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a JFanulg iimgpayer: Brfrotctr to ttit arts, Science, Staciculture, mtcfxanicts, mutation, jFoteCjjn ann Domestic StiteUifieuce, Rumour, vcc.
BY C. R. IIANLEITER,
P © IE IT K Y
“ Much yet remains unsung
THE AMERICAN FLAG.
The glorious sign our fathers gave,
Os free-born sons the boast—
The stars and stripes! long may they wave
Upon Columbia's coast;
The brightest flag that Freedom rears,
Her emblem on the seas :
The flag that’s braved for sixty years
The battle, and the breeze !
To gain the trampled rights of man,
And break oppression's chain,
The highest in the battle's van,
It never floats in vain !
The mariner, where'er he Bteers,
In every clime, still sees
The flag that’s rode these sixty years
O'er battle, and o’er breeze !
While we unite, as Patriots did,
To keep our flag unfurled,
Columbia then may fearless bid
Defiance to the world :
But fast would flow a Nation’s tears.
Should lawless hands e'er seize
The Flag that's stood these sixty years
‘Gainst battle, and the breeze !
UNANIMOUS DECLARATION
Os the Washington Temperance Society.
When in the course of human events, it
becomes necessary for any class of people
to dissolve the bands in which they had pre
viously been connected, and to assume
among the inhabitants of a Christian land
the independent and manly station to which
the laws of nature and nature’s God entitle
them, a decent respect for the opinions of
mankind, as well as a proper regard for
theirown character, requires that they should
-declare the causes which impel them to the
separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident;
that all men are created free and equal: they
are endowed by their Creator with certain
inalienable rights? that among these are life,
and the pursuit of happiness: that to secure
these rights, certain moral and physical laws
are established among men, designed for
their best good; that whenever any habit or
appetite becomes destructive of these ends,
it is the right of those concerned to alter or
!hoßsh it, and to establish habits, laying
their foundation on such principles as shall
he most likely to effect their safety and hap
piness. Prudence, perhaps, will dictate,
that customs long established should not be
changed for light and transient causes; and
all experience has shown, that mankind are
more disposed to suffer while evils are suf
ferable, than to right themselves by aban
doning habits to which they have been at
tached. But when a long train of abuses
and usurpations, pursuing invariably the
same object, evinces a tendency to reduce
them under absolute despotism, it is their
right, it is their duty, to throw off such a
yoke, and to provide new guards for their
future security. Such has been our patient
suffrance, and such is now the necessity
which constrains us to alter our former hab
its, by shaking off the tyranny under which
we have been bound. The history of that
Prince of Wretchedness, Alcohol, is a his
tory of repeated injuries and usurpations,
all having a direct tendency to establish an
absolute tyranny over both mind and body.
To prove this, let facts be submitted to a can
did community.
He has utterly overthrown and reversed
laws the most wholesome and necessary for
the public and individual good.
He has restrained our faculties from their
proper exercise, nay, he has absolutely sus
pended their operation, and when so sus
pended, he has laid some of us prostrate in
the ditch.
He has called together carousing assem
blies at places unwholesome, uncomfortable,
and distant from the bosom of our families,
mainly for the purpose of bringing his vic
tims under his complete control.
He has dissolved the dearest ties of affec
tion repeatedly, and caused the basest and
most degrading associations to be formed.
The mental powers havo been almost anni
hilated; the body remaining, in the mean
time, exposed to the filth and nakedness
Without, and tremors and convulsions from
Within.
He has made our reason and judgment
dependent on his will for the tenure of their
office; almost for their very existence.
He has erected a multitude of officers,
■under various deceptive titles, such as
‘House of Refreshment,’ ‘Refectory,’ ‘Tra
vellers’ Home,’ and other kindred appella
tions, occupied by swarms of harpies, to
harrass us, and eat out our substance.
He has kept among us at all times, stand
*n{j jugs, bottles, and hogsheads of rank
poison.
He has affected to render the animal ap
petites and passions independent of, and su
perior to, tho mental faculties.
He has, under various combinations, sub
jected us to a jurisdiction foreign to our con
stitutions, and subversive of our health and
comfort:
For cutting off our intercourse with res
pectable society.
For imposing the heaviest and most ex
orbitant taxes upon us, without rendering us
any equivalent.
For arraigning us, (for no offence what
ever, except unbounded devotion to him,)
before the bar of a tavern or groggery, and
without the shadow of justice, causing liquid
fire to be poured down our throats, until
some of us were dead drunk.
For transporting us, if not beyond the
seas, at least in many instances more than
“half seas over,” under the mask of pre
tended friendship.
For taking away our characters, abolish
ing our most valuable privileges, and de
ranging all the functions of nature.
He has plundered our houses, ravished
our property, hurt our vitals, and destroyed
the happiness of our families.
He is, even at this time, coming with large
quantities of foreign allies, the “ choice
spirits” of other lands, to complete the work
ot death, desolation, and tyranny so long
carried on, with circumstances of fraud and
perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most bar
barous ages, and totally unworthy the toler
ance of a civilized community.
He has constrained us, “taking captive at
his will,” to array ourselves against our
best friends and become their worsftene
mies.
He has excited domestic brawls among
us, and has visited our defenceless families
with almost unmitigated and unalloyed dis
tress; his known rule of warfare undis
tinguished ruin of all ages, sexes and condi
tions.
For all these oppressions we have obtain
ed no redress; but every attempt to free
ourselves has been attended only by repeat
ed injury. A Prince whose character is
thus marked by every act which should de
fine a tyrant, is totally unfit to bear sway
over rational beings.
Nor have we been wanting in attention to
Rum and its coadjutors. We have loved
them as our own lives—we have on all occa
sions, manifested towards them the most
devoted attachment—and even with all the
evils we have suffered, the severance of the
bond was a most severe trial. But having
found them utterly deaf to the voice of jus
tice and humanity, we must renounce any
connection with them, and hold them, as we
hold other destroyers of our peace, enemies
now and forever.
We, therefore, the members of the Wush
ington Tempeaance Society, in geueral
meeting assembled, looking to heaven for
strength to maintain ourintegrity,do solemn
ly publish and declare, that we are, and of
right ought to be, free and independent men.
That we are absolved from all connexion
with intoxicating drinks—and that our atti
tude towards them is, and ought to be—To
tal Abstinence. That as freemen, we have
full power to act for ourselves, to follow the
things which make for peace, purue honor
able occupations, and do all other things
which rational and intelligent men may of
right do. And for the support of this declar
ation, with a firm reliance on the help of
Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to
each other, our lives, our fortunes', (so far as
our misfortunes have left us any) and our
sacred honor.
From the Philadelphia Enquirer.
HAPPY GIRLHOOD.
“Blessings on them ! they in me
Move a kindly sympathy,
With their wishes, hopes and fears,
With their laughter and their tears,
With their wonder so intense,
And their small experience!”
We were not a little gratified a few days
since, at a rich picture of youth, beauty and
pleasure. The scene was in the vicinity of
our goodly city, and the actors were about
fifty girls, “just let loose from school,” or,
rather, in the enjoyment of a holiday in
June. They were on an excursion of plea
sure—their teachers with them, and exercis
ing only enough control to keep them out of
danger. Such a cluster of happy faces—
such bright eyes, and rosy cheeks—such
graceful forms, and joyous, laughing, thrill
ing voices—such rich and flowing ringlets
—such taste, and artlessness, and innocent
coquetry ! Even the eloquent pen of a poet
would fail in the effort to describe them.
Happy—happy girlhood ! As we gazed,
what visions of coming time passed through
our imagination. The sunny brow, robbed
of its youthful brightness and glory—the
bounding step, restrained by disappointment
and care—the ruddy cheek pale with sick
ness and suffering. But all was not sad and
shadowy. Love, mingled in the day dream,
and with his eyes of light and lips of joy,
drew pictures of bliss at which the heart
thrilled and dilated with sincere delight.
We saw the altar and the bride—the blush
ing maid, and the manly lover—the affianced
one and her betrothed—the young mother
bending above the cherub features of her
first-born—the happy father, proud of his
only boy ! As the years flitted by, how ma
ny were the changes! Before us stood
Youth, and Hope, and Loveliness, and Joy.
Beyond—how varied, how chequered the
scene ! Laugh on—laugh on, we inwardly
exclaimed ! Pleasure is but a bubble—a
gilded, sparkling bubble. Youth passes
like the rosy dreams of the morning ! En
joy the glad hours then while they last! In
nocent—artless—happy days of girlhood !
•* Play on—play on—l am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring.”
Knowledge. —ls any man would seo a
thing, pierce through it, thoroughly know
it, he must, in the first place, lore it.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 2, 1842.
From the Knickerbocker.
AN AFTERNOON LECTURE.
BY THE REV. DEMOCRITUS HUMDRUM.
“Faith, Hope, Charity—but the greatest of these is
Charity.”— Saint Pacl.
I would fain know, (quoth the Rev. De
mocritus, as he reclined one Sunday after
noon against the wall of a summer house,
his portly person threatening destruction to
the two legs of the chair which supported
him,) I would fain know why the clergy so
belie the loveliest ot the Christian graces,
Charity. Under their hands she has sunk
to be a mere hospital nurse. Does not the
word charity now-a-days suggest putting
your hand into your pocket, or your name
to a subscription list 1 Ah ! that was not the
glowing thought which lighted up the Apos
tle’s soul. It was Love he wrote of—love
for our fellow men; the offering of our
hearts to humanity, not of our purses.
It is not difficult to perceive in what man
ner Charity became chained to the ground.
W e need not have recourse to begging
Franciscans and Benedictines to account
for it. The rich and the powerful were ev
er ready, by a sacrifice of what was to them
no sacrifice, to make their peace with Heav
en ; and the Church, alas for it! was but
too willing to be thus appeased. A robber
baron, whose life had been a long scene of
iniquity and debauchery, would separate
from the spoils of the plundered the where
withal to build a chapel to the saint whose
aid he had invoked in his expeditions, and
some holy father would present him with a
written acquittal of all sins up to a certain
date, by way of value received ; or an as
sassin would order a certain number of mas
ses to be chanted for the soul of his victim,
and return home with the pleasing convic
tion of having more than expiated his cruel
ty to the body, by his solicitude for the soul
of the slain. What could be more comfort
able or satisfactory to both parties, than such
a method of proceeding ? The one was will
ing to pay for his pleasure, the ‘other too
happy to receive gold for words. Well may
wealthy sinners regret the days when inno
cence was for sale in every convent, and ad
mittance into Heaven purchased as readily
as admittance into a play-house.
We, however, in our times, venture to
doubt of the efficacy of this means of mak
ing one’s peace with Heaven ; yet, if we
consider a moment, we shall find that many
of us are traveling on the old path. We
read of the all-impoilance which the apos
tles attribute to charity : we desire to prac
tice this beautiful virtue. We hear a voice
from the pulpit, crying, “ Give ! give ! that
is charity ;” and we pour out our five dollar
bills for Tract Societies, missions to Nova
Zembla, or for any object which is urged
upon us. We feel contented. We have at
least done something to merit favor. Like
Polycrates in Schiller’s beautiful ballad, we
have sacrificed what we held most dear, to
propitiate the poweis above. But be not
self-deceived, my friends. The clear une
quivocal words of the epistle must strike
you with awe, when they so forcibly repre
sent the futility of your actions. “ Though
I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and
though 1 give my body to be burned, and have
not charity, it projiteth me nothing.” No!
Money, unless it be the widow’s mite, is not
charity.
Others, belonging to the class of men of
good principles, so called, conclude that this
mere giving is not sufficient. We must vi
sit the sick and the afflicted, they say ; we
must go to them, and carry them relief. But
they do it from principle, not from pity.
The heart is not engaged. It is not charity.
It reminds one of the tears which the mar
ble statue shed. It savors of the hair-shirt
and the discipline. When Sancho Panza
had a penance of stripes imposed upon him
for his master’s sake, be scourged the near
est tree, making loud outcries the while.
Ye marble men of principle, follow his
example; hire a man to go about for you
and save yourselves the trouble; so that at
least the poor may not be the losers by it.
One sigh for the wretched, and kind look, a
soothing word to the sufferer, the gentle
pressure of the hand, lay up more treasures
for man than the cold-hearted gift of heaps
of gold. Our hearts will be scanned at the
judgment seat, and not our calculations.
“ Man sees the deed, God sees the circum
stance.”
Giving to the poor, though doubtless a
duty of the rich, does not constitute charity
in itself. It is a very small part of it, even
when the result of the most generous mo
tives. There is a charity for us all, deeper
and holier, which tinges with a soft rose
color the life of him who practices it. Cha
rity toward our equals. Charity to the
world. This we have hourly opportunities
of exercising. “ What do the world think
of it ?” “ What will the world think of it?”
are, whether we know it or not, at the bot
tom of almost every thought, every plan for
the regulation of our conduct. Living to
gether as we do, the opinion of our fellows
has an unrelaxing hold upon our minds.
We cannot despise it if we would, unless
we feel a conscioushess within that they do
not know us folly, and will one day admire
what now they neglect. Every man carries
in his heart a standard of self-estimation, in
which his opinion of himself vacillates like
the mercury in the thermometer; so sensi
tive, that it is raised by the slightest favor,
and depressed by the most indirect coldness.
In a word, without the inward conscious
ness we have mentioned, the opinion of the
world concerning us regulates our opinion
of ourselves. Praise and distinction are so
sweet, because we prize ourselves the more;
neglect and insult so bitter, because they
sink the mercury down to zero, and inflict
upon us all the tortures of self-contempt.
This private standard of worth is called
the vanity. To flatter it, is Toadyism; to
respect it, Charity.
Defraud a man, plunder him, cudgel him,
stab him and leave him for dead, run away
with his wife, (O anti-climax!) and he can
easily be made to forgive and forget; but
injure his vanity, however unwittingly, and
the poisoned dart rankles for ever. He hates
you—he hates himself. He hates the beau
ty of nature, and the bright light of day:
he detests the whole human race.
Need I tell you how these tortures are in
flicted ? Need I admonish you to repress
the sneer, that ill-natured offspring of a bad
heart; the sarcasm, that unfeeling gratifica
tion of self at the expense of another? You
will all answer, “No.” And yet how many
that go about among the sick and poor, al
low the fierce glances of envy and maligni
ty to dart through the veil of sanctity with
which they have decked their faces ! How
many of those who cry, “ Lord ! Lord !” at
every corner, will open like hounds on an
unlucky friend whom Scandal has seized in
her relentless claws. What is poverty, what
is disease, what is hunger, compared to the
pangs of wounded feelings; to the self
loathing of a humiliated soul, when it recalls
with fearful exactitude the painful details of
the never-to-be forgotten event, and feels
the fire of hell raging within ? These are
wounds for which no hospitals are built, the
depth of which no surgeon can probe; which
even Time, the great physician of the soul,
fails to cure.
Love to all, is the charity which the apos
tle delighted to praise. Nothing is more
difficult to attain. Mere negative good-na
ture is far from sufficient. We should set a
watch on the smallest details of our conduct
toward our fellows. To glance carelessly
at a deformed person, as we pass, instead of
fixing a curious eye upon him, is charitable.
A pitying and attentive look would painfully
recall his misfortune to his mind. This is
trivial, perhaps; but there are a thousand
similar occasions constantlyprcsentingthem
selves, in which this spirit may be exercis
ed. A good heart will go far toward mak
ing a polite man, for politeness, worn though
it often be as a mask by the false and the
foul, is based on charity. Let us then labor
strenuously to remove asperities from the
path of our fellows, and to make the wheels
of society move without any harsh grating
or jolting. Choose your topics, to avoid giv
ing the slightest twinge of pain to any lis
tener : mote than this, cast yourself before
an envenomed shaft that you may see aimed
at a sensitive breast. Rejoice with the pros
perous, for Charity envicth not; weep with
the afflicted, for she is kind. Does man’s
conduct admit of two interpretations, a good
one and a bad one, believe the good ; for
Charity thinketh no evil. Has he sinned a
gainst the right rules of the moralist; con
demn him not unheard : consider the cir
cumstances under which he acted, and pal
liate if possible his offence; for Charity re
joicelh not in iniquity. And if an enemy
who has injured you grievously, falls into
your hands, pardon him freely, for Charity
is not easily provoked. Sustain the weak.
Encourage the timid. Defend the absent.
Have a firm trust in the good and the fair
which are in the heart of every man, and
extend a helping hand to the erring mortal
who seeks to retrace his wayward steps.
Charity, Love, isthe mystic word, stamp
ed on the soul, before which the gates of St.
Peter fly open. Money or aught else will
piove as useful as the cries ot the unlucky
Cassim.
Tho Rev. Democritus paused a moment
to take breath, and observing that two of his
friends were fast asleep, and the third eager
ly looking over the garden fence at a pretty
milk-maid, who was tripping home behind
her cows, prudently resolved not to con
tinue ; and to console himself for the inat
tention of his hearers, by incorporating these
remarks in his next discourse from the pul
pit.
Peculiarities of Genius. —Tycho Brahe di
verted himself with polishing glasses for
spectacles; Balzac’s favorile amusement
was that of making crayons; Rebault loved
to wander from shop to shop to see various
mechanics at their labor; Montaigne found
a playmate in his cat; Cardinal Richelieu
delighted at leap-frog with his servant; Pope
wasted his time in trying to paint; Politian
was never so happy as when singing to his
lute; the ingenius physician, Dr. Harring
ton, only lived when vociferating catches
and glees; Dr. Arne’s greatest enjoyment
was in writing poetry; Rousseau relieved
his literary studies with the alternative of
composing melodies; and Philidor was ev
en a greater chess-player than a musician.
The Concert Room.
Judge a man by his actions—a poet by his
ejro —an idler by his fingere—a lawyer by
his leer—a boxer by his sinews—a justice
by his frown-—a great man by his modesty
—an editor by his coat—a tailor by his agi
lity—a fiddler by his elbow — and, finally, a
woman by her neatness.
From the N. Y. Sunday Mercury.
SHORT PATENT SERMON.
BY DOW, JR.
My text may be found in Pope’s Essay
on Man in these words :
The proper study of mankind is man.
My hearers—how often do we see a dispo
sition sprouting forth in people to travel and
visit foreign parts ere they have scraped up
a thimble full of knowledge in relation to
their own country. So it is with mankind in
general, in another point of view. Instead
of looking after theirown heart’s home, and
making themselves acquainted with the geo
graphy of their own natures, they encour
age a desire to trespass upon the domains
of their Creator, and speculate upon what
is to be, rather than upon that which now
actually exists. The future, to them, is a
dark and curious cavern, which they endea
vor to explore by the dim bug light of ima
gination ; but after having groped and feit
about for a long time in doubt and uncer
tainty, they relinguish the expedition with
out having made any new discovery what
ever. Know thyself, is the point to’be con
sidered. My text means, my friends, that
man should study himself—learn the alpha
bet of his own unaccountable actions, be
fore he attempts to read the journal of Je
hovah, that book of mysteries which is print
ed so finely that no one can peruse it, ex
cept through the spectacles of divine inspi
ration, and with which he has no more bu
siness than Satan has with a psalm book.
My friends—with all your boasted knowl
edge, wisdom, learning and enlightenment,
you know no more about yourselves than
the untutored savages who inhabit the be
nighted isles of the ocean. Why is it that
one desire is no sooner gratified than anoth
er springs up in its place ? Why is it that
you cannot be as happy to-day as you think
you will be to-morrow ? Why is it that the
ripest looking apple of anticipation so often
contains a big, fat worm of disappointment
in its core ? Why are those sweets so sick
ening which are gathered in the honey pot
of pleasure ? and why is it that you, my
brothers and sisters in sin, make so many
promises to reform and never fulfil them ?
Why is it that so many of you commence
by resolving to resolve—then resolve to per
form—and then go on resolving till death
puts a period to all farther pretended reso
lutions ? The naked truth ot the matter is,
man doesn’t know himself, any better than
he can comprehend the meaning of the
higheroglyphics on the pyramids of Egypt.
He is a mystery —an enigma—a riddle—
which he nor any one below or above him
can solve. He knows so little of his own
acquirements, capabilities, wants of weak
nesses, that when perchance he happens to
read a medical work giving a description of
the various diseases incident to poor human
nature, he fancies that he is afflicted with
the whole of them—inasmuch as each one
answers to his case exactly; and if any one
tells him that he is a person of extraordina
ry talents and abilities, ho takes it for gos
pel ; or if he is told that he lacks intellectu
ality, he immediately begins to doubtwheth
cr he does actually know as much as the
generality of his fellow creatures. Thus it
is evident that most persons know very little
in regard to themselves ; and I have even
heard of some so stupid that when their
corns were trodden upon they didn’t know
whether it were better to laugh and return
thanks, or curse ar.d cry about it.
My dear friends—know yourselves. Look
inwardly and seb what the soil of your bo
soms is about to produce. If you observe
the young blade of laudable ambition spring
ing forth, cultivate it well—manure it with
industry, and keep it pruned of every su
perfluous branch that is calculated to rob the
future tree of its life-sustaining sap. If you
discover that the roses of love are beginning
to bud in your breasts, be careful and eradi
cate every vicious weed around them, in or
der that they may blossom in purity, and
their fragrance be not mingled with and con
taminated by the stinking savor of unhal
lowed lechery. Ah, my friends, the human
body is a complicated and ingenious struc
ture, which for the want of being well un
derstood is too often suffered to go to rack
and ruin! You must be careful with that
brittle shell, the head, and strenghen it well
with reason and cool philosophy, lest the
waves of feeling and excitement dash a
gainst the battlements of the brain, and
destroy them forever. Let not the cares of
the world corrode the heart. Care can kill
kings, and eat the flesh from the frame of
an alderman. Dwell not upon the sorrows
of the past, nor let difficulties turn you
aside from the direct path to heaven. If
you meet with an occasional creek of dis
appointment, wade straight through it, with
boots and breeches all on; and then sit down
and dry in the sun of happiness upon the
other side. Just understand yourselves well,
and you have nothing to fear—have confi
dence in your own capabilities, and the de
mons of doubt will never molest you; and
whenever you undertake any thing you will
go right through it like a dose of physic.
Your motto will then and ever be “ come to
the scratch and nd crawling,” as the beggar
boy.said when he applied nis digits to his
cocoanut.
My hearers—T want you to be sufficient
ly acquainted with yourselves to know that
you arc capable of petforming a great deal
VOLUME 1,-NUMBER 14.
more than you do. This I have been try
ingto beat into you with a sermonizing sledge
hammer for ayear or two past; and yet you
appear to be as stupid as a lot of woodchucks
in winter. You sleep as soundly beneath
the tbunderings of my eloquence as an oys
ter in the roaring ocean. While you are
thus sleeping you are being carried back
and forward upon the ferry boat of faith,
and the chances are, that when you awake,
you will find yourselves just where you
started. Awake—arouse ye! ascertain who
you are. Know that you are made after the
likeness of your God—a notch or two lower
than the angels, and a good ways above the
beasts; that you are not only put there to
make money, kiss the women, and cut a
swell, but to fulfil a higher and more im
portant destiny. You were placed upon
this little planet to toil for the soul—to pro
cure for it such food as shall sustain it
through the countless ages of eternity—and
clothe it with such raiment as shall” never
need patching from everlasting to the out
side of everlasting. Let each one, then, in
troduce himself to his own image in the mir
ror of wisdom, and ascertain for a certainty
what manner of man he is; so that when
Death shall grab him be may be able to cal
culate pretty closely what amount of reward
or punishment is due him. So mote it be 1
A beautiful Extract. —However dark and
disconsolate the path of life may seem to
any man, there is an hour of deep and un
disturbed lepose at hand, when the body
may sink into a dreamless slumber. Let
not the imagination be startled, if this res
ting-place, instead of being a bed of down,
shall be a bed of gravel, or the rocky bed of
the tomb. No matter where the poor re
mains of a man may be, the repose is deep
and undisturbed, the sorrowful bosom heaves
no more, the tears are dried up in their
fountains, the aching head is at rest, and the
stormy waves of earthly tribulation roll uu
heeded over the place of graves. Let ar
mies engage in fearful conflict over the ve
ry bosom of the dead, not one of the sleep
ers heeds the spirits striving triumph, or
responds to the rending shouts of victory.
How quiet those countless millions sleep in
the arms of their mother earth! The voice of
thunder shall not awaken them—the loud
cry of the elements, the winds, the waves,
nor even the giant tread of the earthquake,
shall not be able to cause an inquietude in
the chamber of death. They shall rest and
{mss away—the last great battle shall be
ought; and then a small voice at first not
beard, shall rise to a tempest, and penetrate
the voiceless grave. For a trumpet shall
sound, and the dead shall hear His voice.
The Wife. —It needs no guilt to break a
husband’s heart; the absence of content, the
multerings of spleen ; the untidy dress and
cheerless home, the foibtiTding scowl and
deserted hearth ; these and nameless neg
lects—without a crime among them—have
harrowed to the quick the heart’s core of
many a man, and planted there, beyond the
reach of cure, the germ of dark despair.
Oh! many women, before that sad sight ar
rives, dwell on the recollections of her youth,
and cherishing the dear idea of that tuneful
time, awake and keep alive the promise she
then so kindly gave; and though she may
be the injured, not the injuring one—the
forgotten,.not the forgetful wife—a happy
allusion to that hour of peace and love—a
kindly welcome to a comfortable home—a
smile of love to banish hostile words—a kisa
of peace to pardon all the past—and the
hardest heart that ever locked itself within
the breast of man will soften to her charms,
and bid her live, ns she bad hoped, her years
in matchless bliss—loved, loving, and con
tent —the source of comfort, and the spring
of joy.— Chamber's London Journal .
The Pilot's Account of signing the Pledge.
—Mr. English said, in our meeting of Sa
turday evening (Christmas evening,) that on
his late trip to New Orleans, he met with a
pilot who told him how he came to sign the
pledge. Said the pilot, “My home bud be
come a domestic hell. I drank all I could
get, and bad not been home for three weeks
to my family without being Intoxicated. Os
course I was always ready for a quarrel. I
went one night to a Washington meeting.
I was sober. I listened to wbat was said.
My heart leaped for joy at the hope that I
might be reformed, and 1 signed the pledge.
I went home to my family; it was earner
than usual. I took a seat, but said nothing—
I observed a frown upon the countenance of
my wife, as if she expected abuse as usual.
But presently the cloud cleared away, and
after observing me for some time, she in
quired, “ Husband, are you sick ? What is
the matter with you ?” “ No,” I said, “ I
am not sick, and there is nothing the matter
with me. lam sober : I have been to the
Washington Temperance meeting, and have
signed the pledge.”
“Is it possible 1” said she. “ Yes, it ta
true that I have signed, the Washington
pledge, andjl intend to stick to it as long as I
“In a moment,” said the pilot, “all the
wife was up in her bosom. Her eyes .were
full of tears. She clasped me round the
neck with her arms, and I thought she would
have smothered me with kisses.”
Oh, the joys which this reform brings to
many stricken hearts!— Western Mor. Star,