Newspaper Page Text
VOL. II.
SANDERS Y TLLE, GEORGIA, JANUARY 2, 1874.
NO. 27.
.j G j[edlogs-;kthro aeliots. p., l. bodgees.
'5r :»I«iS«ck, Arline & Rodgcvs.
The Hebald is published in Sandersville,
di • every Friday morning. Subscription
n-ico TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Vdvertisements inserted at the usual rates.
Ko charge for publishing marriages ^>r
deaths.
POETRY.
From Harper’s JIagazine.
Beautiful Child.
Beautiful child by thy mother’s knee,
In tiie mystic future what wilt thou be ?
y demon of sin or an angel sublime ?
\ poisonous Upas, or innocent Thyme?
y Spirit of evil flashing down
\y;;h the lurid light of a iiery crown,
Or Aiding up with a shining track,
■ ft... v;, e niorniug-star that never looks hack ?
Daiih iest dreamer that ever smiled,
VL\ h ■ ill thou be, my beautiful child ?
■ poifnl oh:id in my garden bowers,
, v:U- ..".vis. and lowers,
,r, -jiarkling, crystalline stream,
Is of truth in thy fair eyes be im ;
v. .:s ;hcre over a white fr.ee than thine
TYr-hi; vn d by Love in a mortal shrine?
y, iiear; thou'has gladdened for two sweet
years |
With rainbows of Hope through mists of !
tears -
' lists beyond which thy sunny smile, _ i
\ itli its halo of glory, beams all the while. |
g,titnl child, to thy look is given
., m sexvne, not of earth but of heaven.
, ' , tell-tale eyes and prattling tongue, j
they eonld’st verthus be young.
, ;o liquid of the mocking-bird,
• air ro hall the voice is heard.
y e warden—nooks thou’rt found,
.-uriv he.nl around :
, l saint
: • ring. ' • O'* street,
i.^iore and ie ion 1 t .y iecc—
....... utu :o lit'-, an 1 utraiil t-- tie
hi, .;o,uc. no fri- mi, and a pitiless sky.
Merciful Father, my brain grows wild—
Oh, keep lrom evil my be.uUitnl child !
Beantifuld child, may’st thou soar above,
_Y warbling cherub of joy and love,
A drop on Eternity’s mighty sea,
A blossom on life’s immortal tree—
Floating, liowing evermore
In the blessed sight of-the golden shore;
And as i gazed or. thy sinless bloom
And thv radiant face, they dispel my gloom:
I fell lie will keep thee undefiled,
And His love protect my beautiful child.
SELECT MISCELLANY.
_ KITTIIi’S liETTEB.
I don’t think Santa Claus is so
very good, said Kitty, stoutly, her
forehead all puckered up into a
frown with the hard thinking that
had been going on behind it for the
last ten minutes. If he is, why
closen’t he carry presents to poor
little girls and boys jus well as rich
ones ? Susy Briggs says he never
brought her one in her life ; and she
dosen’t hang up her stocking now,
the night before Christmas Day, be
cause she knows he won’t come to
her house. And it must be because
she’s poor, and lives in such a mean
little bit of a honse; but she can’t
help it; her father is dead, and her
mother can’t earn more than enough
to keep them from starving. And
just because Lillie Perkins is rich,
and lives in a splendid house, Santa
Claus carries her beautiful dolls, and
play-houses, and books with pictures
in them, every Christmas; and _ last
year he brought her a litte rabbit, as
white as snow, with pinkeyes. And
I think Santa Claus is moan!
Aunt Kate—who had been talking
to Kittie about Santa Claus, and
telling her he wouldn’t come to fill
her stocking unless she was very
good, because, being so very good
himself, he couldn’t endure bad
children—was reading no w, and did
not hear a word Kit tie said. But
i red, Kiltie’s brother, who was a
great, grown up boy, almost fifteen,
mil knew everything, Kittie thought,
no’ i up his hands in dismay.
•A iancy you ii find lie vs on l oiing^
u much to-night, young lady, after
>u Lave talked in this way about
•i'n.i. ' said Prod, intones of warning.
Kittle looked a little concerned.
‘•Jan he hear me?” she said.
ir y
riios
iswered
was in
; Kittie.
11, I’m sorry I said he was
oecause he is good to bring
lgs,” said Kittie, after think-'
while. “But I do wish he
•any Susy Briggs something.’"
i might write to him and ask
—that is, if you know his ad-
suggested Fred,
a’t you know it?’ asked Kittie,
' catching at the idea,
juld be such a grand thing to
3 Santa Claus; and, besides
;ent request in Susy Briggs s
she would like to asn his
. for calling him mean, for he
be very angry, and not bring
iv more pi esents, as If red
Oh, of course. I know where
s,” replied Pred, “but I slian t
l, for it wouldn’t be of any
you to send a letter to him
;ernoon; he wouldn’t get it in
3 carry Susy Briggs anything
it. It’s likely that he has
. out to buy his presents, long
this time, and he won t go
Liatil he has filled all the stoek-
?. intends to—not until broad
it.”
w do you know that he buy
all the beautiful presents himself?”
she inquired, f -v . | §
“Oh, I sawnifn Tags .fib^tmas
Eve down in Mace’s toy shop,” re
plied Fred.
“Kittie’s eyes grew as round as
gooseberries.
“You saw him ! Oh, Freddy, how
did he look?” Like the pictures in
my ‘Kriss Kringle’ book ?” she cried,
breathlessly.
“Yes, a good deal like that; but
the picture was taken when he was
younger than he is now. He is just
as fat and jolly looking now j as lie
was then tkougltiiand his jehefiks
are like two red, shiny applet-}- finJti
he’s got. little, twinkling blaety "eyes,
like glass beads. But his hair is get
ting quite gray,” answered Pied.
“Did you speak to him?” inquired
Kittie.
“No; he dosen’t like to have any
body speak to ~ him. If you ever
meet him, you mustn’t say anything
to him.”
“Does he live here in Boston,
Pred?”
“Yes, I think so,” answered Fred,
who had lost his interest in the con
versation suddenly from having seen
some of his comrades going by with
skates in their hands.
“Then if he does, perhaps a letter
would get to him before night,” per
sisted Kittie.
“I tell you he has gone out t<> buy
presents before this time. If you
want j) write to nidi, von c.ui j*ui a
lettm upon the mantelpiece; and if
he comes to put anything in your
stocking, may be he’ll see it.”
And Pred hung his skates over his
shoulder, thrust his cap ou, and
rushed out.
It was better than not to write to
Santa Claus at all to put a letter up
on the mantelpiece, and run the risk
of his seeing it; even then it might
not be too-late for him to carry some
thing to Susy Briggs. So Kittie got
a sheet of paper, and a pen and
ink, and sat down besides the win
dow to write.
She sat for a long time nibbling at
the end of the pen with her teeth,
and with her forehead all screwed
up, just- as you have seen people sit,
perhaps, when they were coaxing
their brain very hard. It wasn’t
quite so easy to write a letter to
Santa Claus as Kittie had thought it
would be. For, besides the mere
writing, which was very hard, there
was the spelling and the composing.
Of course, it would never do to write
a letter to Santa Claus that was not
perfectly correct, and with very po
lite words in it. So after a while,
Kittie went and got Fred’s big spel
ling-book, that had all the big words
that anybody could think of in it;
and then, alter a very little more
nibbling of her pen and screwing up
of her forehead, she wrote the first
words of her letter; and after a
great deal of patient labor, and much'
consulting of the spelling-book, it
was at last finished to Kittie’s mind.
And this was the way it ran:—
“Dear Santa Claus,—
“I take my pen in hand to write
you a letter. I hope you will see
the letter on the mantelpiece. I hope
you will excuse me for writing you a
letter, if you don’t like to have peo
ple write letters to you, and<*excuse
me if I don’t write it very well, for I
never wrote a letter before. I write
this letter to ask you to forgive me
for calling you mean, and I hope it
did not make you feel cross. And I
write this letter, besides, to ask you
to carry Susy Briggs a present to
night. You never ao, and perhaps
it is because you don’t know where
• she livv s. She lives in a little bit of
u mean old house in Cherry Lane.
I think if you should carry her anew
dress, and a good warm shawl, she
would like it, because she hasn’t got
auything but a little thin calico dress
to wear to school. And if you thought
you could afford it, you might carry 7
her a pair of new boots, and a pretty
,11. Because her father is dead,
u:d her mother can’t buy her any
thing. I should like very much to
have you bring me a rabbit with pink
eyes, like the one you gave Lillie
Perkins last Christmas. Please don't
forget to carry 7 the presents to Susy
Briggs. Good by.—Kittie Bent.” _
Kittie folded the letter up and in
an envelope, and wrote Santa Claus s
name in very large, plain letters_ ou
the outside. Then, being very tired
with her afternoon’s work, she wheel
ed the great easy chair up ^to the
window, and sat down to rest.
It was beginning to grow dark, but
there were throngs of people going
by, with their arms filled with bun
dles ; and Kittie thought that every-
body seemed in a greater hurry than
usual because it was Christmas Eve.
She wished Fred would come home
and take her clown to Mace’s toy
shop, and perhaps she might see
Santa Claus. And then she won
dered whether she should know him
by the picture in her book ; she rath
er thought that she should, she re
membered so well the expression of
his round, good-natured face.
Just then a plneton came rather
slowly along by the window, with an
occupant that caught Kittie’s eye m
an instant. And at the first glance
her heart gave a great thump! For
it was a little, old gentleman who
satin the vehicle, and his face was
exactly like Santa Claus’s face in
her picture book—a round, good-
natured face, with rosy cheeks, and
twinkling, black eyes. To be sure,
he was not dressed like Santa Claus
in the picture; but why shouldn’t
Santa Claus be as likely 7 to follow
the fashions as anybody ?
Kittie didn’t pause for a second
thought, but with her letter in her
hand rushed out of doors. Every
body stared to see a little, bare-head
ed girl rushing so frantically after a
carriage, blit Kittie didn’t mind that.
The little old gentleman stopped his
horses when he saw her, and Kittie,
though she was almost out of breath,
managed to gasp "out. “Here’s a
letter for you!” and thrust it i*to
his hand”
Then she turned and ran back to
the house.
The little old gentleman looked
puzzled ; still moi’e so when he read
the superscription. But at last he
chuckled good-naturedly, a glimmer
ing of the truth seemiug to strike
him.
“do the child took me for Santa
Claus!” he said, to himself; and then
he opened Kittie’s letter and read it.
“Carry some presents to Susy
Briggs, eh ?” he said to himself. “A
pretty 7 queer thing to take a forlorn
old bachelor like me, who never had
anybody 7 to give Christmas presents
to, for Santa Claus! Susy Briggs!
Well, I don’t know but I may as
well take Miss Kittie Bent’s advice,
and carry her something, Susy- -and
Briggs, too,” he went on, musingly.
“It is a little singular ; but of course
it isn’t possible that that little sister
of mine, who ran off and got mar
ried to that poor scamp of a Briggs,
should turn up in this place, when
I’ve hunted half over the world for
her, in the last ten years. No, of
course it isn’t possible. But I’ll
carry Susy Briggs some presents for
her name, any way, a»d so that Kit
tie Bent’s faith in Santa Claus
needn’t be shaken.”
So the little old gentleman whip
ped his horses, and rode rapidly
along until he came to a dress-maker’s
and then he went in and bought a
beautiful, bright-colored plaid dress,
and a nice warm shawlthen he
went into a shoe store, and bought a
nice pair of boots. After that he
went into Mace’s toy shop, and
bought a beautiful, great wax doll,
with bluo eyes that would open and
shut, and curly, flaxen hair.
When he had got ail the bundles
into his phaeton, lie started in search
of Cherry Lane. After some diffi
culty he found “the mean old house,”
and made up his mind that if the
little girl, Susy Briggs herself came
to the door, he would pretend to her
that he was Santa Claus, and drop
the bundle in her arms and beat a
retreat; but when little Susy 7 Briggs
did come to the door, at the fii’st
sight of her face he seemed to for
get himself entirely, and stood look
ing fixedly at her until she was half
frightened.
Just then Susy’s mother appeared
in the entry, and what do you think?
In an instrnt, after one startled
glance into the gentleman’s face, she
was sobbing for joy on his shoulder,
and he was calling her “Susy,” his
dear sister Susy! while little Susy
looked on with wide-open wonder
ing eyes, thinking her mother must
surely be crazy. By-and-by little
Susy nvas as happy as they, under
standing that Uncle James, as the
strange little gentleman told her to
call him, was going te take care of
them, and they were never going, to
be poor any more.
And Uncle James didn’t forget
Kittie Bent, who had been the cause
of all their happiness. But she was
a little bewildered and disappointed,
when she found that Santa Claus was
Susy Briggs’s uncle; but when she
understood it all, and learned how
much good her letter had done, she
j was more proud and happy, even,
| than if it had really been Santa Claus
: who had read her letter and sent her
j the pretty presents.
old rheumatic ajggas would be
wanting to start down thar the very
first frost.”
i „
A Place of Torment.—Before the
war, there lived on a plantation near
Lynchburg an old colored preacher,
whose sermon was truly remarkable.
One day his master, who happened
to be passing paused to listen to him
as he discoursed to his fellow-ser
vants. His subject was, “Hell and
its Horrors,” wliich he discribed in
terrible terms, declaring that there
was “whipping and whaling, and
snatching out of teeth. He then
proceeded, with a touch of Dantesque
vigor, to tell his hearers that hell
was a region of fearful cold, where
ice and cold covered all things, and
where freezing was the favorite pun
ishment. “Why, Ciesar,” said his
master, next time they met, curious
to learn why the preaceer differed so
strongly from the usually accepted
theory "of the infernal regions,
“What makes you tell my servants
that hell is a cold*place? Massa,
I don’t dare to tell them people
nothing else! Why, if I was to say
that bell was warm, some of them
A Touching Story.
The following affecting narrative
we publish more especially for the
boys and girls, and we hope it will be
read by all of them. It contains a
lesson thej 7 all should heed. It pur
ports to have been given by a father
to his son, as a warning derived from
his own bitter experience of the sin
of grieving and resisting a mother’s
love and counsel;
“What agony was visible on her
face when she saw that all she said
and suffered failed to move me ! Siie
rose to go home, and I followed at a
distance, She spoke no more to me
until she reached Per own door.
“It’s school tinyf now,” said she.
“Go, my son, and once more let me
beseech you to tiling upon what I
have said.” ■
“I shan’t go to sdtiool,” said I.
She looked astonished at my bold
ness, but replied thinly:
“Certainly you will go, Alfred. I
command you.”
“I will not!” said I, in a tone of
defiance.
One of two things you must do,
Alfred, either go to school this morn
ing, or I will lock you in your room
and keep you there until you are
ready to promise implicit obedience
to my wishes in future.”
“I dare you to do it,” said I; “you
can’t get me up stairs.”
“Alfred, choose now,” said my
mother, who laid her hand on my
arm.
She ’trembled violently and was
deathly pale.
“If you touch me I will kick you,”
said I, in a terrible rage. God knows
I knew not what I said.
“Will you go, Alfred ?”
“No !” I replied, but quailed be
neath her eyes.
“Then follow me,” she said, as she
grasped my arm.
I raised my foot— oh, my son, hear
me ! I raised my foot and kicked
her—my sainted mother! How my
head reels as the torrent of memo
ry rushes over me! I kicked my
mother ! She staggered back a few
steps and leaned against the wall.
She did not look at me. I saw her
heart beat against her breast.
“Oh! Heavenly Father,” she said,
“forgive him—he knows not what
he does !”
The gardener just then passed the
door, and seeing her almost unable
to support herself, lie stopped. She
beckoned him in.
“Take this boy up stairs and lock
him up in his room,” said she, and
turned from me.
Looking back as she was entering
her room, she gave me such a look
of agony, mingled with intense love !
It was the last unutterable paug from
a heart that was broken.
I found myself a prisoner in my
own room.
I thought for a moment I would
fling myself from the open window
and dash my brains out, but I felt
afraid to do it. I was not penitent.
At times my heart was subdued ;
but my stubborn pride rose in an
instant, and bade me not yield.
I flung myself ou the bed and fell
asleep. Just at twilight I heard a
footstep approach the door. It was
my sister.
“What may I tell your mother for
you?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Oh, Alfred! for my sake for all
our sakes, say tiiat'you are sorry.—
She longs to forgive you.” *
I could not answer. I heard her
footsteps slowly retreating and again
I threw myself upon the bed, to pass
another fearful night.
Another footstep, slower and fee
bler than my sister’s, disturbed me.
It was my mother’s.
“Alfred, ray son, shall I come?”
she asked. I cannot tell you what
influence, operating at the moment,
made me speak adverse to my feel
ings. The gentle voice of my moth
er thrilled through me, melting the
ice of my obdurate heart, and I long
ed to throw myself upon her neck,
but I did not. But my words gave
the he to my heart when I said I
was not sorry. I heard her groan.
I longed to call her back, but I did
not.
I was awakened from my uneasy
slumbers by hearing my name called
loudly, and my sister stood at my
bedside.
“Get up and come with me. Moth
er is dying.”
I thought I was yet dreaming, but
got up mechanically and followed my
sister.
On the bed, pale and cold as mar
ble lay my mother.
She had not undressed. She had
thrown herself on the bed to rest;
rising to go again to me she was seiz-
witli palpitation of the heart, and
borne senseless to her room.
I cannot tell with what agony I
looked upon her; my remorse was
tenfold mere bitter from thought that
she would never know it. I believed
myself to be her murderer. -I fell on
the bed beside her. I could not
weep. My heart burned within my
bosom; my brain was on fire. My j
sister threw her arms around me
and wept in silence. Suddenly we
saw a slight motion of mother’s hand;
her eyes unclosed. She had recov- ;
ered consciousness, but not speech, j
She looked at me and yioved her lips.
I could not understand her words.
“Mother, mother!” I shrieked,
“say only that you forgive me !”
She could not say it with her lips,
but her hand pressed mine. She
smiled upon me, and lifting her thin,
white hands, she clasped my own
within them, and cast her eyes up
ward. She moved her lips in prayer,
and thus she died. I remained kneel
ing beside that dear form till my
gentle sister removed me. The joys,
of youth had left me forever.
Boys who spurn a mother’s con
trol, who are ashamed to own that
they are wrong, who think it manly
to resist her authority, or refuse to
yield to her influence, beware ! Lay r ;
not up for yourselves bitter memo- j
ries for future years.
Beacon Barnes’ Sunday.
“Beautiful, beautiful!” mentally
ejaculated Deacon Barnes at the j
close of a sermon about Heaven. 1
“Those are my ideas exactly.”
And so enwrapt was he with his
thoughts as he passed out of church, j
he forgot to ask lame old Mrs. Howe |
to ride home with him, as avus his ;
usual custom.
“Perhaps it is just as well,” he j
thought, “for she is a worthy old |
woman, aud would probably have j
drawn my thoughts away from Hea- !
vcn.”-
At the dinner table his son ex- I
claimed ; “O, father, I have a situ
ation at last.”
“Have you forgotten that it is Sun
day, John ?” asked his father, stern
ly. “Don’t let me hear any more
such talk.”
John ate his dinner in silence.
How could his situation be a wrong
thing to speak of on Sunday. He
was so thankful for it that it seemed
to come from the hand of God.
God knew all about the restless
months in which he had answered
an advertisement every day.
When the minister gave thanks in
church for ail the mercies of the past
week, John’s heart gave a grateful
throb, and be determined anew to
acknowledge God in all his ways.
•John ate his dinner in silence while
his father thought about heaven.
In the afternoon Mr. Barnes’ neph
ew, a stranger in the place, came
over from his boarding place oppo
site, and sat on the piazza talking
with John.
“I can’t allow this, Tom, said Mr.
Barnes, coming to the door with his
Bible in his hands, “you must not sit
here breaking the Sabbath. Go
back to your boarding house and
read some good book.”
Tom started up angrily, and spent
the afternoon fishing and bathing
with' an old colored man, his only
other acquaintance in the place,
while Deacon Barnes sat in a large
rocker on the piazza with a handker
chief over his face, and thought
about heaven.
Presently his two little grand
daughters came out in the piazza with
a large picture book and sat down
near him. There was a flutter of
leaves and a great deal of buzzing as
the little yellow heads bent over the
book, aud finally they laughed out
right.
“Children, where’s your mother ?”
sternly demanded Deacon Barnes,
springing to his feet.
“Up stairs putting baby to sleep,”
the} 7 both answered together.
Deacon Barnes strode into the
hall.
“Ellen! Ellen!” he shouted, “I
should think you might keep these
children quiet on the Sabbath. They
won’t allow me to think.”
Ellen had been awake all night
with a fretful baby. She had hush
ed him, and had just fallen asleep
when her father’s voice aroused her
and awoke the baby.
“Please send them up stairs,” she
said wearily.
And all the sultry afternoon she
amused the three children in a close
upper room, while her father rocked
and fanned himself, and thought
about Heaven. *
Now it happened out of the several
boats that left the ship this was the
only one that was saved. The one
in which he first intended to go, and
in which he would have gone if he
had been a selfish boy, and not car
ed for his kitten, was lost, and all on
board of it perished. If Ned bad
been a selfish boy he would perished
too. But there was no selfishness
about him, and that saved his life.
Don’t be Selfish.
A little sailor boy, named Ned,
once took with him on ship board a
kitten for a pet. Sailors are very
fond of Laving such pets that re
mind them of home, and of the dear
ones there. So Ned had no difficul
ty in making friends for Kitty. But
in the course of the voyage a fearful
storm overtook them. The ship
sprung a leak, and was likely soon
to go down. A boat was lowered
into the foaming sea, and little Ned
was about, to step into it when he
thought of his kitten. There was
no selfishness about him, and he
could not think of leaving her to go
down in that terrible storm. He
rushed into the forecastle to find her.
When he came back the boat was
gone. Pretty soon another boat was
lowered and made ready, and in to
this went Tittle Ned and his kitten.
The Leisure Time of Boys.
Every father of a family knows
that there is a time in the lue of his
sons that gives him much trouble
and some anxiety. We allude to the
period of boyhood, when exuberance
of spirits and thoughtlessness are at
their bight, and when the studies
imposed by school discipline are en
tirely insufficient to find adequate
employment for their too active
minds and bodies. And it is not
possible, or even desirable, to in
crease the already considerable ap
plication of all well bred boys to the
study of books Aul the acquirement
of learning. It is not to be wished
that a youth of twelve should grow
up to be a conceited would-be pedant
of twenty, and a bookworm of thirty
years of age. Thus the task of fiud-
ing fitting occupation for the leisure
hours of a boy is no inconsiderable
one, as few pursuits into which a
boy would plunge with eagerness are
suited for putting in the way of so
much impulsiveness and want of con
sideration as most boys possess. The
question, then, of how to amuse our
boys, is one of paramount impor
tance and difficulty.
We would suggest, to the many
parents who have been perplexed
with this difficulty, to give their lads
every possible opportunity of ac
quiring a mechanical trade. The
industry and ingenuity of a boy of
average ability may easily be made
to furnish him with a never failing
source of amusement of the best or
der. The boy who can produce or
make something already begins to
feel that he is somebody in the world,
that achievement of a result is not a
reward reserved for grown peopl •
only. And the education of mind,
eye, and hand, which the use of tools
and mechanical appliances furnishes,
is of a great and real value, beyond
the good resulting from the occupa
tion of leisure time. Having noth
ing to do is as great a snare to the
yonng as it is to the fail grown ; ana
no greater benefits can be conferred
on youths than to teach.them to con
vert time now wasted, and often
worse than wasted, into pleasant
means of recreation and mental im
provement.
We say, therefore, to all parents;
Proride your boys with mechanical
apparatus and tools. There is no
greater pleasure to most boys than
the handling of a tool; and many
great men and ingenious inventors
look back with gratitude and delight
to the day when they were first al
lowed to use the lathe, the saw, and
the plane.
The boy, whose time and mind are
now occupied with marbles and kites,
may be a Watt, a Morse, or a Besse
mer in embryo ; and it is certainly
an easy matter to turn his thoughts
and musings into a channel which
shall give fall scope to their faculties.
And to most boys the use of mechan
ical tools is the most fascinating of
all occupations.
As logic and mathematics have a
value beyond accuracy in argument
and the correct solution of problems,
in that they teach men the habit of
using their reflecting powers system
atically, so carpentry, turning, and
other arts are of high importance.
These occupations teach boys to
think, to proceed from initial causes
to results, and not only to under
stand the nature and duty of the
mechanical powers, but to observe
their effects ; and to acquire knowl
edge by actual experiment, which is
the best way of learning anything.
All the theories culled out of books
leave an impress on the mind and
memory, which is slight compared to
that of the practical experience of
the true mechanic.
Our advice is, to all who have the
great responsibility of the charge of
boys : Give them a lathe, or a set of
carpenter’s or even blacksmith’s
tools. Give their minds a turn to
wards the solid and useful side of
life. You will soon see the result in
increased activity of their thinking
capabilities, and the direction of their
ideas towards practical results ; and,
still more obviously, in the avoidance
of idle mischief aud nonsense (to
omit all reference to absolute wick
edness and moral degradation),
which are, to too great an extent the
pastime of the generation which is
to succeed us.—Scientific American.
A young lady says that a gentle
man ought never feel discouraged
when the “momentous question” is
negatived by the object of liis choice,
“for in life as in grammar, we always
decline before we conjugate.”
When your pocket-book gets emp
ty, and everybody knows it, you can
put all your friends in it and it won’t
bulge worth a cent. . *
Evils of Intemperance.
Could all the forms of evil produ
ced by intemperance come upon us
in one horrid array, it would appal
the nation, and pat an end to the
traffic in ardent spirits. If in every
dwelling built by blood, the stone
from the wall should utter the cries
which the blbody traffic extorts and
the beam out of the timber should
echo them fcback, who' fc would build
such a house, and who woulcTdwell
in it ? What if in every part of the
dwelling, from the cellar upwards,
through all the halls and chambers,
babblings, and contentions were
beard day and night ? What if the
cold bloodij oozed ont and stood in
drop3 upon the walls and by preter
natural art all the ghastly skulls and
bones of the victims destroyed by
intemperance should stand upon the
walls, in horrid sculpture within and
without the building—who would
read it? What if at eventide, at
midnight, the airy forms of men des
troyed by intemperance, were dimly
seen haunting the distilleries and
stores where they received their
bane—following the trackjofjthe ves
sel engaged in the commerce—walk
ing upon the water—flitting athwart
the deck, and sending^upgfrom|the
hold withinj-and the waves without,
groans, and loud laments, and wail
ings? Who would attend such
stores, who would navigate such ves
sel? Oh, were the sky over our
heads one great whispering gallery,
bringing down about us all the la
mentation and woe which intemper
ance creates, and the firm earth one
sonorous medium of sound bringing
up around us from beneath the wail
ings of the d&mned, whom the com
merce in ardent spirits had sent
thither—tremendous realities assail
ing our senses, would invigorate our
conscience, and give decision to our
purpose of reformation. But these
evils are as real as if the stone did
cry out of the wall and the beam
answered it!—as if day and night
wailings were heard in every part of
the dwelling, and blood and skeletons
were seen-on every wall!—as real as
if the ghostly forms of departed vic
tims flitted about the ship as she
passed over the billows and showed
themselves nightly ab*out the distil
leries and* with unearthly voice
screamed in our ears their loud la
ment. They are as real as if the
sky over our heads collected an
brought down upon us all the note
of sorrow in the land, and the firm
earth should open a passage for th
wailings of despair to come up fro~
beneath.—Beecher.
X umber Seven in the Bible.
On the seventh day God ende
his work.
On the seventh month Noah’s ar
touched the ground.
In seven days a dove was sent.
Abraham pleaded seven times fo
Sodom.
Jacob mourned seven days for J~
seph.
Jacob served seven years for Iiach
el.
And yet another seven years mor
Jacob was pursued a seven day
journey by Laban.
A plenty of seven years and a fam
ine of seven years were foretold i
Pharaoh’s dream by seven fat
seven lean beasts, and seven full:
seven ears of blasted corn.
On the seventh day of the sevent
month the children of Israel faste
seven days and remp.ined seven day
in their tents.
Every seven days the land reste
Every seventh year the law w
read to the people.
In the destruction of Jericho, se
en person bore seven trumpets seve
days; on the seventh day they "su
rendered the walls seven times, an
at the end of the seventh round th
the walls fell.
Solomon was seven years builc
the temple, and fasted seven days
its dedication.
In the tabernacle were seve
lamps.
The golden candle-stick had sev
branches.
Naaman washed seven times
the Jordan.
Job’s friends sat with him sev
days and seven rights, and offer
seven bullocks and seven rams
an atonement.
f Our Saviour spoke seven times fr
the cross, on which he bung sev
hours, and after the resurrection a
peared seven times.
In the Revelations we read of
en churches, seven candle-sticks, i
en stars, seven trumpets, sev
plagues, seven thunders, seven via
seven angels and a seven-head^
monster.
Table linen which has been i
peatedly stained with tea and cofl
finally becomes dingy, and can
made white and clean again by wi
ting and laying on the grass in t
sun a day or so.
‘Gently the dews are o’er me s 1
ing,’ as the man said who had
due bills presented to him at
tine.