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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IS PUBLISHED
EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
.
By WILLIAM 11. CHAMBERS,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
Office on Randolph street.
Pof 1 r
[From Richards’ Weekly Gazette.]
GEORGIA.
BY JAQUES JOUR NOT.
Blessings on thee, Land of Beauty,
Sleeping in a sunny clime!
Blessings on thy hills and valleys—
I invoke them in my rhyme !
Far and wide, my steps may wander,
Fairer scenes may meet my eyes,
But my soul will cherish, ever,
Memories of thy glorious skies.
Northward, ’gainst the quiet heavens,
Thy blue mountain barriers rise.
And above thy foaming torrents
Glow the Iris’ radiant dyes:
There Tallulah dashes madly
Through the sundered granite hills,
And a sense of awful beauty
All the gazer’s being fills.
And Toccoa, haunt of lairies,
And Nacoochcc's valley sweet.
Where the shining Chattahoochee
Stare and sunshine love to greet:
And Mount Yotiah soaring proudly,
Where the winds are pure and free,
Walts a greeting on their pinions,
To his neighbor Gurranee.
Thine the Mountain Mock of Granite,
Rising ’mid thy fertile plains—
Nature’s everlasting wutehtower,
Looking o’er thy wide domains
Looking northward to the mountains—
. Southward o’er savannas wide,
Where, through dark lagoons and marshes,
Flows the Altainahu's tide.
Thine, the lovely Forest City,
Vonavcnture's wealth of shade-**
Classic Athens —seat of learning,
And Augusta's mart of trade:
Macon shines, and fair Columbus,
And Atlanta’s busy street,
And the pride of Maine the western,
Where Coosa’s tribute waters meet.
But thy proudost treasures, Georgia,
Are thy Sons, so brave and true —
And thy gentle, bright-eyed Daughters,
Who with love our souls imbue:
Thine the valiant and the lovely—
Manhood’s strength arid woman’s charms—
And thy Homes, adorned by Beauty,
Guarded are by Valor’s arms.
[From the New York Observer.]
CLEON AND I.
Cleon hath a million acres,
Ne'er a one hath I ;
Cleon dwelleth in a palace,
In a cottage I;
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,
Not a penny I;
But the poorer of the twain is
Cleon, and not I.
Cleon, true, posscsseth acres,
But the landscape I;
Half the charms to mo it yieldeth,
Money cannot buy ;
Cleon harbors sloth and dullness,
Freshening vigor I;
He -in velvet, I in fustian,
Richer man am I.
Cleon is a slave to grandeur,
Free as thought am 1;
Cleon fees a score of doctors,
Need of none have I;
Wealth-surroupded, care-environed,
Cleon fears to die;
Death may come, lie’ll find mo ready,
* Happier man am I.
Cleon sees no charm in nature,
In a daisy I;
Cleon hears no anthems ringing
In the sea and >ky ;
Nature sings to me forever,
Earnest listener I;
State for state, with all attendance,
Who would change 1 Not I-
iVlxs cell an to ns.
[From Arthur’s Homo Gazette.]
PASSING THROUGH THE FIRE.
BY X. S. ARTHUR.
■“The trials of life are the tests which ascertain how
much gold is in ue.”
Few men moved before the world in so
blameless a life as Francis Hartley. For
strict integrity, few bore so high a character.
His word was regarded as equal to his bond ;
and this was said of him by hundreds.
“As honest as Frank Hartley,” passed into
sv proverb in the immediate circle of his most
intimate friends.
That he was hold in this honorable esti
mation, was no secret to Hartley. And the
reader will not feel much surprise when we
say that a knowledge of the fact was to him
a source of no ordinary pride and pleasure.
“I am an honest man,” he would often say
to himself, in the silent chamber of his
thoughts; and as he gave mental utterance
to this impression, Mr. Hartley’s bosom
would swell, his head become more erect, and
bis step more stately.
“I am an honest man.” With what an
intense feeling of self-gratification would Mr.
Hartley sometimes give utterance to these
words! And this, not always in his own
heart; for that which gives us a high degree
of pleasure, will find oral expression.
“les, 1 am honest,” he said to a business
man, one day, in whose account he corrected
a mistake of five hundred dollars against him
self. The words were in response to these
words of like import:
“Mr. Hartley, you are an honest man.”
“Yes, I am honest; and that reflection
gives me the highest pleasure of my life,”
said Hartley, with something of pride in his
bearing; for, in him, the love of reputation
was strong.
He did not remember, at the time, the
quick impulse that moved him to an appro
priation of the five hundred dollars to his
own benefit ; nor the brief struggle that suc
ceeded, ere he arose above the temptation.
No! The struggle was brief—the conquest
•easy; so brief and so easy, that it left but a
light impression behind.
Well for Mr. Hartley would it have been, if
he had closely examined his heart, and learn
ed by v. !at power he so quickly overcame
in tliis trial of his principles. Had he done
bo, he would have discovered that the argu
ment—“lt is an evil thing to wrong my
neighbor; and, because it is evil, I will not
take advantage of his error”—never once
was urged. Instead thereof, there came this
instinctive thought, followed by a low shud
der:
“The mistake might be discovered, and
then !”
A sense of pleasure supervened, as his
mmd pictured the surprise, gratitude, and ad
miration ot the merclmut, when he called
upon him to rectify an error of fi ve hundred
dollars against himself.
The single instance referred to, may be re
garded as one in hundreds that occurred in
Mr. Hartley’s business life. And thegli mpse
we have given of his true character, is suffi.
cient to enable the reader to understand
something of his real quality, and the differ-
VOL. 11.
! ence between that and the appearance he
! presented to the world.
“/ would scorn such an act,” was a favor
! ite expression of Hartley’s, whenever instan
j ces of trickery, over-reaching, or gross acts
I of dishonesty, happened to be the theme of
remark in business circles.
This, and other expressions of a similar ‘
character, were ever on the tongue of Mr.
Hartley; and, if judged by his actions, he
would not have been found wanting.
“So much for honesty! So much for a
j good reputation!” he murmured to himself,
j after having received from one of the largest ;
I and wealthiest houses in the city, a proposi- j
I tion to wind up his rather limited business ;
operations, and take charge of their Western |
branch, with a co-partnership interest.
When this proposition, so advantageous in j
everyway, was made to him, it was accom- ‘
panied with a frank avowal, that he had been j
selected, because it was known that he could :
be trusted.
The position of Western resident-partner
was one of great responsibility, and as the pres
ence of the member of the firm who had been
in Cincinnati for five years, was needed at
the East, it became necessary to bring into
the house another partner. Hence the offer j
to Hartley.
“So much for honesty! So much for a
good reputation !” repeated Hartley to him
self, over and over again, with a feeling of
pride and self-elation that, for a time, gave a
low, delightful tremor to every nerve.
It is usually the case, that men who value
themselves on the possession of certain quali
ties, despise those who do not possess the !
same, and afe often too prone to visit severely
derelictions in that particular direction.
Thus it was with Hartley. He never spared
the dishonest man. The unfortunate he
pitied; but towards the dishonest he felt
anger.
Not always was his discrimination accu
rate in the case of the unfortunate. He was
a sort of dishonesty-hunter ; and quick to
start his game. So quick, that he not un
frequently shot the wrong bird.
Proud in the advantage which came to him,
as the result of years of honesty in business,
Mr. Hartley entered upon his new sphere of
activity in the West. He soon found himself
in the command of large interests, large in
fluence, and immense sums of money com
pared with the amount formerly handled.
So entire was the confidence reposed in him
by his partners at the East, that few of the
usual checks and balances were arranged
before his departure. And now was to come
the great trial of his life—the test of his real
principles. Hitherto, a love of reputation,
and a belief in the old adage—“ Honesty is
the best policy,” had made him scrupulously
honest in all his dealings. But now,his repu
tation was established —he was known as
“Honest Frank Hartley”—and he had gained
the reward of his honesty, in an association
that would, in the end, give him a large for
tune.
From this time, there was a change in the
current of Mr. Hartley’s thoughts and feel
ings. He no longer acted from a love of
reputation—no longer had pleasant feelings
as the thought glided through his mind that
his name had passed into a proverb. A
stronger affection possessed his heart—par-’
tially latent before but now quickened into
the fullest activity; this was the love of gain.
And as it grew stronger, day by day, the
thoughts of Mr. Hartley gradually became
more active in the consideration of personal
benefit, than in furthering the interests of
those who had so largely confided in him.
Os this, he was at first scarcely aware, for
our affections bear us on as the current of a
stream bears a vessel upon its bosom—so
quietly and pleasantly that we hardly per
ceive the motion.
For a year, in all his actions, Mr. Hartley
was true to the trust reposed in him. There
had been occasional allurements, though not
so strong as to draw him aside. But he was
in the way of temptation ; for the balance of
his bank account was frequently heavy, and
he had so large a range of money operations,
of which his partners were not cognizant, that
it would be the easiest thing in the world to
use funds for purposes of his own, reap a
benefit, and return them, without any knowl
edge of the fact passing on to the East.
One day a keen money speculator said to
him—“Do you want to make a few thousand
dollars ?”
M llow ?” was the question of Hartley.
“Have you four or five thousand dollars
idle ?”
“Yes.”
“Buy up shares in the Company.”
“That stock has been running down.”
“I know. But the tide is about changing.
It will run up some twenty or thirty dollars a
share. I say this to you as a friend. You
can take advantage of it or not.”
“Do you speak by the card ?” said Hart
ley, with some eagerness of manner.
“I do.”
“Very well. I’ll think of it. Thank you
for the information.”
Hartley understood clearly the meaning of
this. He knew that there was no change in
the prospects of the Company to war
rant a rise in its depressed stock; and that,
if a rise did take place, it would be only the
! effect of speculation—or, in plainer words,
j falsehood, trickery, and fraud.
“Is it honest?” Was this the question he
| asked himself? No. That thought did not
! cross his mind. He was rather intent upon
the question—“ Can I fully rely upon this
! opinion about the stock ?”
Satisfied, from his knowledge of the money !
j speculator, that his judgment might be trust- j
| ed, he determined to make a temporary in-
I vestment of five thousand dollars in the stock
I referred to, and to sell out as soon as the I
I quotations reached a certain price. “For the j
benefit of his partners, as well as himself?” j
O, no! For his private benefit alone.
It must not be supposed that, when Mr. J
Hartley eame to the act of checking to the |
amount of five thousand dollars on the funds
in bank for his own speculating purposes, he
was not warned by conscience of the wrong
he was about enacting.
“Is this right?” It seemed almost as if a ;
voice had given audible utterance to these
words.
But he shut bis ears and moved onward in
the dangerous path he had entered
In two months from that day, Hartley sold
the stock which had cost him five thousand, j
for eight thousand dollars. In the meantime, j
letters came from the East, asking for all j
the money he could remit, as large pay- I
®!)c 33ontl)cnt Sentinel.
ments had to be made. Os course, the
money invested by him in stock, could not be
: sent. He felt a little uncomfortable about j
| this; the more particularly, as the fact that •
j he ought to have forwarded a larger sum, !
: made him feel that his partners would expect !
j a larger one. With some little uneasiness he
j waited until an acknowledgment of the re
mittance was received. It was satisfactory,
| and Hartley breathed freely again.
This stock-speculation was the initiatory
step in a dangerous path. It was the first
: slight deviation in Hartley’s line of virtue—
j or, rather, his first deviation from the line of
I virtue. Two lines, projected side by side,
| may diverge from each other, in the begin
! ning, so imperceptibly as scarcely to show a
I difference in parallel; but the longer they are
I continued, the wider w’ill be their divergence,
! until the distance between becomes im-
I rnense. All this is equally true of the two
j lines of virtue and vice. At first, they often
seem perfectly parallel to each other; and
thousands have been led on to ruin for want
of a just perception of the difference. Thus
it w’as with Hartley.
It is not our design to pursue Hartley, step
by step, along the path in which his selfish
I desire for gain induced him to enter. His
I first successful speculation not only dimmed
his moral perceptions, but aw'akened new’ and
stronger cupidities; and thus his mind w r as
turned more aw r ay from the co-partnership
interests to such as w'ere directly personal to
himself. Daily, from this time, did his path
of life diverge from that of the strictest recti
tude of conduct. The love of gain w r as sw'al
j lowing up, or overlaying, all the better prin
ciples of his mind. He had tw r o interests
now to subserve—that of the business en
trusted to his care so confidingly; and his
owm interests separate from those of his
partners. He found it, as all will find it,
hard to serve two masters.
Five or six years passed away, and not a
breath of suspicion had been wafted to the
ears of Mr. Hartley’s associates at the East;
for he had, w ith great prudence,as he thought,
remained apparently unconnected w ith large
operations out of his legitimate businesss, in
which he was really concerned. This very
prudent arrangement proved his ruin. About
this time we will again present him to the
reader. He was sitting alone, with a stern
cast of thought on his brow, when a man
entered his little private office, with a
hurried air—“ You must raise me ten thou
sand dollars to-day,” said the latter in an ex
cited, imperative manner.
“It is impossible. Did I not tell you so
last evening, Mr. Parker f”
“I know you did; but, for all that, j-ou
must raise it. You can do it, if you will;
and there is far too much at stake, for you to
hesitate a moment.”
Hartley arose and crossed the narrow
room four or five times in an agitated man
ne’’.
Too much at stake! How like blows did
the words fall upon his heart! Yes, there
w'as too much at stake.
“The notes of our firm are already out for
over fifty thousand dollars,” said he, with a
look of distress—“and this, independent of
the regular business. Our credit will stand
no more.”
“Give me notes for ten thousand more,
and I will trust to the good credit of your
house,” returned his companion.
“I dare not do it,” said Hartley, in a quick,
stern voice.
“Rather say, you dare not refuse,” an
swered Parker, who had regained his self
possession, and stood with his small, keen
eyes fixed upon the countenance of Hartley.
For a considerable time the latter remained
in deep thought. Then slowly resuming his
place at the desk, he opened a book of bill
forms and drew a note at ninety days, for
ten thousand dollars, in favor of Andrew
Parker, and signed it with the signature of
the firm to which he belonged.
“That will do!” said Parker, as he fairly
clutched the little piece of paper. “All is
safe. Good morning ! I will see you again
to-night.”
For the space of nearly half an hour,
Hartley remained almost immovable in
body; but, there was a tempest of agitation
in his mind. For some time past, he had not
been altogether satisfied with the movements
of his partner in gain outside of the firm of
F. Hartley, Jones & Cos., with whom he had
involved himself and the firm to the amount
of over a hundred thousand dollars. And he
had good reason to be troubled. Before his
first arrangement with this man, he should
have remembered that it is always dangerous
for any one to put himself in the power of an
other who is willing to enter into a league
with him in operations of doubtful morality.
What was exceedingly doubtful on this score,
in the operations of Hartley and Parker, was
the use of the money and credit of F. Hart
ley, Jones & Cos., in operations outside of
their business, and for private benefits. Such
use of money and credit was not honest.
Avery troubled day for Mr. Hartley fol
lowed. More than once, during the past few
weeks, had doubts of Parker crossed his
mind; and now, as a thought of his playing
false occurred to him, he shuddered, and be
came really heart-sick.
It was about half-past three o’clock, and
Mr. Hartley had just returned to his store,
after dining, when a notary came in and
asked for the payment of a note of five thou- j
sand dollars drawn by Parker & Cos., and j
endorsed by F. Hartley, Jones A Cos. ; and
: the payment of a note of like amount drawn
; by F. Hartley, Jones & Cos., in favor of j
Parker &; Cos.
“Have you Mr. Parker?” asked
Hartley, in a hoarse voice. He had become, j
instantly, as pale as death.
“I called at his place of business, but he !
| was not there.”
Stunned and bewildered, it was some time
| before Hartley could collect his thoughts i
| sufficiently to say—
“l will have all right before bank hours ;
to-morrow morning.”
The notary departed, and Mr. Hartley left
a few minutes afterwards, hurriedly. He j
j had not proceeded far before he met a friend,
; who said to him —
“Have vou heard the news?”
“What ?”
“Parker has been protested.”
“So I have just learned,” replied Hartley, j
in a disturbed voice.
“Does he owe you much F*
“Yes, a good deal,” was answered eva
| sively.
“It will be a bad failure, in my opinion.”
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 13, 1851.
“You think so t”
“I’m pretty sure of it Parker is a slip
! pery fellow'. This is not his first failure.”
“Does he ow'e you?” asked Hartley.
“Not a dollar. He tried to draw me into
; some of his wonderful money making
schemes, but I’m too old a bird to be
caught with such chaff. I’m only sorry
you did not know’ him better.”
* “Good day,” murmured Hartley, as he
turned off. To Parker’s place ot business he
went, but did not succeed in finding the per
son he sought; nor was he able to see him
until near eleven o’clock that night. The
first ten minutes of the interview that fol
low’ed, satisfied him that he was a ruined
man—ruined in fortune and reputation. He
had been playing a desperate game, and the
cards had turned up adversely.
A week from that time, protested liabilities
of the Cincinnati branch of the firm in which
Hartley w r as a partner, came to the East for
collection. They were in heavy sums.
These, with a brief, hurried and unsatisfac
tory letter from Hartley, proved, to his part
ners, the first intimation that any thing was
W'rong. It was to them as sudden and as
tounding as a clap of thunder from an un
clouded sky. In Hartley they had reposed
the most implicit confidence. Not in a single
instance had doubts as to his unflinching in
tegrity, under the severest enticements, cross
ed their minds.
The result is told in a few words. One of
the partners proceeded to the West imme
diately. He found Hartley self-possessed,
and inclined to evade a severe scrutiny into
his business operations. The love of reputa
tion, the desire still to be thought an honest
man, had returned, and he was anxious to
conceal the fact that he had been using the
money and credit of the firm to an enormous
amount in private enterprises.
But evasion and hindrance of investigation
were of little avail. The whole affair was
sifted to the bottom, and Hartley’s operations
exposed to the public eye.
It w'as then that the unhappy man fell from
a dizzy height! It was then that he shrunk,
as it w’ere, into very nothingness. It was
then that he saw his real face in a glass, and
knew w'hat manner of man he was. Not
“Honest Frank Hartley.” Alas, no! He
had never been honest at the core. Had
never shunned wrong to his neighbor as sin.
He had tried to appear honest in the sight
of man ; but not in the sight of God. And
when the great trial of his life, that was to
test his quality, came, the apparent gold
which glittered so brightly before the w'orld’s
eye, vanished into worthless dross!
Ten years have glided aw'ay, and there is
now, in a far western city, an unobtrusive
man, engaged in a small trading business.
He shuns society, and has only a few friends.
Those who can get near enough to him to
understand his disposition and character, like
him. He is intelligent; but has little to say
about the moralities of life. Yet, to all ap
pearance, his own life is blameless. He is
known to be strictly honest in his dealings,
man w'ith man; and he is esteemed a kind
husband and father by all his neighbors.
But his expression of countenance is always
sober; and at times, troubled.
This man is Francis Hartley. In the great
trial of his life, a small portion of gold re
mained after the gilded dross, which the
world thought gold, had vanished. There
was yet, in his heart, a germ of integrity ; and,
happily, this was preserved in its feeble vi
tality.
Humbling himself before God and man,
he began anew, a true, and a better life.
But for this great temptation, in which he
fell, he never would have known the real
quality of his heart. He would have remain
ed puffed up in proud self-estimation, and
hugged to his bosom a soul-destroying evil—
the evil of dishonesty. Now he saw himself as
he really was, and, in the sadness of a stricken
soul, sought earnestly to be what lie had only
before seemed to be.
Yes, it is even so—“ The trials of life are
the tests which ascertain how much gold is
in us.” And these trials, which come in
the order and permission of Providence, are
for eternal purposes. They are for the sal
vation of man from evil.
CHALMERS’ ASTRONOMICAL DIS
COURSES.
As logical and literary compositions, they
have undoubtedly been overrated; and as a vin
dication of the truths of Christianity, they form
rather an ambitious, than a successful or com
plete performance. The main objection to
revealed religion which they endeavor to re
fute is one which hardly needs the refutation,
since it has, in reality, never been seriously
entertained by the class of intellects to which
the discourses are professedly addressed.—
The great merit of these discourses is one that
is solely oratorical; they are elaborate dis
plays of verbal eloquence; brilliant and vigo
rous appeals to the imagination, the fancy, the
passions, and the sentiments of veneration;
and while they are certainly calculated to
produce a dazzling and impressive effect up
on either listener or reader, they are very im
perfectly adapted to convince or confound the
skeptic. In point of style they are very
showy, high-wrought, and irregular, with a I
tendency at times to run into bombast. — ;
They have no simplicity, no ease, no direct- .
j ness : everything is amplified and reiterated
Jto the uttermost: the phraseology is often
j ponderous and inelegant : there is a constant
and undue elaboration, accompanied by a ve
hemence that frequently transcends the
j bounds of taste. Yet, in spite of many de
! sects, there is a great charm in these dis-
I courses—the charm of earnestness, of energy,
1 and fervor—the fascination and the power
| that belong to the utterance of genius.
THE OLD-FASHIONED JUVENILE LIT
ERATURE.
Once upon a time there was a sort of ju
; venile publication, which, indeed, lasted for
j man\“ years, and contributed infinitely to the
delectation of our grand-fathers and grand
| mothers in their early youth, and to their
; first loving parents, lapt in the enjoyment
j of their first abecedarian pursuits, and the
| pouring of fresh instruction o’er their infant
| minds. These were the days when Robin
Hood and his merry Sherwood followers,
taught the young idea how to shoot; when
j Mother Goose was a fact, and nursing mother
j to the rising generation; when Goody Two
j Shoes superintended the undressing of happy
[ children, and sent them joyful to rest, with
; their own shoes in their little hands; when
Fine-Ear and his most accomplished breth- ‘
ren opened the valve of imagination, and let
in more knowdedge than the Seven Wise
Men of antiquity, more strength of niind than
could shine through the Seven Champions
of Christendom—two heptarchies, by the
way, which Heaven forbid we should depre
ciate; w'hen Red Ridiug Hood taught sym
pathy for innocent misfortune, caused by
w'rongful oppression and cruelty; w'hen Cin
derella gave pride and selfishness a nice les
son, velvti in speculum , to be reflected on for
ages; when—when—w'hen “the Cow jump
ed over the Moon.” It w’as thus, when In
fant Literature w'as in its infancy, and grow
ing up to riper age, that it w'as cultivated
with fancy and pleasurable excitement.
There was nothing repulsive. Gayety and
Amusement were the handmaids rff Instruc
tion. The eye tvas charmed, the taste was
awakened, the faculties were enlarged, the
j understanding was improved, the ideas were i
elevated, and the very first six or ninepenny
worth of learning bestowed, in golden cov
ers, showed the intelligent and wonderful
pupils that there were more things in Heaven
and Earth than w'ere ever dreamed of in
their baby-philosophy, (and, be it said, par
parentliese , that the greatest human philoso
phy goes but little beyond in explaining the
miracles of the material creation, and the
mysteries of the spiritual world.)
TIIE NEW-FASIIIONED JUVENILE
LITERATURE.
And now arose a class of graver,—the
apostles of the useful, the exploders of the
fanciful, the genii of the dry and dogmatic.
Learning, according to them, must be a se
rious affair. Their Tree of Knowdedge was
to bear fruit, hut have no blossoms: a
grand botanical mistake. Taste must be
proscribed,—mirth prohibited. Wisdom’s
ways w'ere not to be paths of pleasantness.
Mankind had had enough of holiday-making,
and all work-a-day must now’ he the order of
the day. Well, the succession of the gilt
book era went into the opposite extreme.
In trying to substitute solid food for trifles, it
produced a mass indigestible by young
stomachs; and it was speedily discovered
that as little information could he acquired
whilst you w ere yawning as whilst you were
laughing. The heavy task, the elaborate
moral, the difficult problem, the tedious ex
pounding, and all the inflictions of supreme
reasoning and conclusive argument, failed to
make boys more clever, or girls more atten
tive. If the small hammer had not knocked
something into their heads, the large hammer
would have stunned them. The supera
bundance of weighty treasure thrown upon
them, like the Goth ornaments on the Roman
tmitoress, buried them in utter darkness and
destruction. The older system w'as accused
of being frivolous; the new system was
found to be stupefying. Under these cir
cumstances it seems that we have arrived, in
the business of hooks for children at any rate,
at a rather more mixed practice, out of which
we trust a happy medium may be educed.
There are a few admirable productions of
the graver character that warrant the highest
encomiums; and there are, perhaps, more of
a lighter order, which no less deserve the
public approbation, and the patronage of
those charged with youthful tuition. Be
sure, as we have had philosophy in sport, we
can have teaching made both lively and in
teresting. As the mind strengthens and ex
pands, bring in the supplies and nourishment
and culture—but do not choke it with too
much when it is but feeble, and struggling
| into conscious existence. Keep alive and
encourage the glimmer, before you attempt
to provoke the blaze: otherwise your light
will be put out, and your illumination fall into
the blackness of night.
Push Ahead.—That’s the motto, young
man, if you would be anything,—if you would
make a figure in the world, or accomplish
aught worthy of a name, then push ahead.
Don’t falter, or turn, or doubt. Who are
your men who have reached the world’s sum
mit—who have almost touched the stars ?
Why, those who have pushed ahead. “It
isn’t in me,” say you ? No such a thing. Be
bold, sturdy, determined for a day, and you
will see, feel, understand, know you are ten
fold better than you think. Every man has
powers in him that a god might envy.
Young men, push ahead. Sound the in
spiring words, and then pin them with the en
ergetic deed. There’s a fortune in that short
phrase, Soft, sharp, plump, stirring, it speaks
volumes.
Workmen should Study.— We respect
fully counsel those whom we address, (the
: workingmen of America,) we counsel you to
1 labor for a clear understanding of the sub
jects which agitate the community; to make
j them your study, instead of wasting your
j leisure in vague, passionate talk about them.
| The time thrown away by the mass of the
people on the rumors of the day, might, if
better spent, give them a good acquaintance j
with the constitution, laws, history and inter- 1
ests of their country, and thus establish them !
on those great principles by which particular
measures are to be determined. In propor-
J tion as the people thus improve themselves,
, they will cease to be the tools of designing
politicians. Their intelligence, not their pas
sions and jealousies, will be addressed by
those who seek their votes. They will exer
cise not a nominal, but a real influence in the
government and destinies of the country, and j
at the same time will forward their own j
growth and virtue.
Sports of Childhood. —A celebrated fe- j
male writer thus pleads the cause of the lit-;
tie girls:
“I plead that she he not punished as a
j romp, if she keenly enjoy those active sports ;
which city gentility proscribes. I plead that
the ambition to make her accomplished, do
! not chain her to the piano, till the spinal col
; umn, which should consolidate the frame, j
j starts aside like a broken reed. Nor how her
over her hook, till the vital energy, which
ought to pervade the whole frame, mounts into ;
I the brain, and kindles the death fever.
Cheap Blacking for Harness.— Melt :
two ounces of mutton suet with six ounces of ’
j beeswax, and six ounces of sugar candy, two
ounces of soft soap, and one ounce powder- ■
ed indigo ; melt and mix well; add a gill of j
; turpentine. Lay it on with a sponge, and *
1 polish with a brush.
JTtoml mu> Bclic^oxts.
FLOWERS.
Beautiful flowers! why are they not in ev
ery home ? There is no dwelling into which
’ some rav of sunshine does not enter. The
earth is cheap; the little one may want what
can be had for asking; and surely there are
some tutored to nail together a few rough
boards, and make a box for the smiling
daisies, or the red lipped rose. It is a plea
sure, as the toiling dame busies herself with
her arduous duties, to see, in some cozy nook,
or on some cleanly window seat, the pretty
fragrant things speaking all unconsciously of
the Heavenly Father’s kindness in enriching
the dreary world-path through which his
children travel to a better home. The heart
of the hard-working man grows kindlier, and
softens towards the tastynaster from whom
he earns his slight pittance, as their rich and
dainty colors feast his eyes. The little ones
| are wealthy if a single velvet leaf is bestow
ed upon them; for they see nothing so beau
tiful out of doors, poor things! nothing but
red bricks and damp pavements, in whose
gray and black crevices not a blade of grass
dare grow.
A little sufferer lay in a high, drearv gar
ret, and the beams above his head and on
every side, were black and foul. His cheek
was scarlet with the flush of fever, and the
unnatural light of his eye flashed in the dim
ness of the coming evening, like a diamond
in its gloomy bed of anthracite. Something
told the child that death was busy with his
heart. It might have been the heavy strug
gling for breath ; it might have been an angel!
for angels gather in bands around the despised
couch of poverty. “Mother,” he whispered,
and a pale, bent woman knelt beside him,
“mother, is there one blown now? look,
look!” For the twentieth time the sickly wo
man lifted the tiny box of violets, and the
red blood rushed to her face as she beheld
one little, drooping bud, just beginning to un
fold. She carried it to the boy, the child, al
most infant; and a sweet smile lighted up his
innocent features.
“Put it down, mothe’r, where I can look at
it till I die!” With a wild sob the poor widoxv
placed it upon his pillow, and watched the
glassy eyes eagerly as he watched the flow
er. Hours passed; the brow grew whiter;
the fingers that she clasped, more clammy;
the round lips that had so often called her
mother, more purple, fading into a blueish
white—tremulous, as though the failing voice
struggled for utterance. She placed her ear
closer to his little face, and heard him utter
distinctly, “Good-bye, mamma; take good
care of my violets.”
And after the rough pine coffin was carried
aw’ay and covered with the mold, while her
w'orn fingers were nervously stitching on the
ill-paid-for garment, the spirit eyes of that
mother could see a vision of beauty filling the
wretched garret with light and loveliness—a
vision of her early buried child, in the pure
white robes of Heaven, bending above the
i box of violets.
i
A GENTLEMAN.
“Be very gentle with her, my son,”said Mrs.
Butler, as she tied on her little girl’s bonnet,
and sent her out to play with her elder
brother.
They had not been out very long before a
cry was heard, and presently Julius came in
and threw down his hat, saying :
“I hate playing with girls! There’s no
fun with them ; they cry in a minute.”
“What have you been doing to your sis
ter ? I see her lying there on the gravel
walk; you have torn her frock and pushed
her down. lam afraid you forgot my cau
tion to he gentle.”
“Gentle! Boys can’t be gentle, mother;
it’s their nature to be rough, and hardy, and
boisterous. They are the stuff soldiers and
sailors are made of. It’s very well to talk of
a gentle girl; but a gentle hoy—it sounds ri
diculous ! I should be ready to knock a fel
low down for calling me so!”
“And 3 T et, Julius, a few years hence, you
would be very angry if any one were to say
you were not a gentle man.”
“A gentle man. I had never thought of
dividing the word that v*../before. Being
gentle always seems to me like being weak
and womanish.”
“This is so far from being the case, my
son, that 3*oll will alwa3 : s find the bravest
men are the most gentle. The spirit of chiv
alry that 3 r ou so much admire was a spirit of
the noblest courage and the utmost gentleness
combined. Still I dare say you would rather
be called a manly than a gentle boy.”
“Yes, indeed, mother.”
“ Well, then, my son, it is my great wish
that 3 t ou should endeavor to unite the two.
Show yourself manly when 3*ou are exposed
to danger or see others in peril; be manly
when called on to speak the truth, though the
speaking of it may bring reproach upon
3’ou; be marih’ when 3 r ou are in sickness and
pain. At the same time be gentle, whether
you be with females or men; be gentle to
wards all men. By putting the two spirits
together, 3*ou will deserve a name which, per
haps, 3*ou will not sogreatlv* object to.”
“I see what you mean, dear mother, and I
will endeavor to be what you wish—a gentle
manly boy.”
“BREAD UPON THE WATERS.”
“Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after
many da3*s it shall return to thee.” This is j
a Scripture truth, which, like all truth, has j
| been verified a thousand times. The follow- j
ing story may serve to illustrate the verity of |
i this text. Allow me to premise that my sto
ry fs a true one, in all particulars:
I Some thirty years since, a lad of one of j
! our Eastern States, about ten years of age, j
| was sent by his employer to carry a basket, I
heavily laden with wares, to a purchaser. ;
While staggering under its weight up a j
somewhat steep hill, a gentleman of about j
thirty years proffered his assistance, and be- i
guiled the tediousness of the way b3 r a plea- j
sant anecdote, good advice, and kind words.
They parted—many years passed away—the I
senior of these two, now nearly fifty years of;
age, sat in his study with a melancholy coun- ,
tenanee and a sad heart His door opened,
and his young and fascinating daughter, just j
blooming into womanhood, entered to an- j
nounce that a gentleman desired to see her i
father. “Show him in, my darling daughter, i
and do you, my child, leave ns to ourselves.” j
She obeyed. The old gentleman entered,
i “Well, sir,” was his salutation, “have you i
considered my proposition V* “I have—and J
TEEMS OF PUBLICATION.
For one year, if paid in advance, - - - $9 50
” “ “if not paid in advance, - - 3C9
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One equaro, first insertion, 81 <X>
“ ° each subsequent’insertion, - - 50
A liberal deduction mado in favor of those who adver
tise largely.
NO. 7.
have determined, happen what may, I will
j not force nor sway, by any act of mine, the
will of. my child. She shall be left to her
own free choice.” “Then, sir, to-morrow,
by three o’clock, your property must go into
the hands of the sheriff, unless you find some
I friend to pay the twenty thousand dollars.”
I This he said with a sneer, and coldly bowing,
left the house. The poor father’s heart w’as
racked. “I am a beggar—my daughter is
homeless—l have no friend to offer assistance
in this hour of my severest trial.”
In the midst of these bitter reflections,
again his daughter entered, introducing a
gentleman of some twenty-eight years of age
—a stranger. “Am I in the presence of
Mr. G. ?” was his opening remark; which be
ing affirmatively answered, he continued by
saying that he was a successful merchant f
New York; had heard of the misfortunes of
Mr. G., and had come on purpose in ask tie’
amount of his liabilities, that he might loan
the necessary funds to supply his wants.
Nor w r as he shocked at the mention of the’
large amount of twenty thousand dollars.
He handed him his check, which was duly
honored—the father was once more a happy
man—his daughter was not homeless—he had
found some friend to pay,despite the sneer of
his-hard-hearted creditor. “But, pray, sir,”
said he, agitated, “to whom uni I indebted
for this munificent kindness, from an entire
stranger?” “Perhaps you have forgotten,”
w'as the reply, “that some eighteen years
since you aided a friendless l>oy, of ten years
of age, to carry his loaded basket up a will—
to whom you gave good advice and kindly
words? lam that boy. I follow’ed your
advice —I have lived honestly—l have gained
wealth—and now, After many years, 1 have
come to return to you, kind sir, the bread
which you then cast freely uppn tb- waters.”
PERSONAL PREACHING.
“Sir,” said a lady, one fine Sunday, to a
clergyman, just after the morning service was
concluded, “Sir, I hope you will not preach
that sermon again.”
“Why not, madam ?”
“It was so very persoual.” *
“Indeed! what part of it ?”
“Oh! that part about worldlv-mindedncss
and covetousness.”
“But, how could that be personal ? the re
marks were general enough.”
“You may not have intended to apply it
personally, but the congregation will.”
“To whom, madam?”
“Why, to me.”
The lady and the clergyman parted, but
not very cordially, ns she couk! not extort
from him a promise “never to preach against
worldly-mindedness any more.” A week
passed over, and on the Sunday following
the same clergyman preached on the subject
of “providing all tilings honest,” etc.; his
text occurring in the services of the day,
which generally guided him in the selection
of his subjects. In this sermon, thought he,
there is surely nothing to rouse the feelings of
the lady who complained of the former dis
course—hut on the following morning, as he
was taking his letters from the post-office, lio
encountered the lady’s coachman.
“If you please,” said John, touching his
hat, “if you please, sir, I can explain all
about the hats.”
“Explain all about the hats, Mil! I don't
understand you.”
“Why, sir, the hats you preached about
yesterday.”
“The hats that I preached about yester
day
“Yes; I quite understand you.”
“That’s more than I can do as to you,
John ; pray, explain yourself.”
“Why, sir, you see, Missis and me has had
a row about the livery hats; and me, sir, and
the butler and the footman, sir, felt quite
sure as how Missis had set you to preach
to US.”
“Well, John, call at my place on your way
home. ’
John did so, and the sermon was produced
and read to him. “Yes; that's it, sir.”
“Can you read writing, John ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, now look at the outside of that ser
mon, and you will see that it was written
twelve 3'ears ago, and the reason it was
preached yesterday, was, because the text’
came in the course of my service. I knew no
thing about your quarrel, and your Missis
lias not spoken to me since the Sunday be
fore last.”
John professed himself satisfied.
“I see, John, that hats will sometimes fit as
well as caps; good morning to you.”
ONE MORE PRAYER.
The following beautiful and touching story
was related by Dr. Schnebly, of Md., at a
meeting held in New York, to hear the expe
rience of twenty reformed drunkards:
A drunkard, who had run through his
property, returned one night to l;is unfur
nished home. He entered its empty hall—
anguish was gnawing at his heart-strings, and
language i3 inadequate to express his agony
as he entered hi3 wife’s apartment and there
beheld the victims of his appetite, his lovely
wife and darling child. Morose and sullen,
he seated himself without a word; he could
not speak, he could not look upon them. The
mother said to the angel by her side, “Come,
my child, it is time to go to bed,” and the
babe, as was her wont, knelt by her mother’s
lap, and gazing wistfully into the face of her
suffering parent, like a piece of chiselled stat
uary, slowly repeated her nightly orison; and
when she had finished, (but four years of
age,) said to her mother:
“Dear mamma, may I offer up one more
prayer?”
“Yes, my sweet pet, pray!”
And she lifted up her tiny hands, closed
her eyes, and prayed :
“Oh God! spare, oh spare my dear papa!”
That prayer was wafted up with an
electric rapidity to the throne of God. It
was heard—it was heard on earth. The re
sponsive “Amen !” burst from the father’s lips,
and his heart of stone became a heart of
flesh. Wife and child were both clasped to
his bosom, and in penitence he said—“My
child, you have saved your father from a
drunkard’s grave. I will sign the pledge.”
Contentment.— What is Contentment?
The philosophy of life, and the principal in
gredient in the cup of happiness—a commodi
ty that is undervalued in consequence of the
very low price it can be obtained at.