Newspaper Page Text
JOHN HENRY SEALS,)
-•* and > Editors,
L. LINCOLN VEAZEY. S
MX SERIES, VOL I.
TIMM! CRUM.
riTBLTSnED
KVTCRY SATURDAY, EXCEPT TWO, IS THE YEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
TERMS:
SI,OO, in advance; or $2,00 at the- end of the year.
RATES OF ADVERTISING,
i square, (twelve lines or less) first insertion,. .$1 00
Each continuance, -• • 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six linos, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
1 square, three months, 5 00
1 square, six months, <
1 square, twelvemonths, J 2 00
2 squares, “ “ 18 00
4 squares, “ “ ...25 00
not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
charcred accordingly.
gggT’Merchants, Druggists, ami others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEG A L VDVE RTISEMENTB.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 500
Bale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, apd Guardians, per square,... 825
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, - 8 25
Notice for L°ave to Sell, A 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adrn’n. 5 00
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi
anship, -. 8 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
gales of Land and Negroes, bv Administrators.
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
h?lrt on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must be
given in a public gazette forty days previous to the
day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must bo
given at least ten days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must
be published, forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly, six month* —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the fall space of three
‘■lonths.
will always bo continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
The Law of Newspapers.
Subscribers who do* not give express notice to
the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue
their subscription.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their
newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them
until all arrearages are paid.
3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their
newspapers from the offices *.'> which they are di
rected, they arc held responsible until they have set
tled the bills and ordered them discontinued.
•1. If subscribers remove to other places without
informing the publishers, and the newspapers are
sent to the former direction, thev are held responsi
ble. w
3. The £..uris have decided that refusing to take
newspapers from the office, or removing and leaving
them uncalled for, is prhna facie evidence of inten
tional fraud.
G. The United States Courts have also repeatedly
decided, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform
his duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per
son to bike from the office newspapers addressed to
him, renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher
for the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING,
of every description, done with neatness and dispatch,
at this office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All
orders, in this department, must be addressed to
J. T. BLAIN.
puos v i: c tvs
OF Tfl?
nMUM’i; mm
[quondam]
TEMPERANCE BANNER.
.4 CTUATED by a conscientious desire to further
the cause of Temperance, and experiencing
great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in
space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica
tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals,
we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve
nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of
the fact that there are existing in the minds of a
large portion of the present readers of the Banner
and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties
which can never be removed so long as it retains the
name, we venture also to make a change in that par
ticular. It will henceforth be called. “THE TEM
PERANCE CRUSADER.’’
This old pioneer of the Temperance cause is des
tined yet to chronicle the tnurnph of its principles.
It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fur
nace,” and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared
unscorchci.l It has survived the newspaper famine
which has caused, and is still causing many excel
lent journals and periodicals to sink, like “bright ex
halations in the evening,” to rise no more, anu it has
evon heralded the “death struggles of many contem
poraries, laboring for the. same great end with itself.
It “still lives,” arid “waxing bolder as it grows older,”
is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In
fernal Liquor Traffic,” standing like tlfe “High Priest”
of the Israelites, who stood between the people and
the plague that threatened destruction.
We entreat the friends of the Temperance Cause
to give us their influence in extending the usefulness
of the paper. Wo intend presenting to the public a
sheet worthy of all attention and a liberal patronage;
for while it is strictly a Temperance Journal , we shall
endeavor to keep its readers posted on all the current
events throughout the country.
ftSifPrice, as heretofore, sl, strict! v in advance.
JOHN H. SEALS,
Editor and Proprietor.
Penfield, G^De0.8,1865.
Ylcbottb te Centpmmte, ffioraliti), Idlmitnrc. fceraf Intelligence, &c.
Setcc£icm§<
THE DOLLAR.
BY GEORGE LIPPARD*
; Would that George Lippard had always
written as powerfully and uncxceptiouably
as in the following sketch :]
They brought him a dollar.
He took it, clutched it in his long skin
ny fingers, tried its sound against the bed- ‘
post, and then gazed at it long and intently
with his dull leaden eyes.
That day, in the hurry of business, Death
had struck him, even in the street. IT
was hurrying to collect the last month’s
rent, and was on the verge of the misera
ble court where liis tenants herded like
beasts in their kennels—he was there with
blank book in his hand, when Death laid
ilia hand upon him.
He was carried home to his splendid
mansion. He was laid upon a bed with a
satin coverlet. The lawyer, the relations,
and the preacher were sent for. All day
long he lay ‘without speech, moving only
iris right hand, as though in the act of
counting money.
At midnight he spoke.
He asked tor a dollar, and they brought
one to him, and lean and gannt he sat up
in his death bed, and clutched it with the
grip of death.
A shaded lamp stood on a table near the
silken bed. Its light fell faintly around
the splendid room, where chairs, and car
pets and mirrors, silken bed and lofty ceil
ing, all said, Gold ! as plainly as lips can
say it.
Ilis hair and eyebrows were white. His
cheeks sunken, and his lips thin and sur
rounded by wrinkles that indicated the
pattern of Avarice, As lie sat up in bed
with his neck bared and the silken coverlet
wrapped about his lean frame, ids white
hair and eyebrows contrasted with his
wasted and wrinkled face, he looked like a
ghost. And though there was life in his
leaden eye —all that life was centered on
the Dollar which he gripped in his clench
ed fist.
His wife, a pleasant-faced matronly wo
man, was seated at the foot of the bed.—
His son, a young man of twenty-one,
dressed in the last touch of fashion, sat by
the lawyer. The lawyer sat before the ta
ble, pen in hand, and gold spectacles on his
nose. There was a huge parchment spread
before him.
“Do you think he will make a will?” ask
ed his son.
“Hardly compos mentis yet y’ was the
whispered reply. “Wait, he’ll be lucid
after a while.”
“My dear,” said the wife, “had I not
better send for a preacher ?”
She rose and took her dying husband
by the hand, but he did not mind. His
were m ihe dollar.
ui \v.ii- v iivb. He owned palaces
in Walnut and Chestnut streets, and hov
els and courts on the outskirts. He had
iron mines in this State; copper mines on
the Lakes somewhere ; he had golden in
terests in California. His name was bright
upon the records of twenty banks. lit*
owned stock of all kinds; he had half-a
dozen papers in his pay.
He knew but one crime— to he in debt
without the power to pan.
He knew but one virtue—-fc? get money.
That crime he had never forgotten—thi<-
virtue he bad never forgotten, in the long
way of thirty-five years.
To hunt down a debtor, to distress ate
riant, to torn a few additional thousands by
a sharp speculation —these were the main
achievements of his life.
He was a good man—his name was up
on a silver piato upon the pew door of a
velvet-cushioned ehureh.
lie was a benevolent man--for every
thousand dollars which be wrung from te
nauts of his. courts, or from the debtors
who writhed beneath his heels, he gave ten
dollars to some benevolent institution.
He was a just man—the gallows and
the jail always found him a faithful and
unwavering ad voeate.
And now he is adv ing man—see! As
he sits upon the bed of.death, with the
dollar in his clenched hand.
Old holy Dollar, object of his life-long
pursuit, what comfort hast thou for him
now in his pain of death?
At length the dying man revived and
dictated his will. It was strange to sca
the mother and son and lawyer muttering,
and sometimes wrangling, beside the heel
of death. AH the while the Testator
clutched the Dollar in his right hand.
While the wiii was being made, the
preadier came —even he who held the pas
loral charge of the great church, whose
pew doors bore saintly names oi silver
plate, and whose seats on Sabbath days
groaned beneath the weight of respecta
bility, broadcloth and satin.
He came and said his prayers —decorous-
ly and in measured words—but never once
did the dying man relax his hold on the
Dollar.
“Can’t you read me something, say
quick, don’t you see I’m going ?” at length
said the rich man, turning a frightened
look toward the preacher.
The preacher, whose cravat was of th
whitest, took a book with golden clasps
from the table.
And he read:
PENFIELD, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 19, 1856.
“And I say unto you, it is easier for a
camel to go through the eye of a needh
than fora rich man to enter the Kingdom
of God.”
“Who said these words—who—who—
who fairly shrieked the dying man, shaking
the hand which clenched the Dollar, at the
’ preacher’s head.
The preacher hastily turned over the
leaf and did not reply.
“Why did you never tell me of this be
fore. ? Why did you never preach from D
as I sat in your church. Why— whyV’
The preacher did not reply—but turned
ever another leaf. But the dying man
would not be quiet ted.
“And it’s easier for a camel to go
through the eye of a needle, than for si
rich man !o enter the Kingdom of God, is
it? Am 1 not rich? What tenant did 1
ever spare—what debtor did I ever spare:
what debtor did lever release? And you
stood up Sunday after Sunday and preach
ed to us, and never said one word about
the camel ?”
The preacher, in search of a consoling
passage, turned rapidly over the leaves,
and in his confusion, came to this passage,
which he read :
“Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl
for your miseriesthat shall come upon you.
Your gold and silver is cankered; and the
rust of them shall be a witness against
you; and shall eat your flesh as if it were
fire; yo have heaped treasures for the lust
days. Behold the li ire of the laborers who
have reaped down your fields, which is of
*you kept back by fraud, crieih; and the
cries of them which have reaped, are en
tered into the ears of the Lord ofSabaoth.”
“And yet yon never preached that to
me ?” shrieked the dying man.
The preacher who had blundered through*
the passage from James, which we have
jHot quoted, knew not what to say. He
was, perchance terrified by the very look
of iiis dying parishioner.
Then the wife drew near and strove t<>
comfort him, and the son (who had been
reading the will,) attempted a word or tw<
of consolation.
And with the Dollar in his hand he sank
into death talking of stock, of rent, of cop
per mine and camel, of tenant and of debt
or, until the breath left his lips. Thus lit
died.
When he was cold, the preacher rose
and asked the lawyer, whether the deceas
ed had left anything to such and such a
charitable society, which had been en
grafted on the preacher’s church.
And the wife closed his eyes and tried
to wrench the Dollar from his hand, but in
vain. He clutched it as though it weiv
the only Saviour to light him through the
*la rk n ess of etern i ty.
And the son sat down with dry eyes, and
thought of the hundreds of thousands
which were now all his own.
.Next day there was a hearse followed by
a train of carriages nearly a mile in length
There was a crowd around an open gravt
and an elegant sermon on the virtues ol
the deceased by the preacher.
There was fluttering of crape badges,
and rolling of carriages, and—no tears.
They left the dead man and returned ti
the palace, where sorrow died, even as the
crape was taken from the door knob.
And in the grave the dead hand still
clenched the Dollar.— White Banner.
POPULARITIES.
liev. E. H. Chapin, in his lecture before
the Mercantile Literary Association last
week, upon “Practical Life,” hit off one of
the popular vices of society—lying—in a
very effective manner, as appears from the
report in the Traveller, lrotn which we
copy a couple of paragraphs :
“Lies of action are blood relation to lies
of speech, and oral lies constitute a small
share of the falsehoods in the world. There
arc lies of custom and lies of fashion; lies
of padding and lies of whalebone; lies of
the first- water in diamonds of paste, and
unblushing blushes of lies to which a show
or would give quite a different complex
ion; the politician’s lies, who like a circus
rider, strides two horses at once; the eo
quette’s lies, who, like a professor of leg
erdemain, keeps six plates dancing at a
time; lies sandwiched between bargains ;
lies in livery behind republican coaches, in
e.i! the poinp of gold band and buttons ; lies
of red tape and sealing wax; lies from the
cannon’s mouth; lies in the name of glori
ous principles that might make dead he
roes clatter in their graves; Malakotfs of
lies, standing upon sacred dust, and lifting
their audacious pinnacles in the light of the
eternal Heaven !•>
“Need we say what an uneasy, slavish
vanity was that which won’t let a man ap
pear as he really is, but makes him afraid
of the world and himself, and so keeps
him perpetually at work with subterfuges
and shams. He is dissatisfied with Nature’s
charter and issues false stock. Oh, how
much better for himself and the world, In
man .to be brave* and true, what God and
unavoidable circumstances have made him
—to come out and dare say I am poor, of
humble birth, of humble occupation, or
don’t know much 1 What a cure this in
genuousness would be for social rottenness
and financial earthquakes. How much
sweeter and purer these actual rills of ca
pacity and possession, than this great
hr tekish river of pretension, blown with
babbles, and evaporating with gas—how
much better than that splendid misery,
these racks and thumb-screws-that belong
to the inquisition of fashion, and thousands
*d shabby things, the shabbiest of all being
those too proud to seem just what they are.”
IN DEBT AND OUT OF DEBT.
Os what a hideous progeny of ill is debt
the father ! What, meanness*what invasions
on self-respect, what cares, what double
dealing! How, in due season, it will carve
the frank, open face into wrinkles: how,
like a knife, it will stab the honest heart !
How it has been known to change a good
ly face into a mask of brass; how, with the
‘•damned custom” of debt, has the man be
come a callous brickster’ A freedom of
debt, and what nourishing sweetness may
be found in cold water; what toothsome
ness in a dry crust; what ambrosial nour
shrnent in a hard egg. Be sure of it. he who
dine- out of debt, though his meal be a bis
cuit and an onion, dines in “the Apollo.”
And then for raiment —-what warmth in a
thread-bare coat, if the tailor’s receipt be in
vour pocket; what Tyrian purple in the fa
ded waistcoat, the vest not owed for; how
glossy the well-worn hat, if it cover not the
aching of a debtor ! Next the home-sweets,
Lie out-door recreation of the free man.—
The slreet door fall not a knell on his heart;
the foot on the staircase, though he live on
third pair, sends no spasms through his an
atomy ; at the rap of his door he can crow
forth “come in,” and his pulse still beat
healthfully, his heait sink not in his bowels.
.See him abroad, flow he returns look for
look with any passenger; how he saunters;
hovy, meeting an acquaintance, he stands
and gossips ! But, then, this man knows not
debt-—debt, that casts a drug into the rich
est wine; that makes the food of the gods
unwholesome, indigestible ; lhat sprinkles
the banquet of a Duculius with ashes and
drops soot into the soup of an emperor;
debt that like the rrot.li, makes valueless furs
and velvets, enclosing the wearer rn a fes
tering prison, (the shirt of Nessus was a shirt
not paid for;) debt, that writes upon fres
coed halls the handwriting of the attorney ;
that puts a voice of terror in the knocker:
that makes the heart quake at the haunted
fireside; debt, that invisible demon that
wdks abroad with a man, now quickening
his steps, now “making him look on all sides
like a hunted beast, and now bringing to his
face the ashy hue of death, as the unconsci
ous passenger looks glancingly upon him.—
Poverty is a bitter draught, yet may—and
sometimes with advantage—be gulped
down. Though the drinker make wry iaces.
tnere may alter ail be a wholesome good
ness in the cup. But debt, however cour
teously it be offered, is the cup of a syren,
and the wine, spiced and delicious though
it be, is poison. The man out of debt, though
with a flaw in his jerkin,a crack in his shoe
leather, and a hole in his hat, is still the son
of liberty, free as the singing lark above
him; but the debtor, though clothed in the
utmost bravery, what is he but a serf out
upon a holiday—a slave, to be reclaimed at
any instant by his owner, the creditor ? My
son, if poor, see wine in the running spring;
let thy mouth water at a last week's roll ;
think a threadbare coat the “only wear ;”
and acknowledge a white-washed garret the
finest housing-place for a gentleman. Do
dus, and flee debt. So shall thy heart be at
peace, and the sheriff be confounded.
WHO WAS CAIN’S WIFE?
How often has this enquiry been made?
To a certain class of minds such a question
possesses more importance than the gravest
investigations in theology. Elder Weaver,
of St. Louis, in answer to a correspondent,
thus responds through the Herald and Era,
to the inquiry, “Who was Cain’s wife?”
“A subscriber asks this single question.
We answer, that she was Cain’s wife.—
That’s all we know about her. That is all I
the account says of her, save that she was
the mother of Enoch. It is said that Cain
went into the land of Nod ; and vve suppose
that he took his wife with him, as any good
husband would. In the land of Nod, they
had Enoch, and probably other children not
a few, and grand children, for they built a
city there. The city w.s not so large, prob
ably, as St. Louis is, but it very finely was
a large household, of which Cain was patri
arch. It might have been his own and the
fiumlies ol his children living in separate
dwellings. What Cain’s wife’s name was,
and who her parents were, we are not cer
tified. She might have been the daughter
of Adam and Eve, or some of their children.
She was probably closely related to Cain,
as a sister or a niece, or something nearer
than cousin. Cousins many in our day.
when the world is full of strangers. It
wouldn’t have been so great a won
der for Cain to marry his sister, when there
were no other girls in the wond, and no
laws of marriage, and nobody else to e aim
her affections. The command was to ram
ry and multiply and replenish the eai a.
And we presume it was pretty vve oej *
for it seems well replenished now, an *
Iv to be. We know nothing about the nurn
l>er ol children and grand <’ h ddren he
pair had. So doubt it was a goodlv num
ber. both of male and lemule ; else who in
hah led Cain’s city, and who were the wives
of Enoch, Irnd. Mehujael. Methusaleh, and
Lameeh the bigamist ( We havn t got the
whole story of those days; only a drop in
the bucket, as it were. We have the de
scending line of generation from Adam
downward, and but little more*”
THE REV. JOHN WESLEY.
This eminent, and learned man, a scholar,
a philanthropist and divine, thus speaks ol
the ruinous rum traffic in his own day. Will
his followers heed his warning and fly from
the curse? Will they use ail the means in
their power to banish a business which en
tails so fearful a curse on tbosß engaged
therein? See to it on the sixth day of No
vember.
“Neither may we gain by hurting our
neighbor in the body. Therefore we may
not seli anything that tends to impair his
health. Such is, eminently, all that liquid
fire called drams or spirituous liquors. It is
true, they may have a place in medicine,
may be used in some bodily disorders—al
though there would rarely be occasion for
them, were it not for the unskilfulness of the
practitioner. Therefore such as prepare
and aell them only for this end may keep
their conscience clear. But who are they
who prepare and sell them only for this end?
Then excuse these. But all who sell them
in the common way to any that will buy.
are poisoners in general. They murder her
majesty’s subjects by wholesale: neither do
their eyes pity or spare. They drive them
to hell like sheep. And what is their gain?
Is it not the blood of these men? Who,
then would envy their large estates and
sumptuous palaces? A curse is in the midst
of them. A curse cleaves to the stones, to
the timber, to the furniture of them ! The
curse of God is in their gardens, their walks,
their groves, a fire that burns to the nether
most Bell ! Blood, Blood is there 1 The
foundation, the walls, the roof are stained
with blood ; and can’st thou hope O, man ol
blood, though thou ait clothed in scarlet and
fine linen, and farest sumptuously every day.
c-.in'st i hou hope to deliver thy fields of blood
down to the third generation? Not so!—
There is a God in heaven, therefore thy
name shall be blotted out. Like as those
whom thou hast destroyed body and soul,
thy name shall perish with thee.”
<4 a
IT CAN’T BE HELPED.
“Can’t be helped,” is one of a thousand
convenient phrases wilh which men cheat
and deceive themselves. It is one in which
the helpless and idle take refuge as their las
and only comfort—it can’t be helped ! Your
energetic man is for helping everything, ll
fie see-an evil he clearly discerns its eau-e
and takes steps forthwith to remove it. He
busies himself with ways and means, devise
practical plans ana methods and will not lei
the world rest until he has done something
in a remedial way. This indolent man
spares himself all this trouble. He will not
budge. He sits with his arms folded, and
is ready with Irs unvarying observation, “it
can’t be helped !” as much as to say, “if it
is, it ought to be, and we need not bestir our
selves to alter it.” Wash your face you
dirty little social boy; you are vile, and re
pulsive, and vicious, by reason of neglect of
cleanliness. Clear away your drains and
gutters, purify your atmosphere, you indo
lent corporations for t e cholera is coming.
“It can’t be helped.” Educate your chil
dren, train them up in virtuous habits, teach
them to be industrious, obedient, frugal and
thoughtful, you thoughtless communities, for
they are now growing up vicious, ignorant,
careless, a source of future peril to the na
tion. “It can’t be helped !” But it can be
helped. Every evil can be abated, every
nuisance got rid of; abomination swept
away: though this will never be done by
the can’t be helped people. Man is not
helpless, but can help both himself and oth
ers. He can act individually, and against
wrong and evil. He has the power to abate
and eveutually uproot them, but alas! the
greatest obstacle of all in the way of such
beneficial action, is the feeling and disposi
tion out of which arises the miserable, pu
ling and ejaculation, “It can’t be helped !”
TRUE PHILOSOPHY,
I saw a pale mourner stand bendingover
the tomb, and his tears fell fast and often.
As he raised his humid eyes to heaven, he
cried,
“My brother I O, my brother ! ’
A sage passed that way, and said :
“For whom dost thou mourn ?
“One.” replied lie, “whom I did not suth
ciently love while living but whose mesU
“ thou do if ho were resto
reThe.ne o e u,ner replied. “That he would
never offend him by any unkind word, but
he Would take every occasion to show his
friendship, if he could but come back to Ins’
fond embrace.” . . .
“Then waste no time m useless griet,
said the sage, “but if thou hast friends, go
and cherish the living, remembering that
they will die one day also.”
SPREADING HERSELF.
“A certain old lady,” had a hen. She
was a very small hen, but strutted and
cackled among her tribe, as smartly as the
biggest of them all. Well, after a while,
she took it into her head to — set. Her
mistress sought out her stolen nest, and
there, in all her self importance, she sat,
striving in vain to cover the multitude ot
eggs she had from time to time, achieved.
A row of the oval deposites completely
outside her tiny proportions, suroundtd
her nest. The old lady looked on n utt* r
astonishment at the boldness of h r litt e
feathered charge. Throwing up her spec-
TERMS: #I.OO IN ADVANCE.
JAMES T. BLAIN.
PRINTER.
VOL. XXII.-NUMBEK 15.
facie 8 over her cap border and lifting up
both hands, in her amazement, she ex
claimed. “Well, Mrs. Hen, it strikes me
that if you are intending to get chickens
from all these eggs, you have got to spread
yourself considerable .”
TAKE A PAPER FOR YOUR WIFE.
A friend, says an exchange, not long
since, told us a story in relation to one of
our subscribers which contains a good mor
al for husbands, and also furnishes an ex
ample for wives which is not unworthy of
imitation tinder similar circumstances :
The subscriber referred to, says our friend
in presence of his wife, said that it had
been his intention to call at the office, pay
up his arrears, and discontinue his paper.
Ilis wife very promptly asked :
“Why do yon intend to discontinue the
paper?”
“Because,” said the husband, ‘I am so
much away from home on business, and
have so little time to read, there seems lit
tle use of my taking a paper.’
“Yes,’ replied site, ‘it may be of little
use to you, but it is of great use to me. I
remain at home while you are gone. I
wish to know what is going on in the world.
If yon discontinue the paper I will go
straight to town and subscribe myself.”
As the paper has not been discontinued,
we suppose the wife’s reasoning was con
clusive. The moral of this incident must
not be overlooked.
THE POLITE CHILD.
Mrs. Leslie was writing at her table. It
was evening. The three boys were in.
George’s room, and the two elder were
reading. Eddy was looking at the pictures
m George’s magazine. Pretty soon he
came to his mother, and laid his book on
her table. In a moment he raised his eyes
to hers, and inquired :
“Do I disturb you, mother?”
“Not at all,” the replied.
Occasionally he asked questions about
the pictures, and Mrs. Leslie herself be
came so much interested, that she laid
down her pen and read to him. This de
lighted him, for he cannot read rapidly
irmself in any book more difficult than
“Susy’s S.x Birthdays.”
“I am going to bed now,” said Eddy.
He then closed the book, and seated him
-elf for a few minutes in his mother's lap.
He put hie arms around ht rmck, and gave
ler such a loving embrace that I fear her
collar did not look quite as smooth after
wards as it did before.
Mrs. Leslie was particularly happy to
hold Eddy and talk with him, because he
iiad been so.truly polite in inquiring if he
disturbed her. No one ever loses anything
by politeness. Even little children are
great gainers when they treat others with
courtesy. Eddy’s mother loved him more
than ever that evening, and kissed him
with increasing affection when she bade
him “good night.” He was very happy
too, for he had been mindful of his moth
er’s convenience. True politeness is be
nevolence in small things. If Eddy had
been 6elfish he would not have feared he
should disturb hie mother, but would have
thought only of his own pleasure. — N. T.
Evangelist.
MUSICAL AUTOMATON.
The Boston papers describe as now in
that city a most ingenious piece of mech; n
ism, constructed by a native of Holland,
in the island of Java. It is the full length
figure of a man, well proportioned, who
holds in his hands a musical instrument,
from which he discourses music, in exact
time, and with most superhuman skill.
The instrument used at times is a clarionet,
but the figure also plays upon a cornet and
an organ, in which latter case the feet rre
used as well as the hands. In
can be seen the complex mechanism, which
inflating the lungs, as it weie, sends the
breath into the instrument, wliHi controls
the finger moving the keys, and serves as
the nerves and muscles of the automaton.
When this machinery is wound up the
head bows, the eyes move in the most nat
ural manner, and the lip 9 seem to count
the measure, and the clarionet may begin
at the exact moment required to accord
with the accompaniment of the piano.
Several musical gentlemen, present at a
private exhibition, expressed themselves
delighted with the ingenuity of the contri
vanco.
INDUSTRY.
All exertion is in itself delightful, and
active amusement seldom tires. Ilelve
tius owns that he could hardly listen to a
concert for two hours, though he could
play on an instrument all day long. In all
pursuits, efforts, it must not be forgotten,
are as indispensable as desires. The globe
is not to be circumnavigated by one wind.
We should never do nothing. “It is bet
ter to wear out than to rust out,” says
Bishop Cumberland. “There will be time
enough for repose in the grave,” said Ar
naud to Nicole. In truth, the proper rest
for man is change of occupation.
lO*During a great storm on the Pacific
Ocean, a vessel was once wrecked, an 1 a
Quaker, tossing to and fro on a plni.k ex
elamed, over the crest of a wave, to an
other who was drift ng by on a bar.el,
“Fr.end, dost thou call th.s Pacific?”