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JOHN H. SKALS. \
KDITOR. S
NEW SERIES, VOL I.
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DON’T RUN nr DEBT!
Don’t run in debt—never mind, never mind,
If thy clothes aro faded ami torn;
Fix ’em up, make them do; it is better by far,
Than to have the heart weary and worn,
Who’ll love you more for the set of your hat.
Or the ruff, or the tie of your shoe,
The shape of your vest, or your boots or cravat,
If they know you’re in debt for the new.
There’s no comfort, T tell you, in walking the street,
In fine clothes, if you know you’re in debt.
And feel that perchance you some tradesmen may
meet,
Who will sneer —“they’re not paid for yet.”
Good friends let me beg of you, don’t run in debt,
If the chairs and the sofas are oltl—
They will fit your back better than any new set,
Unless they’re paid for—with gold;
If the house is too small, draw the closet together,
Keep it warm with a hearty good will;
A big one unpaid for, in all kinds of weather
Will send to your warm heart a chill.
Don’t run in debt —now, dear girls, take a hint,
(If the fashions have changed since last season,)
Old Nature is out in the very same tint
And old nature, we think, has some reason.
But just say to your friend that you cannot afford
To spend time to keep up with fashion;
That your purse is too light and your honor too bright,
To be tarnished with such silly passion.
Gent's don’t run in debt —let your friends, if they can,
Have fine houses, feathers and flowers,
But unless they are paid for, be more of a man
Than to envy their sunshiny hours.
If you've money to spare, I have nothing to say,
To spend your dollars and dimes as you please;
But mind you, the man who his note has to pay,
Is the man who is never at ease.
Kind husbands, don’t run in debt any more;
’Twill fill your wife’s cup full of sorrow,
To know that your neighbor may call at your door.
With a bill you must settle to-morrow.
0, take my advice—it is good, it is true!
(But, lest you may some of you doubt,)
I’ll whisper a secret, now seeing ’tis you—
I have tried it, and know all about.
The chain of a debtor is heavy and cold,
Its links all corrosion and rust;
Gild it o’er as you will—it is never of gold—
Then spurn it aside with disgust
. The man who's in debt is too often a slave,
Though his heart may be honest and true,
Can he hold up his head, and look saucy and brave,
When a note he can’t pay becomes due?
INFLUENCE OF MARRIAGE.
Habit and long life together are more necessary to
happiness, and even to love, than is generally imag
ined. No one is happy with the object of his attach
ment. until he has passed many days, and above all,
many days of misfortune with her. The married
pair must know each other to the centre of their
souls —the mysterious veil which covered the two
spouses in the primitive church, must be raised in
its inmost folds, how closely soever it may be kept
drawn to the rest of the world. AVhat! on account
of a tit of caprice, or burst of passion, am I to be ex
posed to the fear of losing my wife and my children,
and to renounce the hope of passing my declining
dajs with them ? Let no one imagine that fear will
make me become a better husband. No; we do not
attach ourselves to a possession of which we are not
secure; we do not love property which we are in
danger of losing. The soul of a man, as well as his
body, is incomplete without his wife; he has strength,
she has beauty; be combats the enemy and labors
in the field, but he understands nothing of domestic
life; his companion is waiting to prepare his repast
and sweeten his existence. He has crosses, and (he
partner of his life is there to soften them; his days
mav be sad anil troubled, but in the chaste arms of
his wife he finds comfort and repose. Without wo
man, man would be rude, gross, solitary. U oman
spreads around him the flowers of existence, as the
creepers of the forests, which decorate the trunks of
sturdy oaks with their perfumed garlands. Finally,
the Christian pair live and die united, together they
rear the fruits of their union; in the dust they lie
side by side; and they are re-united beyond the
tomb.
ilfbotci) to (Temperance, literature, General Intelligence, anb t|c latest lletos.
Fur tlic Banner.
NOVEL READING.
Novel Reading must he considered onoot the most
vicious, as it one of the most popular amusements
of the day. Perhaps there is no one amusement
w hich is more universally injurious. Its deleterious
influence is vastly increased by the insidiousness of
its nature. Like a hazy fog, it spreads itself through
society, and there is no recess, however remote, into
which it does not find its way. .Uulikc many other
vices, it does not confine itself to the vales of humili
ty; hut mounts to the loftiest eminences. It is
found alike in the refined circles of society and in the
haunts of degradation. Nothing is more common
than to see iu the most fashionable parlors, their cen
tre-tables decked with piles of paper hound literature.
Many of our most popular journals feast their thou
sands of readers with elegant “Tales of Ileal Life.”
Thus daily and weekly a continual flood is poured
out upon the world, and multitudes are swallowed up
in the yellow tide.
There are two classes of Novel readers, w hieh dif
fer not a little. One of them read novels only to pass
off time, and beyond this, have no other object in
view. The other class read them for the sake of the
benefit which they hope to desire. To the first of
these we have nothing to say. They are insensible
to all arguments which may be drawn from the inju
rious tendencies of novels. Everything which while
away the ennui of an idle hour, is to them equally
useful. The moralist may reason with them on the
value of time, and until they yield to his reasoning,
all other arguments would be of no avail. The re
marks w hich we may make will refer only to the se
cond class of novel readers; those who labor under
the mistaken notion that the timo thus employed is
not altogether wasted; who arc fully persuaded that
they derive as much benefit from this, as from any
class of reading. Arguments have not been wanting
to prove the correctness of their manner of thinking;
arguments, the plausibility of which has carried con
viction to the mind of many a young person, and se
riously impaired their power of usefulness. A few of
these arguments we will at present notice.
One distinction must however be observed. Many
persons who defend novels, do so on the ground that
Fiction is often useful. This we admit. Much val
uable instruction is often imparted under the garb of
fiction. We do not then condemn all works of fic
tion, hut only that class which is usually denomina
ted Novels and Romances.
One of the advantages said to he derived from No
vel Reading is, the improvement of styles. This un
doubtedly has more foundation in truth than most of
the advantages which are enumerated. There are
many Novels which are written in an elegant and at
tractive style. Simply for this, they are worthy of
the contemplation and study of every lover of the
beautiful. But unfortunately, this is one of the cases
in which vice seeks to conceal her inward deformity
amidst the outward splendor. YYe cannot pluck the
rose without being hurt by the thorns; we cannot
separate the styles of novels from their subject mat
ter. The Novel Reader may bo benefitted as to his
style, but with this improvement lie will receive far
more than an equal amount of injury. That the. ma
jority of people do not read novels solely for their
style, is a fact so evident as to require no proof.—
There are many literary productions written in styles
of the greatest purity and elegance, possessing none
of those qualities which render novels pernicious.—
: Yet why does not the mass of people read them with
that eagerness and avidity with which they pore over
tho poorest works of fiction? It is because they do
not possess those charms to excite the curiosity, cap
tivate the fancy, and bewilder the imagination. In
a case like this, where a small benefit can only beob
tained, by suffering a great injury, the course of wis
dom is not difficult to determine.
Another of the advantages which arc said to re
sult from novel reading is the improvement of flic im
agination. To this faculty indeed, all works of fic
tion are addressed. If improvement wele an inevit
able result of exercise, then it would be evident that
novel reading would improve the imagination. Ad
mit this to be the case; then does it follow that novel
reading is beneficial V The cultivation of bis facul
ties is undoubtedly one of the most ready means of
promoting roan's happiness. But in this, God has
not left him to be guided by bis caprice and passion.
It is only when cultivated properly and in proper
i proportion that these faculties can conduce to our
happiness. ?n the list of mental faculties, the imag
ination holds an important and elevated position.-
When duly subjected to reason, and confined within
proper limits, there is perhaps none which promotes
human happiness in a higher degree. But when it
is cultivated to the utter exclusion of all others, it
loses all its capability of promoting happiness, ft
destroys that beauty and harmony of the mind which
its Greator designed it should possess. It hurls rea
son front her throne, and spreads the miseries of an
! arrhy over the intellectual domain. It destroys the
j nice balance of the mental faculties, renders the man
Ia dreaming idealist, and entirely disqualifies him for
I real fife. Grant that novel reading improves theim-
I agination, and these are the inevitable results. But
| we are not prepared to admit that it produces this
j effect, ft certainly exercise,-, the imagination, but
all exercises is not improvement. What are the
scenes through which the novelist cairies the imag
ination, to increase its energies and expand its pow
ers? Does he bear it through the realms of nature,
here it may drink abundant draughts of beauty and
grandeur? Does he carry- it along the bumble but :
peaceful walks of virtue, w here it ri ay associate with ‘
I true goodness and unassumed excellence? Does he
bear it up, until bathing itself in the rays of eternal ;
Truth, it descends again to assist mankind in their !
WIELD, SATURDAY, Mil’ll 17,1855.
ascent from the vale of degradation? is it not more j
frequently to scenes the opposite of all of those that
he delights to hurry his captivated victims? Does
he not delight to carry them to scenes of blackest
pollution, which harrow up the soul, by tho horrid
teats of tragic wickedness ? Let him that reads nov
els to improve the imagination, beware; for baptized
in this dark stream, the s.-nfl becomes tutored for a
career of vice and crime. AUREI.I AN.
i’ROHIBITOKY LAWS THIRTY REASONS.
The sale of intoxicating driuks as a beverage, says
1). P. Brown, Esq., an eminent lawyer of Philadel
phia, should be prohibited by layv, because
I. Tlivv deprive men of their reason for the timo
being.
‘J. They destroy men of the greatest intellectual
strength.
3. They foster and encourage every species of im
morality.
4. They bar the progress of civilization.
5. They destroy the peace and happiness of mil
lions of families.
6. They reduce many virtuous wives and children
to beggary.
7. They eausu many thousands of murders.
8. They prevent all restoration of character.
9. They render abortive the strongest resolutions.
10. The millions of property expended in them is
lost.
11. They cause the majority of cases of insanity.
12. They destroy both the body and the soul.
13. They burden sola r people with millions of
paupers,
14. They cause immense expenditures to prevent
crime.
15. They cost sober people immense sums in char
ity.
16. They burden the country with enormous taxes.
17. Because the moderate drinkers want the temp
tation removed.
18. Drunkards want the opportunity removed,
f 19. Sober people want the nuisance removed.
20. Tax payers want the burden removed.
21. The prohibition would save thousands now
falling.
22. The sale exposes our families to insult.
C 23. Tho sale exposes our families to destruction.
24. The sale upholds the vicious and idlo at the
expense of the virtuous and industrious.
25. The sale subjects the sober to great oppression.
20. It takes the sober man’s earnings to support
the drunkard.
ings.
28. It is contrary to the Bible,
j. 29. It is contrary to common sense.
30. NYe have a right to rid ourselves of the burden
i
! THE WIFE.—THE VALUE OF HER HUSBAND’S SOUL.
A liquor dealer’s wife, in the Commercial Capital
! of the State, whose conscience was ill at ease in rela
tion to the traffic in Intoxicating liquors, availing her
self of an auspicious moment, said to her husband,
’ “/ do not like your celling liquor, it teems to me to
be a bad bvsitms; you do not, I suppose, make more
than one or two hundred dollars a year by it, and I
should bo very much rejoiced if you would give it up.”
“I know,” answered the husband, “as well as you do,
1 that it is a bad business, I should he as glad to give
’ it up as you would bo to have me, arid if I did not
make more than one or two, or even five hundred
1 dollars a year by it, t would givo it up.” “How
much then,” enquired the wife, “do yon make
1 “Why,” replied tho husband, “I moke from two to
three thousand dollars a year, an amount quite too
much to be relinquished.” “What you say,” she
rejoined, “brings to my mind the rcmai ks of a lectu
rer I once heard, who, having repeated what Wal
pole said in relation to every man having his price in
politics, added that it wa< much the same in religion.
Satan, continued he, is a broker. Not a wheat, or
cotton, or money broker, but a, soul broker. Some
can be procured to labor in his service for a hundred,
some for a thousand, and some for ten thousand dol
larsa year. The price, dear husband, you estimate
your soul, I see, is three thousand dollars a year.—
My husband, look you well to it— to me it seems
even three thousand dollars a year is a paltry price
for what is truly priceless.’
On the mind of that husband sudden conviction
flashed, and liberal as was his portion in those re
wards of unwretchedness which Satan proffered, he
resolved, and avowed th* resolution to receive it no
longer.
Are we not all •mnftnlly chargeable with whatever
tri.l uc hare the pouter but hate refused nr neglected
to prerent? This wife did her whole duty on this
great and important question now before the public.
If all the women in the State would do their whole
duty, Satan’s brokerage, in this department of his
trade, would be destroyed.
THE DRUNKARD SOLILOQUIZING ON THE MAINE LAW.
The Maine Liquor Law is a mean, unjust law. Ft j
takes away my liberty.
Yes! this is a fact! It takes uway my liberty !
A mean, unjust law, surely!
It takes away my liberty to buy drink and make a
a simpleton of my.-'lf; wallow in the streets; act like
an idiot; rage and foain lik< a madman; have the
delirium tremens, and be tormented by spiders, dra
gons, and devils. A mean law, indeed! How un
just!
It takes away my liberty to buy drink and lie,
■ steal, gamble, cheat, arid be cheated, blaspheme,
fight, murder, and be murdered, get iu a penitentia
ry, and be hung as a felon. Oh, what a mean law!!
j Oh, how unjust to take away such liberties!
It takes away my liberty to drink and be a poor,
miserable, pennyless, houseless, homeless, friendless,
characterless, man-despised and God-forsaken wretch.
Surely, tlie Maine Law is the depth of meanness,
and the heighth of injustice!
It takes away my liberty to drink and abuse my
family ; to make my children ashamed of their drun
ken father; to make them fear me as they would a ‘
savage; to beat my poor, patient, frightened, suffer
ing, heart-broken wife- that wife “Uo loved me so
dearly, ami whom,-before High Heaven, 1 swore to
protect, love, and cherish as luy own self; tear that
hair 1 once thought so flue; disfigure that face I once
thought scarcely less fair than an angel’s; wring that
heart which would still shed its Mood for mine, and
at last send her, tho wile of my youth, crushed, by
the great weight of my cruelty, to an untimely grave.
Oil, 1 have a soul, and can I tolerate a law which de
prives a limn of such liberty— such privileges?
It takes away my liberty to be a drunkard, and a
nuisance to myself, and every one else, and to be
queath my body to a drunkard's grave, and my soul,
a lost spirit, (o the drunkard’s hull.
Is not the Maine Liquor Law a vile outrage upon
every sense of honor, and every principle of justice,
and a traitor to the dearest liberties of utan?
THE MERCY OK THE RUMSELLER.
A poor, sick woman sent her husband for some
medicine. That the errand might he the more sure
ly performed, she called her son, a young lad, and
said, “ Hero Jimmy, you go with your fattier, and
now do hasten hack, for I am in great pain.”
They started and walked some distance to a groce
ry. While there, an old acquaintance meeting them,
said to the man, “Let’s take something to drink.”—
“No,” said Jimmy, “we had hotter go home, father;
mother is waiting.” “What, boy,” said the rumscl
ler sneeringly, “do you teach your father when to
drink V” They took a glass, and very soon another,
Jimmy all the time urging him to go home, but with
out avail. Glass followed glass, until twelve o’clock,
when the shop was closed, and they started for home,
first taking can?, however, to have a jug filled.—
The night was as cold and unrelenting as the nun
seller’s heart. Tho w inds moaned through the houghs
of the leafless trees, as if conscious of flic fearful
scene about to be enacted. Hour after hour the sick
wife anxiously awaited their return, but they came
not. Morning dawned, and still no husband or son
made their appearance. Finally, she sent for a neigh
bor, who went in search of them. About a mile from
tho house, he found the man lying upon the ground,
a stiffened corpse, the jug by bis side. Near by stood
Jimmy, his elbows resting on the fence, and his head
upon his hands; the tears which had flowed-from
his now- glazed eyes were congealed to ice upon his
checks ; he, too, was a frozen corpse!
Who will say the rumsoller should not bear the
guilt 1 And yet ho pleads his license I
THE DEVIL’S PENDULUM.
At a temperance meeting in Glasgow, (Scotland,)
the Rev. Mr. Arnot related the following incident,
illustrating the cruelty of the liquor traffic:
“He knew one case in which the son of a poor wo
man, passed his life alternating between the lunatic
asylum and his mother's dwelling. He regularly
drank hirnsclf'mad, and was removed to the asylum
by a sheriff's warrant. He got no whisky there, and
soon became as sane as any one; but when he got
out again, three months drinking sufficed to madden
him again; and the same lestrnintrequired to be re
peated. He had heard of an instrument of torture
invented by the Inquisition. The victim was bound
upon a fable, and a huge pendulum with a sharp knife
attached, was suspended above him The pondulum
went —wag, wag - above the miserable wretch till it
began to touch, touch and went in, in, and in, till
death relieved him from the torture. Satan, through
the instrumentality of the public house, had contrived
precisely that horrible species of torture for that poor
widow.”
WOMEN OF THE EMPIRE STATE.
You are or should be the governing spirit of every
well regulated household. With you, in a great
measure, rests the settlement of this great question.
It Is for you to say “chain lluil or,” ami the fetters
will be made strong around him. Let a convention
be called in each family iu the State of Georgia, by
the female head of it, and let the question lie fully
debated. Let mothers, sisters, wives, there around
the family hearth, debate this question| with their
husbands, Sons and brothers; let them not relax
their efforts until each man w ithin the circle of the i
family, gives his pledge to vote lor those ami those
only, who are in favor of confining this murderous
<>s. So that future generations may not suffer from
I Ids horns, as the past have.
Let the women of this State now take this great
■ question in hand, use their power in the right diree
i lion, and untold blessings will follow on the heads of
; their children, and childrens’ children, as well as up
on the State and the world at large.
RUM SELLING BRINGS SORROW.
A tavern keeper in Renssricar county had aban
doned the traffic in alcohol after having been several
years engaged in it. Whenever the subject of his
selling liquor was referred to, he was observed to feel
deep regret and sorrow. A friend one day inquired J
the cause. “ I will tell you,” said he, and opening j
his account book, he said, “hereare forty-four names *
of men who have all been my customers, most of
them for years. Thirty-two of these men, to my
certain knowledge, now lie in the drunkard's grave;
ten of the remaining twelve are now living confirmed
sots! I” These are the fruits of this dreadful and de
grading business!
rot w-nm it.-
PURSUIT (IF KNOWLEDGE. 1
Pitt. —Have ycr iter a lctthnr for me, yer honor.
Urbane Official. —What name ?
Pat. —Why my own name, <>v morse; whose rise.
Official, still urbane. -What is your own name V
Put. —Faix, and it was my father’s afore me, and
would bo yet, only lie’s gone dead.
Official, not quite so urbane.— Confound vod,
what do you call yourself V
Pat, ffimnfy. Redod, l call me.self a gmtlcman; itV
a pity there ain't a couple of us.
Official , with dignity. —Stand hack.
Pi/t, moodily.- Aback I'll stand when 1 gets me
lctthnr.
Official, sternly. llow can I give it to you, if you
don't tell me who you arc? you stupid hog trotter.
l'9t, satirically. Is that what ycr ped for, abusin
honest people that comes for their rights; gi’ me a
lctthnr, or by the w hiskers of Kate Karucy’n cat, l’l
cast me vote agin you when 1 git me papers.
Official, rcry nearly angry,— You blundering
blockhead, can't you toll me how your letter Is ad
dressed ?
Pal, contemptuously.— Dressed! how should it bt
dressed, hut its in a sheet o’ paper, like any other.—
Come hand it up, avie.
Official, angry. —Deuce take you, won't you tel!
who you are ?
Pat, furiously. —Well, I’m an Irishman, bred and
horn, seed, breed, an gineration, me father was con
sin to one-eyed Larry Magra, the process sarver, ni
me mother belonged to the Mooneys of Killmanaizy
You’re an ignorant mild disciple, and av’ yo’ll only
crape out ov ycr hole, I’ll welt you like anew shoe
an av ye 7. get any more satisfaction out o’ me, mt
name's not Ramey O’Flinn.
Satisfied Official. —Oh ! that’s your name, is it?
(Shu(Res letters, deals one to Barney, who cuts.)
YANKEE DOODLE IVITII VARIATIONS.
We hnve a young lady acquaintance w ho is a very
tine performer on the piano. Her house is in rathci
too close proximity to the street, and the parlor i‘
not proof to the gaze of the passers by, or of those
who arc so rude as to take advantage of this to(
common fault of constructing dwellings in our cities
While in the midst of her musical efforts, a tall younj.
Kentuckian, who had just made his egress from tin
“barrens” where he was horn and “raised,” chancct
to saunter along the street, and charmed by the nov
cl music, but rather uninformed as to the conven
tional rules of town-society, approached the parlor
window, and with eyes dilated and mouth extended
stood there enraptured, while she sang “Give inc f
cot in the valley I love.”
“Are you fond of music V” inquired the lady, win
likes a bit of innocent sport.
“Well, I am that thing,” said the blunt Kentuck
Inn.
“Do you play ?” asked our friend in a quizzicn
manner.
“I can play a smart lot of tunes on the fife,” suit
the countryman, “but darn me if ever I see anybody
play on a bureau before!’’
“This is what we call a Piano, sir,” said the per
former, “did you never hear of such an instrument?’
“NoSir-ee!” said Kontuek; “there’s no such crit
ter in owr parts as that; but it makes mighty nice
kind o’ music, don’t it ? (’an you play Yankee Doo
die on that machine V” said he suddenly, and with
great earnestness of manner.
The lady answered in the affirmative; and thi.
popular national air, with variations, was performed
in truly artistic style. Rut the uncultivated ear ol
the rustic could scarcely discover, through the “vari
ations,” a single strain of his much-loved tune, am/
at the close of the piece, lie exclaimed
“Is Mat Yankee Doodle?” i
“Yes sir. that is Yankee Doodle, with the Varia-’
tions.” 1
“Well,” ejaculated Kentuck, thrusting a hand into
each pocket, pr< parntory to a start, “ that may dm
for you city folks, but give me the plain Doodle !”- s
And off he went. j
—— , ,
HAVE CHARITY FOR THE POOR.
Rich men and rich ladies, whom God has merci
fully blessed with the good things of this world, have
mercy on the poor, for they are your fellow-beings.
They toil and struggle in the tough battle of life.—
They toil and struggle hard to gain a scanty
of food for themselves and their little ones. They’
are l ough-looking, but kind-hearted one tow ard anoth
er. They have sympathetic hearts like our own, !
| with this difference, that we, so far placed above and 1
beyond them by the voice of Fashion, do not so read-'’
ily give from our abundance as they to their comrades
, from the dry crusts which they havo begged at our :
(gates. Have charity, then—have compassion upon*
the poor who are about you. Who knows how soon*
the w heel of fortune may turn round and crush twin 1
, its ceaseless motion ? As high as we stand to-day, ‘
we may be brought low and suffering to-morrow; —
therefore, to-day, havo charity for the poor!— Fire- 1
side Journal.
JigT” Said the Hon. William Wirt, “I have becn,„
for more than forty years, a close observer oflife ami a
manners in various parts of the United States, and I
know not an evii. that will bear a moment’s compari- a
j son with intemperance. It is no exaggeration to 11
I say, as has been often said, that this single cause has u
i produced more vice, crime, poverty and wretched
ness, in every form, domestic and social, than all the
other ills that scourge us, combined.”
“My dear,” said an affectionate spouse to her hus
band, “am I not your only treasure?”
“Yes,” was the cool reply, “and I would willingly
lay it up in heaven.” *
{JAMES T. I .LAIN,
/ nu\ri:u.