Newspaper Page Text
mu n m inn Mifflin, w TtiriiMti. 111 uni urn n uifiti if jiiiiii.
J, 11. SEALS,- )
•v - > Editors.
L. L. VEAZEY,)
NEW SEMES, VOL. 11.
THI'IiIUM CIIIJMDIR.
PUBLISHED
EVERY THURSDAY. EXCEPT TWO, IN THE YEAR,
BY JOHN H. SEALS.
•
TERMS *.
$1 ,00, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or less) first insertion,..sl 00
Each continuance, - * 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding
six lines, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office,.. 3 00
STANDING ADVERTISEMENTS.
1 square, three months, - ■ 5 00
1 square, six months, 7 00
1 square, twelve months, 12 00
2 squares, “ . “ - 1® 00
3 squares, “ “ —2l 00
4 squares, “ “ - 25 00
3^*Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
charged accordingly.
ggjT’Merchants, Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,— 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,— 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors,- 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4- 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n. 5 00
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi
anship, 8 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
held 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 be
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
es Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly , six months —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
months.
will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
For the Crusader.
Memento Mori.*
BY C. E. LATIMER.
Dost thou study, dear reader, the great book of nature,
Whose pages are open to every creature?
The baubles of earth, and the stars of the sky,
All teach the same lesson—memento morL
Mark the flowers of spring-time, how sweet to exhale
Their odors, when borne on the health-breathing gale;
Yet fleet is their beauty, how soon do they die,
Therefrom glean this lesson —memento mori.
Hast ever admired a rich woodland scene,
Where the summer sun shone through foliage green?
In the bleak winds of autumn, see the leaves how
they fly,
While we cannot but murmur, memento mori.
Sec the bright, hectic flush on the cheek’s marble
hue,
’Tis the signet of deatli which thou see’st shining
through,
That maiden is lovely, but soon she must lie
In yon gloomy church-yard—memento mori.
How loved that sweet child, how it’s parents do prize
It’s musical laugh, and it’s bright, sparkling eyes ;
That rose-buds transplanted, to bloom on high,
And the parents are mourning,—memento mori.
Proud statesmen and warriors have made it their aim,
To live, toil and die for the bauble of fame;
There’s the marble, and green, mossy graves where
they lie,
And the wind sighs above them, memento mori.
Note the death of a Christian, —his face wears a glow;
He has seen earth’s delusion, its sorrow and woe,
And departs to that blissful abode in the sky,
Wiih these last words of wisdom, —memento mori.
Kind reader, doth it shadow thy spirit in gloom,
To think of the judgment,—of death and the tomb?
Fly to Him who hath pur hased thy mansions on
high,
Then with joy wilt, thou echo, memento mori.
Greenes oro’, Ga.
* Be mindful of death.
Winter Evenings at Home.
Fair moon ! that at the chiffy day’s decline
Os sharp December, through my cottage pane
Dost lovely look, smiling, tliough in thy wane;
In thought, to scenes, serene and still as thine,
Wanders my heart, whilst Lby turns survey
Thee slowly wheeling on thy evening way ;
And this ray fire, whose dim unequal light,
Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall,
Ere the clear taper chase the deep’ning night!
Yet thy still orb, seen through the freezing haze,
Shines calm and clear without; and whilst I gaze
I think—around me in this twilight room—
I but remark motility's sad gloom *
Whilst hope, and joy, cloudless and soft appear
In the sweet beam that lights thy distant sphere!
. ‘ [Bomet.
For the Crusader
Another Life Picture
FROM -'AUNT SUSAN'S” PENCIL.
% -
12 Y JKSN Y WOODBINE.
’Tis a calm, pleasant evening friend Ada. The
birds o’ver moor and mountain sing once again
their cheerful roundelays. The timid violets begin
to show their modest, faces away down in the
darksome glen, and the glad song of the fountain
is heard once more. And I know that the ever
welcome spring is near—T hear her soft voice in
every whispering of the gentle zephyr, and feel her
warm breath already fan my cheek.
Lovely spring! may no cold blast cheek thy
early coming. And now lam reminded of a prom
ise to give you a sketch of sister Nellie’s eventful
life.
Nellie ! how many emotions throng around my
“old maid heart’’ at the mention of that name —it
rubs the dust from those pictures which hang in
the gallery of rememberance, and brings her sweet
young face before me, fresh, and unclouded as it
was before the serpent left his blight upon her
eden-flowers.
On just such an evening as this we two hand in
hand, sought that hallowed spot—Maggie’s grave.
No gloomy cypress waved above it to remind us
of decay and death ; hut fragrant rose-bushes
were planted there, and fresh garlands decorated
it every morning. Why should we make the
tomb a place of mourning, when we think of the
ligfet, the life, the immortality beyond ?
When the “silver cord” of life is loosed, and my
name is numbered with those who “sleep so long,
and yet so sweetly.” I wonder whose hand will
strew my resting-place wiilr flowers ? But to tny
story. Nellie had an open letter in her hand —
and that letter had all the confidence
from her soul. She had learned life’s first bitter
lesson! and like all who see the sun of hope set
for the first time, she fancied it would never rise
again. No tear poured from the glassy eyes—no
words issued from the bloodless lips ; and in out*
ward appearance she was calm, (alas ! it was the
calmness of despair /) as an unruffled sea.
She had loved with all the passionate server of
a young enthusiast; and her affections had been
cast back upon her as a worthless gift! And was
Walter Coleman one to treat such a precious boon
thus lightly l I could scarcely realize it —and vet
the letter was before me, the cold, heartless, unfeel
ing letter, conehed in respectful language, yet bear
ing throughout the whole the covert arrows of sar
casm.
I well remembered him—a slender, blue-eyed
youth, with a gentle, almost feminine face, and
that air of bashful timidity characteristic of na
ture’s true Poet. He was a quiet young man, un
obtrusive, and unpretending in his manners, and
formed quite a contrast to the mirthful, laughter
loving Nellie. Perhaps it was this very dissimi
larity which attracted them to each other. Be
that as it may, they saw, and loved!
And now without one word of explanation he
renounced her, and “criibbed cabinned and con
fined” in woman’s narrow sphere, what could she
do but grasp the scorpion in her tiny fingers, and
hold it there even if it inflicted the death-sting ?
l knew now what the Bard meant wl en he called
love, “life’s one great, sad reality !”
““I envy Maggie her quiet rest,” were the first
words Nellie uttered, as we seated ourselves near
the little mound, where the flowers were mourning
for their sisterfower , and the heavenly flowers
perchance at that mornenf rejoicing at their addi
tion in the gardens above— ‘ here after life’s fitful
fever she sleeps well, while I,” —tears choked her
utterance, and she buried her face in her hands.
I could offer no word of consolation ; so we sat
there with the solemn silence unbroken, Nellie
with her head bowed, and I musing sadly on the
mutability of all things earthly, and the great ne
cessity of “laying up treasures for ourselves, where
u> ither moth nor rust cau corrupt.”
Have you ever knelt near the grave of some
loved, and lost one, and felt that the breeze lin
gered lovingly near you to whisper that loved
one’s name, until the very birds caught the echo !
Even thus I felt when the grim twilight shadows
creeping over the lonely tree-tops, warned me that
night was approaching, and with a slow, and
thoughtful tread, I clasped Nellie’s hand in mine,
and started homeward.
* * * * * % Sc
One year passed away, and Nellie, and I satin
the vine-clad porch, conversing of the future, and
now and then wandering to the “long ago.” Her
face was paler, and sadder—yet these symptoms
of inward grief but served to enhance its poetical
lovliness. And lam sure as she sat there with
th>se soft, wary ringlets clustering around ’her
faultless brow, and falling in fund profusion over
her fair shoulders,- —had an artist been present he
would have deemed it a glorious task to immortal
ize her on canvass,
George Wesley bad first left us—a promising
young physician who had sued long and vainly
for Nellie’s hand. We could bear his horse-feet as
they died away in the distance, breaking the still
ness which had gathered over all nature.
“The air seem* purer since he has left,” said
-
PENFIELD, GA, THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1857.
Nellie, with a faint smile. “I declare Sue I feel
an unconquerable aversion for that man ; and you
know the star-seers say we feel a natural antipa
tby to those whose astral influences destine them
to work us harm.”
I laughed at the earnestness of her manner, and
said by way of reply.
“The love, and I believe that is all he has ever
troubled you with, of an honest heart can harm
none.” -
The conversation from my remem
brance, but it afterwards.
and caused me to think seriously of those “natural
antipathies” which we sometimes ail unaccounta
bly feel toward those who seem to merit our es
teem.
Even now I fear that these vague reminiscences
of a girlhood all too short, as I draw them from
the “vasty deeps” of memory, will tire instead of
interesting you, but this, Ada, shall be my last.
********
George Wesley was married, and had came to
bid us farewell before departing for bis new, wes
tern home. He sat with Neliio in a far corner of
the piazza, and the hum of their voices reached
me, as I stood near the door.
“Neilie,” I heard him say ; (they had been play
mates from childhood, and he always called her
thus.) “I injured you once though you never knew
it —I am sorry for it now, and atk your forgive
ness, for I wish to carry an easy conscience with
me to the far western wilds whither l am destin
ed.”
The tone of the speaker was light, even gay, yet
I fancied I could detect a slight tremulousness in
his voice.
I held my breath for the reply. “Injured me!
how ?”
“You remember Walter Coleman do you not,
an old suitor of yours ?”
“I remember him,” was the lo.w, faltering an
swer. Alas! she did remember Lira, but too
well! #
“You know that letter you received from him ;
and what I told you about his propensity to —”
“You need defame him no more, if that be your
business,” said Nellie, in quick, angry tones; “his
very faults are nobler than your virtues.”
“You may say that now I am married,” laugh
ed George with a bad attempt at badinage, “but
I am not here for that purpose, Nell—the youth
may be immaculate for all I know, but of course 1
would not acknowledge it when we were rivals.—
But you should not be so hard upon an old friend,
Nell, particularly when he come to crave pardon
for past misdeeds.”
“For heaven’s sake what do you mean ?”
“Why only this. I was the instigater of that
letter you received from Coleman. I told him it
was but a harmless fflirtation on your part —thai
you had been betrothed-to me since childhood.”
“You surely did not tell that falsehood ?•”
“I did, and would do the same again to rid my
self of a troublesome rival; but I wit! do myself
the justice to say that at the time I did not know
the boy really loved you, perhaps bad I known
what I do now, I might have acted otherwise.—
To tell the truth I never did see a fellow look as
miserable in ray life ; aud I would have repented
then had I not —how now Nellie, you are not cry
ing ? Well! this is a pretty piece of business
surely*”
He might as well have talked to stone.
At last I heard him rise to say good-bye—and
I caught the words, “Nellie I am sorry, very sor
ry for this—won’t you forgive me?”
“Yes, I forgive you.” Still he lingered.—
Looking up she saw him there, and said in a firm
er voice.
“May God spare you the misery you have.caus
ed me. You have my forgiveness—farewell.”—
She walked, nay rati up stairs ; and George Wes
ley, who now saw me for the first time, came to
me, aud said in a husky voice,
“Miss Susan I expect you have heard all. If I
had dreamed of this, I never would have acted the
part I did. I thought she would soon forget him,
and perhaps learn to love me. I feel like a villain
—what shall Ido ? As I have severed it is my
place to reunite them. If I know where a letter
would reach Coleman, I would write to him, and
explain all.”
“Do so,” said I coldly, “and try to repair the
wrong you have visited upon the innocent. lam
glad there is enough of nobility left in your heart,
to feel penitent, and l hope you will profit by this
lesson.”
He soon left, and I never saw his face again.—
I sought Nellie’s room, she was weeping bitterly.
She put her arms around me, and cried between
her sobs, “Sister, this is the worst blow of all!
When 1 imagined him indifferent, pride came to
the rescue, but now to know that he joved me, and
deemed me soimworthly —-aye ! perhaps thinks of
me with scorn, and Contempt, this is more than I
can bear!”
How angel-like she was even iu her grief—no
word of reproach to the author of berr misery—no
anger towards him who had robbed life of its sum
shine!
Were I painting a romance, Ada, (and would I
were!}.how blissfully all this shouldconsuwate— •
how isweeU should be the reenuoiiuion, between j
iieftrls that loved—“not wisely but too well.” I
almost envy the romancer iiis task—with him
“every cloud has a silver lining”—and a rainbow
of happiness fn the end covers every sorrw.
With me it is different—minetha task to paint
life as it is, and not as we would fain make it.—
’Tis well to cull roses from the bowers of imagina
tion, and twine them into fanciful garlands—Lul
his mine to gather crushed flowers, as I find them
m the.garden of truth.
Nellie did not-die, for in the Nineteenth centu
ry people seldom die of love, —and Shakspeare’s
-“Men have died, and worms have etaen them
But not for love I”
applies to gentler sex.
Os Coleiiian’s after-fate I know nothing—of Nel
lie’s of course I do, but on that I shall be silent.
George Wesley is no fancy sketch. Alas! there
are but too many “George Wesleys” in the world,
who acting on the senseless adage that “all is fair
in love,” mar the happiness of those around them,
by careless remarks, or intentional falsehoods.—
Well might Hamlet say, “Words, words, words !”
Night draws on, my best Ada, and I must bring
this already too lengthy letter to a close The
hum of a thousand insects breaks on my ear—-the
tinkle, of a cow-bell in the distance, than which 1
know of no sadder sound, draws nearer, and
nearer.
Night is here ! a star ever the first in the lieav
ens twinkles in its midnight home, and seems to
smile kindly on the sleeping earth. Well be it
for us if thus the “pale star Religion” illumines the
night of derith !
And now with a lingering hold of the hand—
“ Aunt Susan” wishes you “a world of tJonnid
dreams,” and a sweet, sweet “good night !”
A Village without Rum-Shops.
The following account of the change produced
in Monroe, Walton county, by the abolition of
Rum Shops, we find in the Athens Watchman:
“We sprnt several days among the hospitable
citizens of Walton during the s- ssion of their Su
perior Court last week, and feel it to be our duty
to bear testimony to the improved manners anil
morals of the people since the closing of the drink
ing establishments in Monroe. This, as our read
ers are aware, was effected at the beginning of
the year, not by the enactment of town ordi
nances, or any other laws, but by the common
consent of the citizens, who, by voluntary contri
butions raised sufficient funds to purchase not only
the stock of liquors ou hand, but also the buildings
occupied by ihese establishments. After doing
this, they voluntarily bound themselves one to an
other never to rent or sell their property for the
purpose of re establishing any retail shops. After
“Prince Alcohol” and “John Barleycorn” were
thus practically outlawed by the citizens, the Town
Council passed one or two very stringent ordi
nances against them. This is briefly the history
of the great reform wrought in Wal on. We
know of no county in the Slate where tippling
was so common. It was not only respectable, but
fashionable ; and the consequence was that many
as noble-souled citizens as any county can boast,
have been from time to time consigned to the
drunkard’s grave. In addition to this, the vil
lage was converted into a perfect Bedlam on public
occasions, when in the afternoon, one half the men
about ti e public square were more or less under
the influence of ardent spirits, aud fighting, quar
reling and loud cursing were the order of the day.
The change for good is no>v so great as to strke
the most careless observer. We have not seen
such good order—such decorioas propriety, and
general good feeling manifested by so large a
crowd any where else as by the people (f Walton
during the Superior Court last week. This change
is owing, we apprehend, not to the entire suppres
sion of the use of spirits, but rather to a preven
tion of its abuse. The chief evil of the liquor
traffic is social, public and promiscuous drinking.
Men usually only drink to excess when they drink
in crowds. The suppression of tippling-houses pre
vents this sort of drinking, but does not interfere
at ail with the citizen’s right to drink at home or
to carry his bottle .in his pocket and drink when
ever lie pleases.
The experiment of our Walton friends has de
monstrated these facts, and we bope to seethe citi-.
zms of other localities “do likewise”—feeling sat
isfied that this plan does not interfere with the
private rights of any one while it cannot be denied
that i. is a great public benefit.
——
Sign-Posts.
The tippler, the toper and the drunkard are
sign posts along the highway of life pointing the
multitude to the safe and honorable way.
The tippler, with glass in hand, standing at the
bar of tire grogshop day after day, says with jolly
earnestness—“Lo! this is not the way, travel ye in
another 1”
The confirmed toper, with fiery eyes aud tatter
ed garments staggering from his cups to a misera
ble hovel, raises a trembling hand and cries out in
anguish to the multitude: —“Lo this is not the
way-—come notin it!”
The poor bloated drunkard laying on the thresh
old of a grave, around which lingers no blessed
hope, of a resurrection to a better life than this,
out from the grave he raises a trembling and warn
ing hand ami from its gloomy depths lifts a shat
tered voice saving—“Lo! come not the road I
have traveled—let my footsteps warn you to Irav
el the other !’’
Thus, all along the road of life, living and dy
ing sign-posts are standing, leaning and falling, to
warn mortals of th3 dangerous paths branching off
from the true way, and leading whosoever travels
thereinto wretchedness and final rut'll. Reader,
regard, Oh 1 regard the fearful warnings ol these
wretobed mentors!—^ Spirit of the Age.
Statistics of the Bible.
The,scriptures have been translated into 148
languages nnd dialects, of which 121 had, prior to
i lie formation of the “British and Foreign Bible So
eiety,” never appeared. And 25 of these lan
(Triages, existed without an alphabet in an oral
form. The first division of the divine orach 1 ? info
chapters and verses is attributed to Stephen Lang
ton, Archbishop of Canterbury iu the reign of
King J-'bn, in the latter part, of the 12th century
or begbrnuig of the 13ih. Cardinal Hugo, in the
middle ofthee 13th century, divided the < >!d Testa
ment into chapters, as they stand in our transin
tion. In 1001 Atkins, a Jew of Amsterdam, di
vided the sections of Hugo into verses, as we now
have them. Robert Stephens, a French printer,
previously (1551) divided the New Testament into
verses as they now are.
The Old Testament contnines 30 books. 920
chapters, 23,214 verses, 592.439 words, 2.728,100
letters. The New Testament contains 27 books,
200 chapters, 7,959 verses, 182,253 words, $48,-
380 letters. The entire Bible contains G 6 books,
1,189 chapters, 31,178 verses, 773,692 words, 3,-
565,480 letters.
The name Jehovah, or Lord, occurs 6,955 times
in the Old Testament. The word “Selah” occurs
70 times in Psalm?, in Habakknk 3 times. The
word “and” occurs in Testament 35,542
times, in the New Testament 10,584 times, in the
Bible 46,227 times.
The middle book of the Old Testament is Pro
verbs. The middle chapter is the 29th of Job —
the middle verse, 2d Chronicles xx: 17. The
middle book of the New Testament is 2d Thessa
lonians. The middle chapters are Romans 13
and 14—middle verse is Acts xvii, 17. The mid
dle chapter, and the least in the Bible is Psalms
cxviii, 8. The middle line in the Bible is 2d
Chronicles, iv, lfi.
The least verse in the Old Testament is Ist
Chronicles i, 1. The least verse in the Bible is
John ix, 35. The 19 h chapter of 2d Kings and
Isaiah 37th are the same. In the 21st verse of
the 7(h chapter of Ezra are a!! the letters of the
alphabet, I and J being considered as one.
The preceeding facts were ascertained by a gen
tleman in 1718. Aiso by an English gentleman
residing at Amsterdam, 1772; and it is said to
have taken each gentleman nearly three years in
the investigation.
Brother Grubber—An Eccentric Divine.
In VVakeley’s Heroes of Methodism we find the
subjoined remi iscences of one of a class of preach
ers, we regret to say, that are rapidly disappear
ing. The quaint remarks and eccentric habits of
these men often proved more effective in “bring
ing home the truth” to the consciences of their
hearCrs, than the most finished production of our
modern evangelists. But we are forgetting the
anecdotes.
Brother Grubber was of an independent turn of
inind and would uot. take anything for granted,
simply because everybody else did. He once took
occasion to refute, in his usual quaint style, the
old proverb that “Stiii water runs deep.”
He used to shout aloud the praise of God, and
contended that it was Spiritual. In answering the
objections to shouting, lie noticed this, “Still water
runs deep.” “Not sosaid he, “still water does
not run at all, for if it run it would not be still.—
Furthermore, still water is not so pure as the water
that runs. It becomes stagnant, slimy, aud breeds
tadpoles.”
lie was a warm republican, and during the rev
olutionary war, said, in one of his prayers, “Lord,
bless King. George; convert him to Heaven; we
have enough, and want no more of him here.”—
The Amen to this prayer was unusually emphatic.
Another time he assisted in divine service, where
a young Presbyterian clergyman violently preach
ed against some of the doctrines of Methodism.—
Brother Grubber was asked to close the services
with prayer, which he did, and as is customary
prayer for the minister. “O Lord.” said he, “bless
-the preacher who has preaehed to us this morning,
and make his heart as soft as his head is, and then
he’ll do some good.”
Grubber was very literal in bis poetical ideas,
and not long before his death sent a communica
tion to the Book Room, in which he commented
upon one of the hymns in the New Book. He
said he did not like the hymn which commence-,
“I love to steal awhile away.” He said there was
no truth in it. lie did not love to steal. ll© did
not love to steal at home nor away from Lome.
With one more characteristic anecdote we will
close our extracts, commending Brolher Grubber
to all lovers of the old and eccentric.
At a camp meeting they found it exceeding
difficult to get the people to sit down. A num
ber of ladies were standing on the seats, and refus
ed to comply with a request that was perfectly
reasonable. Mr. Grubber said, “If that young
lady standing on the bench knew what a great
hole she has in her stocking, she would certainly
sit down.”
They, not knowing who he meant, each sup
posed that lie meant her, and they all sat down
suddenly, as quick as possible.
A preaches, after the discourse, asked him if he
saw a hole in any one of their stockings ? He said,
“No,” f How dare you say so, then ?” Said Mr.
Grubhar, in his quizzical manner, “Did you ever
know a stocking without a hole in it?”
-—, —
Never say anything before your children
which you do not wish repeated, is advice that
parents should heed if they would avoid frequent
mortification. As an illunration, read the follow
ing pleasing incident which we find in one of our
exchanges: -
“What did your mother say, my little man ?
Did you give her uiy card ?” asked a young gen
deman of a iiftle boy whose mother had given
him an invitation to call upon her, and whose
street door was accordingly opened to his untime
ly summons by the urchin aforesaid, “Yes, I
gave it to her,” was the innocent reply, “and she
said if you were not a nat’ral born fool, you
wouldn’t come on Monday morning, when every
body was washin’!” At this juncture, mamma,
Y TERMS;
l $1 in advance; or -2 at the end of flie year.
< -ao
J JAMILS T. BIAIN,
V. PRINTER.
VOL. nill.-NUMBER 11.
with a sweet smile of welcome, made her appear
ance at the end of the hall, when, to her surprise,
Mr. Verisopht, the visitor, bolted ! “What does
the man mean ?” inquired mamma. “I dunno,”
replied Bud, ‘ guess he's f/ryot something .”
A Temperance Story.
I was in the medical staff of the army during
the revolutionary war. I was rather young to be
there. My constitution was one of the best. Had
it been otherwise, I should no doubt have fallen a
victim to the habits which I contracted in early
life. My tendencies were convivial ; temptations
io intemperate drinking and gambling were al
ways present, and importunate; we were a clique
by ourselves, with no one to molest or make afraid;
and no one thought himself degraded by being
drunk.
I married very early in life, whep I was little
better than a boy. The girl that I married was
thought to be a great deal too good for me by
everybody but herself. I was not intemperate
riien; and for a time, my wife and our little home
seemed all the world to me. She had a little
property, arid in about a year after our marriage
she gave birth to a daughter. Bad habits soon
got the mastery of my better feelings. The at
tractions of the gay circle at the tavern, or the
quarters of some comrade became irresistible, and
the very consciousness of the neglect to which I
was subjecting the woman whom I had promised
to love and to cherish, began to make her pre
senee undesirable, and home a place of mental and
moral punishment. Qualms and struggles, and
gnawing of the worm that dies not, doubtless
there were, neither few nor far between, but the
temptations were irresistible. I was lost. I knew it.
The details of a thousand cases are much the
same. The little modicum of property that my
wife brought me had dwindled away, piece after
piece. Where had it gone? Down my insatiate
throat! I had swallowed it, or gambled it away !
No memorial remained, but rags and tatters!—
We were very poor. A more uncomplaining wo
man God never made. She struggled to hide even
her tears, to save me from pain, on her account
Let me pass over some three years of misery,
and come at the conclusion of the whole matter.
One bleak December morning, I was about going
forth, as usual, from my wretched habitation, when
mv wife put her hand upon my shoulder, and
pointing, first, to our sick child, and then to a few
lrands upon the hearth, reminded me that those
were the last, and that it was bitter cold. As I
turned away, I promised to send her some fuel,
immediately.
I soon met some of my comrades, and resorting
to the tavern, we passed the .hours, as usual, in
drinking and revelry, until near midnight, when I
staggered homeward. It was piercing cold! I
reached my doorstep, and placed my hand upon
the latch—then it first occurred to me that I had
wholly forgotten mv promise—l had sent home no
fuel! I entered tne apartment. A light was still
burning. The hearth was still cold. My wife sat
rocking her sick child, in the cradle. She turned
her eyes upon mine. The tears were streaming
down her shivering ehteks. “Wife,” said I, “for
Heaven’s sake, when wili you leave off crying?”
“Dear husband,” said she,_ “when you leave oft’
drinking.” “God help me,” I exclaimed, as I put
my arm around her rieck, for the appeal was irre
sistible', “God help me, and I will never touch an
other drop.”
By Goo’s help, I never have, to the present hour;
and from the date of that resolution the days of
our uninterrupted happiness bwgan. —Boston Tra
veller.
JSr’There is a language common to all nations.
A language, in the use of which the Prusian under
stands the American ; the Frenchman, the Ger
man, the Turk, the Pole. The vocabulary of this
language is the same the world over. E/en its
written characters are the same among all civilized
races. The mother-tongues of the nations have
all laboriously to be acquired bv vis, one by one ;
but the accents of this universal language the child
murmurs in its cradle : and having once acquired
its alphabet, it has gained an alphabet of universal
intelligence.
But more than this, there is a language which
connects this world with another; this life with an
other life; the present, in which we live with the
mysterious future in which we are ali to live; a
la guage, which, judging on the authority of Rev
elation simply, is the only one we have any reason
to suppose we shall take with us to another world;
the only language of (he use of which we are as
sured in that world. The significance of this lan
guage lies not in thought; it lies in feeling. Its
softly breathed words address themselves uot to the
intellect, but to the heart. The themes to which
it most delights to give expression are Joy and Love.
How natural, then, to suppose that the angels
should make use of such language ! How reason
able to think that the Supreme Love should be
addressed in this language ! And when all the
nations of the world are gathered into one com
mon brotherhood, is it not natural that our hearts
should enquire of us—“ln what language are they
to speak?” The name of this language is music.
Often first at the cradle —often last at the grave—
it come with us unto the world and goes with us
out of it.
A Very Fair Hit —An exchange says: “The
United States are overrun at this time with pro
fessors, not Professors of Colleges, but self-appoint
ed and self-constituted professors, who just help
themselves to the title, and parade it with great
dignity before the public. There is scarcely a
little academy in the couury, whose teachers do
not call themselves professors—music teachers dan
cing masters. Even aeronauts are
The title, once signifying, is now synonymous with
assurance, protension and brass. It has become
almost as common as a colonel Or major. That’s
true. We have already Professor of the Banjo,
Professors of Rum Toddies, and Professors of “Char
ter amendments,” and we may expect, ere long, to
hear announced Professors of Politics, Professors
of Bribery and Corruption, and Professors of the
Lobby. All these as necessary as the others, and
will speedily be borne to us.