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AM> /Mims.
L.- LINCOLN VEAZKY. >
XIW SEK! ES.3V6L. I.
pMW
■ \2,T<v S.mKMY,’ EXCEPT TWO. tS Tti T. V£.Ub j
BY JOHN IT. SEALS. *
•. favjn.r*; w T fee yc*r.
i* I ‘i-'r ■ S OF A i)t FRTT'?! :TO. j
... ;.;.••• Ct <*r : ■ >) ffirst ms-atioffi. ‘>o I
i ‘ f|; r vu;-ja!in<>',-. |
fd .-feToro: or flnpfessjkpfe got _ ;
fax •• r-A pvr y~H*fa .... —...-.%.. 5nC |
*.r ‘k. • Candidates fhr ft- OU-j
; T.-Adrim rtf|&%VprsnS-.
I v?wo, farre rvni } -s,'i. -* - ‘ —• 6’R
: c 'UHrt\ :r modth*, i go
> t,; v*}vc ujonths, .--..'.1S 0(,
t *|uftr*. “ ,v * If 00
ss-,W*, - “ .21 00
* •’ “ .. -...25-00
r-gfAd?*’* ti-K'Wicn+s n.t marked with* thy number
iof . “ i|l i c ■ nr.ei for*. l **’. !, a<*
i a; - < >r- hi.fav.
IW’M- t'vhants, Blu/irifus, and other>. rn.v con
fer far nclvpriisinr’ hv ifa j “tis, t’-asottjfcblo feririH.
J,Tf.A L .U*v;U• Tipt M I-NTti.
A fausd or NT-.-pr,Ly Administrators,
Exo-muirs, and (jufirduwu*, ju-r -square,*.. 500
-A Personal- Property. hy Administrators,
Exr.o'uors, vT Guarlim-i. jyr sqnnr^— ,o --O
: . to TMitorr-i and Creditors........
sc.tr? jbr Leave to Sell, * 2?
Oita+KT. for L.--l%rc or AfluiPiiiSiraUon,-... -.. 2o
■ far J.-v.; oi* ftfouiasDn from 8 fiO.
v’- ci-i fa- T.. u-.-rs of Disufesbn from Guardi
'hi?. . s cs
, Rij \i.
zzieh. l iad and Nerrro**, ®Hy
or Guardians, :.ro rpqt.irrd by law to be
held on tb<- drat Tuesday in the mouth, between the
hour? of teu in 0k- ibrenTVnn and three in the after*
... r,; ?h- Court House in the (’outttv in which the
rc.perty .i.s situate. Notices of these sales must be
c- ..:n ir. a -pubric paz-ette ,f#rty (lay* previous to the
day- of sale. - -
s?ot tbv s ip* sale of Persona! P?oferty must be
t i-rcA at least ten days previous dav of sale.
Motiec- so Debtors and Creditors of n Estate must
:• r>ublsnc! \ forty day?.
Honv- (.naf application will he-tnadc- urtlie Court
vs OruuK. -- (or leave to St-h Land or must
published weekly for tis-o yjtyrsh ; s.
C-f.'/lion.-. for. Letters ot AdiuimsUatiott must be
. : Aut-d chhd.y day*- -for from Aduiin
'-travion, monthly, fox month* —for Dismission from
’1 Q irdia nship, forty days.
dh'i tur Foreclosure of. Moftg-sge must be pub
lished v ■ ■■ithiy fvrfoar months —for oouipelliug titles
I’.vcO!doi*s or Admihlsfrotors, where a bond has
boch given bv iho deceased, the- full spa?* of three
■ ■•tonihs. ‘
?ib-;it-ona win a! ways be continued accord-!
iCjE to ther, the legal roquimneuts, unles= otherwise
ordered . ..
Thv Law of Newspapers.
Subiieriberß who do dot give express notice to
the ontrarv,-ftra eousidersd hs wisbing to continue
ib c i sabseriptiom ‘ .
:L if j übscribets order the discontinuance of their
> :-T S papers, the-ptihlisher tuay.ta)6ti:iUß r> Send them
until all arrearages aie paid.
S. If subsitrib-ei-.s negb-ct or r .fuse to tnke their
-to-.-pares : froth* the oi'i'cs to which they are di
rsc cod, tliov fil'd he’d responsible until they-havO set
tled the bills and ordered them discontinued.
4. It subscribers ivuiuve to’ other pkees without,
t-d.-tmint; -:h f.ubiishcrs, and the n-wspapets are
sent io the former direction, ihey/p.rt: held respojtsi-
Ui
•s Toe Courts havLdeclded that rituslftg so take
.-,p*ners from th n office, or removing and-leaving
th'-o. auc&lieti for, is pr%)m fmie evidence-of
ttc.-nai fraud.
- The Cfttiied States Courts have siso repeatedly
Uftcidt and, that a Postmaster who neglects to perform
Gib duty of giving reasonable notice, as required by
the Post Office Department, of the neglect of a per
ton tc take from the office newspapers addressed to
him. renders the Postmaster liable to the publisher
tor the subscription price.
JOB PRINTING,
wt every done V/ith neatness and dispatch,
•o and A office, and at reasonable prices for cash. All
-orders in this •iepariment, must bo addressed to
J. I. liL.AIN.
r n o $ ~p *: c- ;• i r s
oV tii c
TWIRK ERUSSIR.
fOOoXf.-A.'il
rEHPEKANCE ISANSER.
% CIX A'i £1) by a consflrienUoua desuv to further
and%. jthe c.iuse of Xcw.p/.-vanc--, and. exprsrionciug
f.9Ai •Viv'ukantiigc mtteint. too narrowly linuted m
b ,v. by rb • ‘anallr,?-:-- of o'v.r phpr,- for i\fo prjblica
:;au rßefono. AVgnip.t-nts nnif 1 Appeals,
have *;..tevniii.ed b> -nbirge it u* a nor& conve
r.i£:.i *.:c! acceptable size. And. being conscious of
the fart” that there arc ysliding In me uunds of a
rgc p >rfiou of the’ pfk. ht rtXd-rs: of the Ifapner
*.eJ it, -orr.av patrons, prejudices and difficulties
% hich c ‘U. never b removed so long a:- it retains the
Aisl e Vfv ve.iitm-0. also to, liiabo a ebauge in that par
jlcul v r. it will hencidbriti bw callod, “THE TEM
fEBANCK ORUSADRJt.” I’ -
IV>. aid pioneer o* th* t’einpwffnce . osuse is ties- j
fj- yyt u> chronicle tG’-’ tr.umpii ai_ it.princ;plt!i. .j
It h?r the lest- tU Fiery, fur- •
afe ,tfti.l.'likft !hr> ‘W>t*V children,” reappeared
It has-survived the. vtvkpapn- famine |
“ifhich ha* mm*h aad i.< sl'il causing; many excel- j
‘.rt jomnuis ajd pefiodicr’s t.; - “oi'tgut ex
•ln •> i: Pu mhrg, V:a<l it has
v & Wa’-iM* the-“death strnggiffs of nrvny
.-ennea, laboring forihr same irrgat nt with itself,
it -stiU.iivcs, M hauler as'it giows older,’ j
-• no’ mamrui an eternal'‘‘Crusade against theVlu
terV.a’. ftKor Traffic,’’AfMidims like th “High
of the Is.-afihfw stood betwreenthr people and
the that threatened deptrtifHon.
We entreat the fud of th* Temperance Cause
cc us th*r inSufl • extending the uselalipss
•jf the Wmw We jarteod err-septing 19 jhe public a
fehset Worthy of ait atfeAftoii and a Kberai patronage;
tot t/trile U- is serictiy a
endeavor to keep- its readers posted on ah the .current
-rente throughout the country, j
-■ Editor and Proprietor.
Pmfiald’ <fc, I*e. % 1866.
Bactfii iff Capaasa, Mmilito. pteratiin, (6ratra( |nttlltgitt, lletes. so.
SStfeeettKKfS’Tn?i SeEtrefcte'Tg. ’
Go Back, “lose You’ro too Little to Comer
BT ELLEX I.O'J.'-vE CSANOLfia..
[This yt-ry is “one of’thftfe'mre f'&hrlS xtfh
love ‘to pined hekre our readers. can
not mention the puhl'cnt'oh in wiifch it first
nppApred far ;otne editor has fail
ed tdi make the dreditbdnA.]
Tier-- tvere three of ifk --K.'t'e. Annetto,
j arid roy.'-sif—and we were going into the
| old wood to bun* for -ptrawberries. Oh f it
IwnnLvu-h <t deliciou? dry in June. The
1 ’-h-dh sang ; ti!!-ihe air was fairly y.lc.ni with
th;:ii meioe■■. arcl c;: tb( greents% :. ■ led
theh: heads in T-hs very brook :
seemed to have-untight tire general inspira*
tionlgnd dtificsd along ihrough the mead
ows, as if keeping tirpe to a. quickstep f the
tniries. - •
Annette Summers and I had been invited
to spend Die-half-holiday with our school-,
mate Rate Harrington. Deacon Harring
ton’s old -fhs h’ fth ed y brrfv; n house fronted re
ward the • South. Behind it stretched y a.
broa’d, green meadow, and still farther,back
was a densely wooded acclivity,-famous for
flowers -and berries in the- geo'-raphy of er
ery child i used talove to look.
.at Dedgdn .Harrhigtor-’s old brown house,
even, in those early days, when‘l bad not a
single weil-defined. notion of ar’isDc taste in
my curly head; I know now that it ■otri
bined to an erninentdegreQ'tho elpmehf.s of
the picturesque. Theio.vv roof, which; sloped
backward nearly to the ground, was gray
with moss, ivy crept about, the windows,
and-over the rustic, poych had twined clinch
ing roses, along wdtli.hegvy'-ciusiers o.ftrup)-
pet creeper.
There was a rude seat, at the doorway,
made of the lithe boughs of the white birch,
twisted together in fantastic- fashion, and
here grandmother Ha ringion was. want.-to
sit, witii her gray woolen knitting work.—
Oh ! what a treat, \ve used go think it to
spend a half-holiday with Kale uarrington.
“{ wish I were you, Kate,” exclaimed An
nette, after we had spent half the. long sum
mer afteniQQn chasing butterflies, and ; ar :
ranging vegetable oaby-house wft.h
hocks, for ...*ur hides’ paiffisofa,. taul teu-puis
manufactured out of. verit|ibie ppppy-ppds.
‘J vvisn I were yo.u, and. i'igti 1 could be
happy all day long;"’ with .nothing to trouble
me.”
. “You could, could you?” npd KateT,
cheeks flushed,hts she put away .from them,
her heavy bands of black hair—“you think
so,‘and that’s all you know about it. i have
a thousand things .to.vex me. I'here’s-llose,
for instance-. Mother expects me ip bgmon
stanflv taking care of hey. and, she’s the.
greatest you ever saw! By
the way, girlsf let’s -tart after those slraw- .
berries In the wood, ‘npiv. sKeL out sight
far a. minute, sd -he won’t tease to go with
us!”
We were just about halt-way across the
meadov.,’ when we heard a sweet voice cry
>ng;:
y*i'ease, sister Kale ; Rose wants to-go
loo.”
I turned round. I remember, and thought
how beautiful was the little creature-com
ing toward us. She was very unlike her
sister Kate. Ivalewas a brifneite, but the
little white-robed figure t ripping across the .
meadow liad .a pale- spiritual fare, and dong',
curis of golden ha.i’ falling her tiny waist.
There was a flush on her check:, and-a look
ofeage--, fa-Keoi'mg interest in.her large,
blue eves; aud she si retched her dim plod
armsftovvfard us,, and kept cry log in her .ear
nestness :
‘•P'ease, girls, wait far Rose.”
A look of vexation crossed Kate’s face,
-and.she called out in ,i tone of extreinc irri
tability. -
“Go buck, Rose, yon’re too little to come!
Go back ! go b -ok 1
Kate fdvtotys hud a wav of being m-faded':’
arid the lit tie-one put her lingers to Iter eyes,
and.silently turned Toward the bouse. We
hdrried on in ths direction of the wood.'i
u ishout giving a single glance backward.—
I think Kat.-’s conscienor; reproached her
for her selfishness, and-I know my ownfalea-’
sure was tuxtiied fhr the afternoon. Wo
found -plenty of strawberries red and ripe,
among theuvbeds oi leaves, t here were
little oiue-cved too, kept re
minthng me.ot Rosie, and i was not sorry
when the sunset shadow? lengthened, and
we ttu’.iigd to go home*
We had gone down the bill out of. the
woou, and crossed several rods of the rriea-.
dotv-lna.d, wijgp i\ ate gaic],in ajiuavse vyjiis-. ,
per, ‘\>c*e there, girl.', what is that white
thing by the brook? Do you'seo it?”
| Vve_saw it, and hurried to.ward. it. It
■ was At hrst we ttiofigftt site was
dead. J ShfircVy'sfesmed the ’faintest breads ;
to steal fro'parted. lijjf, and tkft pulsa- ‘
tjbns of Her heart were'so iVepky'ou Coftld
scarcely feeMfieiTi. ’ She whs in “a kind of’
trarioe-like ?!cep, It was sometime bo faro
tve succeeded ir* taking her. and then Her
limbs centred chilled and’ stiffened br ibe 1
subtle darppnCss of the meadow-lhnd atmos
phere. She could not stand. How ninny
times that afternoon the little darling had
begged m to, “make a chair” tor her, with
our hands, and we liad answered that we
couldn’t stop. Vv r e made one now. Hire
twined her dimpled arms about our necks,
and held on very tight, but she didn’t speak,
j except once, and then she only said,* “Ain’t
1 1 most big enough, sister KateF
BffiEKHt flip SATULtUAi. iOVEMBEft 1. 18-58.’
Mrs. Ffarrington met us at the door with
a wild lodk trf alarm. *• Good he’avens,
Kate !” she exclaimed { ’-what’s the matter
with R©sef r ‘ And taking her from otir
arms, She discovered that her clothes were
almost saturated with moisture. “Kate,
child, why don’t you speak? Has Rose
been in the water?”
“No, ma’am ; ‘ but she werr into the mea
dow and got to sleep, and we found her
there sleeping.” * - * * *
Oh, there were anxious hearts in Deacon
flarrington’s brown house that night. Very
tenderly- was the .suffering iittlo Rose cra
dled -on her mother’s breast, but not once j
did she speak coherently. Her cheeks burn
ed, and her eves sparkled with fever ; her
dimpicd arms were tossed above her head,
and every little while, -between her moans,
she would sueteh out her hands towards
some imaginary object, and say-,.“P’ease sis
ter Kate, isn’t Rose most, big enough ? ?!
Three days passed--days of incessant
watching and weariness, and toward ever
o.’.ng the little Rose opened her blue eyes,
‘a tier a restless si umber-; She seemed much
belter, and t-ie.mother glanced hopefully up
to the kind pbysiciqn bonding over her.
- “i xmnnofsny shes's better, madam. God
knows I wish I could ; but Rose must die
before midnight I” and the tears, stood in
glittering drops on the good man’s cheeks.
The motneV’s great gfief was not noisy.
She quietly lifted her d-yrling from the bed,
and sdt'down, with her .in her arms,/ Kate,
stood by, sobbing, as if already me brand of
Cain were, upon her brow.
“P’ease, mamma ” stud the little one at
length—“am t nig enough to go to Hea
ven
“Yes. darling,”v\yas the teariui answer.
“Jesus jovesjlule,children.”
“And; mamma, do you s'pose lie’ll forgive
me far sitting down in the meadows to
watch Katie, when you Cold me I mustn’t
ever-stay there ?”
“Yesfamv pet, good Savior will, forgive
you for anything, ifyoif are only sorry; but
Rosie dot-snft. want to,go to Heaven, and
leave mother, does she' ; ”
“I heard somebody say 1 must go. whenj
was .asleep, .mother; a beautiful lady, with
o!i! such white, shining wings, and she
stretched out her arms to take me, but 1
didn’t go. T woke up ‘just to kiss you and
gister once more. P’ease kiss me Katie.—
Title Rose tvon’t never be -naughty any
more.up in Hpaven, and I’ll grow big before
you come, Katy, so I can play with you up
there 1”.
There wore tears, sighs, a funeral, and a
hale coffin., The rosebud opened its petals’
on the bosom of Jesus. The little earth
flower was “big enough for Heaven 1”
Beauties of “Free Society
Free Society is making beautiful illustra
tions of itself in Northefh cities. Our read
ers ha ve seen evidences enough of that, and
even abolitionist journals practically confess
it. The Times says that its fashionable so
ciety of New; York city is corrupt at the
core; a hundred thousand, paupers crowd
the garrets and cellars of. the metropolis;
clerks defraud their employers, and employ
ers tyrannise over clerks; thousands of sew
ing women are compelled to labor which
bring them prematurely to the grave, for a
compensation too small to keep’ soul and
body together; organized bands of ruffians
.control the ‘ballot boxes, and keep she or
dcjdy-and peaceful class in such awe that
they dare not approach the polls without
permission of the shoulder-hitting fraternity.
Vigilance committees and revolution, an
archy, and so. forth, will corne in due tinge,
and the indications are. that we need not
wait long, far them.
Sunset in the Alps.
Anon the evening came. Walking noise
lessly upoif'tlielmounta ns, and. shedding on
the spirit a not unpleasant melancholy.—
The Alps seemed to grow taller. Deep
masses of shade Were projected from - sum
mit to summit. Pine forest, hnd green vale,
• and dashing Horrent, and quiet hamlet, ail
retired from view, as if tliey wished to go
to sleep beneath .the friendly shadows. A
deep and reverent silence stole over the
Alps, ns if the stillness of the firrnajnent had
descended upon them. Over all nature was,
ghed this spirit of quiet and prblound tran
quilly. Kverv. tree- was-motionleSs. Ihe
murmur of the Brook, the wing of the bird,
the creek of our diligence, the voices of the
postillion and cond.uclcur , afl felt the spften
lyg influence ‘of the hour..
But mark! what glory is this whicn be
gins to burn upon the crest -of the. snowy
Alps ? First there comes a.flood of rosy
light,’ then a.deep bright crimson; like the
ruby’s bash or the sapphire s blaze, and then
n circlet of. flaming peaks studs tncdiorizon.
U looks as il a-great conflagration were about
to begin. But suddenly theligh’ fades,and
piles of cold, pale white, rise above you.-
You can sdarce believe them to. be the. same
mountains. But, quick as the lightning, the
flash comes again. A flood of glory t oils
once more along their summit. “It is .1 last
and rnightv blaze. \ou fees as It il weie a
struggle tor life—as if it were a war waged
by the spirits of darkness against-these ce
flestial forms. The struggle is; oer ; the
darkness has prevailed, i nese mighty moun
tain torches are extinguished one alter one;
and cold, ghastly pile.-;, of sepulchral hue,
. which you shiver to look crp at, and \yhicli
j remind vou o-f the peak, rise still and calm
‘in the firmament above you; You feel r§-
lieved wdien darkness.interposes- its veil be
twixt you and them. ihe night sgts in.
deep, and cnlm, aud beautiml, with troops of
stars overhead. The voice of stream a,, all
night long, fill the silent hills with melodious
echoes.— Wylie?s Pilgrimage from the Alps
and Tiber.
- ■'— ->■ —tt-
Spauisli Oourtajiip.
A young man-* entered t he diligence which
vuas to take him in the entire interiur. On
‘sfartmg, he Ibund ‘ only one companion, a
young lady strangely traveling alone; her
figure was all it should be, but a mantilla
covered her face! Consequently, to use the
words of a novelist, “A strange sensation
suddenly took possession of him—love en
tered his soul.” After some civilities he
proceeded to take- her hand, which she with
drew, while she glared at4mn with two dark
eyes tlirqugh the lace that enveloped her.
Again he took her hand: he kissed it, and
feeling perfectly secure from intrusion, he
insisted on her removing her veil. With
this request, after some resistance she com
plied, and her features fuHy answering ail
his expectations, he might have assured hor
of hja approval; but, as Segovia is approach
ing, he is compelled to leave her; before do
ing so, however, -the youth pressed her to
tell him where she lived, and as she leaves
the diligence she gives- her address and
name.
An hour had scarcely elapsed when he
hastens -to the house, which stands alone-?
evidently but one family occupies it. He
asks for Donna .Eugenia and is ushered into
a room furnished with unusual comfort—
The lady he seeks is sitting alone. She bec
kons him a gesture to be seated. Within
doors, his impertinence quite deserted him,
and having humbly obeyed her, she thus ad
dressed him ;
“Senor Caballero,” she said, “this morn
ing a woman, a widow, and unprotected,
was forced by affairs to leave Madrid. Her
duenna at the last moment was taken ill;
her affairs at Segovia could not bear post
ponement; she trusted to the gallantry of a
Spaniard to protect her on her road; and
ho\v her hopes were realized you can in
form her. But think not she who could not
defend herself from insult, cannot take ven
geance;” and drawing a pistol she presented
it to his forehead, and continued, “Make
your peace with heaven,, for the earth you
see no more.”
He does hot’tremble, though he sees it is
no jest.; his brow quails not, and the emo
tion that causes his voice to quiver is not
that -of fear. He looks the lady m the face:
“Wfauldst thou killlme because I love thee
so much ?” His eye, his voice, and courage
achieved” the conquest he had commenced
in the coach, and casting aside the deadly
weapon, she told Him she had’ but ried his
love, which she was now convinced was
equal to his pluck: It appeared she was the
young widow of a late Cuban merchant, old,
cross, ugly, and cowardly; her married life
had been but short, and in espousing the
young lieutenant she endowed him with the
wealth she gained from her first husband.
The couple are high in the estimation of
Madrid—the husband is a senator, the wife
a lady of fashion? but whether the tragic
scene has ever again ‘'been enacted by them,
the narrator could not inform me.
. ; —■
Let Me Fray First
A'very intelligent little girl was passing
quietly through the streets of a certain town
a short time since, when she came.ro a spot
where several idle boys were amusing -them
selves by the very dangerous practice of
throwing stones. Not observing her, one
of the boys, by accident, threw n stone to
wards her. and struck her a cruel blow in
the eye. fa
She .wars carried home m great agony.—
The surgeon was sent for, and a very pain
ful operation was declared necessary.—
AY hen the timt- came, and the surgeon had
taken out his instruments, she lay in her
father’s arms, and lie asked her if she was
ready.
“No, father; not yet,” she replied.
“What do you wish us to wait for, my
child?”
“I want to kneel in your lap, and pray to
Jesus first,” she answered. And then kneel
ing, she prayed a levy minutes, and after
wards submitted to the operation with ttie
patience of a woman..
Bow beautiful tin:; littlo .girl appears, un
dej these trying circumstances i
Jesus heard the prayer made in that nour;
and he will love every child that calls upon
his name. Let every boy and girl learn to
pray* and let idle bays be careful how they
throw stones.
Mental Condition of the Horse.
In a very interesting essay*on “Body and
Mind,” in a late number of the Edinburgh
Review, it is stated that many of the mental
conditions of the human being are also ob
servable in some of the iowef animals.—
They sleep, they dreatn. they become in
sane, They have variations in temper. —
The horse will -weep* like his master, and
the big tears course as rapidlt’ down his
cheeks, from grief or pa n. In the disease.
rabies* the mental character of the horse is
wonderfully changed. It before the dis
ease he waV good-!empered haul attached to
his groom, lie will recognise his former
friend,/and seek his caresses during the in
tervals between the paroxysms of lury, and
he will press his against his bosom,
and with a piteous look gaze upbri him, as
if beseeching -relief from the dreadful mala
dy. Yet. in an instant, his whole conduct
will change into furious madness and singu
lar treachery. He labors under an intense
feeling’ to destroy, and there appears To
a defeire for mischief for its own sake. r
[From the American Messenger, j
Cain’s Wife.
As two men wore conversing one day,
one of -them holding a little boy by the
hand, their con versafcion turned upon the
divine inspiration of the Scriptures.
“What a wonderful Book is the Bible,”
said Robert. . ~
“Yes, it by’ replied Charles; “I have
always thought it so, until very lately.—
But 1 have been .talking with Tom Jones-,
and he has somewhat shook my faith Jn it.’’
“How so?” inquired Robert.
“Why, you know Tom is a heading man,
and he tells me he has been reading for
years to satisfy his mind whether the Bi
bio is from God, but he finds .some*objec
tions he cannot get over.”
“What objections?” asked Robert.
“Why, Tovq told me that there wore sev
eral, but the principal objection, lie men
tioned, was Cain'* wife ; that was a point
he said, he could not gel over.”
“How is’ Gain’s wife an objection !” in
quired Robert.
“Why, because the history implies a
contradiction ; and if the. Bible contradicts
itself, it cannot of God.”
“What is the contradiction ?”
“Why, if as.tne Bible states, Adam and
Eve were the.first man and woman, where
did Cain get his wife from, unless.-there
was some other family besides his own*?—
There is no mention or Adam’s having
daughters at this period ; and if bo had
any, the Bible forbids brothers and sisters
to marry, so that such a .marriage would
have been criminal. You soeras neighbor
Jones says, this fact places the friends’ of
a divine revelation upon the- libras qi add
lemma. If we refuse the one, we are held
fast by the other.”
“I do not pretend to be a learned man,
like neighbor Jones,” replied Robert. “I
suppose there are difficulties, which ,I can
not explain ; but no doubt thebe are nr- -
in the Christian Church who cap exp! -io
them.”
Sn the conversation ended ; the neigh
bors wished each other good might, and re
paired to their homes. But their convey
sn.tlon bad made a deep impression upon
the mind of the little boy. tic- had been
taught to read the Bible as the Bdok of
God. and was astonished to hear it thus
questioned. For years this conversation
was in his memory ; he never forgot it, al
though ho never ventured to speak of it. to
others. “Suppose then,”’ said he to him
self, “the Bible is false ; why should I obey
it? Why not live as other people do?—
Why should I be tied by its precepts, if the
truth of the Bible cannot be proved?”
At length whYn grown to manhood he
was delivered from the “horns of Thomas
Jones’ dilemma” by arriving at the follow
ing solution of the difficulty, which is our
a;iswer to this objection.
i At that period of the world, Jehovah
had not given thy tables of affinity as a law
to the human race. Therefore', though Cain
did marry his sister, he violated no law iq
this particular; and suc.U.a..marriage was
according to the Divine will, and carried
out the Divine command,” Gen. 1 : 28. 2.
The abruptness or brevity of the Scripti&<:
i narrative . The sacred historian, in the
4th Chapter of the Book of Genesis, - car
ries us over a period of <567 years. Altho’
at the time of Cain’s marriage many hun
dreds did, or might exist. Bishop Patrick,
states that in 80 years, 3£7 children sprang
from two persons in England, and similar
instances might be found in this country.
Adam wn.? 130 years old when Seth was
boni, Gen. 5: 3, and probably not fa?fi'ofn
that age at the time of Ids son-Cain’s - wed
ding. Where then is the difficulty ?’ Ac
cording to the common course of things
.there might have been scores of marriage
able woman at the period when the sacred
historian speaks of “Cain’s wife.” Where
then is the objection ‘(
As the question is round in sortie other
places at the present time, and soma oth
ere, bigger than the little boy are some
what entangled upon “the horns of Toll)
Jones 1 dilemma,’ 1 we have penned this lor
the especial benefit of any who may be
troubled in the same way by the doubters.
Popularity and Merit.
Dicken’s and Irving’s works sell, but the
emasculated novel, uni Humiliated by a
single rav of genius, sells a thousand times
better. This is “the fifty thousanth,” nays’
the exulting bookseller. And this becomes
tame to you, the ephemeral novelist. You
are a lion to-day, on account of your book;
next day I am a lion because I safely’ scull
i'd -across the river.in a wooden dipper—
and you are forgotten! It is just ninety
years since Goldsmith’s “Traveller” ap
peared in a London newspaper. “The V
icar of Wakefield” was sold, through Dr.
Johnson’s mediation, for £6O ; and in ten
years after the author (Tied. With what
love do we hang over his pages ! llis books
are influences and friends forever; yet the
live thousanth copy was never announced,
and Oliver Goldsmith, M. P., often ’want
ed a dinner 1 Horace Walpole, the cox
comb of literature, smiled at him contemp
( TERMS: Sl.OO.tyr ADVANCE.
i JAMES TANARUS, BLAIS,
V. I‘JiraTER.
VOL. HII.-KUMBEE 43.
tuoualy from Ins gilded carriage.; Gold
saritH atraggfpo • cheerfully with bia adverse
;au? and cit'd. Bat then sad mourners,
whotu be had aided in their affliction, gath
ered around baa bed ; and a lady of distine*’
lion, whom he h&3 only ‘dared to admire
at ad tkiivie, carnoand cut a dock of bis
haw im remembrance. When I see that
Goldsmith, thus carrying Lis heart in bit
hand, like a palm-branch, I look on him
as a successful man, whom ad vers ty could
not bring dawn.from the level of bis lofty
Oat ere.
—•
Gentle Satires.
If you ask a lady to walk out with you,
she first looks at vour dress, and then
r thinks of her own.
If a womiiti holds her tongue, it is only
.from fear she cannot “bold her own.”
.Noi ice, when you have accompanied
your wife to buy a lot of things at her fa
vorite shop, what ostensious care she takes
■>f your interest in seeing that you get ‘the
right change,’ J .
How much more difficult it is to get a
woman out on a wet Sunday than on a Wet
week day. Can the shut-shops have any
thing to do with this?
The oddest mnemonic curiosity is, that
a Woman, who never knows her own age,
knows to bait an hour that of all her fe
male friends.
A woman may laugh too much. It ip
only a comb that can always afford to show
its teeth.
V omen will never be punctual. They
scorn the ‘‘charms” that hang to a watch
chain.
Small Shot, —Say what yon will, a mar
riage by advertisement must, after all, be
the union of two “corresponding” minds.
Life is bur. a station, where we stop only
tor a few minutes. Before we have scarce
ly had time to enjoy g single thing, the
bell rings for us to start again. It is but
the affair of a breath, anu we are gone!
Th.e World's JiYiusery.— The spoilt chil
dren of the present age rarely turn out the
great men of the next.
Siniday Morninq. —“Now, my love!—
are you not ready for Church?”
“H.;ady for Church, Mr. Smith!—How
con • alk ! When you know, perfectly well
iiatwOdioua ilv. nil ‘4 not^rcit.aooi*
ny new ii.k. g Dr -!”
Absence of Mind.
Talking of absence of mind, the oddest
instance of this sort bapenedtome once in
forgetting my own name. I knooked at 3
door in London, and a§ked :
‘ls Mr. 8., at home V
‘Yes, sir, pray what name shall I say ?*
1 looked in the man’s face astonished—
‘What name ? whaJ name ? ay, that’s the
question— what is my name?’
I believe that' mail thought me mad—
but it is lit to rally true that, during the
space of two or three minutes, I had no
more idea of who’ I was than if I had nev
er existed. I did not know whether I was
a dissenter or a layman.- I felt a3 dull as
Sternhold'and Hopkins. At last to my
belief, it flashed across me that 1 was
Sydney Smith.
I heard,of a clergyman who went jog
ging along the road till he came to a turn
pike,.
4 What is to pay'?’
‘Pay, air, for what?’’ asked the turnpike
mAh.
‘Why, for my horse, to be sure.’
4 Your horse, sir, what horse ? There it
no horse, sir.
‘Ko horse V said he, suddenly, looking
down between Lis legs, ‘God bless me! I
thought I was on horseback!’
■
A man was brought before a ma
gi a rule last week, charged by an officer
with being drunk. This be stoutly denied,
until the complainant testified that he
found hfra on his hands and knees ; and
when asked what he was .doingin that po
sition, said, “lie was playing elephant,”
and subsequently attempted to convert the
lamp-post into a trunk. In the face of this
testimony, James Washington Brick ‘cove
in. l
Orderly People.-— There are persons who
are never easy unless they are putting
your books and papers in order —that ii
according to their notions of the matter —
and hide .; hinge, lest they should be lost,
where neither the owner nor anybody else
can fifid tbofn. This is a sort of magpie
faculty. If anything is left where you
want it, it is called a litter. There it a pe
dantry in housewifery as well 03 in the
gravest concerns. Abraham Tucker com
plained that whenever his maid-tervanfc
hud been in bis library, he could not sit
co intertable to work again for several days.
— Jlosliii. ; A
Fatalities . —There are fatalities in the
course of human life which carry us into far
wandering paths, and into realms where,
like Israel’s children in the desert, we en
tered but to beconfe bewildered and to re
gret. to mourn opportunity passed by with
out, notice, and the.career that brings upon
the dark, closing-in of life, repentance unil
luminated by .hope, and sadness that joy
never for a moment irradafes. What con
solation is it that this is the,broad way of the
multitude, and that experience comet only
when its benefits are unavailable?