The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, March 20, 1856, Image 1
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VOL 2. . 11
tjf Inirtjjtrn dfrrftrjirise,
% A REFLEX OF POPULAR EVENTS
>Wr3)L!5.n^T IP.
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
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AOKNT8.
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CAPT. R. Q. ANDERSON, Cedar Falls. Greenville
$tlcrtrit ^nctnj.
..... . a .
From the Philadelphia American Courier.
]f\ Iff e h) o J* i q ft).
LINES
Oi% the Death of Mr*. Caroline Lee ffentz.
F-rofre'), sweet sister?if that name from mo
Be not presumption when addressed to thee,
Whose light transcends my humble ray, as far,
^ep'er the glow- worm beams the evening star,?
Farewell 1 If friendship's tear and fond regret
Can soothe the moments ere our sun may set,
. Serene indeed were thine, eould'st thou but
know
Ten thousand hearts would grieve and sad tears
How,
As o'er a continent the tidings spread:
The gifed one, our favorite is dead I"
Methinka 1 seo around thy death-bed stand
A beautiful, but sad and silent b and.
Thy failing eyes, that glance from face to fuce,
Not ans reproach or look of censure trace ;
But only gratitudoand sorrow And
] n thou the children?offsi>riuif of the mind.
Above thy pillow see one bending there?
Tie gentle "Rosa," but as bright 'TEcliur,**
And by her side, with grief upon his brow,
.Stands "Marcus Warlaad," ' Rosa's*' husband now,
Fair "Linda's" soft bluo eyes suffuse with tears,
As "Aristides*" mournful plaint she hears ;
While "Robert Graham's" low and solemn voice
Bids thy faint soul in heaven's pure light rejoice,
fine "Tiada's" cherub boy with wouder ga.se
Upon brave "Tuecnrora's" swarthy face,
And with his tiny haud so vainly seek
To brush Uie tear drop from his dusky cheek.
Yair 'Snowbird,' "Rena," hovers near thy bed,
Ilor bgght eyes dim, her blushing roses fled ;
And dark-browed "Ilotuer,** new a radiant saint.
Awaits the moment, when, with spirit faint
And falling breath, and slowly-fading sight,
Thy earth freed, being takes its upward .flight?
Thai he, repentant, all his sius forgiven,
May guide thee to thy future home in Heaven.
YareweD, then, eiater! May oat thou calmly rest,
By countless loving hearts so truly blest;
Though thou are dead, thy memory will live
While these thy spirit-children still can give
One pleasure thrill, one sympathetic tear,
To wake a thought of her who made them dear.
By blessings, wafted, fettered not by siglis,
Thy joyous spirit seeks its native skies;
And while we mourn that earthly ties are riven,
^ There is one angel more received in Heaven.
BESSIE BEECH WOOD.
PiULADBLTRiA, Feb 22, 186?.
JKiBwllBimma ^btcjjts.
Ik Syipg fiilrl.
;< ?; IT VB8. M. A. DIKNMOS.
4Now doctor,' said a sweet faced girl,
looking with confidence into the kind zkee
that had bent over her so often, 'tell me is
there any oertainty that 1 shall ever recover?
I think not; so you see I am prepared for ill
n -ifiirg"3, iiid I ?31 CC-atlBtSS!!? my.
self with the question. Will yon not be
candid witli me, dear Dr. Ellis f
'While there is life*?commenced the Doctor,
but the frail young creature interrupted
Lira, saying:
'No no, doctor, that won't do; I must
l?av? your professional opinion ; and when I
any that my sour* happiness, for the remnant
of thia lifa will be effected by your decision,
sure you will grant me tin* request.'
I 'But could you bear .'
'Anything, doctor, but (hi* suspense. I
am wiping to be told the exact state of the
casefor, you %ee, some days I feel so really
well, that my hope unduly excited, and
again, when the sleepless hours and lerri
bJe pain* oome, death lakes an awful shape,
and frightens me out of my repose. But H
I was certain'?she spoke with solemnity?
'I would teach my mint} .to dwell upon it in
auok Way that my foolish fears would lea re
roe.1 \-x
My sweet girt,' said the doctor, taking
hst wtbtod hand. 'I will grant this request
You cannot certainly recover, unless some
axtraordiuary providence occur*. Your life
may be protracted some months yet ,bnt not
sonn
1
GREEN VILLI
I over a year at the farthest, bo it seems to me.'
' The pale cheek grew a shade paler, but
the smile faded not on the gentle lip*.
'Thank yon doctor,' was Tier reply,#'thank
you for your trust and confidence in me.?
You shall see T wi|J not abuse them.*
The beautiful consumptive sat alone in
her large easy chair some moments after the
doctor was gone. She gazed about her 011
luxuries which wealth unbounded had procured
for her pleasure, and the large untroubled
eve grew dim.
'Then I must die!1 said she to herself,
'and oh, this fear, not of an hereafter, but of
that dread passing through the valley which
shadows my hours of suffering 1 Even my
religion does not dissipate tnat shrinking,
shuddering fear. The impressions of ray
childhood will not go away, but return with
new force. And as she thus half whispered
to herself, a lonely matron entered, but hurrying
to her side, kicsed her fair brow.
You are better to-day, child,' she said in
tones of forced calmness ; 'nay, don't shake
vour head eo mournfully; indeed, if you
knew how much improved you appear,' and
she drew a low seat towards the young girl
and sat gazing in her eves with the holv
love of maternity.
'Mother,' said the consumptive, as she
took the nialrotTa li&fra Tn her own, there fir
something I want you to do for me.'
'What is it darling? You know I would
lay dowu my life for you.'
For an instant the pale lip^quivcrcd; but
commanding herself, tho young girl replied
gently:
4I want you to talk to me of death?of
my own death, which is certain soon.'
'My Amy I' was all the mother could articulate
; her voice seemed frozen by horror.
os, mother; for listen a moment, it will
make your poor sick child more willing to
leave earth and find heaven. If you will
talk daily aud cheerfully of my passing
away ; if you will surround the thought with
cheerfulness, and make the struggle seem
pleasant to me, this strange horror with
which 1 regaid it would fade away aud my
mind bo drawn wholly to the better land.?
It may bo a sacrifice to you, mother, hut, 1
shall learn to look forward to my deaih-bed
with calmness, which I uow strive in vain to
do. Will vou trv to do this, mother ??
Will you talk of it often ? Will you r?'i>e!it
tlie sweet words that dying saints have spoken
? Will you speak of the smiles that repose
upon theis faces, until I can think cheerfully,
aiul talk without reserve of that change
even as I would lie down, and put my garments
by, ready to attire myself when I
should awake in the fair ni<ruing? Will
you tell thoso who cull to see ine never to
shrink from speaking to me of death ? Will
you do this, rnothor ?'
The matron promised, and retired to her
chamber, to shed the tears of anguish born
of this request. She, too, had long felt that
her child must die, but had put afar off 'the
evil day.' . And in the strength of God she
performed her duty.
Seven months had passed, and still gentle
Amy lived. The fatal crimvon burnt its
uuuiu nre into ner cheek, and her eyes
gleamed with the fitful Hash of disease; but
about her sweet lips hovered n constant
smile; she had conquered her fear of the
king of terrors, aud dwelt upon departure
with almost exulting joy. *1 knew through
Christ I was prepared to go,' she said so her
pastor ; 'I knew that there were glories in
the bright world above, that the imagination
cannot conceive of; yet I have shuddered
from my infancy at death. The thought
of dissolutioujwith its chill, and quivering
breath, made me cold at my heart, and I
strive to forget it but cannot. Yet, siuce
you, since my mother, since nil who know
ine,have made it a familiar household word?
clothed it with beautiful thoughts; and surrounded
it with' heavenly images, it has become
lees and less terrible, till now I can
hold ray hand to him who unlocks the spir
it, and say, "Death, where is thy sting ?"
As she spoke thus, a ray from the setting
sun imaged a orown of glory upon her fair
brow. Her mother and friends at that moment
entered.
'Ilush,' said the pastor, with uplifted
nanus, and they stood transfixed. With
that last holy smile he had marked an instantaneou*
change; and as he bent forward,
through the lips so beautifully wreathed,
there came no breath.
'Wall miorht iliA Aiftliim "Tl?#tli vhnr*
it thy sting )H said the pastor, turning with
tearful eyes ; "never saw I the king of terrors
in so lovely a garb. How sweet she
sleeps r?
Aye ! sweetly still in a graveyard upon
the hill side; and on the white shaft that
bears her name, some loving hand has chis
el led,
"It Is not hard to die."
A Fjbmalx Miskb.?An old lady died in
Newton, N. H., lately whose property accumulated
through her miserly propensities
was worth f according to appraisal) ta8.419,74?about
naif of the sum she was estimated
to be posseeeed of. To show on what an
extensive scale were some of her household
arrangements, she bad 182 sheets, 63 coverlids,
60 blantets, 27 bed* with 1,200 pounds
of feathers, 64 table covers and 42 handkerchief,
while the whole amount of her wear'
ing apparel did not exooed 910 in value.
1 Jm Jo Jill
E, S. C.: THURSDAY
&e 6?n?l???? iobing~??
Evei?v look you give?every word you
apeak will live in some heart as a blighting
shade, or cheering spirit. Every act of
yours, though it be smaller than the dew
drop thnt trembles on the flower, will cast
its light or its shadow over your own heart
?will mingle in the dreams of joy that
bless you by night, or the grim spectacle of
your waking hours.
You look bitterly at a friend. Years may
not blot out ? tears of love m?r not
the impression. That sensitive heart is still
vibrating under your harsh touch, nnd the
sad memory of the wrong, you yoursclfhave
no power to bear. You wake in tho night
to weep as you listen, not to the joyous
song, but to the echo of a mournful strain,
and it may never die away.
A brother struck you in boyish heat. A
gentle spirit whispered in your ear. Little
sistor, be kind, put arms around his neck,
and love him, lie wants you to. The tears are
aro in his eyes, and he says that if you'll
show him where ho hurt you, he'll kiss it,
and make it well. You resisted that loving
spirit, and your brother stole away from you
Your mother told you to go and find him,
for the dew was falling.
You took your sun bonnet, and went out
with a heavy little heart. You found him
asleep on the grass, and a tear was in his
face.
You wanted to wipe it away widi a kiss,
and tell him you were sorry. You didn't do
it, for there came an angry thought?he was
an ugly boy, and he sha'n't kiss me, and I
won't kiss him. You waked him nnd he
went into the house, with a greived little
face. The next morning your mother told
you that he was sick?that he had lain down
on the grass nnd fallen asleep, nnd she
thought hint very ill?indeed you had better
not disturb him until lie was better.
When yon saw him again, you told him
you wero sorry, but he didn't understand
you. lie tossed his little head on the pillow,
and with eyes that could never know,
you more, looked at you, wildly at you, and
asked vou to show him where lie hurt you
?...i i.J'.I 1.1 ;? ?i ?: ?"t
cillVJ lie II &I93 11 HUH llltl^i] It WVII,
Oh I in that hour, how your little heart
was bursting. IIo kissed you, but diu not
make it well. Your mother gently led you
away, and uncomforted and alone you wool
to your little bed ; you went without your
brother's kiss or sweet caress, and there were
thorns in your pillow that night.
Another night, and you sal by that brother's
coffin?the fading sunlight shone on
it, but it didn't shine into your heart. No,
there was no light there, and your tears fell
fast on that little face you wouldu't kiss.
The coffin was nailed up?it was lowered
into the ground?the dirt was thrown over
it, you sat on the grass and wept.
You have grown to be a woman?the
sorrows of childhood are nearly all forgotten,
but amid the gayty and joyousncss of
life, you wake in the night to see a spirit.
and you mark its coming by day. It in a
reproachful spirit, and it says to you : "Show
mo whore it hurt, and I'll kUs it and make
it well."
Oh f he gentle?be loving?be kind.
? - >.
I lif tTrrtyrf iv/r .
3JU o ft)9 0 f b $ left) pf el*.
A young man, of no ordinary promise,
unhappily contracted habits of intemperance.
Ilis excess spread anguish and shame through
a large and most respectable circle. The
earnest and kind remonstrances of his friends
however, at length led him to desist; and,
feeling that for him to drink was to die, he
came to a solemn resolution, that he would
abstain entirely for the rest of his days.
Not long after, he was invited to dine, with
otber young, persons at the house o?a friend.
Friend / did I aay ? pardon me. He could
hardly be a friend who would deliberately
place on the table before one lately so lost
now so marvellonsly redeemed, the treacherous
instrument of his downfall. But so it
was. The Tl.ie ic their fesit. He
withstood the fascination, however until a
Foung lady, whom he desired to please, challenged
him to drink. He refused. With
banter and ridicule she soon cheated him
UUl U| 1JIM UUIIIV |IUI IUIU UCI VUHIIKIIgO
was accepted. llo no sooner drank than
be felt the demon was still alive, and thai
from temporary sleep he was now waking
with ten-told strength. "Now," said he to a
friend who sat next to him "now 1 have tasted
again, and I drink till I die." The awful
piodgo was kept. Not ten days bad passed
before that ill fated youth fell under the
horrors of delirium tremens, and was borne
to a grave of shame and dark despair. Who
would envy the amotions with which that
young lady, if not wholly dead to duty and
to pity, retraces her part in the scene of
gAjety, which smiled only to betray f?Rev.
Dr. Potter.
Many shine and figure away with gifts
with whose spirit the Lord Jesus Christ
holds no communion. Gifts are the gold of
the temple; but communion with Christ is
i that which sanctiAeth tho,gold.
MORNING, MARCH 5
lahhotlj Trailing.
Jt)e Bccepfed Ji foe.
An industrious farmer, who was careful to
improve his lands, hgd one field which was
thickly covered with coarse gravel stones.
These he wished to have removed. The
work of picking these he divided among his
children.
He called them together and said : "Go
now quickly to work, while you have time,
and the weather is favorable."
They all went earnestly to work, each on
his ?part except Frank, who deferred his
work and spent his time in all kinds of amusements
with other boys. The rest finished
their work before Frank had even begun
with his.
"When" they asked him, "do you intend
to pick the stone from your part of the field ?
See, we have finished our work, and you
bavo not even commenced."
'O," said Frank, "is not the year long and
summer is at the door. When summer has
once fairly set in, 1 will do more in one day
than you havo done in a whole week."
As the sun rose higher in the heaven*, and
the air and earth was made hot by the
Dennrs, 1jb tweamo weary; for the work was
now too hard for hint and drops of sweat
rolled from his face when ever he made an
attempt to work, and he gave up through
weariness. Then h8 said to himself: "I
will wait until the cool autumn time comes ;
then this work will be easy to me, and I
will finish it without difficulty.
Thus the summer passed, and the air became
cool by the winds which began to
blow from the north. N'ow Frank was determined
to go earnestly to work. Scarcely
however, had he commenced when the fierce
showers of rain drove him frequently from
the field, and became wet to the house.
"The showers will 9ooti cease,"' he said ;
"there will bo many lovely days when once
autumn with its rough storms is past, I efore
the wiuter sets in."
Thus spake Frank?and winter drew on
l|pHcc. As the sky grew clear, the storms
-ceased, and the sun shone, clearly from the
cloudless heaven, he hastened again to the
field, lint with what confusion did he now
perceive his error, aud his folly, when it was
too late. It was now impossible to pick
stones, for they were frozen to the earth !
Sadly, and filled with shame, he was compelled
to return to the house.
What thou doest, do quickly. You will
regret every delay in doi ng necessary work.
The present hour is yours ; you know not
whether a future one will he yours or not !
How will you once in old age be ashamed
and filled with sorrow when you see that
the most lovely part of your life is past, and
you have not used it to proper purposes of
iife.
Not so your dying eyes will view,
Those objects which you now pursue ;
For so will heaven and hell appear
When the decisive I Air is uenr.
"1 Wu*i Go."
A common word, and vet how full of
I meaning! "The school bell is iin#i??gr,"
Ity iiiiiMiiii riltTer at play. "I
must go." "The hour of labor has come,"
says the man of toil, "and I must go." "A
dying parishioner has sent for ine,' says the
clergyman, "and I must go." "Another weary,
cheerless, thankless day calls me to the
sanctum," says the editor, "and I must go !"
"I have a weighty case on hand to-day, demanding
nil my time and attention," says
the lawyer, "and I must go I"?as if the universal
motto of the age is heard, echoed and
re-echoed on every side, by old and young,
high and low, rich and poor, happy and i
miserable.
All must go, all are going, and yet the
restless, heaving, surging tide of humanity is
never gone. We might perhaps introduce
this expressive phrase into scenes of gicater
length, ami ot more tlinn ordinary interest;
but having other thoughts and other duties
to look after, we, too, "must go" and l>e content
with sketching one or two.
"Tie getting late, "saya the lover to the
loved one, "and I must go; must bid fare
well, for a time, to tlioae charmed, blissful
hours, once more to mingle in the cares and
perplexities of a busy world n Then clasping
her fondly to bis bosom, and passionately
pressing those sweet lips to his own, ho is
gone till those happy days may return, or
perchance till he may lead the gentle charmer
of his life a willing captive to the hymenial
altar.
One short year rolls round, nnd how
changed the scene 1 Again, as then, it is
nigbt. A wan, pale being, of emaciated and
fragile form, is lying on her dying couch.
The long, weary daya, and weary nighta
have pawed away, ller hours of anguish
are no more. The insidious destroyer has
done his work. Friends near and dear are
around her?a tender huaband bends over
her?but these cannot arrest the hand of
disease, or postpone the parting hour.
"Ilark 1 the angels are whispering, 'ootne!
oomeand I must go; countless shining
ones in white are waiting to welcome me.
1 mu^go!" "Farewell till we meet in hear
rs ?? m
!0, 1856.
en !M The snowy hand falls lifeless, nerveless
by her side ; a smile of ineffable sweetness
and beauty rests on those pallid, marble-like
features, and she is goue?gone forever
I
Gentle reader, like her, when the last of
earth ahull come, inny you hear the welcoming
angels, like her respond, "I must go !"
Palmer Journal.
" no C f oo l( c0
One cold morning last week, I heard the
following conversation between a child and
? <v: i ...i * ...
.. imcuu ?iiu *pcot me previous night in the
family to which blio belonged. Said the
girl to the visitor. "Whs you cold last night}"
The visitor pleasantly replied, that "it was
very cold when lie put his feet down in the
bed, and he had to lie very crooked ail
night.'' Immediately the child replied,
That was because you begun crooked." Probably
most persons understand the truth and
fitness of the remark, who have slept ii? a
cold room and a "spare bed," on a winter's
night.
liut the remark, so expressive as originnlly
applied, is capable of a still wider application
and is suggestive of some moral lessons,
Look at Ihu youth, who is irregular in hie
habits, and crooked in all the paths which
he tnarks for his feet, and who is even now
so near destruction as to be almost past recovery.
lie has lost his regard for his parent*,
lost his self respect, lost the confidence
of his friends, lost all reverence for sacred
things, and has approached to the verr verge
of ruin. And as you look do you ask the
cause of all this} We answer He bgun
crooked.
Look at that man in trade, who tells a
dtliereut story to each customer, and misrepresents,
and bows, uud liuiiois, and lies and
says ail manner of crooked things to dispose
(it ulilnli I...-. -- 1 *'
v.?. nuivu tie ii.?n iur salt*, Willie I10I1C
who know him believe h word be utters.
Are you astonished at this, and do you inquire
how one, in a Christian land, can be
so perverse I We answer, lie beyun crookel.
Look at that professor of religion, w ho is
continually a sou ice of anxiety 10 his pastor
whose conduct and feelings are as variable
as the wtud ; who smiles to-day, but frowns
and frets to morrow ; who is sometimes burning
up with zeal,and sometimes as cold as an
iceberg who is now here, now there, now
this one's friend, now thuloue's friend ; who
can bo as pliable as a willow, or as stubborn
and stitf as the sturdy oak, and who is known
to be a crooked disciple, upon whom little reliance
can be had. Look at him, we say,
and niaik his chiiivp ?n,l il?^*>
wvu }\JU Hlftll
to know wby lie is thus inconsistent and variable,
our answer is, lie begun crooked, and
lie will be crooked lo theeiid of his life. All
Lite preaching iu the world never can get the
crooks out ot him.
There are straight men; the 13ible,calls lliem
upright men?ao erect in all their moral
beurings, thataplumbline would touch tlieui
all the way from head to feet. These begun
straight, and have continued as they begun.
Very much depends upon the beginning.
And you may know, when you
see in any department of life crooked men
and crooked woman, it is because they begun
crooked.?Zion's Advocate
}ncidei)f gt \\)& 5o3q 17e if 03P
ilgi,
A very pleasing and affecting incident is
the following from the Gospel Banner:
"As we were leaving one of the halls
where several of the inmates weie moving
back and forth, a woman, from some cause,
was seized with a paroxyism of wrath, and
followed after us with clenched tits, violent
gestures, and loud vociferations. As the
cioor closed finer us, she grasped the gra
tings of the window, nnd scowled and fiown
ed at us, and seemed in a peifect rage as she
shook the bars between us We had, be
fore entering, plucked a harebell?one of the
sweetest flowers that bloom?and wo stopped
to the window and presented it to her.
Never did we see a change more instantane
ous. Had we touched her with a magic
wand, the etfect could not have been more
wonderful. She was transformed in an instant.
A smile was spread over her face?
her whole attitude became one of gentleness
?and hor entire demeanor was a testimony
to the power of kindness. The expression
she wore as we left the place, proved to tu
that a flower is more potent than s whip or
club?good treatmeul bettor than strait-jackets
and scourgings, and continued an opinion
we long have held, that wo had rather
risk our safety, and the welfare of the worst
of the insane with a smile, a gentle word, a
token of love, for our weapons, than to be
..?iik MvnliAra Tli.. Utl?? m?? bill
the former transforms?coo veils."
A DotiKOIR.?Mr. John Lawrence Uazlor,
in the Louisville Times, offers to bet from
5 ,000 to $30,000 that he can Jo as follows:
Jump five feet further on a dead level than
any man in the United States, one foot further
than any man in the world, or that he
can stand flat-footed upon the earth and
leap a brick wall fifteen feet high and four
thick.
.v ' "v '-i.
iai? ii. ^ gWg^ggBWWPg
NO. 45
* ?1 ^ J ! L?11 JL 11 I li
6uppolri (joulr otop Dfec^i)-'
ics.
The following sensible remarks, which
w? find in some of our exchanges, we transfer
to our columns, and would earnestly commend
them to our readers in this place and
the State at large.
There is no truth more undeniable than
that it is the bounden duty of every community
to support its mechanics. They are n
worthy ami indispon.sible class of men, and
we find no town or village flourishing without
their aid. Indeed their presence or nbscuee
is always a true index of the condition
of the place?whether it i
. ? .vi oM?niiviug in
| wealth nt?l importance or sinking into decay.
Whenever we pass through a village
and hear the frequent sound of the carpenter's
hammer, the clink of the blacksmith'a
ami!?that village we say to ourselves, is
llonrishing. It cannot be otherwise, for the
producers are actively eniploved, and outnumber
the consumers. Whenever and
wherever this is the case, the people are
growing wealthy, and at the same training
the rising generation to habits of iuduslry
and morality. Where, if a city or village
pursue the opposite of the course?neglects
1 its mechanics nnd supports those of eofne
foreign town?those who can. will be compelled
to go to some other place, nnd those
who arc compelled by the force of circumstances
to remain, will become idle nnd
profligate?they will cease to produce, and
be consumers?in a few years they become
beggars, and their children ignorant aod vicious.
If there is any truth in the assertion that
I we ought, as a nation, to give the preference
to domestic manufactures, the fact is equally
true with regard to the community ; both
are sustained by the same atgnments. If a
merchant would have around hiin substantial
customers, let hi in by every means in
, his power, support and foster tlie mechanics
(of his village, and as they-become more
wealthy, their custom will increase, especially
in those articles on which he makes the
greatest profits, for it is undeniable, that as
men become more wealthy, they also become
more Insurious, and no mcrcbaut will
deny that articles of luxury always afford
the greatest profits. The habit
'I'"'
large quantities of cheap ,*?nd half made articles
of competition with our village mechanics,
is short-sighted and wrong, both an
regards the mechanic and consumer; and
if the merchant would look further into the
operation of things, he would tind that he
crossed the path of his ow n interest by doing
so. Let the merchant bring the case to
his own door, nnd he, perhaps, may better
understand it;suppose that every individual
who possesses the means, and who uses in
his family four or five hundred dollars worth
of goods per annum, should, instead of buying
of him at retail, go to some city wholesale
establishment, and purchase his year's
supply?w ould he uot in bitterness condemn
such an illiberal course, nnd would he not
say to him with truth, that he was warring
against, his own interest, by destroying the
business of his town and giving it to another
; nnd that his littleness would re-act upon
him in double fold by the decrease of his
property and business! So, in the case
above instanced, could the mechanic say the
same to the merchant. Wo say, then, let
all classes sunnort e>irl? . ?
, ! nnu UJ lllUllial
exchange* keep that wealth at home, which,
if necessarily expended abroad, tend to destroy
the business of your neighbor, and
which in turn destroys your own.
Ti is if qr0 Ji foes.
4Tt is hard times.' says tha young man
as he putt's a three cent cigar, or pays twenty-five
cents for a circus ticket?"It's hind
times, and I can't afford to take a paper."
'The times are hard,' says the man with
a largo family : 'I have six children to vlotbe,
I feed, and provide a school for ; T can't afford
to have a newspaper.' Poor man!
what a pity he does not. know that three
months' schooling in n year w ith a weekly
paper, is belter for his children, than six
months without the paper.
'The times are hard.' sny9 the young woman.
as she gives twenty cents just for a ribbon
to wear around her neck?'the times
are so bard, 1 cannot snberibe for your paper,
though 1 like it, and should bo glad
to have it.' Poor girl 1
i>ow my friendly advice to there and all
others, is, to consider a pood paper a* one of #
the turcggurieg of life, quite as needful to the
mind as raiment and food for tho body.
J'ortland Pleasure Boat. *
Tite Idea of Goo.?Wherover tho religious
element exists in human nutnre, the idea
of God is a living fat-'. If atheism exists in.
such a state, itjexists not in the understanding
hut in the heart; not a conviction, hat a
wish.
Tiir. IIkaut.?In the worst oftimee there
is still more cause to complain of an evil heart
than of an evil and corrupt world.
The snow-flake is one of the most cWfrwts ?
and beautiful coinings of nature's laboratory
The wealth of mind and heart, of fdtft and
love, no change can Iftkoefrom us.