Huntingdon Journal

              -L he  Xluntinffdon   J ournal
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VOL. 46.
HUNTINGDON, PA., APRIL 26, 1871.
NO. 17.
e Huntingdon Journal.
DURBORROW,       -       -       J. A. NASH,
PUBLISHERS AXD PROPRIETORS.
! on lie Comer of Bath and Washington stretU.
s HcimifaDO!^ Journal is published every iesd«y, by J. R. Durborrow and J. A. Nash, r the firm name ofj. R. Dcrborrow it Co., at
per annum, IX advaxck, or $2,50 if not paid six months from date of subscription, and not p.aid within the year.
paper discontinued, unless at the option of ubiishers, until all arrearages aro paid. ¦VEUTISEMEXTS will be inserted at Ten s por line for each of tho first four insertions, ¦IVE CESTS per line for each subsequent inser- ess than three months.
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Rosolutions of Association?, Communications it«d or individual interest, and notices of Mar- I mnd Deaths, exceeding fivo lines, will be ed TEN CENTS per linc.
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'ertising Agents must find their commission le of these figures.
advurtiting arconnts are. due and colUetabU •he advertiaemrnt ia ottce inarrted. i PRINTINtJ of every kind, in Plain and Colors, done with neatness and dispatch.— -biUs, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac, of every y and style, printed at the shortest notice, rery thing in the Printing Une will be cxecu- ihe most artistic manner and at the  lowest
THE    HUNTINGDON     JOURNAL.
PUBI,IBH£D
EVERY   WEDNESDAY   MORNING
J. R. DURBORROW k J. A. NASH.
Office corner of Washington and Bath Sts.,
HUNTINGDON, PA.
Professional Cards.
C.   MADDEN,   Attorney-at-Law
Office,  No. —, Hill   street, Iluntingdon, [ap.19,'71.
¦ILLLV.M A. FLEMING, Attorney-
at-Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Special attention to collections, and all other bgal business ed to with care and promptness. Office, No. Ul street. [apl»,'71.
.1. G. D. ARNOLD, Graduate of the
University of Pennsylvania, offers his pro- lal ter^'ices to the pcopl« of Iluatingdon and
eresok:—Dr. B. P. Hook, of Loysville, Pa., •hom he forraeriy practiced ; Drs. Stille and I of Philadelphia.
0 on Washington street, West Iluntingdon, [ap.ia,71.
DENGATE,   Suryeyor,   Warriors¬ mark, Pa. [apl 2,71.
CALDAVELL, Attorney-at-Law,
•No. Ill, :id street. Office formerly occupied ssrs. Woods i Williamson. [apl2,'7I.
L. ROBB, Dentist, office in S. T.
Brt wn's new building. No.  626,   Hill St., Igdon, Pa. ¦    [apl2,'71.
THE BEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM
CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA.
CIRCULATION 1500.
L R. R. WIESTLING,
respectfully offers his profession.-il   services f citizens of Iluntingdon and vicinity, e removed to No. 618i Hill street,   (Smith's :.>>G.) [apr.5,'71-ly.
IS0.V   UILLER. H.   BfCUA.NA.V.
[LLER & BUCHANAN,
DENTISTS,
228 Hill Street, 1 5, '71-ly.
IUNTINGDON, PA.
Rock Me to Sleep, Mother.
The publication of this beautiful piece hap¬ pened in 1861, immediately after tbe breaking out of the rebellion; it was seized by the newspapers of the countrj as something rare.' No owner appearing for tbe fugitive, some dis¬ cussion arose as to its authorship, and five or six persons in thc Northern States laid claim to it. It was originaUy published under the nom de plume of "Florence Percy," and was set to music by eight different composers, and thousands upon thousands were sold. It now turns out that the poetry was written in South Carolina by Mrs. Elizabeth Akers, widow of Paul Akers, the sculpture, who, until recent¬ ly, las been unable to establish her claims to its authorship. Untold sums havc been real¬ ized from her "talent," yet this poor widow, wbose verses bave and will please millions, never received a farthing for its composition. Justice should be done her : Backward, turn  backward, oh, time in  your
flight, Make mc a child again, just for to-uight! Mother, come back from the echoless shore. Take me again to your arms, as of yore ; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep. Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Backward, flow back ward, oh, tide oftheyears,
I am so weary of toil and of tears;
Toil without recompense—tears all in vain.
Take them—and give mc my childhood again !
I bave grown weary of dust and decay,
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away,
Weary of sowing for others to reap.
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue. Mother, oh mother, my heart calls for you; Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between. Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain. Long I to-night for your presence again ; Come from the silence, so long and so deep, Rock me to sleep, mother, r^ck me to sleep.
Over my heart in tha days tbat are flown. No love like mother's love ever has shown, No otber worship abides and endures. Faithful, unselfish and patient like yours. Noue libe a mother can charm away pain. From the sick soul and the world weary-brain; Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep. Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with
gold Fall on your shoulders again as of old. Let it drop over my forehead to night. Shading my faint eyes away from the light. For, with its sunny-edged shadows once more. Haply will throng tbe sweet visions of yore— Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ! Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
Mother, dear mother, the years have been long, Since I first listened to your lullaby song ; Hing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem. Womanhood's years have been only a dream— Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. With your light lashes just sweeping my face. Never hereafter to wake or to weep, Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep.
§1 Mmpxma f t^iJg.
R.   DURBORROW,   Attorney-at-i
Law, Huntingdun, Pa., will practice in the Conrts of Ilnntingdon county. Particular in given to the settlement of estates of d»ee-
e in he Joub.val Building.         [feb.1,71.     |
HOME AND FOREIGN ADVERTISE MENTS INSERTED ON REA¬ SONABLE   TERMS.
GLAZIER, Notary Publie, corner ' of Washington ami Smitb streets, Hun- 1, Pa. [jan.1271.
:LES   ZENTMYER,   AUomey-«t-
Law, Hantingdon, Pa„ witl attend promp'.iy Jgal business.     Office in Cunningham't new
£;_ ^^ Oa°-t.'ri.
ALLEN  LOVELL,  Attorney-at-
Law, Hniktingdon, Pa. Special attention o CoLl.l:cTlo:ts uf all kinds :' to tbe settle- f Estates, ko. -, and all other Legal Bnsiness [ted with fidelity aud dispatch.
Offloe in room latelv occupied bv K. Milton ' Esq. [•j.n.4,'71.      '
A    FIRST     CLASS    NEWSPAPER
W. MYTON, Attomey-at-Law, Hun- \
tingdoB, Pa,   Offioe with J. Sewell Stewart, I [jan.4,71.     '.
HALL MUSSEB, Attorney-at-Law, j
Huntingdon, Pa. Office, second floor of f 's newbuilding. Hill stroet.       [jan.4,71.     I
M. & M.^. TYTLE,^Itomeys- \
at-Law, Hantingdon, Pa., will attead' to ! ds of legal business entrusted tu their care. ( 3 on the soutb sida of Uill street, iburth door I ¦ Smith. [jan.4,71.     [
SYLVANUS BiLviR,^tto7nej^at^ i
Law, Huntingdon, Pa. Office, Hill street, 1 oors west of Smith. [jan.4'71.      |
A. POLLOCK, Surveyor and Real ;
Estate Agent, Huntingdou, Fa., will attend t .'eying in all its branches.    Will also  buy, i
rant Farms, Hous; -, attd Keal Estate of ev- I id, in any part of the Uuited States.    Send ircular. [jan.4'71.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION:
$2.0(1 per    annum    in    advance.    $2 50
within six months.    $3.00 if not
paid within th« year.
I. J. A. DEAVER, having locited
at Franklinville, offers his professional 8*r- } the community. [JBn.4,'71.
W.   MATTERN,   AUorncy-at-Law
and Goneral Claim Agent, Huntingdon, Pa., ¦s' claims against the Government for back )unty, widows' and invalid pensions aUcnd- 'ith great care and promptness. e on Hill street. [jan.4,Tl,
ICOTT. a.   T.   BROW.V. J.   H.   BAILBT.
)TT,  BROWN   &   BAILEY,   At-
ornejs-at-LaTT, Iluntiagdon, Pa. PenfioDSr •laimi of soldiers and iioldiers' hein againit vernment will be promptly prosecuted.
e on HiU itreet. [jan.4.'7].
I. D. P.  MILLER, Office on  Hill
street, in the room formerly occupied by hn M'Culloch, Hontingdon, Pa., would res- ly offer his professional services to the oiti- ' Uuntingdon and vicinity. [jan.4,'71.
R. PATTON, Druggist and Apoth-, Mary, opposite the Eichange Hotel, Uun- n. Pa. Prescriptions accurately compounded. (iqnors fur Medicinal parposes.    [nor.23.'70.
I. A. B. BRUMBAUGH, offers his 1
professional services to the eommnnity. f e on Washington streot, one door east of the : io Parsonage. [jan.4,'71.
J. G-REENE, Dentist..    Office re- [
moved to Leister'snewbuilding, Hill strecl' Igdon. J^n.*,??.     j
Miscellaneous.
iBT. KING, Merchant Taylor, 412 j
Washiugton street, Huntingdon, Pa., a lib- {
are of patronage respectfully solicited.
1 12, 1S71. i
']AR THB RAILROAD DEPOT,    [
b; i^TAYNK and JUSIATA STEEETT        j
UNITED STATES HOTEL, i
HOLLIDATSBrRG, PA. !
tIN k CO., PBoruxTORS. Mahl5-tr
CHANGE  HOTEL,   Huntingdon,'
P». JOH.V S. MILLER, Proprietor.     !
mcy *. mi. t
JOB PRINTING: ALL KINDS OF JOB WORK DONE
WITH
NEATNESS AND DISPATCH.
AND   IN   THE
LATEST   AND   MOST   IMPROVED j STYLE,
SUCB AS
POSTERS OF ANY SIZE, CIRCULARS,    '
BUSINESS CARDS, WEDDING AND VISITING CARDS, BALL TICKETS,
PROGRAMMES,
CONCERT TICKETS. ORDER BOOKS, SEGtAR LABELS,
RECEIPTS,
LEGAL BLANKS, S'HOTOGRAPHER'S CARDS, BILX HEADS,
LETTER HEADS.
PAMPHLETS, PAPER BOOKS, ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC., ETC.,
VBAD MEYER,
Inventor and^Mianifaeturer ot tha .BBBATBD IRON   FRAME PIANOS, irerooms, No. 722 Arch St., Phila.
:eived the Prize Medal of the World's tJiaH tion, litndon, England. The highest Prises tl wbea and whererer exhibited. '^E<tab- n 1B33.] Maroh 29—,3iB0t.
Our fao ilities for doing M kindsof ^db Printing s uperior to any other establish¬ ment in the county. Order* by mail promptly fi tied. All letters should be ad¬ dressed,
gr. a. DURBORBOW A <;o
THE OLD MAN'S STORY.
A   THRILLING   SKETCH.
I shall never forget the commencement of the temperance reformation. I was a child at the time, some ten years of age. Our home had every comfort, and my kind parents idolized me, their only child. Wine was oflen on the table, and both my father and mother gave it to me in the bottom oftheir morning glass.
One Sunday, at our church, a startling announcement was made to our people. I knew nothing ol ila purport, but there was much whispering among the men. The pastor said that on the next evening there would be a meeting and an address upon the evils of intemperance in the use of all alcoholic liquors. lie expressed himself ignorant of the meeting, and could not say what course it would be best to pursue in the matter.
The subject of the meeting came up at our table after serviee, and I questioned my father about it with all the curious earnestness of a child. The whLspcr and words which had been dropped in my hearing, flothcd the whole affair in great mystery to me, and I was all earnestness to learn the strange thing. My father merely said it was a scheme to unite the Church and State.
The night came, and groups of people gathered on the tavern steps, and I heard the jest and laugh, and saw drunken men come reeling out ofthe bar room.
I urged my father to let mo go. but he at first refused. Finally, thinking that it would be an innocent gratification of my curiosity he put on his hat and we passed the green fo the church. I well remem¬ ber how the people appeared as they came in, seeming to wonder what kind of an exhibition was to come off.
In the corner was the tavern keeper and around him a number of friends. For an hour the people of the place continued to come in till tliere was a fair house full. All were curiously watching the door, and appareotly wondering what would appear nexi. The parson stole in and took his seut behind the pillar in the gallery, as if doubtful of the propriety of being in the church at all.
Two men finally came in and went for¬ ward to the altar and took their seats. All eyes were fixed upon them, and a gen¬ eral stillness prevailed throughout the church.
The men were unlike in appearance, one being short, thick-set in his build, and the other tall and well formed. The younger had the manner and dress of a clergj'man, a full round face, and a quiet, good-natured, iippearances as he leisurely looked around upon the audience.
But my childish interest was in the old man. His broad, deep chest, and un¬ usual height looked giant-like, as he strode up the aisle. His hair was white, his brow deeply scarred with furrows", and around his handsome mouth were lines of calm and touching sadness. His eyes were black and restless.
His lips were compressed, and a crimson flush went and came over his pale cheek. One arm was off near the elbow, and there was a wide sear just above the right eye. The younger finally rose and stated the object of the meeting, and asked if there was a clergyman present to say a prayer. Our pastor kept his seat,' aud the speaker himself made a short address; at the con¬ clusion calling upon any one to make re¬ marks. The pastor arose under the gal¬ lery, and attacked the position ofthe speaker, using the arguments I have of¬ ten heard since, and concluded by denoun¬ cing those engaged in the movement as meddlesome fanatics, who wished to break up tbe time-honored tisages of good socie¬ ty, and injure the business of respectable men. At the conclusion of his remarks the tavern beeper and his friends got up a cheer, and the current of feeling was evi¬ dently against the strangersand their plan
While the pastor was speaking, the old man leaned forward and fixed his dark eyes upon him as if to cateh every word. As the paffir iook his seat the old man arose, his tall form towering in its symme¬ try, and his chest heaving as he breathed through his thin, dilated nostrils. To me at that time, there was something awe- inspiring in the appearance of the old man as he stood, his full, dark eyes upon the audience, his teeth shut hard, and a silence like that of death throughout tho church.
He bent his gaze upon the tavern keep¬ er, and that peculiar eye lingered and kindled for a moment. This scar grew red upon his forehead, and beneath his heavy brows his eyes glittered and glowed like a serpent's. The tavern keeper quail¬ ed before that searching glance, and 1 felt a relief when the old man withdrew hia gaze. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, and then, in a low, tremulous tone he commenced. There was a depth in that voice, a thrilling sweetness and pathos whieh riveted every heart in the church, before the first period had been rounded. My father's attention had be¬ come fixed npoh the eye of the speaker, with an interest I had never before seen him exhibit. I can but briefly remember the substance of what the old man said, though the scene was as vivid before me as ever I witnessed.
"My friends, I am a stranger in your village, and I trust I may call you my friends. A. new star has arisen, and there is hope in the dark night that hangs like a pall of gloom over our country."
With a thrilling depth of voice, the speaker continued :
'Oh, God, thou who looked with com- passicn upon the most erring of earth's frail children, I thank Thee a brazen ser¬ pent has been lifted up, upon which a drunkard may look and be healed. That a beacon has burst out upon the darkness that surrounds him, which shall give him back to honor and heaven—^the bruised and weary wanderer."
It is strange what power there is in some voices. The speaker's voice was low and measured, but a tear trembled iu every tone, and before I knew why, a tear dropped on my hand, followed by others like rain drops. The old man brushed one from his eyes, and continued :
Men and christians ! you have just heard that I am a fanatic. I am not. As God knows my own heart, and tears in my eyes. I have journeyed over a dark and beacouless ocean, and all of life's brightest hopes have been wrecked. I am without friends,   kindred or home!    I was not so j
CO." I
No one eould withstand the touching pathosof the old man. I noticed a tear on the lid of D>y father's eye, and no longer fe.t ashamed of my own.
"No, my friends, it was not once so. Away over the dark waves which have wrecked my hopes, there is a blessed light of happiness and love. I reach again convulsively for the shrines of the house¬ hold idols that onco were mine no  more."
The old man seemed to look away through vacancy upon some bright vision, his lips apart, and his finger extended. I involuntarily turned in the direction whero it pointed, dreading to see some shadow invoked by its magic moving.
I once had a mother. With her old heart cruushed with sorrow, she went down to the grave. I once had a wife—a fair angel-hearted creature as ever smiled in an earthly home. Her eyes were as mild as a summer's sky, and heart as faithful and true as ever guarded and cherished a hus¬ band's love. Her blue eye grew dim as the floods of sorrow washed away its brightness, and the loving heart wrung till every fibre was broken. I once had a noble, beautiful boy, but he was driven out from the ruins of his home, and my old heart yearns to know if he is yet living. I once had a babe, a sweet, tender blossom, but those hands destroyed it, and it liveth with One who loveth children."
"Dc not be startled, friends—I am not a murderer in the common acceptance of the term. Yet there is light in my eve- g sky. A spirit mother rejoices over the return of bei' prodigal son. The wife smiles on him who turns back to virtue nd honor. Thc angel child visits rac at nightfall, and I feel the hallowed touch of a tiny palm upon my cheek. My boy, if he yet lives, would forgive the sorrow¬ ing old man fortho treatment which seut him out into the world, and the blow which maimed him for life. God forgave me thc ruin which I brought on me and mine."
He again wiped a tear from his eyes. My father watched him with a strange in¬ tensity, and a countenance unusually pale, and excited by some strange emotion.
'I was once a lunatic, and madly fol¬ lowed the malign light which led me to ruin. I was a fanatic when I sacrificed my wife, children, happiness and home, to the accursed demon of the bowl. I once adored the gentle being whom I wronged so deeply.
I was a drunkard. From respectabil¬ ity aud influence I plunged into degrada¬ tion and poverty. I dragged uiy faiuily down with inc. For years I saw her cheek grow pale and her step weary. I left her alone amid the wrecks of her home idols and rioted at the tavern. Sho never complained, yet she and her chil¬ dren often wout hungry.
"One New Year's night I retnrned late to the hut where charity had given us a roof She was still up, shivering over the coals. I demanded food, but she burst into tears, and told me there was none. I fiercely told her to go and get some. She turneti her eyes upou me, the tears fast rolling down her pale face.
"At this moment the child in the cradle awoke and set up a famished wail, start¬ ling the despairing mother like a serpent's sting.
"We have no food, James—I have had none for two days. . I have nothing for the babe. My once kind husband, must we starve ?"
That sad, pleading face, and those streaming eyes, and the feeble wail of the child maddened me, and I—^yes, I struck her a fierce blow in the face, and she fell forward on the hearth. The furies of hell boiled in my bosom, and with deep inten¬ sity as I felt I had committed a wrong; I had never struck Mary before, but now some terrible impulse bore me on, and I stooped down as well as I could in a drun¬ ken state and clinched both hands in her hair.
"God of mercy !" exclaimed my wife, as she looked up in my fiendish coiuitenance. "you will not kill us, you will not harm Willc," as she sprang to the cradle to grasp him in her embrace. I caught her again by the hair, and dragged her to the door, and as I lifted the latch the wind burst in with a cloud of snow. With a wild "ha ! fca!" I closed the door and turned the button, her pleading moan ringing with the blast  and the sharpen¬
ing cry of the baby. But my work was not complete. I turned to the little bed where lay my eldest son, and I snatched him from his slumbers and against his half wakened struggles, opened the door and threw him out. In agony of fear he call¬ ed m-i by a name I was not fit to bear, and locked his little fingers in my side pocket. I could not wrench the frenzied grasp away and with the coolness ofa devil as I was, I shut the door upon his arm, and with my knife severed the wrist.
The speaker ceased a momeut and bur¬ ied his face in his hands as if to shut cut some fearftil dream, and his chest heaved like a storm-swept sea. My father had arisen from his seat and was leaning for¬ ward, his countenanoe bloodless and the large drops standing out upon his brow. Chills crept back to my heart and I wish¬ ed I was at home, 'i'he old man looked up, and I never since beheld such mortal agony pictured upon a human face as there was on his.    He continued :
"It was morning when I woke, and the storm had ceased, and the cold was in¬ tense. I first secured a drink of water, and then I looked in the accustomed plaee for Mary. As I missed her, for the first time a shadowy sense of some horrible nightmare began to dawn upon my won¬ dering mind. I thought I had dreamed a fearful dream, but involuntarily opened the outside door with a shuddering dread
"As the door opened the snow burst in, followed by a fall of something across the threshhold, sf'ttering the cold snow and striking the floor with a hard, sharp sound. My blood shot like red hot arrows through my veins, and I rubbed my eyes to keep out of the sight. It was—it—Oh, God, how horrible! it was my own injure J Mary and her babe, frozen to ice ! The ever true mother had bowed hers,If over the child to shield it, and had wrapped all her own clothing around it, leaving her own person stark and b'jre. She had placed her hair over the face of the child, and the sleet had frozen it to thc white cheek. The frost was whito in ita half opened eyes, and upon itfj tiny fingers. I knew not what became of my   brave boy."
Again the old man bowed his heid and wept, and all that were ia the house wept with him. In tones of low, heart-broken pathos, the old man concluded:
"I was arrested, and for long months raved in delirium. I awoke, was sentenced to prison for ten years ; but no tortures could equal those in my own bosom. Oh, God, no ! I lyu not a fanatic; I wish to injure no'Oue. But while I live, let me strive to warn others not to enter a path which has been so dark and fearful a one to me. I can see my angel mother, wifo and children beyond the vale of tears "'
Thc old man sat down, but a spell as deep and strange as that wrought by some wizzard's breath rested upon the audience. Hearts could have been heard in their beating, and tears to fall. The old man then asked the people to sign the pledge. My father then leaped from his seat and snatched at it eagerly. I had followed him, as he hesitated a •moment with his pen in the ink ; a tear fell I'rom the old man's eye upon the paper.
"Sign it, I would write my name ten thousand times in blood, if it would bring back my loved ones."
My father wrote his name, "Mortimer Hudson "
The old man looked, wiped his tearfui eyes, and looked again, his countenance al¬ ternately flushed with red and death-like paleness.
"Itis—no, it cannot be, yet how strange." muttered the old man. "Pardon me. sir, but this is the name of my brave boy."
My father trembled and held up his left arm, from which the hand had been severed. They looked for a moment in each other's eyes, both reeled and ex¬ claimed :
"My own inj ared boy I" "My  fatlier!"
They fell upon each other, till it seemed their souls would grow and mingle into one. There w^as weeping in that church, and I turned bewilldered upon the stream¬ ing eyes around me.
"Let us thank God for this great bless¬ ing, which has gladdened my guilt-bur¬ dened soul," exclaimed the old man, and kneeling down poured out his heart in one of the most melting prayers I ever heard. The .spell w;is broken, aud all easterly signed the pledge, slowly going to their homes as if loth to leave tlie spot. The old man is dead, but the lesson he taught thc grandchild on his knee, as the eve¬ ning sun went down without a cloud, will never be forgotteu. His fanaticism has lost none of its fire in my manhood's heart.
Push.
When Cousin Will was at home ibr vacation, the boys always expected plenty of fun. The last frolic before he went back to his studies was a long tramp after huzle nuts.
As they were hurrying along in high glee, they came upon a discouraged look¬ ing man and a discouraged looking cart.
The cart was standing full of apples be¬ fore an orchard. The man was trying to pull it up hill to his own house.
The boys did not wait to be invited, but ran to help with a good will. Push, push.'" was the cry.
The man brightened up; the cart trun¬ dled along as fast as rheumatism would let it; and, in five minutes, thoy all stood panting at the top of the hill.
"Obliged to ye." said the man; "you jest wait a minute," and hurried into the house, while two or three pink-aproned children peeped out of the door.
"Now, boys," said Cousin Will, '-this is a small thing; but I wish we could all take a motto out of it, and keep it fbr life. 'Push !'—it is just the word for a grand clear morning like this; it is just the word tor strong arms and young hearts; it is just the word for a world that's full of work as this is."
"If there's auything good doing in any place where you happen to bc, push!
"If there's work going on in the Sunday school, push .' Don't drag back, I beg of you.    You'll do onc or the other.
"Whenever there's a kind thing, a Christian thing, a happy thing, a pleasant thing, whether its your own or not, whether it's at home or in town, at church or at school, just help with all your might; push !"
At that minnte the farmer came out again with a di?h of his wife's best dough nuts and a dish of his own best apples; and that was the end of the little sermon.
gm iht pttl^ g$lh.
A Boy's Sermon.
Here are a few words of advice and wisdom from a little fellow, that are worth ) remembering. They wero reported by an ; editor, who .says: "Wc know a little fel-} low. not far from five years old, whose father is a clergyman, and the child some¬ times amuses himself by playing 'church.' One Sunday he got his chair, and table, and books, and commenced his service, content to have only the partial attention of the other children who were in the room. After singing a hymn, the boy be¬ gan his sermon, his words apparently be¬ ing suggested in parts by tha pictures in his book, and by what he saw about him in the room. A lady iu thefamily chanced to overhear him and took verbal iin notes as follows:
"You must be good. Y'ou mustn't be naughty or wicked. You must be good. You must go to heaven. You mustn't be afraid in the dark. You mustn't Cry. Y'ou mustn't kill any udder man. You must be a good boy. You mustn't do any thing to auy boy when he docs somethiilg i bad to you. You mnst come right away ' from him. Y^ou must jast kiss him, and not look at him any more. You mustn't go by any naughty boy. You mustn't whip any horse what isn't running away. You must be kind to horses. You must do what your mudder tells you. You mustn't steal raisins. Supposing you are a baby, you mustn't cry. You must laugh. You mustn't hit any body. If you are a boy, you must be elegant. You mustn't steal flowers in any udder body's garden. Supposing you know a lady— Miss Lizzie—^you mustn't take any of her' flowers without asking. Babies must never cry. Men must never be drunken ; and boys must never be wicked; and dogs must never bite a man ; and a fish must— don't kick—a fish don't wa!k—what docs itdo?
"And here a little break occurred in the discourse, in reflecting upon the du¬ ties of a fish ; BO we will end our uotes, which we have given, believing that the little sermon contains more good lessons than many which are listened to every Sunday, and that it will be of some inter¬ est to mothers of other small preachers."
The Bottle of Oil.
Once upon a time there lived an old gentleman in a large house. He had ser¬ vants and everything he wanted, yet he W.IS not happy and wten things did not go as he wished, ho was cross. At last his servants left him. Quite ont of temper, he went to a neighbor with the story of his distresses.
"It seems to me," said the neighbor, "it would be well for you to oil yourself a little."
"To oil myself!"
"Yes, and I will explain. ...Some time ago, ono of the doors iu my house creaked. Nobody therefore liked to go in or out by it. One day I oiled its hinges, aud it has been constantly used by everybody since."
"Then you think I am likeyour creaking door," cried tho old gentleman. "How do you want me to oil myself?"
"That's an easy matter," said the neigh¬ bor. "Go home and engage a servant, and when he does right, praise him. If, on the contrary, he does something amiss, do not be cross ; oil your voice and wortls with oil of love."
The old gentlemau wen',, homo, and no harsh or ugly words was found in his house afterward. Every family should have a bottle of this precious oil, for every family is liable to a creaking hinge in the shape of a fretful disposition, a cross tem¬ per, a harsh tone, or a fault finding spirit. — Child's Paper.
The Little Bootblack.
Out little bootbhick-had no home at all, only the steps of an old house to sleep under at night, Do you wonder that he talked bad grammar, and even sworo now and then ? Almost the only useful thing he had ever learried was : "Shine your boots, sir ?    Shine your boots ?"
One night as he was abcut to "},o to bed"—not in '. nice, clean bed, with a mother's sweet kiss on his lips, but in his queer lodging place—he heard a sweet voice in the old house ."singing : "I want to be an angel," ect. Some poor little girt had learned it in a mission-school. "Heigho! what's up 'I Getting pious in this yer house, I reckon," said ho, and went to sleep with the sweet song ringing in his ears, .md all night it .sounded through his wirs, and all night it sounded through his dreams, so that he .saw shiny wings and beautiful faces; and all sorts of bright things got mixed up with his visions of boots and bread: "That's a real purty song," said he in the morning, and waited for the little girl, and went with her to the school, and become a very bright scholar and good boy, and found a home with a good num. who kept him un¬ til he grew np and became a teacher in the school. So you see, dear children, what a little song couM do. with God's blessing.— Young People's Helper.  -#-•—*-	
Lame Jimmy.
A few day ago, I waa passing through a pretty shady street, where some boys were playing at base-ball. Among their number was a little lame follow,seemingly about twelve years old—a pale, sickly- looking child, supported on two crutches, and who evidently found much difficulty in walking even with such assistance.
The lame boy wished to join the game ; for he did not seem to see how mueh his infirmity would bc in his own way, and how much it would hinder the progress of sach an active sport as baseball.
His companion-, good naturcdly enough, tried to persuade him to stand at one side aud let another take his place; arid I was glad to notice that none of them hinted that he would be in the way, but that they all objected ibr fear he would hurt him¬ self.
"Why, Jimmy," said one at last, "you can't run, you know."
"Oh ! hush," said another—the tallest boy in the—"Never mind. III run for him and you can count it for him." and he took his place by Jimmy's side prepared to act. "Ifyou were like him," he. said aside to the other boys, "you wouldn't want to be told of it all the time."
As I passed on I thonght to myself that there was a true little gentleman.— Child'n World.
A Noble Bot.—A little boy was one day suddenly stopped by some of his schoolfellows, and ordered to climb a trea and rob Widow Benson of hei' pears. The boy immediately and indignanJy refused, and was struck a violent blow on the heid. He still cried. "No '." Other blows follow¬ ed, but with no better success. In the midst of his suffering he bravely faced his persecutors, crying out, "Do what you Hke to me, but yon shall never make me steal I"
Wu gjjme a^mU.
All Things Earnest.
Time is earnest
Passing by: Death is earnest. Drawing nigh. Sinner! wilt thou trifling be 1 Time and death appeal to thee.
Life is earnest:
When 'tis o'er. Thou returnest Nevermore. Sooa to meet eternity, Wilt thou never serious be ?
Heaven is earnest:
Solemnly Float its voices Down '0 thee. 0 tliou mortal! art thou gay. Sporting through thine earthly day?
Hell is earnest:
Fiercely roll
Burning billows
Near the soul.
Woe for thee if thou abide
Unredoemed, unsanctified t
( God is earnest:
Kneel aud pray Ere tby season Pass away. Ere bc set His judgment throne— Vengeance ready, mercy gono.
Christ is earue.it:
Bids thee 'Come," Paid thy spirit's Priceless sum. Wilt thou spurn thy Saviour's love Pleading with thee from above ?
Oh, be earnest!
Loitering
Thou wilt perish ;
Lingering
Be no longer.    Rise and fiee ;
Lo, thy Saviour wails for thcc !
 ^ ..m.. .*.	
The Way of Salvation Plain.
The Bible has had innumerable com¬ mentators. Some, by their books and ser¬ mons roniiud i'.s of him who lighted a can¬ dle to show the sun ; and others, like the fug bauk through which the sun shines shorn of his beams, "darken Counsel by words," and make what is clear, obscure. By their labors, some have dilated, making their sermons or commentaries a vehicle for error, have adulterated the truth of God. the wine of lifo. But however fhis may be, more pens have been worn, more breath spent, more printing presses em¬ ployed, in explaining the Bible than all other books wh.itever; so that, were all the books O'llleefed, which have been writ¬ teu to. tlirow light on the Scriptures, they would, not excepting that of Alexandria, which it toiik many weeks to reduce to asies—foriii the largest library the world ever saw. Are wc to infer from this that the Way of life is obscure ? By no means. All that is nece.ssary to know, in order to be saved, it is easy to know, "Tho wayfar¬ ing men, though fools, shall not err there¬ in," says the prophet; and without dis¬ paraging the labors of pious arid able di¬ vines to explore tho uiysteiies and shed light on the obscurities of thc sacred vol¬ ume, the simpio Bible, blessed by God, has proved to unlettered thousands a safe and sulficioiit guide. AVhatever genias and arduous study it may require t) rise to a place in the temple of i'amo, many an hum¬ ble Chi'istian, hardly :;ble to spoil his way though the Word of God, has reached one in the temple of heaven. Thousands so deficient to talent or energy as never to have been able to make their way in this world have found their way to a better one; nor are there ¦jvanting interesting and well attested cuscs of imbeciles who, throiigh destitute of capacity for oidinary, havc knuwn Hi;n, whom to know is life eternal—so plain the way through child¬ like faith in ehrist—so ea.sy as well to the unsteady gait of simpletons as to the tot¬ tering foot uf childhood, as to verify thc words, "The warfaring men. though fools, shall not err therein." With this simple iinswor to the great. "What .shall I do to be saved ?'' "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." none need be excluded frora heaven because of igno¬ rance ; as with virtue in Christ's blood to cleanse the chiefof sinners, none need bc excluded becanse of sin. It need no learning to learu this way. AVhat hr.s the church seen ? Cod ordaining strength out of the mouth of babes and sucklings; gray haired men learning wisdom at the feet of childhood; tho deathbeds of the humble poor, liko the very gates of heaven, the child learning the way to life on his moth¬ er's knee; the thief learning it on his dy¬ ing cross ; the mantle of prophets falling on plowmen ; hoaven "revealing its glories to humble shepherds; rudo fisherman of Galilee called to thc apostleship : grace polishing the roughest men ; roaming sav¬ ages tamed by the voice and sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in their right mind. Simple faith in Him is all that is required; such confidences as the little child, lying in its mother's arms, hanging on her neck, looking up in her face, repose in the power of a mother's arm, and fhe tenderness of a mother's heart.—Dr. Guthrie.
effect: "Even the youth shall faint and be weary, and the young man shall • utterly •''- fall; imt they that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint."—J. H. Noyes, in Oneida Circular.
Help to Save Sonls.
Christian brother I Christian sister t Have you not a relative who is out of Cfeist T Have you nbt an acquaintance "who is un¬ converted ? Doubtless you have. Are you doing your duty towards that one ? He or, ; she, aa the case may be, is possessed of an.,, immortal soul that must spend an eternity in bliss or in misery. Ample provision ' has been made for the salvation of that soul. Are you willing that it should be lost ? Surely every christian who reads this has sufficient influence upon some one to induce him or her to turn to the Lord. A soul ia toQ valnable to go to perdition. No effort to save it is too great. Will you not do your duty, and plead with yonr uncon¬ verted friends ? If there is joy in HeareQ over the repentance of a single sinner, will that not richly repay you for your labor of love ? But a far richer reward will you have, if in the better land a dear one shall point to you as the instrament, in God's hands, of bringing him or her to the Sa¬ viour. On the other hand, what a terrible account you will have to render if, throngh neglect to perform your duty a soul is lost ? Dear Christian reader, think of the conse¬ quences attending a failure todo right, and the happy results of iloing right.
§m\m^ fm §vtt%y0^
A Touching fiicident.
There is one toaching ineident of the lifeof William Wirt. In his youngerdayg he was a victim to that passion for intoxi¬ cating drinks whicli seems peculiarly the bane of our profession. Aflknced to a beautiful and accomplished joung woman, he had made and broken repeated pledges of amendments, and she, after patiently and kindly enduring his disgraeefiil habit, had at length dismissed him, deeming him incorrigible Their next meeting', after his dismissal, wap in a public street of the city of Richmond. William Wirt lay drunk and asleep on tha.sidewalk, on a hot Summer day, the ta,^ pf't})e«iio poWN ing down ori his uncove'reS'lieadf, arid'tre flies crawling over hi s swollen features. As the yonng lady approached in her walk, her attention was attracted by the speeta- cle, strange to her eyes but alas ! so com¬ mon to othera who knew the victim, as to attract little remark. She did not at first recoginize the sleeper, and was abont to hasten'on, when she was led by one of those impulses whieh form the turning points iu human lives, to scrutinize hia features. What was her emotion when she recognized in him her discarded lover! She drew forth her handkerchief and carefully spread it over his face, and hur¬ ried away. When Wirt came to faimself, he found the handkerchief, and ia one corner the initials of the beloved name. With a heart almost breaking with grief and remorse, he made a new vow of refor¬ mation. He kept that vow, and married the owner of that handkerchief Well might he preserve the handkerchief, as he did, all his life, guarding it with the jeal¬ ous care with which Othello kept , the Egyptian charmer's gift, and "making it a darling ike his precious eye."        - ;
Something Abou. Yourselt
Supposing yonr age be nfleen or thep»ftbouts, I can figure you up to a dot. You haye 160 boflcs and 500 muscles; your blood weighs 25 pounds; yonr heart is five inches in length and three inches in diameter; it beats70 timea ! per minute, 4,200 times per hour, 100,800 per j day, and 36,722,200 per ye.ir At each beat n little over two ounces of blood are thrown out ofit; and each day it throws out and dis¬ charges about seven tons of that wonderful fluid.
Yourlnngs will coutnAn->lK>nt a^'gi^oa <* air, aud you inh»le 24.o60'j[allons per "day. Tbe aggregate surface of thc air cells of your lung."!, supposing them to be spread out, ex¬ ceeds iO,000 sqare iuehes. The weig^jt of your brain is three pounds; when you ate tt man it will weigh eight ounces more. Vomr nerves exceed 10,000,000 ia number.
Your skiu is composed of three layers, and varies from one-fourth to one eight of an inch in thickness. The area of your skin is about 1,7000 square inches, aud your are subject to an atmospheric pressure to the sqnaie ineh. Each square inch of your skiu contaias 3,500 sweating tubes, or prespiratory pores, each of which m.ay be likened to a little dr»in tile one- fourth of an inch long, making an aggregate length of the entire surface of your body, of 201,105 feet or a little ditch for the drainage of the body almost forty miles long.    .
¦Renewed Day by Day.
Faith which works by fear, only leads to a selfish, dishonest repentance, if to any.
Give not ear to tale-bearers or babblers, nor be scurrilous in conversation.
Paul says: "Thc first man Adam w.is made a living soul, the hist Adam was made sc quickening spirit." What is the diffcr¬ euce between "a living soul" and a "quick¬ ening spirit';"' Let us try an illustration: Take a glat^s of water from a cold spring, and for a moment it is just as good as the water in the spring; but it immediately begins to lose its freshness, growing fiat, aud less palatable, till in process of time it becomes entirely odious. This deteriorat¬ ing process ccmiuieycts the moment it is fckcn from the .spring, and begins a sep¬ arate existence. I is good at the begin- nintr, and yet its state is oue that must end in stalenes.s. That may represent the first Adam—a "living soul." There is life in such a soul, but it is life under such con¬ ditions, and with such certainty of termin ation as in the ca.se of the water wo have described, whieh waa separated from its sources. Its infancy is pure, but with a purity that cinnot last.
Place another glass now in a situation where it will be constantly receiving from the spriug, and the glass of water will be always fiesh. Though for a single draught you would not notiee any particular difi'er¬ enee between thc water in the one case and the other the moment it was dropped from the spring, yet the state of the water in the two vessels is very differeut. The wa¬ ter that is constantly renewed from the spring, represents the "cjuickening spirit." There is in that soul something more than mere life that runs itself out iuto habits, it is renewed life, ([uickening life, like the spring that is ever running.
Paul gives ua that idea when he says, "Ihough our outward man perish, yet our inward man is renewed day by day." There is a blessed promise in Isaiah to the some
After a lapse of more than twenty years of general unprogress siveness and poverty, the dull city of St. Joh'ri's was arooaed by a report that gladdened every heart wd sent a thrill of excitment over the whole island. A steamship, the Nimrodj belong¬ ing to Job Brothers & Co. waa said to be in the bay, awaiting wind enough to bear her into the harbor of St John's, as her boilers were unavailable, the bunkers being literally stuffed with sealskins. Ou het arrival we learned that hor precious cargo was 28,000 seals—^the largest nnml^er ft+er known to h'ive been ca{^urdd.   .
There are seven colored churches iii New York, whose wealth in the aggregate' amounts to 8590,000:' These are all Pro¬ testant churches, and owned ezelosively by the colored people—^o boasts a New York journal. There are seventeeii colored congregations in Philadelphia. As the Catholic Church has always refused to noticc the question of color, arguing ¦ thah it is a distinction of skin and not of soul, there are, we believe, none of ite c|ij4icbi)| distinctively colored.
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Tho following is the latest progtammo issued for the observance of wedding anniversaries, viz : First anniversary iron j fifth anniversary, wooden; tenth anni¬ versary, tin; fifteenth anniversary,'' cryi tal; twentieth anniversary, chin«^ twen¬ ty-fifth anniversary, silver; tihirtieth anniversary, cotton ; thirty-fifth .anniverr sary, linen; fortieth aunivorssry, woolen; forty-fifth anniversary, silk; fiftieth atini- versary, golden; seriventy-fifth anniTtsarf; dimond, •)   ?il!
Commodore John S. Chaimcy,"who 3Ida at Brooklyn on Monday, ranked fifth on the list of retired commodores of the navy. He was bom in New York, and appointed from the same State Januiiry 1, ISl^ and and was promoted in regular order, being commissioned as commodore July 16,1862, and retired in'1864, in accordance'With this aet of Congress passed that year.
We notice that a resolution has ' the House of BeprcsentitiveS declafi'ng that the true principle of Revenue Reform is the abolition of the Internal Revenne system and the repeal of the sUm^ duties except in certain cases.