Newspaper Page Text
vol. xvm.
THE TEMPERANCE BANKER
IS THK
of the Sons of Temperance
AND OF THE
State Convention of Georgia:
PUBLISHED WEEKLY,
BY BEiYJAHIY BUASTLY.
O’ Terms —One Dollar a year,in advance.
Letters must be Post paid, to receive at
tention.
i Banner Almanack, for 1852.
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Every m:tn i> iu danajvir of becoming & drunkard wit* ia in i
the babit ofdriuking ivraunt spirits, & 1
H I. When he is warm. \ u. Wlien he is at work. I
2. When lie is cold. ( 12. When he is idle. i
& 3. WhenhcN wet. / i3. Before mealX j
1. When lie is dry. ) 11. After meals. jT \
jvf 5. When be is dull. \ lWhen he gets up. V
6. When he is lively- ( 16. When he goe-* to bed. *
7- When h* travels. / 17. On holliday*.
X W lieu ho is at home. \ liJ. On Public occasions ,
X y. When lie is in oampany v 19. Oh any day: or “s
S &HT 1 Every friend to Temperance*? I
Qaliould take the Temperance Banner: X
If Temperance men will not support N|
?Jthe Temp ranee Press, who will
M-i’K'.'ls.--: ‘X' f ,%K\Kf<SS,'< x:
THE ORPHAN BOY.
From the National li.telligcncor we
tuke the following sketc h :
The hurtle of 1 lie fiuhl was ovor, tlie
prisoners had been secured, and the
decks wrshed down ; ihe watch pip'd,
and tlie schooner had once m ire rc- !
lapsed into midnight quiet an.; leposc.
I sought my hammock and soon fell
asleep. But my slumbers were dis
turbed by wild dreams wlii-di like the
visions of a fever, agitated and unnerved
me; tiio late strife, the hardships of
my eaily life, a thousand oilier things
mingled together as figures in u phun
tasmagoiia. Suddenly, a hand was
laid on my shoulder, and starling up 1
beheld the surgeon’s mate.
‘•Little Dick, sir, is dying,” lie said.
At once 1 sprang fioni my hammock,
lie was a pale child, said to be an or.
plian, and used to gentle nature; and
from the first liourl joined th schoon
er, my heart yearned towards him, for
1 too had once been friendless and alone
in the world. He had often talked to
me in confidence of his mother, whose
memory he regarded with Indy rever
ence, while to the other boys ot the
ship lie had but little to say; for they
were rude and coarse, lie delicate and
sensitive. Often when they jeered him
for iiis melancholy, he would go apart
by himself and weep. He never com
plained of his lot, though his eornpan.
ions imposed on him continually. Poor
lad ! his heart was in the grave with I.L
lost parents.
1 took a strange interest in him, and!
had lightened iiis task as much as pos
sible. During the late fight l had owed
my life to him, foi he rushed in just as!
a sabre stroke was levellt and at me, and
by interposing iiis feeble cutlass had
averted the deadly blow. In the hur
ry and confusion since, l had forgotten
to inquire if ho was hurt, though at the
time, I inwardly resolved to exert all
my little influence to procure him a
midshipman’s warrant in requittal for
his service. 1‘ was with a pang of re
proachful agony, therefore, that 1 leaped
to my feet.
“You don’t mean it ?” I exclaimed.
“He is not dying ?”
“I tear, sir,” said the messenger,
shaking his head sadly, “that he cannot
live till morning.”
“And I have been lying idle here !”
I exclaimed with remorse. “Lead me
lo him.”
“lie is delirious, but in tiie intervals
of ids lunacy lie asks for you, sir, ’ and
as the man spoke we stood beside the
bed of the dying boy.
The sufferer did not lie in his usual
hammock, for it was hung in the very
midst ot the crew, and the close air
around il was too stifling; but he had
been carried under the opening hatch
way, and laid there in a little space
about four feet square. From the
sound of the ripples, 1 judged the school)
er was in motion, while the clear, calm
blue sky, seen through the opening ov
erhead, arid dotted with myriads of’
Stars,. betokened that thn tog bad broken
away.. How calm it smiled down on j
the wan face of the dying hm . Occa.
skwilly a light current f wind—■oh
Jjju f iitfous cool ill Dial 1 -ei'l i! ‘ 1
—eddied down the hatchway, and lift
ed the dark chesmit locks of tlie suffer
er, as, with his head reposing in the lap
of an old veteran, lie lay in an unquiet
slumber. Hisshirt collar was unbut
toned, and his childish bosom, as white
as thatof a girl, was open und exposed.
He breathed quick and heavy. The
wound of which lit* wasdvinghad been
intensely painful, but within the last
half hour had somewhat lulled, though
even now his fingers tightly grasped
the bed clothes, us if he suffered tlie
greatest agony.
A battle stained and grey-haired sea
man stood beside him, holding a dull
lantern in liis hand, gazbig sorrowfully
down upon the sufferer. The surgeon
knelt with his fingers upon the boy’s
pulse. As 1 approached they all looked
up. The veteran who held him shook
his head, and would have spoken, but
the tears gathered too chokingly in his
eyes.
The surgeon said : “He is going fast,
poor little fellow—do you see this ?” as
ho spoks he lifted up a rich gold lock
et, wiiicii had laitl upon the hoy’s breast,
‘•lie has seen liis better days.”
1 could not answer, for my heart was
fuli—hero was the being to whom, hut
a lew hours before, 1 had owed my life.
<i poor, slight, unprotected child—lying
before me with death already written
upon his brow—and 1 had never known
his danger, and never sought him out
after the conflict. How bitterly my
heart reproached ine that hour. They
noticed my agitation, and liis old friend
—the seaman who held his head—said
sadly :
“Poor little Dick—you’ll never see
the shore you have wished for so long.
But there’ll be more than one—when
your log’s-flut”—he spoke with emo
tion—“to mourn over you.”
Suddenly the little lellow opened his
eyes and looked vacantly around.
“Has lie come yet 1” he asked in a
low voice. “Why won’t he dome ?”
‘•I am here,” said I, taking the little
fellow’s hand— -“D.ii’t you knew me,
Dick ?”
He smiled faintly in my face. He
then said :
“You have been kind to me sir—
kinder tha most people are to a poor
orphan boy. i have tin way to show
my gratitude—unless y ;ti will take the
Bible \ou will find my in trunk. It is a
small offering l know, but it’s all 1 have.’
1 burst into tears ; he resumed :
“Doctor, l am dying, ain’t 1?” said
the little fellow, “for iny sigh grows
dim. God bless )ou, Mr. Danforth.”
“Can I do nothing lor you, Dick?” I
said ; “you saved iny life—l would
coin my blood to buy yours.”
‘ 1 have nothing to ask— l don’t want
to live ; only, if it’s possible, let me be
buried by m} r mother—you will
find the name of tlie place, and all about
it in in}’ trunk.”
“ Anything—everything, my poor
lad.” I answered chokingly.
The little fellow smiled faintly—it
wu.s like an angel’s smile, but did not
answer. liis eyes were fixed on tlie
stars flickering in that patch of blue sky
overhead.
“It’s a long, long ways up there—but
there are bright angels among them.—
Mother used to say l would meet her
there. How near they come, and I sec
sweet faces smiling upon me from
among them. Hark! is that music?”
and lifiing his fingers, he seemed list
ening for a moment. He fell back,
and the old veteran burst into tears.—
The child was dead. Did he indeed
hear angels’ voices ? God grunt it.
From the Alouiie Register.
The License System-—No 7.
The lowest estimate made of the dai
ly expenditure (or liquor in the city of
Mobile is SISOO. This is sustained by
allowing S2O to each licensed house,
and $2 to each unlicensed. That the
most skeptical may be satisfied, I re
duce the amount to SIOOO, as tlie ag
gregate, daily receipts in drinking hou
ses of every description; SIOOO pet
day, $30,000 per month, $300,000 per
annum contributed by the labor of the
people, for what ? For liquor, for the
excitement of a moment, which saps the
energy of nature. It is for food to in
vigorate, or clothing to protect the phy*.
ical man ? Is it for intellectual devel
opment, or the cultivation ol a refined
and elegant taste, in the_ patronage of
art? Not so. It is an exchange of la
bor for the most prolific medium of pov
erty, disease and crime—it is for that,
uliicb no inan—not even the miserable
drunkard, in his interval of soberness—
w ill not denounce as bis enemy ; as a
tiling that does no good.
As a business, the traffic is not enti
tied to commercial recognition, be
cause destitute of reciprocity. Equali
ty between buyer and seller, as recip
ients of benefits, gives to trade its char
acter.
As money is simply the representa
tive of labor, an investment of a dune ,
in adi ink is an exchange of physical !
or mental toil. If the golden visions of
in’ k\ v it'"l), a- sumed tue palpable tonp.,
PENFIELD, GA. NOVEMBER G, 1852.
I of realities—it'eaoh indulgence did not
demand a shorter interval und a deeper
draught—if nature acknowledged the I
necessity of stimulance by retaining
the impression, then the re would be j
economy in the traffic. As it is, the
bar-keeper is the beneficiary.
By whom is this large amount of
money expended ! By men, women
and children. It is the deposit of eve
ry species of labor from every grade in
society.
This immense contribution explains
the poverty, complaint and destitution,
attendant upon iutoinperauce. It is in
bar-room that the money is paid. It is
there, that the last dime is spent, and
women und children robbed of their
natural rights.
This statement wears the sternness of
a fact, not the coloring of fancy. Ordi
nary observation will sustain its truth,
and many a wretched, half-starved fam
ily, in this refined and charitable city,
indite their silent, withering commenta
ries upon tho wisdom of our Legisla
tion.
It is said that competition is the life
of trade, let us see if it gives vitality to
morals or religion.
In Mobile we find 12 established
Churches dedicated to the worship of
God, and open at least onoo a week for
religious service—against which, over
3t)o liquor shops,—dedicated to Bac
chus, —vending intoxicating drink, with
out reservation of day, night or Sab
bath. The Church inculcates Temper
ance, brotherly kindness und cliurity,
teaching man liis duty to society, and
Ins relations to the future. The Bar
room within reach of the preacher’s
voice vomits forth its corruption, and
profanity is the popular medinm of
theught. The Church is the sign board
|to another world; the bar-room is the
j vestibule of the jaii and hospital. The
Church saves one man, the bar-room
i damns ten.
I If liquor be neceisary to rivet relig
! ions impressions, if tiio bar-room iie
! requisite to complete what the Sunday
School begins, then the legislative sanc
tion by license, is a response to a higher
call than mere social demands. The
reference to the Church is made for the
sole purpose of arresting the apathy ot
a religious community. Theie is food
foi rt flection in the facts here presented,
and u solemn responsibility rests upon
those who are enrolled in the service ot
Him, who prayed ‘Lead us not into
temptation.’
FRO BONO PUBLICO.
Tho Lioonse System —No 8.
Tho strength of republicanism is i,t
the intelligence of the people. Igno
rance may appreciate the mere animal
gratification of unrestrained liberty, but
il is inert in its defence. It is tlie moral
influence of our religions tolerution-tiie
freedom of intellectual elevation, arid
the public appreciation of virtue, which
invests our country with its political
grandeur. The religious and cliolastic
training of the child should therefore be
with the parent 3 patriot virtue. Pa
rental authority should be tigidly guar
ded in the suppression of all popular in
ducements to error, and if an evil exists
be)end individual control, the law must
perform its office.
Do the fact before presented, warrant
the assertion tfiat we have sueii an ene
my in our midst ? Is there an individ
ual of elevated sentiment, to whom r.a
----! ture has confided the training of a child,
! whose solicitude is not increased to a
fearful anxiety, in view of the public
introduction to dissipation and vice ? I
appeal to any one of this class, if tlie
present system of vending liquor at tlie
corners of the streets—if the attachment
of a bai-room to every place of recrea
tion and amusement, fosters the devel
opment of domestic teaching, or affords
any guarantee of a manly and virtuous
maturity ? It is expected of the man
who sells a draught of liquor to temper
his avarice, by sympathy for the buyer?
Is friendly remonstrance or parental
admonition expected ofhim,upon whose!
every dollar, some personal sacrifice is
engraved; wiio deals out the destruc
tive pi rtion, though the band of death’
deposits the dime ?
Is there any security for youth,
when the road to every school house and
church is marked by some attraction to
profligacy ? There is a recklessness
upon this subject which cannot be too
harshly reprobated. Heads of families
sustain by their patronage the medium
of corruption to their children.
The wonderful and unfortunate pre
cocity of the rising generation—the sur
prising transition from the nursey to
the assertion of manly prerogative—the
freedom of youth with r/g, is the result
of outdoor, agencies. Where is this
familiarity more practised or this hot
germination more visible than in the
bar-room ? The boy scarce let loose
from his mother’s apron-strings, is as
much a man in the bar-room, ns the
veteran ofsixty.
Onr system of education will never
be perfect until the teaching of the
*fciu>oD, the moral and religious impres
sions of youth, are fostered by parental
consistency and guarded by the law.
Vice must be individualised and its
avenues suppressed. The schoolmas
ter must teach temperance —nay absti
nence—witli the alphabet, und the
church, unmask its greatest enemy.—
The cold philosophy of Priest and Levite
will not do, while tho wounded and dy
ing poople, the road side. The times
demand of this great leader of reform—
the church —a more practical applica
tion of its immense energies. Educa
tion isoaralised while the Hydra-head
ed monster stands ready to strangle ev
ery manly impulse. Popular amuse
ments, innocent iu themselves, are per
verted by the liquor appendage.
The scenic representation of life and
character on the stage, is denounced as
immoral, and the graceful evolution of
a dance is interdicted, wiiils the hur
room is licensed to stall the public vir
tue, and boldy confront -nay, intrude
upon the house of God itself.
PRO BONO PUBLICO.
Amusing cure ‘or Drunkenness.
The late Emd of Pembroke, who had
many good qualities, but always per
sisted inflexibly in his own opinion,
which, as well as his conduct, was often
very singular—thought of an experi
ment to prevent liie exhortations and
importunities of those about him.—
This was to feign himsenl deaf; and un.
dtr pretence of hearing very imperfect
ly, he would always firm his answer
by what he desired to imve said. A
mong other servants was one who had
livod with him from a child, and served
him with fidelity and affection, till at
length he became his coachman.—
This man by degrees got into a habit of
drinking, for which his lady often de
sired that he might be dismissed.
My lord always answered, “Yes, in
deed, John is an excellent servant.”
“1 say,” replied the lady, “he is con
tinually getting drunk, and 1 de.-,ire
that he might he turned off”
“Ay,” said his lordship, he has 1 iveil
with me from a child, and as you say,
a trifle should not, part us.”
John, however, one evening, as he
was driving lrom Kingston, overturned
j liis lady in Hyde Park; she wus not
i much hurt—but when she came home,
i she began to rut tie to the Earl.
“Here.” says she, “’tis that beast of
a John, so drunk that lie can hardly
J stand ; he has overturned the coach,
and if he is not discharged, may break
our nocks!”
“Ay,” says rny lord, “is poor John
sick ? Alas, lam sorry for him.”
“I am complaining,” said my lady,
“that he is drunk, and overturned me.”
“Ay,” answered Ins lordship, “to be
sure he has behaved well, and shall
have proper advice.”
My lady finding it hopeless to re
monstrate, went away ina pet; and my
lord, ordering John into liis presence,
addressed him very cooly in these
words : “John, you know 1 have a re
gard for you, and as long as you be
have well, you shall he taken care in
my family; my ludy Kills me you are
taken ill, and indeed I see that you can
hardly stand; go to bed, and I will take
care that you have proper advice.”
John, being thus dismissed, was takpn
to bed, where, by his lordship’s order, a
large blister was put upon liis head, an
! other between his shoulders, and six
; teen ounces of blood tuken from his
arm. John found himself next morn
. ing in a woful plight, and was soon ac
quainted with ths whole process, and
the reason upon which it was com
menced. He had no remedy, however
but to submit; for he would ruther
have incurred as many mote blisters,
than to lose iiis place. My lord sent
very formally twice a day to know how
he was, and frequently congratulated
my lady upon John’s recovery, whom
ho directed to he fed with only water
gruel, and to Imvo no company but an
oli) nurse. In about a week, John hav
ing constantly sent word that he was
well, my lord thought fit to understand
the messenger, and said, he was ex
tremely glad die fever hud left Imn, und
desired to see him.
“Well, John,” says he, “I hope this
is about ovar.”
“Ay, my lord,” says John, “I hum
bly ask your lordship’s pardon. I pro.
rnise never to commit the same fault
again,”
“Ay, ay,” says my lord, “you are 1
right; nobody can prevent sickness,
und if you should be sick again, John,
1 shall see to it, though perhaps you
should not complain ; and I promise
you shall always have the same advice,
and the same attendance you have now.’
“God bless >our lordship,” says
John, “I hope jhero will he rio need.”
“So do I, too,” says his lordship, “but
so long as you do your duty towards
me, never feur, 1 shall do mine towards
you.”
The ancient Scandinavians used the
antlers of stags for drinking cups.
Tliis is evidently the origin of the,
phrase, ‘'taking a her,i /” )
The Bachelor and the Laced Veil.
The following vary good story is told
by the Columbia & Great West :
Not many days since, a gentleman,
who lost a bet with u ludv, and who
had heard her say that she had lost a
lace veil which she prized much,
thought he would pay liis debt hihl “do
tho polite thing’’ by purchasing anew
veil of fine quality, and present it to his
fair creditor.
it must lie stated, for a proper under
standing of what followed, that the gen
tleman was a bachelor of long standing,
and a man of little information touch,
iug the world of “fancy goods,” though
a proficient in sugar, cotton, and pro
visions speculations.
He accordingly stepped into a fush
io'iublo miller’s establishment, and ask
ed to see a lace veil, office quality. j
“Here is one, Monsieur,” said the
amiable priestess at the nead of die
temple.
“How much is it V’
“It is only fiftee, suir.”
“Whut! only fifty! Dear me! 1
thought these things were exceedingly
dear. If that’s all they cost, I don’t
wonder at the ladies being fond of
wearing such flimsy knick-knacks.—
Only fifty f Dear me! Show me
something better.”
The priestess stared ; the bachelor
remained perfectly coo!. Here was a
customer ! A man who wanted some
thing better—dearer. More veils—
lace ones—were displayed.
“Dis is only sixtee, suir; nnd dis one
seventee-five. ”
“ Dear me! only savonty-five ?
Well, that is wonderful to be sure.—
It’s a very pretty article, I see—but—
can’t you show me something better 1”
“No, sair; dis is de fc most dear— tin
plus cheer artiete in de eitiee.”
“You don’t say so! Well, well.
Who would have thought it ? Thes*
women, these women! they always
were a mystery, ever since the days of
Adam. (Jive me the change for a dol
lar—in quarters.”
The milliner did so.
“I’ll take this one,” said the simple
minded bachelor, folding up the seven
ty-five veil. “Give me u quarter, and
keep the seventy.five for yourself.—
Dear me, how cheap! Who would
have thought it ?”
“1 see no seventy-live, sair. You
no hand them to me,” said the milli
ner.
“I beg you pardon, ma’am,” said the
bachelor, amiably and smilingly, “there
they are on the counter,” pointing to
the throe quarters.
“Dis?” exclaimed the milliner, with
an astonished look.
“That,” said the bachelor, more
than ever, preparing to put
the veil in his pocket.
“Ah, de man Jou —crack-a-brain !
1 tell you, Monsieur, dat article do most
dear in tlie citee ! You onderstan me
you no onderstan de lnglish ! De most
dear, I tell you—seventee-fivo dollar.”
“What!” said the bachelor, turning
rather pale, and dropping the veil us if
it had suddenly turned to a coal of fire
in his hands, “Seventy-five dollars!”
“Yes sair, arid very cheap at dat.”
“Seventy-five dollars for that cobweb!
1 thought you meant seventy-five c*nfj!’
If over a bachelor walked fust, that
bachelor did. He goes around, now,
in a stew of indignation, relating his
adventure, winding up his story with
the words
“Yes, sir, the femalo French woman !
actually asked me seventy-five dollars
for the short end of a cobweb !”
An inexperienced bachelor going in
to a fancy milliner’s store is protiy
much like an innocent (ly venturing
into a spider’s nest.
Irish Beggar
Grace Greenwood, in one ot her
letters to the National Era, gives a few
j paragraphs to Irish heggurs :
“In one of our drives, in Linerick,
I we passed through a sort of rag fair,
’ which showed us whert) the beggars
: obtained that marvellous variety of col
lor and texture so remarkable in thrtr
costume. Here we saw some strange
I specimens of the lust dire extremit)’ of
1 tattered civilization—only to be distin
guished from savage scaiitinefts of ap
parel and embruted stupidity, by greut
jer squalor and a sullen consciuwuess’,
’ which hus not the grace of shame.—
! We saw one lad whose whole attire did
not boast of one ordinary garment, but
who was literally hung with rags, by
means of a cord wound about bis body,
sustaining fragments of every conceiv.
able shape and color—so his entire
costume was a curious piece of festoon
ing. Ah, there is little need for tlie
! tourist to pass t 1 rough this part of Ire
land, ‘spying out the nakedness of the
land’ —it is thrust upon him at every
.turn. Yet you must not believe that
all this out ward wretchedness is real,
necessary and helpless. By far the
larger number of tiiose who apply to the
.traveller for charity are vagabondish in
their instincts and indolent in their hab-
its, and prefer to beg rather than to la-’
bor, either iu or out of the workhouse.
Die professional beggur djeases, for his
part, with as much care and skill as
ny other actor; and the whine, the
limp, the melancholy tale, blindness,
palsy, widow’s tears, and orphan’e
wails, are often the results of laborious
practice and splendid triumphs of art.
You must bear this in inind, and ‘set
pour face as a Hint,’ if you would enjoy
Ireland. 1 have heard here an anec
dote ol u wealthy American gentleman r
el large hearted and tender-hearted be>
nevolenco, who, ul'tcr making a touf
through some of the poorer parts of the
island, und scattering pennies among
crowds of ragged urchins, Wherever he
went dropping a teur and a sixpence in
to every blind beggar’s extended hat,.
lor to every ‘poor widdv’s
| turned to his hotel, in ‘Dublin, a saJ
dened man, and shut himself in his
room to muse on the sorrows and suf
ferings ot the innumerable host of pere
grinating paupers, infantile, maternal,
jevenile, and ancient, which had throng
ed his way through many duys. Sud
denly lie heard, somewhere without his
door, a sweet voice, and the plaintive
notes of a harp.
“Ah!” exclaimed the good man;
“some poor creature, having heard of
my benevolence, iias followed mo
here, and is appealing to my sympa
thies through one of the mournful an
cient melodies of her native land.—••
VV hat a melting, heurt-breaking voice ?
Heavens ! what a touching strain was
that. 1 can endure it no longer,” and
with tearful ugitation, ho rings violent*
■y
“ Walter, I can’tstaud this—give that
woman half u crown forme, and send
her uwsiy.”
“The waiter stood aghast, for the
harpist and singer was a noble lady, in
the next, room.”
llkspeot for tm* Attßß.—Tliefe i*
something venarable in uge. In all na
tione he highest respect haa been paid
to it. Th* hoary head, says Solomon,
is a crown of glory, if it be found in tho
way ot righteousness. The patriarehs
wrre a kind of Lures among the tribes
of their descendants. Among the Kgy p.
tians, the young were obliged to rise up
in the presence of the old, und on eve
ry occasion, resign them the honorable
seat. Tho Spartans borrowed this law
from them, and rigidly enforced it
among their youth. They never
thought of its “breaking liter spirit’’ of
their rising warriors to require this sub
mission. Job sets it down as a deplo
rable degenoracy among his people, that
•hoy, who were younger than lie, held
him in derision, ft stands imperisha
bly recoided as one of Heaven’s high
commands, that honor is to bo given to
father and mother. This is to tho com
mand “with promise,” a promised bless
ing to those who obey, but an implied
curse, yea a cutting otf from the land,
to those who disregard it. It has been
| supposed that our republican iuslitu
j lions are tax favoruble to Ills growth of
j this spirit.
There is tho more need, then, that it
be assiduously cultivated. The mind
even in infancy should be deeply im.
bued with it. And “venerate the aged”
should he, with our whole | topis one of
the fixed maxims of life, no one allow,
ing himself any departure from It.
Leaving) Hume.— I can conceive of
no picture more interesting than one
which might be drawn from u voung
man leaving the home of his childhood,
the scone of all his early associations,
to try his fortune in a distant country,
setting out alone for the “forest.” A
father on the decline, tho downhill of
life, gives his parting blessing, invoking
the bpst gifts ofheaven to rest on his be
i loved offspring, and to crown ull his es
| forts with complete success. Tears’
gusli from his eyes, und words are for
bid utterance. A kind, ufFectionate mo
ther, calling after him us he isdeparting
from the parental abode, and with all
the dangers to which ho is aboflt to be
exposed, rushing into and pressing up:
on her mind, she says—“Go, my son,
remember thut there is a right and*
wrong way.” Her advice is brief.—
Language is inadequate to the expres
sion of the feelings that there ciftwd
on the mind of a virtuous child. Rvery
mailer has a case of this kind, and rrlny
have been the subject of one in some
respects similar. Here may be found
eloquence more touching to him to
whom it is delivered tharl the orations
of Cicero and Drmostnenes.
A Thought. —The irritation grain
of sand, which by accident or incaution
lias got wit Liu the shell of the oyster,
incites the living inmate to secrete front
its own resources the means coating the
intrusive substance, and thus germin-
Htes the pearl. And is it not, or may
it not be even so with troubles and af
flictions in our case? We, too, may
turn ( veil sickness and sorrow into
pearid of' j,.’ oriee.-
NO. 45-