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IflliilL \ ISSI u. v- VOL. XVIII- TH3 T-iH-TiPiU R j\f*3 >ii BAMAtCII IS THE Oran of the Sons ofTempmnM ° and of the State Convention of Georgia: PUBLISHED WEEKLY, ny jj \A ’SIN IS2S.AN r^\. JJ. Terms—one Dollar a year,in advance, j Letters must be Post paid, to receive at | ]]aiiii(*r Almanack, far 1852. 1 1 filllt l lliillllll P Ili i” li \m\m h isi .VMVi'Lv h K|- “s V'v ii! 7 Aug— l| 2 1 ‘ii 1 f.,1 jjj <| / | S .J, ii.|„,|H 81 9|Tl|ll|'iTl ,:1 H \ | pistes < March -I 1 ->! s! ■(; a -;|--| ‘.. ii! 6 P‘ 71 891" II 12 H Ai <- 7l v 0 I X and 14.1*’ 1 ! i 7! J'• !",2ft io ii iot• > • M ‘•’s C iris iir;d'“;riT ß ss y t 1 a io'il ri IT!Hit 7 | s| iiLjlnJiX h X in 17 H 1” ;i,2! 22 “7! \ o Mail Ml 2s 201 :in iM I \A Sjjnne | ll 2 .'ll I 5 Dec-- ; —:—i-- 1 2 ,!j 1 \ Q Cl -I ‘I ‘I I ‘ ll !'-’ * •> 7 8, ! I’y 1 / •S nliiii.Vic I7|isiin 112 v ■A 3) 21 2: 2'i SI 25 23 l'Vi2” 2. 22 25 2, 2 , 27‘2-) 1 2i*2;.l 1 1 121) 27 2- 2;l 20 .'Si I k Every man isin danfpr oftMMailic a drmtoil who is in \ A the habit of drinking ardent “pirita, / X I When hois warm. In. When he is at work. X ‘A 2. WiienhoiJCoU. C 12. When lie is idle. / V 3. When he is wet. / 13. Before meals. \ •J 1. When ho is dry. 1 11. After meals. / SB i. When lie is dull. J 18. Wlienheg-Ssup. X 6. When ho is lively. f Hi. When he goer to ben. / A; 7. When ho travel). ( 17. OoMIMay-. <i ?& 8. When he is nt home. ) IS. On l’ni-lie oevasinn*. O, / 9. When lie is in company ( 19. On any day: or -N P 19. When heis alone. I 20. Onnn.y orea ion. X S 23F” Every friend to Temperance ig should take the Temperance Banner: k“]f Temperance men will not supportX -)i!ii. Temperance Press, who will ?” .> bmmp■ rmKgtj ■ r i jfc—an—s^— MURAL AN U_R ELKiIOUS. For the Temperance Banner. Rsmamlm thg Sa’obath di / to keep it holy.” Disobedience to this divine command is often, if not universally, attended with fatal consequences. As an illus tration of this truth, I have concluded to oiler to the readers of the Banner the following fact, which I hope may not he considtred inappropriate. I was once well acquainted with a gentleman, (ho at least passed for one,) —when l lirst knew him, ho was ad dressing a young lady of respectable family; they married. Ho bought u lot in lown, built a snug brick house, and all thought him in a fair way to rise in the world. He was an excellent mechanic. He worked at his trade du ring the week, and on the Sabbath in his garden. I have seen him with two oxens to his plough, ploughing his ground on the Sabbath day. Tilings went on tlius for sometime. Finally lie sold his lot for a largo prolit.— Shoitly after he was taken sick. Hav ing sold out, he had no home to stay at, and not having received pay for hi, lot, he had no means wherewith to pay board. Look for the young man we saw start out scarce two years ago, with such bright prospects —where is he? in the hospital—that building for the sick—not able to go elsewhere ; and his wife staying about first one* place and then another, with no home. He recovered with the loss of an ey e. 1 He took his wife and went to New-Or leans, to try and retrieve his losses; set up a sort of day-boardiug house, but fell through with that in a short time ; and the last time [ hoard from him he was on his way to Mexico us a wagoner; and his wife, where was she? On a steam-boat (with one sweet little girl that had scarce learned to lisp its father’s name when it was deserted by him,) going to the Nortli to his mother, thinking perchance she would be kind er than her son had been. This is but one case out of hundreds, that are ec curing yearly, 1 might almost say dai ly, around us. 1 would here repeat the command : ‘•Remember the Sab bath day to keep it holy.” Yours, ALICIA. Pine Grove, Ga. No. ti. Came to Jehim. He is the saviour of Sinners. “This is a faithful saying, and wor thy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ cmc into the world to save sinners.’ “Him hath God exalted to be a Prince and a Saviour.” This alone brought him to our wicked world. Anil how does he save ? By standing in our place, and bearing the punishment we merited. We have broken the law, but lie has perfectly kept it; for he “was holy, harmless, uudefilcd, separ ate from sinners.” We deserved death for our sins. “The soul that siuncth, i? shall die.” But ho died for us. “lie gave his life a ransom for mai y.” V* were under the eui.se. “Cme • i every one who continueth not in all things wsiienin the book of the law to do them.” But “he was made a curse | for us.” He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; and by his stripes we are heab.'d.” “He bear our sins in his own body on the tree.” This is why he I became a man, was “despised and re- Ijected, a man of sorrows, and acquuin. I ted with grief.” He “carried our sor | rows.” This is why he suffered tempta tion groaned in Gethsemane, in his ago !ny sweat great drops of blood, was scourged, spit upon, crowned with thorns, and nailed upon the cross. “He gave his life a ransom for many.” Wo j were slaves—he came to set us free. | But tho price he paid was his own I blood. “Redeemed with the precious blood of Christ,” We were prisoners !at the bar, condemned to die; but be j left his Father’s throne, and came and stood at our side, saying, “I will die I for them, that they may be forgiven land live forever.” And now that he | lias returned to his glory in heaven, he I lives to save us. He watches over us, {speaks to us by his word and by his j Spirit, listens to our prayers, advocates | our cause, helps us in our weakness, land ‘‘everliveth to make intercessions j for us.” He thus saves us both by his | death and his life. He has paid all our debts, and is ready to supply all •jour wants. He saves those who trust II in him from the sling of death, and de livers them from condemnation at the ! judgment-day. We must appear be ll fore the Judge ns guilty sinners; but *! if we can use this plea, “I trust in Je- Ii sus, ho died for me,” he will at once ; | declare us to be fully acquitted, pardon lied,saved. He says to thee, reader, “Poor sinner, thou art in danger of hell: ■ but l have brougt thee a free pardon, I purchased with my own Wood. 1 died for thee. lam able to save thee, i Como unto me.” See Isaiah 43; Acts 10 , 34-43; 13 : 17-41; Rorn. 5; Gal. 3: 14; 1 Tim. 1 : 15; Heb. 0 : 11-28; 1 Pot. 1 : 18; 19; 1 : 24. He is the only Saviour. Jesus said, “l am tho way: no man ! cometh unto the Father but by jie.” 1 We can only obtain pardon from God by coming to Jesus for it. All God’s mercy for sinners has been placed in the hand of Christ, and no one can ob tain it but from him. Some who neg lect Jesus, yet hope in God’s mercy. ( But if tiiey reject Jesus, they reject the mercy. To to them God will only be an angry Judge,.“a consuming lire.” Our own good works cannot save us. Our best actions are sinful; if they were perfect, they could not atone for the past. St. Paul says, “By the works of the law shall no flesh living be justi fied.” If we could have entered | heaven by our own merits, why should j Christ have died? We could have ! saved ourselves. O trust not in i your own works, your good char acter, honesty and charily—nothing but tho righteousness and death of Jesus can save. Some think because tiiey have been boptiz.id and taken the sacrament, because they read their Bi ble, keep the sabbath, and go to church, they will be. Multitudes have done all this, yet, never having come to Je sus, are now in hell. No sacrament, ceremony, creed, or church can save, i None but Jesus can. Some rolv on I priest. Sad mistake. Poor man, lie j needs a Saviour for himself. He can not save his own soul, much less yours. None but Jesus can give absolution, i His blood alone cleanseth from sin. Some pray to saints, angels, and tho; j Vergiu Mary; but who can tell wheth-j er they can listen to any who address them? and it they could, can they save the soul? The Bible tells us plainly, “There is one mediator between God land men, the man Christ Jesus.” | “Neither is there salvation many oth er, tor there is none other name under i heaven given among men whereby we I must be saved.” Look then to no one else. Trust only in Jesus. He is seat ed on a throne ut mercy, and invites | all poor sinners to come at once close lup to him. He alone has pardon to give. Why then stop to talk to fellow-sin- J ners, or even angels, when no being i can help you but Jesus- You need no | one to introduce you to him. The beg | gar and tho prince, the black man and i the w hite, the ignorant and the learned, those clothed in rags and those in silk J attire, are equally welcome. Ail are I invited. You sin by looking anywhere else for help, lie says, “Look unto : me, and be ye saved, all ye ends of the | earth.” Look away from men, away from yourself; look only to Jesus, for he alone can save. See Acts 4 : 8-12; Horn. 3 : 20-28; Gal. 2 : 10; Phil. 3 ; 1. Tim. 2;5, 0. The Right One. My experience in the realms of love had, however, made me suspicious. I f'ared that 1 could never lie happy, ae- I cording to my ideas of happiness, which my neighbor friend characterised “re ; pos'ng in the shade of a pair of .dip PENFIELD, GA. MAY 1, 1852. pers.” 1 was in low spirits ; and ac cordingly, one day, srt off’in my own sulky to amuse myself by a drive. I drove a considerable distance to the house of an old friend, who had been a fellow.student with me at the Military College at Carl berg, and who had often invited me to visit him. lie was now married, and was, in faet, the father of eight children. A large family, I thought at first; but not one 100 many, j said i to my sell, after a single day spent ■ in this family, which had given me the ! impression of a heaven upon earth. The mistress of the house, the wife ;and mother, was the silent soul of all. “It is she—it is she who is my happi ness,” said the fortunate husband; but she said, “It is he ; it is lie !” “My dear friend,” said 1 to him one; day, “how have you managed to be so happy in your marriage ?” “Oh,” replied he, smiling, “I have a secret to tell you.” “A secret! for goodness sake, what ; is it ?” “From my youth upwards,” i.e re adied, “I have prayed God to give ine ; a good wife.” “Yes,” thought I to myself, “that is 1 it! Here am 1 unmarried, because I : have never discovered this secret, with out God’s especial direction I may not l venture to choose my wif?.” A younger sistei of rny friend’s wife : lived in the family. No one would j have been attracted to her for her exter nal charms, but a short time brought you completely under the spell of her kindness, tho intellectual expression of j her countenance, and the cheerful j friendliness of her manners. All the j household loved her; she was kind j and amiable to all. To myself, how lever, it seemed that there was an ex ception; I thought her somewhat cold and distant. 1 was almost sorry when l perceived that 1 was grieved by this; a short time convinced me that I had really fallen in love with this young la dy. There was, however, a great differ ence between this and my former love affairs. Formerly, I had permitted ex ternal charms to lead and blind me; now, on the contrary, I was attracted to | the soul, and its beauty alone bad cap tivated my heart. But why then was so excellent a soul so cold towards mo ? Mv friend said that it was because Maria had heard me represented as a fickle young fellow; one who amused j himself with broken affiances. Right eous Heaven! was that indeed one of :my faults ? I fickle ! I who felft my self created as a model of infidelity. It was impossible for me to bear patienl.lv so cruel an injustice. No! as truly as my name was Constantine, must Maria do me justice. From that time, as she retired from me, so began i to walk after her. I was determined to convince her that i I was not the fickle,, inconstant being that 1 had been described, li was not, how. ever, very easj to succeed in this, but at length 1 did succeed. After having put me lo a trial, from which I came with flying tjors, she accepted my; proposals, and agreed to try me still I further—a union for life. During the period of our betrothal, she said several times, quite rapturous ly, “1 am so glad to see that you also have faults; 1 feel now less humiliated, less unhappy from my own.” This pleased me very much, and all the more as I perceived that Maria, while she showed me mv faults with kindness, did not at all fondle her own. Our wedding day was fixed; and I ordered a carriage for two persons. ! Company was invited, and Maria and i ! were married. Nothing can be more common place than this, excepting! perhaps it be, that mv wife and 1 a-j greed to understand tho ceremony in an earenest and real sens’, and to live accordingly. The result has been, that now, afier having been married five, and twenty years (we celebrate our sil ver nuptials to-morrow,) we love each other better, and are happier together than we were the first hour ol’our union. We have, therefore, come to the con clusion, that unhappiness in marriage does not proceed from the indissolubili ty of marriage, as some say, but be. cause the wedding-service is not real ized in the marriage. Do not speak to me of the felicity of the honeymoon. It is but the eooin>f of doves! No! wo must walk together along tiiorny paths, penetrate together the most hidden recesses of life, live to.! gether in pleasure and pain, in joy ind in sorrow; must forgive and he forgiv en ; and afterwards love better, and love more. And as time goes on, some thing marvellous occurs; we become lovely to each other, although wrinkles furrow the cheek and forehead; and we! become more youthful, though we add year to year. Then no longer have wordly troubles, misfortunes, and fail-; ings, any power to diin the sun of our happiness, tor it radiates from the eve and tho heart of our friend; and when; our earthly existence draws to a close, ; we fee! in le * I that on. life and our love't ! are eternal. And this supernatural feel ing is quite natural after oil, for the! deeper and the more inwardly we pene trate into life, the more it. opens in its depths of eternal beauty. Many hap py husbands and wives will testily to this. But, observe, husband or wife! To qualify as such a witness, you must have been at some little pains to find | “the right one.” Don’t take the w rong 1 one, inconsiderately. Indian Lsjend. I Among the Ad riondach Highlands, on an island in tho Lake [nchapah-cbow, or Lindenmere, there dwelt a chieftain and 1 Ids only daughter. The maid was not : unvisited by love. Often would she, whether the night were fair or dark, ’ cross to an opposite headland, watch the camp light of her returninglovor, whom the morrow’s sun would bring again to her arms. There is revalty in love, and treachery in Indian life. In those hours of absence, a tribesman suggested doubt and suspicion; another maiden, he said, shared the vows and the spoils of-the huntsman. i She feared not, and believed not. — Flic lover came and the day of the bri j dal. and at eve the husband would bear her to bis lodge, that they had prepared together in former days; when the foe appeared, and the life of the girl that ! detraction could not poison, nor fear ; wither, fell before his assassin knife, j He slew the bride. And now came the sad, slow hoursof •j revenge. The bride had departed to I the spirit land, and happy he who first leaves this earth to join her there. It i was an Indian superstition, and death to both the lovers would have been a welcome gift. Neither fi- red destruc tion. Life was the curse they bore about with them as a charmed spell. The husband guarded the life of his ene my as it it had been his dearest treas ure; he made him li is serf, according to the Indian law, which changed the penalty of death to degradation. He limited for him, he watched over him, for the love of the dead maiden in the blessed isles of the Indian heaven, that she might walk and wander, and her steps never he crossed by the shade of her murderer. So solemnly was his existence ..ound to cherish the direst foe, and d< at ii and its dark bourne of punishment were mysteriously fore shadowed in life and on the earth. A wilder or more beautiful legend we , never met. Filled to overflowing must have been ihe heart of the old Indian, as every footstep of his life was directed by his spiritual bride in heaven—a strange love, that could turn hate into kindness, make the happiest blessings the direst revenge. Precocity oi lateliect- Having watched the growth of the I young min i a good deal, we are less arid less in love with precocity, which indeed, is often mere manifestations of disease, the disease of a very fine, but weak organization. Your young Ros ciuses, and all your wonders of that ; kind, generally end in the feeblest of common-place. —There is no law, how ever, precise and absolute in the mat ter. The difference of age at which men attain maturity of intellect, and even of imagination is very striking. The tumultuous heat of youth has cer tainly given birth to many of the no blest things in music, painting, and po etry; but no less lino productions have spiling from tho ripeness of years, j (Jliatterton wrote all his beautiful tilings, exhausted all hope of life, and saw notiiing better than (h ath at the age of 18. Burns and Byron died in M7th year, and doubtless the strength ol their genius was over. Raffuelle; after filling ihe world with divine beau ty, perished also at 37; Mozart earlier.; These might have produced still grea ter works. On the other hand, Handel was 48 before he gave the world “as surance of a man.” !)ryd< n came up from the provinces dtossed in Norwich drugget, above tile ago of 3t), and did not know that h ■ could write even a sin gle line of poetry; and yet, what tower-; mg vigor and swinging ease appeared, all at once in “Glorious John.” Mil ton had, indeed, written ‘Comus” at, ‘4B; but lie was upwards of 50 when tie began his grout work. Cowper know not his own might till lie was be yond :3l), and liis “Task” was not writ- ] ten till about his 01).Ii year. Sir Wal ter Scott was also upwards of 50 before he published his “Alinstivlsy,” and ail his greatness was yet to come. The only money they use in the i back part of Oregon, consists ol live stock—a hog paying fora dollar, u| sheep for fifteen cents, turkeys twenty five cents, and young dogs for a shil ling each. If Smith owes Jones <84,- 121-4, lie sends him five hogs, and re-j ccives for change one sheep, one tur- ■ key, and two pups. Be on such terms with your friend j as if you knew he would one day bo-1 come your enemy. I ! - * • - ■ WHWIIII X I JUVENILE DEPARTMENT. 1 aking Notice. —Some of our young ! readers may learn a lesson from the ! following Indian tale : ! A little, shrewd, crooked, crabbed J Indian, met one day a pioneer white man in his travel, and hastily asked him,‘if he had scon a little, old, short m ui, carrying a short rifle, followed bv a little dog, with a short tail—who had stolen his venison.’ The pioneer answered that ho had seen no such thief; and in return askd the Indian if he had seen the man who } stole the meat?’ | The Indian replied, ‘me no see ’em , or me shoot ’em.’ Then the pioneer inquired ‘how he j should know so well about the man, the j gun, and dog ?’ j To which the Indian said, ‘Me know I ’em white man by the trackts—turn toes lout ver much—a short man ’cause he j pile up stones to stand on to reach the j meat—old man he takes ver short steps ! —know his gun was short by the mark j on the bark where he stand him against I the tree —know the dog was little by small tracks—and know he got his tail cut off, by the print in the sand where j lie set down while the man stole Indi-1 an’s meat.” So much for close observation of the particulars. A Story for Boys- It is related ofa-'Persian mother, that on giving her son forty pieces of silver as his portion, she made him swear nev er to t"ll a lie, and said “Go my son, [ consign thee to God, and we shall not meet again till the day of judgment.” Tho youth went away and the party he travelled with was assaulted by rob bers. One fellow asked the boy what he had got, and he said “forty dinars are sewed up in my garments.” He laughed, thinking he jested. Another asked him the same question, and received the same answer. At last the chief called him, and ask ed him the same question, and he said “1 have told two of your people already that 1 had forty dinars sewed up in my clothes.” Ho ordered the clothes to be ripped open ale. found the money. “And how came you to tell this?” said the chief. “Because,” replied the child, “I would not be false to my mother, to whom I promised never to tell a lie.” “Child,” said the robber, “art thou so mindful of thy duty to thy mother at thy years, and am I insensible at my age of the duty I owe to God? Give me j thy hand that t may swear repentance on it.” He did so, and bis followers were all struck with the scene. “Y ou have been our leader in guilt,” they said to the chief, “be the same in the path of virtue;” and they immedi ately made restitution of their spoils, and vowed repentance on the hoy’s hand. There is moral in this story, which goes beyond the direct influence of the mother on the child. The noble senti ment infused into the breast of a chil l is again transfused from breast to breast, till those who feel it know not whence it comes. End ofa fsllow-Studant. To-day [ saw F., who was a class mate in the Academy, in 1340. lie was S.’s a-snjiate in opposing the temperance cause, and branding the friends as being weak minded. What was he then ? and what is lie now ? ML, the only child ofa widowed mo ther. Oa him that mother had placed > tier hope, and lavished her little means, that lie might become educated, and ; even eminent. While a student in tho institution, j jho took a noble stand in learning. He had no rival hi stii lies, no equal in composition or declamation, and was I looked up to by all. These emblems of the greatness and brilliancy of his j youthful mind, that was emerging into , manhood, excited a love in the mind of; , that fond mother, and often caused her I i to revel in imagination on the greatness !ot tho joy of her heart, to see that son the lone star of her existence, rising laud expanding into future greatness,’ | probably to leave a name that would be j ! chronicled among our greatest men, i and an example worthy to be patterned , by all tlie world. This however, was not to he. That mother’s fondest hopes j j were blighted. Her idol ol luture cm- j inonce, refused to sign the pledge ; had j : nothing to restrain his genial heart from j partaking of the social glass, of which j lie drank and became a victim to vice, j i He is now a reeling, imbecile inebriate, ready to plunge into any iniquity, or J 1 commit any crime that pervade his j frenzied mind. Go to the bar-rooms! of New Windsor, of , of , and ask for the once bright and promising youth; and they in wonder will ask if you do not refer to poor bloated, fight inn, and drunken Sam. . Go to I Church, and witness that mother,, as sh sits in the sanctuary of worship, j and behold her deeply furrowed cheeks grief-depicted, and sorrowful counte nance, and usk the cause ot her dis tress, and tho answer will be “Oh ! my> lost son! my erring son!” Hold On. —On Thursday, a horse attached lo a wagon containing acoun-- .rvman and his daughter; a young woman in the rustic bloom of eighteen or thereabouts—took fright at the com er ot Lawrence and Third, “opened j out >,” ant * commenced spreading him. ! self for a mad run down the hilf. For * tho wgaon, the inmates, the lines, and I a ” oilier rearward attachment, the horse did not appear to hold any affec tionate affinity, but like the devsted dog with tho pan nt his tail, put in his best licks to outrun them. On he went, j bouncing tilings about as if they were of no value, and fully insured in a solv ent office. The old man gave his lungs most woful strains, and tho young w-o ----man in the rustic bloom of eighteen, or thereabouts, sat as mutely indifferent ;to the danger as a lonely flower on a j descending avalanche. The horses j speed accelerated with every step, and he evidently began to think himself as well up to “items” as his betters of tho : city, when lie made a side-long skitc ut a boiler, and dislocated a dozen of spokes. lie now began to do up tan gents, and to swing tho wagon about like a shutter in a high wind, and to approach the declivity leading to tho river. The surging waves, whisper ing death as they broke along tho shore, awoke the old man’s fears, and lie fairly shrieked for help. Now came the trial. The daughter rose, snatched the lines from his hands, affectionately kicked him over into tho bottom of liie wagon, and putting her strength upon one of the “ribbons,” she drew the horse around, upset the wag on and spilled herself and parent out in safety. A crowd collected around and a gentleman congratulated the maid in the rustic bloom of eighteen upon her providential escape from the river! — “Drat it, said she, “the old man ortof upset where he broke the wheel, but he aiut got no sense when its wanted. I did’nt keer about the river myself, for 1 can swim like a beaver, and the old man aint worth nothing in the water-” Bn saying she commenced untangling the horse and arranging the trumpery, and when we left, she was revengefully bestowing upon the animal’s stomach a succession of lusty kicks.— Cin, Com.,, March 20, The Good Wife. —The power ofa wife for good or for evil is irresistible. Home must be the seat of happiness, or it must be forever unknown. A good wife is to a man wisdom and courage, and strength and endurance. A bad one is confusion, weakness, discomfi ture, and despair. No condition is hopeless, when the wife possesses firm ness, decision and economy. There is no outward prosperity which can coun teract indolence, extravagance and fol ly ut home. No spiiit can long endure bad domestic influence. iMan is strong, but his heart is adamant. He delimits ill enterprise and action; lint to sustain him, he needs a tranquil mind and a whole heart. He expends li is whole moral force in the conflicts of the world. To recover his equanimity and compo sure, home must be to him a place of repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of comfort, and his soul renews its strength attain, and <joes fortii with Irish vigor o’ o O to encounter the labor and (roubles of the world. But if at home he finds no rest, and there is ni t with bad temper, sulliness, or gloom or assailed by discon tent, or complaint, or reproaches, tho heart breaks, the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man sinks into’ despair. Female Beauty. —Modesty and lux i urianon, fullness and buoyancy; a ris j ing if to retire; spirit, softness, nppre* hensiveness, self-posse .v-iou, a claim on | protection,, a superiority to insult, a ’ sparkling something enshrined to gentle proportions and harmonious movement, should all bo found in that charming mixture of the spiritual and material. Mind and body are not to be separated wiiere real beauty exists. Should there lie no great intellect, them will be an intellectual instinct, a grace, an ad dress, a natural wise amiableness, j Should inntelloct unite with these, there is nothing on earth so powerful, except ; the spirit whom it shall call master. A Secret Worth Knowing. —Boil ; three or four onions in a pint of water. Then with a gilding brush do over your glasses and frames and rest assured that the flies will not light on the article washed. This may be used without apprehension, as it will not do the least injury to the frames. Never marry without love, nor love without reason. lie that makes himself a sheep shall’ be eaten by the wolves. NO. 18.