur vive of all the human race. Two men will look around upon the ruins of the workmanship of a mighty people. Two men will gaze upon the tombs of the human family. Two men will stand 1petrified at the sight of perhaps a hun Cdred thousand c or ps e a prostrated Saround them 5y the dire hardships -mwich every moment threaten to carry ime; the man who travels for safe 7, or the man who travels to get est from work, or for the sake of is health, is not wasting or abu ing his time, he is turning it to ood account. Let the heart be fillad with some ood principle of action, and let he mind be directed towards some ongenial pursuits, and then our in ocent pleasures will be as little a danger of degenerating into riminal indulgence, as our whole ome recreations into waste of ime.-Cassell's Maga:ine AUGHTER AS'A 31EDICINE. A short time since two individuals vere lying in one room very sick, ne with brain fever, and the oth :r with an aggravated case of the numps. They were so low that vatchers were needed every night, .nd it was thought doubtful if the ne sick of fever would recover. A gentleman was engaged to watch >ver night, his duty being to wake he nurse whenever it became nec ssary to administer the medicine. :n the course of the night both vatcher and nurse fell aslee. [he man with the mumps lay vatching the clock, and saw that t was time to give the fever pa ;ient his portion. He was unable -o speak aloud, or to move any )ortion of his body except his irms, but, seizing a pilow, he nanaged to strike the watcher in the face with it. Thus suddenly iwakened, the watcher sprang From his seat, falling to the floor, and awakened both the nurse and the fever patient. The incident struck the sick men as very ludi crous, and they laughed heartily at it for some fifteen or twenty minutes. When the doctor camo in the morning he found his pa tient vastly improved; said he never knew so sudden a turn for the better, and now both are up and well. Who says laughter is not the best of medicine? And this reminds the writer of another case. A gentleman was suffering form an ulceration in the throat, which at length became so swollen that his life was dispaired of. His household came to his bedside to bid him farewell. Each individ ual shook hands with the dying man, and then went away weeping. Last of all came a pet ape, and shaking the man's hand, went away also with its hand over its eyes. It was so ludicrous a sight that the patient was forced to laugh, and la.nghed so heartily that the ulcer broke, and his life was saved. KISsING IN RUSssI.-Kissing, which with the western nation is a caress, seems to be considered in Russia rather as a greeting, a na tional salute anuniversalenustom,de rived from remote antiquity. A traveller in that country says not only husbands kiss their wives, and fathers their children, when ever they enter and leave their apartments, though it be forty times a day, but men kiss each other-the Emperor kisses his officers-smart cadets are reward ed with an imperial kiss-old generals with rusty moustachios kiss-w h o 1 e regiments kiss. It is said that one of the bridges in St. Petersburg is to this day called Potzalui Most,or Bridge of kisses, in commemoration of Peter the Great, who, having in a fit of pas sion unjustly degraded an officer in the face of his whole regiment, kissed the poor man in the same open way, upon the next public ceccasion, on this very bridge. AN INGENIoUs DEVICE.-The Sul tan's favorito dwarf, a man about 4') years old, and 3 feet high, a few years ago, took a notion to maary, ar.d applied to the Sultan for a wife Thie Sultan gave&him permission to go into his harem, and take the one whom he could kiss. The dwarf, like all other men, was am bitious to have a long wife. While the Sultan's five hundred women, who knew the terms according to which the dwarf was permitted to choose, were laughing at the man ikin he went up to one of the tallest and handsomest of them, and struck her a sudden blow on the stomach. She collapsed with the pain, and, before she could recover, he caught her by the neck and gave her the dreaded kiss. The Sultan kept his word, and the tall beauty is now the mother of the dwarf's children. A St. Louis gentleman took a room at a Chicago boarding house recently, and was aroused early the following morning by the chambermaid, who remarked that, as it was near time to set the break fast table, she would have to troub