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YOL. VI. THE APPEAL. I'UCLISHEJ) EVERY FRIDAY, By J. P. SAWTELL. Terms of Subscription: One Year.... *3 00 | Six Months .... S2 00 INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. % 1 57” No attention paid to orders for the pa per Unless accompanied by the Cash. Rates of Advertising. Jl2 Months 0 Months. S Months. | l Month. J No. Stir's. TT777 § 3.00$ 6.00 $ 9.00$ 12.00 b 5.00 12.00; 16.00 20.00 3’7! LOO 15.00; 22.00 27.50 4.... 8.00 17.00 25.00 €3.00 1 c 9.00 22 00: 30.00 45.00 1 c 17.00 35.00! 50.00 75.00 { c 30.00 50.00! 75.00 125.00 2 c 50.00 Ti.OOj One square, (ten lines orless,) Si 00 for the first and.7•’< cents for each subsequent inser tion. A liberal deduction made to parties who advertise by tlie year. Persons sendinii advertisements should mark the number of times they desire them inser ted, or they wilbbe continued until torhidand '•lim-fted accordingly. Transient, advertisements must be paid for at the time of insertion. If not paid for before vh« expiration of the time advertised, per vent. additional will bo cliftrged. Announcing names of candidates for ofhoe, $5.00. Cash, in all eases Obituary notices over five lines, charged at regular advertising rates. All communications intended to promote the private ends or interests of Corporations, So cieties, or individuals, will be charged as ad vertisements. .Ton Work, such as Pamphlets, Circn.ars, Cards, Blanks, Handbills, etc., will he execu ted in good style and at reasonable rates. All letters addressed to the Proprietor vriß be promptly attended to. The True Gentleman. The distinguished Governor Mor ris, of New York-, who was a gen tleman by birth, education, and the most lefty bearing, on being asked for Ins definition of a gentloman re yriled substantially as follows: 'Tis ho who every thought and deed By rule of virtue proves, Whose generqps tongue disdains to speak The tiling his heart disproves. Who never did a slander forge, llis ntdfehbor’s fame to wound ; Nor harken to a false report, By malice whispered round. AVIIO vice, in all its pomp and power, Can treat with just neglect; And piety, though clothed with rags, Refigiously respect. Who to his plighted words and trust lias ever firmly stood. And, though he promise to his loss, He makes his promise good. Whose soul in usury disdains llis treasure to employ, Whom no rewards can ever bribe, Tlie {guiltless to destroy, Economy is Wealth.— There is nothing which goes so far towards placing young people beyond tlie reach of poverty as proper economy in the management of household af fairs. It matters not whether a man furnishes little or much for his family; if there is a continual leak age in his kitchen or parlor; it runs away, 110 knows not how, and that demon Waste cries, “ More !” like the horselcach's daughter, until he that provided lias no more to .give. It is the husband’s duty to bring into tho house ; and it is the duty of tlie wife to see that none wrong fully goes out of it. A man gets a | wif*>4x> look inter his affairs, and to assist him in his journey through life; to educate and prepare their children for a proper station in life ; and not to dissipate his prop erty. Tho husband’s interest should be the wifes care,and Her great cst ambition should carry her no fur ther than his welfare qr happiness, together with tliat of her children. This should be her sohi aim, and tho theatre of her exploits in the bosom of her family, where she mTiy do as much toward making a for tune as he can in the eountingroom or the workshop. It is not the money earned that makes a man Wealthy, it is what He saves from liis earning. Self-gratification in dress, or indulgence in appetito, or Tnore company than his purse can Well entertain, are equally perni cious. Anti-Dust Railroad Cabs.— On Saturday afternoon, says the Philadelphia Record, an antidust experiment was made on the fast 2 o’clock express cars to. Atlantic City. There were ten well filled trains in the train, -each having a canvas apron on both sides, covering the spaces between it and the rails.— The end ol these aprons lapped, thus forming continuous canvas from ons end of the train to the other. On a part of the trip the 6peed attained was about forty miles per hour. There was not the least particle of dust in the first seven, but there appeared to be something like dust *4n the eight ninth and tenth cars, but not enough to show on the garments of the passengers. One dollar will pay for the Ap peal the balance of the year Doreina’s Twins.' “Those ? No, they aint my grandchildren;” said Widow Blatchford, peering ‘through her spectacles at the picture of two chubby, staring babies which I held up for inspection. .“Those are Doremy’s twins.” “Dorema ?” repeated I inquiring ly, knowing by tlie italics in which the'word was spoken that a story lurked behind it. “Doremy Fletcher; her mother was cousin to my first husband. — You've seen Doremy surely.” So I had, if memory was correct in connecting with the name a vis ion of a hard featured spinster whose angular figure was in queer contrast with widow Blatchford’s fat proportions. “I thought—” IJoegan, when the old lady snipped the thread of my 1 hesitating speech. “They wasn’t her own really, you know; she took ’em. I declare ! so you never heard about Doremy’s twins. It’s kind of a curious sto ry- “l should liko to bear it,” said I; and my kind did hostess settled her glasses with genuine satisfaction at my request. “Well the babies belonged to Roxy Hapgood. She was always weakly, and when her husband was drowned it seemed to boat her right out. She never held up her head again, and died when her ba bies were a fortnight old- Doremy went and took care of her- for a month before that; and when she saw the poor woman’s tears drop ping on them little pink faces that was never going to look up know ingly into their mother’s eyes, she just up and said: “There, there, Roxy, I’ll take care of’em. Don’t you fret.” So with that comfort in her ears, Roxy wc'nt to sleep a smiling—and woke up in a better world than this, I do suppose.’’ “ Were there no relatives to care for them ?’’ I asked. “ No ; Ebon Hapgood came from the West a year before he married Roxy; nobody .knew anything abyut him. She was an orphan without so much as a cousin to her name, cither. As for property, none ever stuck to Ebon H.-ipgood’s fingers; if there had he’d have made out to let someone else eat it off. Well, aftei; the funeral, folks began to talk of the poor house for tho babies. Then Doremy spoke right out; says she, “ I’m going to take those children.” If that didn’t raise a breeze ! Have you inherit ed a fortune, Doremy?” says Jo sephine Frye. Josephine’s one of tho folks that speak real soft and smiling, but always contrive to car ry a nettle hid in their words.— Fact was, Doremy and her mother hadn’t hardly paid off the mort gage on their little place, and pinch ed themselves to do it, too. Dea con Quimby held up both hands j when he heard it. “Actooally, I call that ilia’ in tlie face of Providence !” says the deacon. “It there was property now and a guardeen wanted to be responsible for tho interest of them babies, I should feel a duty rested —” but Doremy took him up pret ty short. “If you could make motl ey out of it you’d take ’em your-, self,” says she. “ But I’m going to make something else,” “ ‘ The poor-house does seem a dreadful cold place for such little dears,” says Mrs. Quimby. ‘Our Ilczekiah wus just as helpless.’— lou see the deacon’s wife was just as soft as he was hard, and slic’d have taken all creation into her heart if he’d have let her.” “ ‘ The sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children,’ says the deacon real solemn-like. Eben Hapgood was— ’ hut Doremy never gave him a chance to tell what he was. ‘lf that’s so,’ says she, * I think, deacon, you’d better go home and look out what portion llezeki ali’ll have, and leave me to tend to these orphans.’ That’s the way it went The neighbois buzzed like a swarm of bees, but Doremy just held her own way as steady as a clock.” “ Did her mother agieewith her?” I asked. “ Well, fact is, Susan Fletcher never had no more decision than a pink-eyed rabbit; she always pinn ed her faith on Doremy, ahd where Doremy got her will I can’t see,” answered Mrs. Blatchford reflec tively rubbing her nose. “ Howev er, she always did rule at home, and so she kept the babies. I must say I was one that thought ’twas a foolish thing. One baby fills a Louse clear to the roof, but two !” Mrs. Blatchford completed her sentence bv a sniff more expressive CUTHBERT, GEORGIA, FRIDAY, AUGUST 23, 1872. than words, and rocked thoughtful ly a few moments before continu ing. “ At last people got settled down that there wasn’t much use in op posing Doremy. Mrs. Quimby kissed her kind of shy, and says she, c the Lord’ll keep his eye on you, dearie;’ she gave her a lot of baby clothes that used to be Hezekiah’s, too, when the deacon didn’t know it. Some folks do get mated so, and go ’round piecing out each oth er’s short comings. I rather think that was all the help anybody gave Doremy, for all the talking.” “ But then it did beat all how cheerful she was over them little helpless squirming creatures; rock this one, trot t’other, catuip for this, saffron for that—up aiul down all over —And she just laughing and saying: ‘lt’s well they’re boys, mother, ’cause I can inako their clothes clear up to their freedom suits. Girls’d puzzled me.’ Dore my was a tailoress by trade, you know. And I will say I never knew babies to thrivo hotter.” “ What were they named ?” I queried, mindful of tho anxious discussions over a dainty morsel of humanity in a certain happy home not long before. “ W ell, there was a fuss about that, too. Deacon Quimby, be wanted them called Paul and Tim othy ; Lucinda Barnes—she’s the school teacher —she wanted ’em named Damon and Phythagoras, or some such heathen nonsense. I.u' cinda was always highflying in her ideas;” said Mrs. Blatchford ex plosively, “ Squire Luce said they ought to be George Washington and Patrick Henry. But when ev erybody .got through talking, Dore my spoke: ‘Their names shall be Johikand James;’ and somehow it never struck anybody at the time that one was the name of her fath et and the other of Doremy’s in tended, James Jiulson, who died nine years before, just when he got his new house done, and the wed- was set.” “It must have been hard for her to take care of them and support herself too,” I said. “It was; she slaved hard, you might say. But she seemed to do pretty well—l have an idea the Ford kind of prospered her after she took them orphans. When her mother went blind, folks said she’d have to give ’em up ; bntshedid’nt.’’ “Blind? how dreadful !” with a murmur of sympathy. “ Yes, it was.asevere trouble, and came suddenly. Deacon Quimby vvcDt over to reason with her. Says he, ‘l’m afraid you’ve been stiff necked in this matter. Doremy; now you’ll be made to see them twins as a burden, and have to put ’em where they belong, ‘I look at it different,’ says she. ‘lf the Lord’s took mother’s sight, lie’s sent. two pair of young eyes to grow up in her use, while mine have to be tied to the need’e. The boys are her best comfort. Step iu and read mother a psalm, deacon : that’ll do her good, more’n talking. “The deacon did read to Susan Fletcher a spell, and came away clearing his throat, as if ho had a dreadful cold. Next day he sent her up a bushel of apples. Folks said it was’the first present he ev er made, but that isn’t hardly,” said Mrs Blatchford, mildly. “Doremy was right, though, her mother bad solid comfort iu those boys. She taught t em to. read, too.” “To read 1” I exclaimed. “It’s a fact replied Mrs. Blatch ford, enjoyiDg my surprise. “She knew pretty much of the bible by heart, and Doremy would sot t em at some chapter and tell her what it was, so she could correct ’em as they read. It used to be kind of like a picture to see the old lady sitting there in her chair with them two chubby rogues leaning against her aad spellihg out the good words as sober as' ministers and Doremy sewing away as fast and smiling to herself. Doremy wasn’t never handsome, but I always thought she grew bettor favored after she had the care of the little ones. Some how there is something real beau tifying iu loving and doing; a skin deep prettiness that I mean, but a kind of a look folks has to ad mire,” “If they have the eyes to.see it,” I suggested as tho good woman gazed meditatively over her specta cles as if bringing up the vision of some face so “beautiful.” “Folks mostly have the eyes, the shutting ’em up is what hinders their seeing,” replied she, briskly. “But may be you’re tired, I never know when to stop talking ’special ly when it’s about Doyemy and the boys.” “There’s no romance about the story, but seems to me it tells con siderable for woman’s courage and patience,' and' smartness, too There’s a saying about old maid’s children, and I must say I rather expected Doremy’d bring ’em up either so have their own way in ev erything, or never to have it at all. But they’re just right; healthy, well-mannered and loving their Aunt Dory, as they called her, just as much as they’d ought to love her. And that is saying considerable added Mrs. Blatchford, with empha sis, as she bustled out of the room obediently to the old clock’s whee zy signal of the tea hour, which, like the laws of tho Modes and Per sians, altered not in this primitive region all the year round. Three summers went by before quiet little Cherry wood again held me as a seeker after rest and re freshment among its hills and hos pitable rustic people- Once more widow Blatchford opened her door to me and installed me monarch of her “keeping room” and the breezy chamber above it. It was not to her displeasure that one of my first inquires should relate -to Dorema Fletcher and her adopted chil dren, “There* I knew you wouldn’t for get about them !” she said delight edly. “I thought you’d like to hear of it when things happened as they did. You remernbei I told you how well Doremy trained the boys. Well it was the fall after you left that Squire Luce's wife died, and along the fall after he spoke to Doremy. Said he had noticed how well she had brought up JohuDy and Jimmy, and he had seven boys and girls needing to be taken into hand, and—well, the upshot was Doremy could be Mrs. Luce for say ing so. What did she think of it ? ,1 don't know,’ says she, kind of flushed up steady spoken, ’Tisn’t exactly my idea of marriage to make just a convenience of it. And I can’t say that I feel a calling toward your children as I did to my boys.’ ‘Well,’ says the Squire, ‘can’t you take it as a kind of duty ? Besides, I calculate my wife will be considerably respected, and have as good as the best.” “‘How about Johnny and Jim my,’ says she. ‘Well)’ says tlie Squire again, ‘about the boys—l calculated to do well by them of course. Might bind out one, and let tlie other help on the farm, I guess. They are old enough to work considerable.’ lie talked a spell loDger, and Doremy listened quiet as ever. Then says she, t I thank you kindly, Square Luce, but I don’t go to a bouse that isn’t open to my boys too. Do you think I’ve loved ’em and worked for ’em all these years to turn them off now for seven strangers? And you expect that silk dresses . will make it easy. Further more,’ she says, ‘I ain’t very young now, but' Ido hold to love being the only ground for folks to marry on, and that’s out of the question for you aud me.’” The Squire was real provoked, but my ! bis feelings wasn’t noth ing to the feelings of other folks when they found out about it! Sin gular how interested everybody is in the settlement of what don’t con cern but two people, isn’t it ?” said Mrs. Blatchford, talking breath af» ter her eagerly-told story. “So her and the boys live as they did ?” I said. “That is the best of it,” said my smiling hostess. “Along back two months or so when everybody had got tired of berating Doremy for* throwing away her bread and but ter, and sacrificing herself and hpr blind mother for those boys, a stran ger came to town. He was a nice appearing man from the West, and began to inquire all round for any family by the name of Habgood. Come to cipher it all out, why, he was Epen Habgood'’s brother, and own uncle to Doremy’s twins. He had worked along until he was tol erably rich, and conclued to come East and hunt up his brother, never expected to find him alive, you see. “Well, he was just delighted with the boys seemed as if he could’t make enough of them. llis mind was set on taking ’em home with him, and w’ho could gainsay it? He was rich, had no children and was their nexi: of kin. Doremy’s heart was liko to break, but she faced the trial.Y ‘I ought to feel it a Providence,’ said see, ‘I sup pose. They are getting to need better advantages than I can gfvo them ; mother’s failing and I cali’t even do as much-as I have. I must try to be willing another should take what, I ain’t equal to carry ing ; and not stand in their light. But my boys, I’d keep y T ou if I had a right, and nothing should part us this side of hefiven.’ With tliat Dorertly broke down and hid her eyes. But Jimmy hug ged her round the neek, and says as clear as a bell, ‘I won’t go, Aunt Dory. Not a step from you. It’s getting my turn to work for you soon.’ Then Silas Hapgood spoke: “Do you s’pose IM part a mother and her children ? If anybody has a right to these boys, it is her that lias toiled for them since they were born. -Miss Doremy, you have been lending to tho Lord for nigh four teen years, and his pay is pretty certain, but I want you to let me have a band in settling too. If you and mother will come with the boys I’ll take them. Not without. I’ve enough and to spare for us all; my wife asks it of you to come and be onr dear sister, and the boys’ moth, er; I ask it of you; and if you’ll say yes you will make glad hearts. There isn’t no obligation in it, for we oweyou more money ’an will pay for saving onr nephews from the poor house and bringing them up to what they are. Come, Miss Dor emy, say yes, and don’t part me from my only kin ; for I won’t take them without you, and I want ’em as only a man can whose own baby went back to heaven ’fore it could speak his name. Let’s make one family and be happy as the Lord meant we should when he sent me here to find you,” Os course Doremy made objec tions, but my ! she came to see it was the only sensible thing to do. So she’s going next week and her toiling days arc over. Folks don’t generally get paid off hero below, and I do say Doremy has a big treas ure waiting ahead. But its kind of a satisfaction to know she’s be ginning to reap some reward here before it’s time for her to Lear the voice calling her up higher and say ing, ‘Ye did it unto Me.’ ” FCI.FII.LIXG TIIE I.AW. Let each one strive, with all his might, To be a decent man. And love his brother as himself, Upon the golden plan ; And if your neighbor ebance to be A pretty female woman, Why, love her all the more—you see That's only acting human. An Elegant Woman. — We of ten meet what we term ladies, and Christian women, or intelligent wo men, etc. But an elegant woman is a combination seldom met with in* any class ; though it is possible the United States, from the cosmopoli tan tendency of its society, may boast of more of them than any na tion in tho world. Such a woman is distinguished by a polished ease that can only emanate from a broad field of observation, and contact with life in its many phases. Her manners know no studied reserve, always gentle and courteous ; espe cially to inferiors, she never forgets herself in loud affectations On no accasion loses her equanimity ;is affable, but not familiar; never bois terous ; is dignified without stiff ness ; graceful ,witout looseness ; and and her home, which, to say the least, is always cheerful and neatly kept, she does not make apology for trivial things; in conversation is conservant with every topic, not tiring with erudition, has no selec tion of choice phrases; chaste iu language, she never slanders or in dulges in jests at the expense of an other in dress, if poor, she usually consults color- and adaptation 10 form—if wealthy, richness and sim plicity, but plain, always very plain. An icicle 2000 miles long and from 50 to 200 miles broad is com ing down to us from Baffin’s bay, according to a St. John’s letter. The writer farther says that “since early in January enormous fields of ice, sometimes 200 miles in breadth have been passing the shores of New foundland in almost a continous stream. The thickness of this field of ice is from twenty to thirty feet. The distance between Baffin’s Bay, where the ice-fields are formed", and the waters of the gulf stream, where the masses are dissolved, is from 1,500 to 2,000 miles. It may be affirmed without any exaggeratin that a river of ice varying from 50 to 200 miles in breadth and 2,000 miles in length has been for three months pouring incessantly its con tents into tho tc-pid waters of' the gulf stream,” Valuable Historical Rec ord. The following is a list of the Presidents and Vice Presidents of the United States, as well as the defeated condidates for those ofii ccs since the organization of the Government: Iu 1780. George Washington and John Adams, no opposition. In 1796. John Adams, opposed by Thomas Jefferson, who, having tho highest electoral voto, became Vice President. 1801. Thomas Jefferson and Aa ron Burr, bejting John A dams and Charles C Pinkney. 1805. Thonias Jefferson and George Clinton, beating Charles C. Pinkney and Rufus King. 1821. John Quincy Adams, and John C. Calhoun, beating Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay and Mr Craw ford, there being four candidates for President, and Albert- Gallatin for Vice-President. 1829. Andrew Jackson and John C. Calhoun, beating John Quincy Adams and Richard Rush. 1833. Andrew Jackson and Mar tin Van Buren, beating Henry Clay John Floyd and William Wirt, for President, William Wilkins, John Sergeant and Henry Lee for Vice- President. 1837. Martin Van Buren and Richard Johnson, beating William H. Harrison, 11. L. White and Daniel for President and John Tyler for Vice-President. 1841. William 11. Harrison and John Tyler, beating Martin Van Buren and Richard M. Johnson. Harrison died a month after his in auguration and John Tyler became President for the rest of tlie term. . 1845. James K. Polk and George M. Dallas, beating Henry Clay and Theodore Fr el high uy sen -1849. Zachary Taylor and Mil lard Filmorc, beating Lewis Cass and Martin Van Buren for Presi dent ; William O Butler and Charles F. Adams for Vice President.— Taylor died July the 9th, 1849, and Fillmore became President. 1853. Franklin Pierce and Win. R. King, beating Winfield Scott and W. A. Graham. 1857. James Buchanan and John C. Breckinridge, beating John C. Fremont and Millard Fillmore for President, and William L. Dayton and Andrew J. Donelson for Vice- President. 1861. Abraham Lincoln and Han nibal Ilamlin, beating John Bell, Stephen A. Douglas, and* John C. Breckinridge for President, and Herschcl V. Jolmspn, Edward Ev erett, and Joseph Lane, for Vice- President. 1865. Abraham Lincoln and An drew Johnson, beating George B. McLellan, and G. 11. Pendleton Abraham Lincoln, assassinated April the 14th, 1865. Andrew Johnson being President for the balance of the term. 1868. U. S. Grant and Schuyler Colfax, beating Horatio Seymour and Frank P Blair. 1872. Dont know. Pirates Attack a British Seam ek. —The British steamship Cash mere was recently lying at Busso rah, Asiatic Turkey. Bussorah, as is well known, swarms with lawless men, and a large number of these made a sudden dash at the vessel, which was ill-guarded, broke open the treasure chest, and took away forty-two thousand rupees. Sever al robbers attacked steamer. — One kulasee was at the gangway at the time. Five or six men first came alongside, and, on stating that they were intending to become pas sengers, were allowed to ooule on board, when they immediately cap tured the kulasee. At that mo ment two or more boats came along side, containing the remainder of tbegang, who made at once for tlie place .where the treasure was.— Bradford, the clerk, was left be hind severely Wounded. The chief officer and engineer were also wounded. One of the crew, a fire man, who was killed, had his head cut completely off as he made his appearance from the stockhole. It is thought some of the robbers were old kulasees, formerly in the com pany’s employ. One bag of sixteen hundred rupees was left behind .by the robbers. Chicken Cholera.— When a piece of iron is thrown into a trough where chickens drink water, they are not affected with. chicken cholera. A gentleman who has tried it says that his chickens are thriving, while his neighbors die daily. As the chicken cholera is raging to some extent, it might be well to try it. Iron will not hurt fowls and a trial might be benefi cial, The American Parcel POSI. By the new postal law which came into operation on the Ist of July, packages of dry goods, hardware, drugs (except liquid drugs) and other merchandise not exceeding twelve ounces in weight, can be mailed to any part of tlie United States at a charge of two cents for each'two ounces'or fraction of two ounces. Much time and money will be gavel by this arrangement. The express companies demand at least forty cents for the transportation of a package, however small, .for any distance. Tho post-effice authori ties, on tlie other hand, will forward a twelve ounce package to San Fran cisco for twelve cents. For instance a pair of boots, if neither boot weighs more than the Specified twelve ounces, may be wrapped up in two separate parcels, and sent across tlie continent for twenty four cents; whereas, under tho old plan tho transportation of goods of thi description would hove cost al most more money than they were worth. Up to the present time the post-office has lost money by tho new system, owing to the fact that the general public lias not taken ad vantage of it to such an extent as to make it remunerative. But it is expected that when the advan tage of the system are thoroughly appreciated, the scheme will prove as profitable to the Government as it is beneficial to the public. — Tele graph & Messenger. The Secret.—“l noticed” said Franklin, “a mechanic among a num ber of others, at work on a boose erecting but a little way from my office, who always appeared to be in a merry lmmor, who had a kind word and cheerful smile for every one ho met. Let the day be ever so cold, gloomy or sunless, a happy smile danced like a sunbeam on Ins cheerful countenance. Meeting him one morning, I asked him to tell me the secret of his constant happy flow of spirits.” “No secret, Doctor,” he replied. “I have got one of the best wives, and when I go to work she always has a kind word of encouragement for me; and when I go home she meets me with a smile and a kiss ; and then tea is sure to be ready, and she has done so many little things through the day to please me, that I cannot find it in my lioai’t to speak an unkind word to anybody.” What influence then has woman over tho heart of men, to soften it and make it tho foundation of cheerful and pure emotions. Speak gently, then ; greeting after the toils of the' day are over cost noth ing, and goes far toward making home happy and peaceful. The Trundle-Bed. —The balm iest sleep we ever experienced was when we were nestling in the old Irnndlebed with a curly-headed brother just tured out of the parent nest to make room for anew custo mer. But trundle-bod dreams were soon at an end, for when the next customer came we were crowded out of the trundle-bed to make room for the next that was turned out of the parent nest, and so they kept alternating for years, until we were fairly turned out into the wide world. O ! where are the little heads, that we have kissed a thousand times o’ ei' as they nestled in the old trundle-bod ? Some of them have grown old and gray, and oth ers are resting upon their everlas ting pillows in widely separated lands We are always sad when we think of the old trundle-bed. Keep the Heart Alive— The longer I live, the more expedient I find it to endeavor more and more to extend my sympathies and affec tions- The natural tendency of ad vancing years is to narrow and con tract these feelings. Ido not mean that I wish to form anew acquain tance every day, but I find that it conduces to my mental health and happiness to find out all I can which is amiable and in those I come in contact with, and to make the most of it. It may fall very short of what I once was wont to dream of; it may not sup ply the place of what 1 have known, felt and tasted, but it is better than nothing. It seems to keep the feel ings and affections in exercise, it keeps the heart alive in its humani ty, till we shall be all spiritual. —ls you would add lustre to your accomplishments, study a mod est behavior. To excel in things valuable is great, but to be above conceit on account of one’s accom plish merits is greater. NO 34. Mow They Had llim. When I was young anil tender tdd I had a mind and had to do Whatever mother bade me. She used (0 have a walnut stick. Which kept me on the double quick, Aud that was where she had me. When older grown, and quite a beau, Among the girls I used to kndW A Miss Priscilla Cadmy, And with the help of smiles aud nods, I fell in love at forty rods, And that is where she had me. When I was older, say sixteen. I thought it time to have a queen; And asked her if she'd wed me. She said she didn’t much obj-ct, • Or words something to that efl'oct; And that was where she'had nie. But when to make the matter straight; I went up to negotiant A flairs with Colonel Cadmy. lie said he “ didn’t care to sell," lie told me I might go to—well, And that was where he had nie. I drowned my sorrow in the cup Until I got my dander up, (I couldn't have been madder.) When she proposed that wa be In spite of pa—the tiling wh* «!»»«; And that is where I had her. Two lovely urchins on my kne«, I'm proud to say belong to me, (Tnat is to me the madam,) For whera we left our native sod; Wt spent a year of two abfoad; And that is where she had ’em. The Stage-Coach Advent ure. Once upon a time, a traveler step ; ed into a stagc-coaCh. He Was a young man, just starting in life.— lie found six passengers about him, all gray-headed and'extremely aged men. The youngest appeared to have seen at least eighty winters.— Our young traveler, struck with the singularly mild and happy as: pect which distinguished all his fel low-passengers, determined to ascer tain the secret of a long liftq and the art of making old age comfort able. lie addressed the ono who was apparently the bldest, who told him that lie had always led a I'egtff lar and abstemious life; eating Vege* tables and drinking water. The young man was rather daunt ed at this, inasmuch as he had a lik ing for the good things of this life. He addressed the second, who as tounded him by saying that he had always eaten roast beef, and gr»nti to bed gloriously fuddled, every night, for the last seventy yers, ad ding that “all depends oil regular ity.” The third had prolonged his dajrs by never seeking or accepting-bffice } the fourth by resolutely abstaining from all political or religious contro versies, and the fifth by fgetting to bed at sunset and rising at dawrtt The sixth, was apparently much younger than the other five—his hair was less gray, and there was more of it--a placid smile, denoting a perfectly easy conscience, mantled his face, and his voice was jocund and strong. They' were all surprise ed to learn that he was by ten years the oldest man in the coach. “How,” exclaimed our yditncjj traveler, “Is it you have thus jff®‘ served the freshness of life ?” “I have drank water and drank wine; I have eaten meats and veg etables, I held a public office; I have sometimes gone to bed at mid : night, got up at sunrise and at 1100'ii —I have dabbled in politics and written religious papers— but 1 di ways paid promptly niy printers' bill r* “ Doctor,” said an old la<it the other day to her family physi cian, “ Kin you tell me how it is that some folks are borfi dumb V* “ Why, hem 1 certainly madam,” replied the doctor : “ it is owing to the fact that they cable into th® world without the power of speech.” “ i-a me !” remarked the old lady; “jest see what it is to hate a phys ic edication ! I’ve axed my r old man more than a hundred times that ar same thing, and all that I could ev er get out of him was* ’kase tiler is!” It is said that a teuspoonfui of sulphur mixed in a tumbler of wa ter and administered in doses of a teaspoonful every hour, will cure the worst case of croup. . V\ inter, which strips the leates from around us, makes us see the distant regions they formerly Com cealed; so does old age rob us of our enjoyments, only to enlarge the prospect of the eternity before ns. —ls going uncovered indicates a reverent Spirit, as is claimed by some countries, many of oar ladies in. fashionable circles are patterns °f reverence. They are head and shoulders in advance of the world in general.