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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,