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Prstellam). STORY OP A HAUNTED HOUSE In a very large, old-fashioned habitation, perched on the brow of a beetling cliff, on th® south coast of England, lived a widowed lady and her children, with a large retinue of servants, and every luxury that wealth could give, but without the society of neigh bors. The nearest town was several miles off, and there were no country-seats near them ; but the estate had been long in the family, and, though rather lonely, it was a favorite residence. The house had origin ally been a castle; but had been so altered and added to, that little remained of its for mer appearance. Various rooms indicated, by their furniture and the pictures on tho walls, the time to which they belonged; and long corridors led to many apartments nev er used by the family. It did, however, happen that a person was ill in one of those distant rooms, and a nurse, who was watch ing the sick woman, wi.s greatly terrified by seeing the head of one of the old portraits on the wall move like a living one. She was sure that the eyes winked, and the head moved up and down. She was transfixed with terror, but controlled herself so far as not to scream. When she recovered the power of moving, she ran off to tell her mis tress what she had seen, and that she could not possibly return to that haunted cham ber. Several persons went to the room, but saw no motion in the old picture, and the poor nurse was well laughed at for her alarm. The next night the housekeeper offered to watch in that same chamber, aud she was sent screaming through the corri dor by the same motion in the picture. The sick person was now removed to another part of the house, and the haunted cham ber was locked up, and never used. Some time after this occurrence the oldest son returned from a long absence in the ar my, and on hearing of the haunted chamber he declared that he would find out if there were any marvellous appearances, by pass ing a. night there himself. His mother and sisters tried in vain to dissuade him from it; the young soldier chose to show that he had no fear of ghosts or burglars. He said he should not go to bed; he would sit up armed, and have a bright wood fire or a good lamp to read by. The family retired, leaving him to what they considered a use(pss vigil; but the next morning he joined them, looking very pale and haggard, and refused to say wheth er any thing had occurred or not. He lock ed up the room and forbade any one going near it. In a few days he told his mother that they must all quit that house, and live elsewhere. She asked him if he was going to bring a wife there, as the estate was his. lie said no; tiiat he should pull down the house, and raze it to the ground. “ That is a new way to get rid of ghosts," said his mo ther. “ This is to get rid of?what is worse than ghosts," was his reply. But he re fused all further explanation. The old mansion was pulled down, and many years after it became known that a cave, under that wing of the castle which contained the room, was used by smugglers, who wished to frighten the family from oc cupying the rooms above that cave, lest they should hear the noises they made in carry ing thcii brandy casks into it. One of the gang had cut a hole through a thin partition between toe chamber and a dressing room, and made the aperture just behind a laige portrait, lie had removed the painting from the frame, had put himself its place, on purpose to frighten the family, and make them think the chamber was haunted This plan succeeded so well that the smug glers would have kept that part of the cas tle uninhabited, had it not been for the con duct of the sou and heir of* tho house. When he was watching there, and occupied with his book, two smugglers entered sud denly through a trap-door in the dressing room, and presenting their pistols to his breast, ordered him to remove from the ta ble where his arms were laid. A third and fourth man entered and disposed of them. They then told him that they were smug glers, aud used a cave underneath, and swore they would carry him off aud kill him, unless he took an oath neve*’ to speak of what happened that night, and to pull down the whole house— Mrs. Farrar's “Recol lections of Seventy Years. From the National Baptist. A Minister’s Wife in Minnesota. 11 Half the world do not know how the other half live.’’ I was reminded of this truism recently while reading an extract from your paper, under the head of Minne sota. It was there mentioned as a marvel that a Baptist sister came out to meeting, four miles distant, with an ox team, and thence it was urged that good pastors should hasten from their eastern homes and preach the word to those so eager to hear it. Pos sibly, some good brothei may have heeded the call and may even now be looking west ward. To such a one the inside of a Min nesota parsonage may present an object of interest. A pastor has been six years on the field, preaching when he can and labor ing for his own support meanwhile. Below is such a journal as his wife would keep (if, indeed, she took the time to record her own labors,) of a few days in harvest. And this is a fair sample of the entire year, or per haps, we might say, of the entire six years. Thursday , Aug. 24^4.—Terrible heat. Harvesters can remain only two days longer. Wheat only half stacked, and oats ”yet standing. Husband must go to his appoint ment. . I half wish he would not go, yet I know it is wicked to have such a thought. Trust in the Lord and do good and verily thou shalt be fed.” 3 Friday , 25 th. —Two acres of the oats cut down yesterday, I have to day bound with my own hands. So much is safe. The poor horses will not go hungry this winter as heretofore. Thanks for strength to la bor ! We cannot hire this done, and unless I gather the grain inyself it must perish as it has done before. This toil roughens me, yet does not render me the less acceptable to those whose good I seek. th. —Late this moruing my husband left for his appointment, fifty miles distant. How lie will get on in this terrible heat I do not dare to think. I cannot bind oats to-day. Again and again 1 have braved the heat to no purpose. Thermometer over 100 in the shade aud not a breeze stirring. The pressure on my brain is like that which preceded my fever a year ago. I cannot die now, for life is so sweet to me. Sabbath , 11th. — Blessed day for the la borers, worldly toil and worldly care alike disposed Oi. Ihe cooler rays of the morn ing sun come trembling through vine-clad window and door-way. My daughter piled up the pillows on the lounge aud said,“ now mother, you can rest" The cool, shady room, the piles of Sunday books and papers, the couch and arm-chair, never seemed so tempting as now. But the “ rest that re maineth " is the only one that I can call my own. I rode to my Sunday school, four miles on horseback, without a saddle. This opens at noon. My little daughter turned her face so imploringly to mine this morning with the question, “ must I watch cattle Sunday, too V* that I could not b tar to leave her to her task alone ! so, taking her behind me, I rode to the corn-field and re mained with her till compelled to hasten to my Sunday school. Meridian heat intense. Ihe same headache, same faint-, weary feel ing as yesterday. The.sight of the group of scholars and the glad shout “ The teacher has come," dissipated weariness and relieved pain. The rude boys, unaccustomed to con trol elsewhere, drop quietly in and listen breathlessly while 1 teach them of God and heaven. Thirty little immortals all ready to learn, and none to instruct them but my self. Surely duty lies Imre. I hastened back to the corn-field and gathered up the troublesome cattle and drove them to their own homes, where their owners, unwilling to watch them at other times, keep them in, while their own children are taught in Sun day school. This meets at 5, P. M. Here both my children attend, the one to teach, the other to sing; for my wild pupils in this school are tempted from their Sunday sports mainly by song. Sunset comes on. The loving “good-night, teacher,’’ resounds from bluff to bluff as wo return to our home. How weary and how rested I am ! Monday, 28th. —At the oats again. Able to put up only 300 sheaves, yet thankful for so much. Tuesday , 29/ft —Started before dawn for the oat-field again. The grain is so dry that it must be bound while the dew is on. Finished early, and waited patiently for my husband’s return. This hard work troubles me, but so loDg as we persist in preaching the gospel at our own charges, there is no other way to get od. Yes there is! We might itinerate through the field and be fed and clothed by our parishioners, trusting our old age to the care of Providence. But I cannot abandon the education of my chil | dren. -Sly boys, heaven holds. For my ! two daughters I hope long aud useful lives; j and to this end they must be carefully and thoroughly trained. For this lam cunfent to toil. At 4 o’clock, P. M., my husband came home, having rude forty-five miles on a single biscuit. No one thinks of meeting his expenses. We!!, the Master expressly told us when he sent us to these by-ways to hid men to the gospel least, “ They cannot recompense thee, but thou shalt be recom pensed at the resurrection of the just." Wc can afford to wait. B. A LESSON FOR LADIES. We listened a week ago, to a touching funeral sermon over the body of a young woman who had suddenly died in conse quence of having fifteen teeth extracted. She was youthful, plump, active, full of vitality and overflowing with vivacity, but her teeth, though good enough in quality, were not so comely in appearance us she thought de sirable. To think, was to decide with her, to decide was to act. Forthwith she pro ceeded to a dentist, and had ten defective masticators drawn. But this was not suf ficient. She was resolved to have a com plete set of artificial teeth in her mouth of solid make and handsome asDoct, Five sound teeth should not stand iu the way of the accomplishment of her desire. The dentist remons'rated. “Save at least your eye-teeth,” said he. But no; she was con fident that she could endure the pain, and she would not be baulked in her enterprise. Out came the teeth. She did endure the pain, and like a heroine. She went home rejoicing in her courage and in the success ful result of her adventure. But she little dreamed of the consequences. Being a woman of powerful will and vast self-control, she had nerved herself by an almost super human effort to the task set before her; but the reaction bad yet to come. The over strung nervous system, when it began to re lax, gave way in a gush. Complete pros tration followed. A long-concealed organ ic disease of the heart suddenly developed its mischievous character. Death quickly came upon her, two or three hours after her rejoicing; and before the teeth could be completed that were to beautify her mouth, her friends followed her corpse to the grave. —Home Journal. ■ ' ■■■-■ « ♦ ■»--»» »■■■ - Puzzle in Ancient Philosophy.— Among our famous ancient dialectic prob lems are the following dilemma’s, which are framed with wonderful ingenuity, the acute ness displayed in their construction being unsurpassed. The fiist is Sillogismus Crocodilus, and may thus be stated; —An SOUTHERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE. infant, while playing on the bank of a river, was seized by a crocodile. The mother hearing its cries, rushed to its assistance, and by her tearful entreaties obtained a promise from the crocodile, who was obvi ously of the highest intelligence, that he would give it hack to her if she would tell him truly what would happen to it.—On this, the mother perhaps rashly asserted: “You will not give it backs’ The croco dile answers to this : “If you have spoken truly, I cannot give the child back, without destroying the truth of your assertion; if you have spoken falsely I cannot give the child back, because you have not fulfilled your agreeament. Therefore I cannot give the child back, whether you have spoken truly or falsely.” The mother retorted : “If I have spoken truly, you must give back the child by virtue of your agreement. If I have spoken falsely that can only be when you have given back the child. So that, whether I have spoken truly or falsely, the child must be given back.’’ History is si lent as to the issue of this remarkable dis pute. The Worn-out Mother. Not long since, a good-looking, well-dress ed man, in middle life, came to our door asking for “the minister." When informed that he was out of town, he seemed disap pointed and anxious. On being questioned as to his business, he replied, “I have lost my mother, and, as this place used to be her home, and my father lies here, we have come to lay her beside him.” My heart rose in sympathy, and I said, “You have met with a great loss.” “Well, yes,’’ replied the strong man, with nes’.tancy; “a mother is a great loss in general, but our mother had out-lived her usefulness; she was in her second child hood, and her mind had become as weak as h' r body, so that she was i|p comfort to herself, and was a burden to everybody. There were seven of us, sons and daughters, and as we could not find anybody, willing to board her, we had to to keep her among us—a year about. But I’ve had more than my share of her, for she was too feeble to be moved when my time was out, and that was more than three months before her death. But I must say she was a good mother in her day, and toiled very hard to bring us all up.” Without looking again at the hcarthless man, I directed him to the house of a neigh boring pastor, and returned to the nursery. I gazed on the merry little faces which smiled or grew sad in imitation of mine— those little ones to whose ear no word in our language is half so sweet as “mother,” and wondered if that day would ever come when they would say of me, “She has out lived her usefulness; she is no comfort to herself and a burden to everybody else.” I hope that ere such a day dawns, I may be taken to my rest. God forbid that I should outlive the love of my children I Rather let me die while my heart is part of their own, that my grave may be watered with their tears, aud my love linked with their hope of heaven. W hen the bell tolled for that mother’s burial, I went to the sanctuary to pay a token of respect to the aged stranger; for I felt that I could give her memory a tear, even though her own children had none to shed. u‘ “She was no comfort to herself and a bur den to everybody else, though I must say she was a gaud mother in her <lay, and toiled hard to bring us a)L v)) /” These crncl, heartless words rang in my ears as the coffin was borne up the aisle. After all her toil and weariness, she had ceased to be profitable toher earth craving, money-grasp ing children. There she lies now in the coffin, cold and still, she makes no trouble now, demands no love, no soft words, no tender little offices. I thought (it might be fancy,) that her marble features wore a look of patient endurance—au expression of grief for unrequited love. When the bell ceased tolling the strange minister rose in the pulpit. His form was erect and his voice strong, but his hair was silvery white. He read several passages of Scripture, expressive of God’s compassion to feeble man, and especially of his tender ness when grey hairs are on him and his strength faileth. After some touching re marks, he leaned over the desk, and gaz ing intently on the coffined furm .before him, said reverently, “From a little child I have honored the aged, but never till grey hairs covered my own head did I know truly how much love and sympathy this class have a right to demand of their fel low-creatures. Now, I feel it. Our moth er,” he added most tenderly, “who now lies in death before us. was a si ranger to me, as are all these her descendants. All I know of her is what her son told me to day —that she was brought to this town from afar, sixty-nine years ago, a happy bride; that here she passed most cf her life, toil ing as only mothers have strength to toil, until she had reared a large family of sons and daughters ; that she left her home here, clad in the weeds of widowhood, to dwell among her children; and that, till health and vigor left her, she lived for you, her descendants. You who have shared her love and her care know how well you have acquitted her. God forbid that conscience should accuse any of you of ingratitude or murmuring on account of the care she has been to you of late. When you go back to your homes, be careful of your words and your example before your own children, for the fruit of your own doing you will surely reap for them, when you yourselves totter on to the brink of the grave. I entreat you as a friend, as one who has himself en tered the ‘evening of life,’ that you may never say in the presence of your families, nor of heaven, ‘Our mother had outlived her usefulness; she was a burden t’o us.’ Never, never; a mother cannot live so long as that! No; when she can no longer la bor for her children, nor yet care for herself she can fall like a precious weight on their bosoms, and call forth, by her helplessness, all the noble, generous feelings of their na tures. Adieu, then, poor toil-worn mother; there are no more sleepless nights, no more days ot pain for thee! Undying vigor and everlasting usefulness are part of the inher itance of the redeemed. Feeble as thou was on earth, thou wilt be no burden on ie osom of Infinite Love, but there shalt thou find thy longed-for rest and receive glorious sympathy from Jesus and his ran somed fold/’ A SURPRISED FATHER. A fine, looking man, of noble physique, and clad in overcoat, gloves aud stout boots, was wa.king out the other day with his lit tle three year-old daughter, a pale-faced child, . with bare arms, and morocco slippers. A neighbor meeting them, began to ask with great apparent concern after the fa ther’s health, adding, . “Lut I m glad your little one does not inherit your feeble constitu ion.” “Feeble constitution !" exclaimed the as tonished parent. “Why, I was never sick a day in my life, while, as to my daughter, wo fear she has her mother’s consumptive tendencies." “Indeed," replied bis friend, with a sly twinkle of the eye, “You took such extra care to protect yourself from the cold, while she goes barenecked and in pas f eboard shoos, I inferred that it was you that inherited the mother’s consumptive tendencies, and not she." o- OUR ANTIPODES. Jatan is a country of parodoxes and anomalies. They write from top to bottom, from right to left, in perpendicular instead ot horizontal lines. Their books begin where ours end. Their locks turn from left to right. /Their day is our night. Shops go to customers. People sit on their heels. Horses’ heads are where their tails would be in an English stable, facing the entrance, the food hung from the roof iu a baskst. Their old men fly kites, while the children gravely look on; the carpenter uses bis plane by drawing it to him ; their tailors stitch from them; they mount their horses from the off side ; the hells to their harness are always attached to their hind-quarters instead of the front; ladies black their teeth instead of keeping them white; their hair is turned back from the face, which is elaborately painted arid powdered; and their anti-crinoline tendencies are carried to the point of interfering not only with the grace of movement, but with all locomotion, so tightly are the lower limbs, from the waist downward, girt round with their gar ments. Top-spinning is followed as a pro fession. They indulge iu frequent and loud exultations, as evidence of a good meal. Their pocket is their sleeve. They wipe the face with a nice square of paper, aud carefully fold the envelope into the sleeve, or give it to an attendant to throw away. Their music is without melody ; their land scapes without, perspective light or shade; their figures without drawing—mere crude colors and grotesque forms dancing in mid air, without ground to rest on. They have bank notes of the value of a farthing. They have long perfectly understood the utiliza tion- of sewerage, and the manufacture of paper, not. from rags, but from bark of' trees, of which they have sixty-seven different kinds, all with different uses. They use no milk or animal food; horses and oxen and cows are employed for purposes of draught only; the flowers have no scent, tho birds no song, and their fruits and vegetables no flavor. From t .e Evening Mirror. Humbug! This is an age of humbug—arrant, unblush ing, transparent humbug. The people of the South have just come out of a four years’ war penniless ami well nigh ruined, and it was to be j hoped that, necessity, if not good sense, would [ have taught them the importance of making good use of the little ready money at hand. But the abstinence of the four years past, in stead of teaching them wisdom, seems to have whetted their appetites, and they are biting at every species of humbuggery with an avidity almost unparalleled. The papers o ’ the South are filled with advertisements of circuses, con certs, magicians, and all sorts of mountebanks— of gift enterprises, sewing machines, reaping machines, new fangled plows, patent ; ills and lotions, et id omne genus, and our Northern friends , much to their own surprise no doubt, are reaping a rich harvest from a people whom they have been fighting and robbing duriagfthc war, and from whom they now propose to take what little is left, iu away not less criminal than at the point of the bayonet. Is it not strange that our people will not learn wisdom by experience ? These traveling shows, to say nothing of their immoral ten dency, are made up of men who were either part and parcel of the Yankee army of inva sion, or would have been if they had had the courage to face honest men on the battlefield. Nine-tenths of the labor-saving inventions which are sought to be put upon the people of the South are miserable failures, which the shrewd farmers of the North will have nothing to do with. A large majority of the patent nostrums which Southern newspaper publishers advertise to the world, frequently at lower rates than they charge their own townsmen, are utterly worth less But the most bare-faced, unblushing, ridiculous humbugs in the land, are the gift enterprises, which promise so much and do so little. How in the world any sensible man can be taken in by them, is a mystery to us. They" propose to sell for one dollar what purports to be worth ten or a hundred dollars. One con cern in New York has sent us its advertise ment for publication, but we have notified it that our columns are not open to that kind of advertising. This establishment proposes to sell $500,000 worth of jewelry, pianos, etc., no article worth less than $5, while some are said to be worth SI,OOO. For twenty-five cents, they agree to send an envelope entitling the holder to someone of these articles, and after he has opened it, and ascertained what it is to draw, on sending an additional dollar to these philanthropic individuals, the article will be forwarded to the fortunate holder of the lucky envelope. Now, does any sane man suppose that this concern can afford to pay store rent in New \ork city, and advertise extensively in the newspapers, and then sell an article worth not less than $5, and probably SI,OOO, for $1 25? Is it not evident that they arc either uubl tshing swinulers, and intend to keep your money when you send it to them, without making anij return whatever, or that the jewelry they propose to sell is pinchbeck, and worthless ! And yet, we dare say, thousands of dollars from the South go to these and just such vagabonds every day. to say nothing of what goes into the pockets of similar establishments in our midst. Planets Destroyed.— The bel es that this world is ultimately to de destroyed by fire is supported by the discovery that such a sate has betalleu far larger planets ib«n ours. I rei:ch astronomeis as-ert that no ft wer than fi teen hundia and fixed strr a In ve van ished Horn the firmament within the last three hundred years. Tycno Brahe gives an interesting- account of a brilliant s.ar of toe largest siz ?, which on account of its sin* guiar radianc'*, had become the suecia! ob ject of his daily observation for several months, during which the shir gradually bt - came paler, until its final uisappearat ce. La P;ace states that one of the vanished fixed stars of the northern hemisphere af forded indubitable evidence of having been com timed by fire. At first the star was a dsz* zlintr white, next of glowing red and yellow lusire, and finally it became pale and ashen color. The burning of the star lasted six teen months, when this sunny visitor, to which perhaps a whole series of planets may have owed allegiance, finally departed and became invisible forever. —Louisville Demo crat. Stature. —A French savant argues that Adam was one hundred and twenty-three feet, nine inches tall, and Eve one hundred and eighteen feet, nine and three-fourths inches. This is akin to the Mohammedan fables, which repre sent, our first parents of such prodigious stature, that when Adam stood with one foot on the top of a mountain in Ceylon, the other was in the sea, and that w,ben Eve lay with her head on one hill near Mecca, her knees rested on two others in the plain, about two musket shots asunder. A Copious Language. —The Arabic language is one of’the most copious and iacile known. The alphabet has 29 letters, and there are 150,- 000 words in the language; whereas, in the English language there are but 65,000 words. In some respects, however, it is too copious. For the sword there are 150 names ; for an old woman, 160; for the hyena, 120; and for the lion, camel and horse, even more. It is said that a great. Arabic poet is only expected to write fifty or sixry lines ; hut this would seem hardly probable, with such a copious language. Bishop Potter, of New York, in a recent sermon, was very severe on operatic singing in the Episcopal churches of New York city. The whole thing, he said, had become a scandal; it Was time to speak out about it, and it was time it was suppressed. The prayer-book contained an abundance of beautiful and impressive hymns, suited to every stage of life, and these, he said, should'be used. ikiictj). In a certain parish in Yorkshire, not long since, an old clergyman, who had got a strong lunged curate, observed that one of his hearers was becoming railier irregular in bis atiend ance at church. Os course the divine felt it his duty to visit the backslider, and he accord ingly went, to the house, but tho gudeman was not in. He inquired of the wife why John was so seldom at church now. “Oh, - ’ she replied, without the least hesitation, “that your.g man you’ve got roars sae loud that John canna sleep sae comortable as he did when preaching yer stdf sae peaceably.’’ A Frenchman on coming to America, and finding himself utterly unobserved, no official asking for his passport, no policeman dogging his steps, no mayor demanding his business, feir. sad and lonely, and exclaimed that he was made “no more of than if he was a latle dog.” A mm proves himself fit, to be higher who shows that he is faithful where he is. A man that will not do well in his present place be cause lie longs to be higher, is tit to ba neither where he is nor vet above it. The heaviest fetter that ever weighed down the limbs of a captive is as the web of the gos samer compared with the pledge of a man of honor. The wall of stone and the bar of iron m iy be broken, but the plighted word never. “ Arc these pure canaries?” a*ked a gentle man of a bird dealer with whom he was negotia ting for a “gift for his fair.” “Yes, sir,” said the dealer confidently, “ 1 raised them ’ere birds from canary seed!” Rats are now killed by electricity in Paris’ Bits of meat and sugar are placed on wires in connection with an electric battery ; the rats nibble and are forthwith killed. Childhood knows only the innocent white roses of love ; later they become red, and blush with shame. nmmmmmmmmcamm mmEmmmmmmmmmummcmmmmamammmmmnHnaammmmmmmm RATES OF ADVERTISING. For a square of twelve lines or less, One insertion, .SI.OO T a o insertions, 1 75 Three insertions, 2 50 Four insertions..... 3 25 Five insertions 4 00 ' Two montns 600 Three month.*, (13 weeks) 9.00 At the same rates f>r any number of squares, and for any length of time. Professional Car is of six lines $lO for six months. Adv. rti-*' ments instrted at intervals to be charged as new adv« rtisements- Adverti*emrnts erde ed to be published on any par ticular page, to be charged a* new, each insertion. The money for advertising to be considered duo af ter the first insertion. Advertisements out of the city must be accompan ied by the money. Advertisers may state hoiv many squares they wish used, and for what time , and can thus determine by the above rates how in ch money to sent’. T e space occupied by twelve lines in the type which this notice is set, is considered one square.