{ title: 'The journal and Republican. (Lowville, N.Y.) 1860-1909, January 18, 1860, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031789/1860-01-18/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031789/1860-01-18/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031789/1860-01-18/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031789/1860-01-18/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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!fetS#^-: ^,0^m^ '••'.•^^•r 1 *! m .*; ., HK>r}»ft* ~ll I JN . #: V 1 AT LOWvttW, *. *., B* H. A. PHILLIPS, EIMTOB * ~ D . S. BA1LEYL ASSOCIATS EDIIOB. . TERMS.-On* Wltar mail Flf'J H» paperawlil be dJteooltoued anlll paid, escrpt at fee daiioa nf \ JOB f BmTmo. *vri«« The trertbli|ij X*pon the ahuli MT Mwhart Oravs. , . PREHTICCI if rlew-dropa fall ; llowtM-Mka soul* att r«!at, ne florioualy—and all, f.-^saass:^ wdi^^* 7 - \^ - ~ -mm mm ri ,, . i. t .. fe •\' --uf^***^,^ iM**:M^*«»^*^^W- Ml^MHI^.^.^ HENBT A. PHII^IPS, KDITO* 4 Paownrro*. •- ——' • ' ' f iJHmVul * **mas*gsammamm ft* «>•«• tba great BiWe, and' begtonmg % We^ki jet***! »f tpl8i«a, ff«tos, P«»atar«,*fcrl, getorce, UgHr. sHqre and IhjMj. -—-•;—\^3y- : ----~--^-r^r--^-—^ —^=—=-£==3.^1 : •• • •-• !• 1 •• , ; --,.;•,•_ Mother—I l<We thy jrrave '— The violet, with I i n blofaom blue and mil.I, Wave* o'erflhy liead,when (ball itwava Above thjj child ? 'Tii a awret flower—yet mutt I n bright leave* to tl>e coming tampaat bow, Dear M<uhe|— 'tit tby emblem—dual ]• on ttiy prow. And I couldllove to die, To , e ,v e unt .laid lile'a dark bitter.tream., By ili*a,aa firM m cluldbood, l.a And ahare|rhy dreama. And n.ust I r here, To .tain the plurWe of my ainleas yaart, fie hope, to childhood der inger here, , _... lupon a blaated tree. Whose la.t ffail leif, untimely §er«, Went down with tliee l Oft from life], withered bower, I In still communion with the paat I turn And route on thee, the only flowar In memory a urn. And, wlienlllie Evening pale I Bow« li*« * mourner on the Jim, blue wi t I mray to h«ar tt*e night-wind wail Around thy grave. Where • lliy spirit flown? I gaze above—thy look ia imaged there, I listen—i<n<l thy gentle tone , U 1 the Oli come—wbilat here I preaa My brow upon thy grave, and in thoaa mild And thrilling tonee of lenderne.a, Hie.., blea. thy child. Ye., ble.a t W weoping child, t * And o'er thine um . religion', holiest abrine, Oh give hi* ipirit undented To blend with thine. poplar fob*. Uncle Abel and Little Richard. 1 Were any of you born in New Eng- land in the good old catechising, school-. going, orderly times ? If you were you must remember my Uncle Abel, the most perpendicular, upright, downright good man, that ever labored^six days and rested on the Sabbath. You re- member his bard, weather-beaten coun- tenance, where every line seemed to be drawn with a pen of iron and a point of diamond; his considerate gray eyes, that moved over the object as if it were not best to be in a hurry about seeing; the circumspect opening and shutting of his mouth; his down-sitting and uprising; all of wnich appeared to be performed with a conviction aforethought, in short, the whole ordering of his life and con- versation, which was, according to the military order, \ to the right about i'ace —forward—march!\ Now, if you have supposed from all of this triangularity of exterior, that this good man had nothing kindly within,you are much mistaken^ You often find the greenest grass under a snow-drift j and though my Uncle's mind was not exact- ly of flower-garden kind; still there was an abundance of wholesome and kindly vegetation there. It is true he seldom laughed, and never joked himself; but no man had a more serious and weighty conviction of what a good joke was in another; and when some excellent wit- ticism was dispensed in his presence, you might see Uncle Abel's face slowly re- lax into an expression of solemn satis- faction, and he would look at the author with a certain quiet wonder, as if it was astonishing how such a thing could ever come into a man's bead. Uncle Abel also had some relish for the fine arts, in proof whereof I might adduce the plea\- sure with which he gazed upon the plates in the old family Bible; the likeness whereof I presume you never any of you saw ; and he was also%ich an eminent musician that he could go through the singing-book at a sitting, without the least fatigue, beating time like a wind mill all the way. He had, too, a liberal hand—though his liberality was by the role of three and practice. He did, to his neighbors exactly as he would be done by—he loved some, things in this world sincerely—he loved his God much, but he honored and feared him more; he was exact with others, he was more ex- act with himself—aud expected his God to be more exact still. Everything in Uncle Abel's house was in the same time, place, manner and form, from year's end te year's end. There was old Master liose, a dog after his own heart, who always walked as if be was learning the multiplication table. There was the old clock, forever ticking away in the kitchen corner. There were the yearly hollyhocks and morning glories, blooming around the windows. There s was the \best room,\ with its sanded floor, and evergreen asparagus boshes, its cupboard with a glass door in one earner, and the stand with the Bible and almanac on it in the other. There was Aunt Betsey, who never looked any ol- der because she always looked as old as she could; who always dried her catnip and wormwood the last of September, and began to clean boose the first of Hay. Ia short, this was the land of eonttauance. Old Time never *>*• H into his head to practice either •wjjko, sobatraction, or multiplication °n»ew« a total. This Aunt Betsey, ™\«*.wa. the neatest and most efficient pfeoa of human machinery that •ver operated te ferty places at <moe.- She was always everywhere, predomin* tmg over, andseeing to everything; and tiwoghmy micle had oeen twice i rkd, Annt Betsey's rale sjsd anthorttj' bad never been broken. She itfgneaj over his wives when living, and reigned after them when dead; and so seemed likely to reign to the end of the chapter. But my uncle's last wife left Aunt Bet- sey a much less tractable subject to man- age than had ever fallen to her lot before. Little Edward was the child of my un- cle's old age, and a brighter, merrto blossom, never grew on the edge of an avalanche. He bad been committed to\ the nursing of his grand-mamma until he arrived at the age of indiscretion, and then my old uncle's heart yearned to- ward him and he was Bent for at home. His introduction into tbo family excited a terrible sensation. Never was there such a contemner of dignities, such a violator of such high places, and sancti ties, as this very Master Edward. He was the most outrageously merry little elf that ever shook a head of curls, and it was all the same to him whether it was Sabbath day or any other day. He laughed and frolicked with everybody and everything that came in his way, not even excepting his solemn old father; and when you saw him wifJi his arms around the old man's neck, and his bright blue eyes and blooiniug oheek pressing out by the black face of Uncle Abol, you almost fancied that you saw Spring caressing Winter. Uncle Abel's mete- physics were sorely puzzled how to bring this sparkling, dancing compound of spirit and matter info any reasonabli shape, for he did mischief with an energy-! and perseverance that were truly aston- ishing. Once he rcoured the floor with Aunt Betsey's Scotch snuff, and once he spent half an hour in trying to make Rose wear her spectacles. In fact there was no use, but the right one, to which he did not put everything that came in his way. But Uncle Abel was most of all puzzled to know what to do with him on the Sabbath, for on that day Master Edward seemed to exert himself partic- ularly to be entertaining. \Edward must not play on Sunday,\ his fttther would say, and then Edward would shake his curls over his eyes and look as grave as the catechism, but the next mo- ment you might see pussy scampering in dismay through the \ bw»t room.\ with Edward at her heels, to the manifest dis-. comfort of Aunt Betsey and all others in authority. At last my uncle came to the conclu- that \it wasn't in natur 1 to teach him better, and that be would no more keep Sunday than the brook down in the lot.\ My poor uncle! he did not know what was the matter with his heart; buTce>- tain it was, he had lost all faculty of j scolding when little Edward was in the case, though he would stand rubbing his his spectacles a quarter of an hour lon- ger than common, when Aunt Betsey was detailing his witticisms and clever doings. But in the progress of time«j our hero compassed his third year and arrived at the dignity of going to school. He wont illustriously through the spell- ing-book, attacked the catechism, went from \man's chief end\ to the \Com- mandments,\ in a fortnight, and at last came home inordinarily merry to tell his father he bad gone to \Amm.\ After this he made a regular business of say- ing over the whole every Sunday even- ing, standing with his hands folded in front, and his checked apron smoothed down, occasionally giving a glance over his shoulder to see if papa was attend- ing. Being of a very benevolent turn of mind be made several efforts to teach Rose the catechism, in which he suc- ceeded as well as could be^expected.— In short without fifrther detail. Master Edward bid fair to become a literary wonder. But alas, for poor little Ed- wart', his merry 1 dance was soon over.— A day came when he sickened. Aunt Betsey tried her whole herbarium, but in vain; he grew rapidly worse and worse. His father sickened in heart, but said nothing; he stayed by his bedside day and night, trying all means to saje with affecting pertinacity. •• Can't you think of anything more, doctor?\ said he to the physician, when everything had been tried ia vain. \Nothing answered the physician. A slight con* vulsion passed over my uncle's face.—+ Then the Lord's will be done!\ said he. Just at that moment a -ray of the setting ftfa pierced the checked curtains, and gleamed like an angel's smile across the face of the little sufferer. He awoke from a disturbed sleep. \Ob. dear, oh, I am so sick!\ he gasped feeb- ly,. His father raised him in his arms he breathed easier, and looked up with a grateful smile. Just then his -old play-mate, the, oat, crossed the floor. \ There goes pufsy,\ said he, \Oh dear, I neier shall play with pussy any moire.\ A t thai moment a deadly change passed over bis looked up to bis father wkh an expression and pnt out his hands.— There was one moment of agoay. and the sweet features settled ist peaee* and mortality was swallowed up fa life. My uncle laid him down, and looked oa* tno- meat at bis beautiful face—it was too much for his pride-and he lifted op bis voice and wept. The next morning was Sabbath, the funeral day. and it rose with breath all incense, and with cheek aU bloom- Un- cle Abel was calm and collected as ever; but in his face there was a sorrow-strick- en expression that could not be mistaken. I remember him at family ynf**. *•*• LOWVLLLfi JJSWIS GOV \-\m the psalm, \Lord thou bast been our .dwelling place in all generations.\ Ap*> rparently he) was touched by the splendor of the poetry; for (iflfr reading d, fcw verses be stopped. There Was a dead silence interrupted only by the tick of the block. He cleared his voice repeat- edly, and tried to go on, but in vain 1 .-^ He closed the book and knelt in prayer. The energy of sorrow broke through bis fonnal revert noe, and bis language flow ed forth with a deep and sorrowful pa- thos, which I have never forgottenv— The God SQ much reverenced, so roach feared, seemed to draw near to him as a friend and comforter, to be his refuge and strength, \a very present help in time of trouble.\ My unole arose—I saw him walk toward the room of the parted one—I followed and stood With him over the dead. He unoovered b b face. It was set with the seal of death, but oh, bow surpr sing lovely was the Impression! Tho brilliancy of life was gone; but tho face was touched with the mysterious, triumphant brightness which seems like the dawning of heaven, My uncle looked long and steadily. He felt the beauty of what he gazed on ; his heart was softened, but he had no words for bis feelings. He loft the room un- consciously and stood at the front door. The bells were ringing for church; the morning was bright and birds were sing- ing merrily, and the littlb pet squirrel of little Edward was frolickiugabout the door. My uncle watched him as ho ran, first up one tree, then another, then over the fence, whisking his brush and chattering if nothing was the matter. With a a deep sigh Uncle Abel broke forth, How happy that creature is! well, the Lord's will be done.\ That day the dust was committed to the dust amid the lamentations of all who had known little Edward. Years have passed since then, and my uncle has long been gath- ered to his fathers, but his just and up- right spirit has entered the liberty of the sons of God. Yes. the good man may have opinions whloh the philosophical scorn, weaknesses at which the thought- loss smile, but death shall change him into all that is enlightened, wise and re- fined. \H « shall shine as the bright- ness of the firmament and as the stars forever and ever.\ \ I*- X* WKDNE8DAT. JAN. !«, Thaanclaa •*;lni-lanoh«rv«j- Baaatnc «ud whin, a* by deeMe*. Old potraje itnoooCT heated lhaa new aoade. l**» aid U f hi noDut be hM. Love aula coasjh eanbet be nW The French add smoke to these irr* pressible things. La OaU is sometime* enumerated with them; and the Danes say,\ Poverty and loAe are hard tohide,\ Lave toajorrtrti p nfc» not fcUowatripJ KlnrfiHtaacoinraa wilY-^otch. That is, lovo can not be forced. The Germans couple it in that respect with singing. \ Who would bo loved must love,\ say the Italians, and \Love is the very price at which love is to be bougtt.*' Hu«twB>'»,ro ID rteavon wlioeo wivMcfefde no:. Whether or not that heaven ia ever found on earth b» a question which every man must decido from his own experi- ence. \ He that has a wife has strife, ,: says the French and Italian proverb! mongers, who take nn unhandsome ad- vantage of the fact th:it in their language the words \ wife and \ woes\ diffor only by a letter. St. Jerome declares that 1\ Whoever is free from wrangling is a bachelor.\ •MoWng wi.'e are two bad A amuklng clilnmejr am companion*. j The Scotch couple together \ A leaky i house and a Beholding wift-,\ in which! they follow Solomon ; \ A continual i dropping on u very rainy day und a con- tentious woman ore alike.\ \ It is better to dwell in the corner of a house top than with a brawling woman in it wide house.\ —From a Lelier l»j Walter N. Kelly. Change of Bonki Much complaint is made, and not without good reason, of the frequent .changes of school hooks. It is really a serious evil—a .wide spread, growing J evil. It is not tbo tax alone imposed upon tho patrons in the purchase ! of books. True, this is what those who 1 complain most respecting it have in view. : But though this is a large item, counted 'by tens of thousands of dollars, every ! year, in tho Empire State—enough to j support a good Normal Sehool in every judicial district—it sinks into utter in- significance in comparison with the ill ! effects upon the pupils themselves.— 1 First, it shortens, in many instances, the 1 period of their pupilage, because parents j^nro cither unable or unwilling to meet these frequent demands for a change.— \There now, run!\ «aid a man in rny hearing to his little son for whom he had just purchased a book, one morning not kng since, \ run ! or they'll change be- fore you get there.\ Then turning to me, he remarked, half in jest, yet half in earnest, \ I shall be obliged to take my children out of school. I can nev«r pay for all the books fhey reed at this rate Why, sir, I have bought three entire new sets within the last eighteen months.\— I. ventured to suggest ho was exaggem- tting a little; but ho insisted that it was .._ >.^ i,.„t .lu.ita. n mue inquiry prov- | ed it true. ; Next, there is a loss of time in be- coming familiar with the new books, so . as to use them as readily, and, to as good Jan advantage, as the old. Even a new edition of the same book is awkward, ; und occasions loss of time in localizing the various parts and paging of the two Hgree. » In all those studies where fre- quent reference must be made to differ- ent divisions of the text book, local as- sochtion plays an important part. We find what we look for more rendily thro' the mere power and habijt of such asso- and this being broken up, so much, and it is much, is lost. But when the book itself is new, a new author, the disfidvantage is greater still. New modes\ of expression must be met; a new ver- biage for the same thought must be me- The day you marry you kill or cure | mor i ze d. The rules given in one author yourself.\ (Spanish.) \ Use greatpru- | are found to be exceptions in another, dence and circumspection,\ says Lord | and the exceptions the rulfes; and a dif- Proverbs or All Nations. Proverbs on love in English are for the most part sarcastic or jocular, and few of them can be compared for grace and elevation of feeling, with those of Italy. We have no parallell in our lan- guage for the following : Love kno vs no measure—there are no bouuds to its trustfulness and dovo. tion;\ \Love warms more than a thous- and tires ;\ \He who has love in bis heart has spurs in his sides ;\ \Love rules without law;\ \Love rules his kingdom without a sword;\ \ Love knows not labor;\ \Love is master of all arts.\ The French have one proverb on the soverign might of love, which they borrowed from the sublime phrase the Song of Solomon. \Love is stronger than death ;\ and another, ex- pressed in tho language of their chival- ric forefathers, \Love subdues all but e ruffian'8 heart.\ Marrj In hagte an-l repent at Iclgiiro. This proverb probably came to us t from Italy; but alas! it happens too j ^'J™ often in all countries that \Wedlock rides in the saddle and repentance on the croup.\ (French.) Burleigh to his son, \ in choosing thy wife, for thence will spring all thy future good or evil; and it is an action of life like unto a stratagem of war, wherein a man can err but once.\ The tjSdeor lit hap o'acude ci VI life I* tlNj^fode ortll choice o* a gu< e or III wife -Scosch. There is a Spanish rhyme much to the same effect: Ilim that haa a good w<fe, no evil in We inal may not be borne can be r<rt, Him mat haa a bad wife, no food ihlnf in 'He can chance to ihat good you may call. Pot your hand in the creel, and take out either an adder That's matrimony. u In buying hors- es and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend yourself to God.\ (Italian.) \ Marriages are not as they are made, but as they turn out.\ (Italian.) -{. There** bui a fute wife la the couatry.andJUui nun intake he-a got her.-Scotch. j It is a pleasant delusion while it lasts, and it is not incurable. Instances of complete reoovory* from it are not rare., ataj Bay woe wfeare hawlll, but ha ma* arad when ~W a weir4.-Beo»n. That is where he is feted t» wed. This is exactly equivalent to the English say- ing, the meaning of whi<* Dcah Trench ap- pears to me, to mistake, when he speaks with admiration of its \religious depth and beauty.\ 1 cannot findin it a shadow of religious sentiment ft simply implies I that it was not forethought, indioatioa, or mutual fitness that had the largest •bare ia bringing man and wife together. Mora efficient than ail theae la tb - fewe of eircun»ten«^ or what people vulgar- ly call chance,^fa&e, fbrtune, and aofojftlfc In the French version ofHbe adage, - Marriage* are writt^^b^wsn/t'^e . fir^tiie^pecUlfbrinuU of Oriental fetal- iam; and fatalism is everywhere the popnlar creed respecting marriage.-* Hence, as Shakespeare say*_ rent arrangement of parts is observed. i Hence there seems to be a sort of neces- j sity for the student to go over, de novo, 1 what there was no need of his travers- 1 ing again, merely-to familiarize himself j | with these, often senseless, variations.— ', And thus he is compelled to an almost i absolute waste of time, when his time is L of more actual value than at any other , period of his life. lam one of those who believe that time is never more pre-j cious than in childhood and youth.— And I deny the right of any one, parent or teacher, to thus squander it away. But loss of money and time, is not all. Students are not only prevented by these changes from making that advance which I they otherwise would; but, from having so many authors put into their hands, and never mastering any, very many, their school days being limited, perhaps' I should say the great mass, only get confused ideas of the subjects which they Study, and dp not become thoroughly grounded in die little they seem to have acquired. All this is Wrong. And for all this, teachers are mainly, in one way or other, to ^blame. Sometimes they have a favorite book,with which they are JifemUiaT. They can^e&ch from this with •more ease and pleasure to theiriselves.- f Hence a changeissougbton thesegroun , They only; consult tjheir own wUhes. Their right thus to iaTtneM»oW»^ patrons h* money, and their pupils inftfe* ehemi time and in loss of intellectual improve- ^jpjwt,,'theyl never take into account. In &et their thought on the matter haa sel- dom axteoded beyond their own desire they seldom make Wieve Oat they can, in this way, ac- coppl sh more for their scbools. And so perhaps they mighty were they to re- main a sufficient length of time to reap Ti the proposed advantage of change. Bat they are without any assured permanen- cy, and the scbools arc permanent— Hence,in whatever advantage there may be in a familiarity with boeka, the school should be considered, and not the teach- for their rights are paramount to his. ut there are those who change 1 for other reasons. The books are to pass through their hands. They are to re- ceive a per cent on all they may diabose of while they continue their connection with the school. And so they sell their district, and the true interests of those whose interests should be dear to tti for a little gain. A large proportion oi these changes are needless, and a public outrage, because needless. Says a late writer on this subject, \W e are of the opinion that four-fifths of the changes have moro to do with the profit of teach- compilers and publishers, than with the real need, or good, of the school-go- ing public\ This may be an extrava- gant estimate, but the actual proportion is certainly large. Teachers, however, are not the only ones to blame. Parents and trustees must shoulder their part of the responsibility. They are no more justified in allowing these reckless and ruinous changes of books, than teachers! ore in making them. Changes are some J times needful, and the power of change 1 should rest somewhere; but not withl the teacher. For many good and snb-i stantial reasons it should not be vested in the County Commissioners or State! Superintendent. The trusteesas a whole arc decidedly unfit for its exercise. Tho district could never agree. How then shall this Gordian knot be cut! Some- thing io this wise. Let ips to appoint three teachers, holding either State or first grade\ certificates, whose duty it shall be to make out a list of text books for their (own, to be used in the public schools of said town for three or five ears. Let such commission be appoin- ted at any given time, and in every third fifth year thereafter, all the schools being required to use, such books as they may designate, and none other for class books in the students 1 hands, for tbo time indicated by. the law. Let the commis- sion itself be dissolved with the presen- tation of its lists to the town clerk, who shall keep it on file, and shall furnish to the trustee or trustees of each district in his town, a copy thereof within a speci- fied time. By some such arrangement^ us this, we can secure all the practical benefits of a uniformity of books, with- out interfering with the interest* of au- thors or publishers; avoid these expen- sive and damaging changes ; and at the same time leave ourselves free to take advantage of all such improvements in text books, as may from time to time be made. *»-._...„ ...awriibToi Boty and Seal. The Rev. Dr. Bailey's fifth Lecturo \ On tho Mutual Influences of the Body and Soul in the various stages of Life,\ was extremely interesting, not only as a scientific exposition hf tbo theory of his discourse, but as incidentally affording a clear exegesis of the beautiful, but oft mis-interpreted passage of Scripture, found in the last chapter of Ecclesiatics; and the sketch we undertake to-day affords a lucid commentary^ on the su- blime diction of the Royal Preacher. In the opening of his Lecture.the speak- er referred to the influence of the mind on the-^body, as evinced by a study of Physiognomy, and according to the teach- ings of Lavater, great approbation. The laughing eye, lit up by joy ; the cohj glance of suspicion ; the blush, mantling the cheek, were instanced as familiar il- lustrations'of tho passions deciphering themselves upon the human frame. He com batted the idea of Materialism, or that thought was a property of matter,, by instancing the decaying of our bodies as in no wise destroying the faculties of the iftind. We recoil from the tdsa, that the spark of Promethean fire, which ani- mates us to deeds of heroism, of philan- thropy and patriotism; which remem- bers tho past and'peoples the furture, is identical with its niere material covering, Raphael, in sketching the Tran«figura : tion, was actuated by a higher energy than the mere muscular apparatus which directed the manipulations of his hands ; and Cksero.denouooing Cataltne, was stir red by a hidden energy of soul, rather than being for the time j the machine which uJ^ered invective, by a skillful ad- justment of a few fleshy fibres, connect- ed with! the organs of speech. The jspeaker introduced the several shades of life, from Infancy to old age, as more cfearly exhibiting the influence of the body upon the feelings, volitions and 'actions at the kind. At the opening of life, the great portion of the circulat- ing system;is[diverted to the Wain; hence (hat organ exceeds the body m relative size; but a* We advance towards the six- toenth yeat, li e j body grows, and the equilbritua l>«comi» gradually restored. The <AUd «xjtrhj*i great rnnsrular irrita- VOLtTMI 1WHBW BiRIB8-^N( stories of the \ Babes in the Wood,\ and the veractoua history of Robinson Crusoe affords his roost desired mental pabulum; snd when the most admired literature to his tastes, t* the recital of the exploits of j the hero of the Seven League Boots, the adventures of Jack the Giant Killer, and the magic performances of Aladdin's Lamp. During the second stage of life, which denominated Childhood,— the brain still being abundantly supplied with the characteristics are of greater restless- ness, gayety of temperament, fondness for sports. He is then the young Put- nam of tho play ground, the little Alex- ander of the ring—and the lecturer advo- cated a liberal allowance of exercise and fresh air duringthis critical period of life, but gave it as his opinion that the system of school teaching should be coercive, and that \Young Xmertca\ should be persuaded to learn by the application of I the ferule, if need be. The stage of Youtii, from tho 15th to the 25th year, was next averted to. At this period important changes take place, the blood is diverted from the head to the chest,—the pulse beats slower, the muscles acquire firmness, the voice be- j pomes coarser ; and now consumption Sets its mark upon the early victim, for the lungs have a more arduous task to perform, and if unsound, tubercles form, and death speedily ensues. The period of Manhood strctchiug from tho close of the former stage, to the 52d year, next claimed attention ; and this stage was deemed the most decisive of the subject. The predominance of cer- tain fluids in the system marked the vari- ous temperaments—the phlegmatic, with broad face, dull eyes, and stolid form, was happily illustrated in the person of Ilowing the celebrated Wouter Van Twiller, whose familiar person, \ exactly five feet, six inches in height, and six feet five inch' es in circumfrence,\ is so inimitably de- scribed by Washington Irving, in his verac.ous \ Knickerbocker History of | New York.\ The sanguine temperament, of ruddy countenance and fair skin, was uoted for being ardent, enthusiastic and confident —like Bobadil in the comedy, able to de- feat several armies with but three hun- dred men ; or, like Glendower, invoking \ spirits from the vasty deep\—evincing the predominance of the circulating sys- tem Those of nervous temperament are slender, pale, sensitive, easily duped, and subject to superstitious feelings. Cow- per was the illustration of this class. The bilious are easily recognized.— They are the great workers in the worldi and fcheir constitutional indications cor- respond with the general law established rot- me numan economy. I. The last stage of life is Old Age. — 1 this ir^ conformity to ty&mtog aim¥* The same law governs the manifesta- ^^^te*\* Afloret f t&*n*«rv In ehilaW-for the the n»reased determ^aaton of Woo* to* wards it, has acquired more rHal acmfy' in Its functions j and the wfldeat and most improbable representations iiw im- plicitly ^edited by the wonder struck child. These are the days when the *y;yjk> - ticipation of the time which revel announces, when our feeble, perishable frames, becoming a \gloriousbody shall afford, through every avenue add sense, unalloyed pleasures to the soul. fietigf Bmtbetrt- Decidedly peculiar was Mr. George Greatheart. He was not, like many peo- ple, overbearing, miserly, ignorant, and proud} but wholesouled, honest, and wise. These three elements are enough blood, while the bile is viscid and thin--j to make any man beloved and respected. With Mr. George Greathea/t everything was sunshine, smiles, hope, and kindness. No wonder that his home was always the abode of peaee and happiness; no wonder that Lillian and Williana loved their father ; no wonder that Mrs. Great- heart smiled when she saw her husband; no wonder that the townspeople all rais- ed their hats and wished him well as he passed; why should it be otherwise, for was he not their friend 1 With all his good traits, Mr. George Greatheart was peculiar, not after the fashion of the world, but after his own fashion. His was a peculiarity in the right direction—to do good. He be- ieved in helping those whot could not help themselves, and in doing some good with his money while he lived. More than one well-to-do young man has re- ceived his education through the generos- ity of Mr. Greatheait. Mr. Greatheart was not, like many present-day-would-be-benafactors, who upon their death-bed say, \ There, Ml give so many thousands to this College, and so many to that Institution, and so mauy to that Society,\ all of which are more than able to exist without the,-/), for the sake of having his name handed down to futuri generations, with the fol- item 1 -of history attached : \ Mr. Skia A. Flint was a great and good man, filled with kindness and be- nevolence. He amassed a large fortune —$1,000,000—(by grinding the faces »f the poor); and when he was called upon to part with this earth, he made several munificent bequests, giving to A College (which is one of the wealthiesi in the country, and did not need his gold) ten thousand dollars; to B Univer- sity ten thousand ; to C —— Observato- ry ten thousand. Ho ! all the inhabi- tants of the world, praise ye his name.\ George Greatheart put his hands with- in his pockets, while yet in the \form saying : \ Take, it is thine.\ Men like him are the kind the people like to hon- or. What if his full-length portrait or marble bust does not grace some public ball ? Who cares for your Peter Gold- heads, your Baron de Snuff Boxes, or Jo' seph Getall And .Keepit? What have they done toward elevating humanity i rt » —i:*-r«. g pwm puverty-stricken man- kind 1 \Oh !\ says some little upstart, squin- ting through his opera-glasses, \Mi While in youth the arterial blood P^ Peter Goldhead for t tboU9&n d dol . ponderates over the venous, the contrary , ar s toward f()undm g ft feS80r8ni _ _ manifestation is observed in old age.- 1 ^ ^ something ,„ If, we reply, he had sent forty poor young men through college with his dol- lars, he would have done^somethmg in- deed ; now his money may rust in the vaults of banks, or be .squandered to sup- port some knowledge-cracked professor in his idleness. Out upon your so-ealled \ Munificent Bequests !\ after death. Give while you live. THE SADNESS THERE is IN MUSIC.—How truly did Shakespear say : \I'm never merry when 1 hear sweet music.\ How often has a golden sunset or a stiver night brought a sadness to the s?ul—a sadness without pain, or the laps of some free river, or the strVms of some sweet tune, filled eyes with tears that had no taught of sorrow. And the landscapes whose flowers grow close to the edge of Heaven,. that with such charms of summer,. sun aud shade make vestibules for Paradise, and willing to be gone—how often do they grow dim before our eyes and! yet there is no rain. Sometimes, in breathless nights, when earth is full of leaves and sky of stars, there seems a melancholy music in the mere shining of the moon, and we wish it would linger forever. Aud why are these things so useless that we are born . to something fairer than this cloudy world ? Memory con- secrates tho past to beauty, and binds the thought thereto with links of loveli- ness, sweeter to bear, than garlands of fresh flowers. The chain that chhfed grows smooth and bright by wearing, and we are willing prisoners as»^e go; And by and by, this teacher of tbehWt* as time runs on, shall guide uaiwek again to childhood, whence the transition unite in Heaven ia easy-sea drea«>. Then the power of the heart is diminish- ed, the waste of the body exceeds the supply, and a diminuation of energy en- sues. At this portion of the lecture the speaker introduced, by way of illustration, the beautiful passages found in Ecclesi- sstes, than which nothing is more elegant or anatomically accurate. \ While the sun, or the light, or the stars be not darkened,\ refers to an old man, whose sense of vision is impaired, and who sees as {'through a glass,darkly, \in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble,\ the allusion is evi- dently intended to the hands and the feet, tromblingand shuffling from old age..— \ The grinders cease because they are few,\ meaning the teeth, which now are both few and impaired. The Royal Preacher points to the discomforts of old age, \ when the doors shall be shut in the streets\—for now he finds himself un- known ; bis coevals have all. gone; he is a stranger among a new generation.— Instead of enjoying-refreshing slumber, his sleep is, easily disturbed by noise— even the \ voice of a bird\ annoys, and festive scenes no longer interest htm, proving, too surely, that \the daughters of music are brought low.\ . He is now \ afraid of that which is high, and fears are in the way\—he looks back with astonishment to the feats\ of] his youth, when he walked (he narrow parapet of the bridge, or skated daringly over the thinly frozen lake. With him \the almond tree shall flourish,\ his whit- ened locks betoken the fulfillment of the prophecy, and in his easily irritated frame of mind, incident to hie infirmities* even the \grasshopper becomes a burden,\ and \his desires fail,\ with the loss of the Ispirit of adventure and enterprise.. The \silver cord\ was compared fitly to the spinal chord, which becomes \loosed'' and relaxed ; the \golden bowl that con- tain* the principle which thinks, analyses and feels, this is now broken-—u_^ .the power of reasoning becomes kafajjaiiff? 9 ' •d, and he soon returns to the tmbeoHifcy '^ bility-h* exult, m she exuberance o f [if^Whood . Tie•«#****^ : .ls*|j « tf^^^F^^P^^* 'auri. -.THOHrr\ \ /JsWSsirW \ ^0^MitW«x,ti>dthaspir : •'••--•- i% n j • ,„-. .-j-. absntfimldescrir^rtfottsfe,] Jbapisatdramatfstinswao com- prehensively embraced i l the frmiUar tl» lecturer closed with the glorious an- M JS^1 •laWfoni The only du^rrer fought in ^bsf ois waain |«p^wpta^klpaowa l .r t «4Wa»wi Bennett. They wOk •#* • fa St. Clair county, and «*t feU mortally wounded on the,first s jfci t • »__~t*u i>(ii|p'!,kla i j|(|Hp0 He was thaw a n iigktbaok.hv 'murdar, and of murder, axMtad. Gwv. Bond was •*•!•« * 4ey*;f and weak* by UM barhsrsja 1Mfm<*\ [thaoqde, «k«*rtog Ic* 1* pa*sb». fca* | k* waned bis door ureas** Mtitfofi and ~ ——i ™ Tr^--ywiaffrjff ,-'-^'\ , ~7. TTilTlssj Ifsuail I tfasWsai #«flS f 1rlS snSiJina^^^tSkJ» J ~**^^^T~% IRFV \^*H*W* SjNK aBlslK'iPlOvV' i afM^PM tpVvjai •sxl lest das) mm mm ea tbe^ mAA't* \ -\ ** '-»- -^ kmmk •aw n wmKfmuj mmoajwfk 9m, *jbo9dv* ' •-.\ I Sfcwt Mm** M fSti g Amerfea. A clergyman, writing about the \fast flymen\ of fik presently , says: It is seldom thaAfa young man goes to cottage with the deliberate'purpose of living viciously; Jut he uweoA. }He is taken into the company of ^ set of men senior to himself, with whom it is a grat- ification to him t t o associate ;|he finds among them habits of thought, express- ion and act, which in! his soul he loathes; hot he is weak; hew ;can he resist the evil f nay, bow can, be avoid taking part in it. for b < must not, he think*. make himself .Jngnlarf and »the licen- tious thought, or tbe;ooane word, or tho oath, is welcomed with a smile, and from the smite the adrancau rapid in partaking in what he first shrank from, and from partaking in it to glorying in it, and from thence becoming the temp- ter to others, as he had been himself tempted, and fallen. Or, again, it may be not direct sin, tat £&»»«, into which a man is tempted by weakness. He may find that others are idle, that there are counter claims of amusements and society which interfere with^the claims «C study*; he does not deliberate. iy determine ;to be [idle, and throw away that precious time which] no after exertions or regrets willjecov. er ; but circumstances] lead him into, idleness, and he has not the strength to resist—he is weak. Here, then, i» one element of that childishness, which>w have to put away—the weakness which, spite of the prompting of our better nature, leads us into sin or idleness from the example of others, or what we choose to call;the force of circumstun- ces. And closely connected with this weakness is cowardice. We are afraid of our neighbors, or, rather, of our own imagination of what our neighbors think of us. It may be that|we despise in our hearts the. very men by whom we are led, and detest their gwiHiments and tone of mind ; but nevertheless, we are led by them, we applaud their sentiments, we adopt their tone. [Was the text for the above excelleut discourse taken from Job xv 32 : \The foolish man is accomplished before his time, and his branch shall not be green.\] A MATRIMONIAL DISAPPOINTMENT.— A curious termination of an intended marriage took place at Halifax on Sun- day last. On that day. Henry Greaves, of Mount Tabor, andjMary Mitchell, of Gibbet street; in that town, had arrang- ed to be married at the parish, church. The wedding party met before the cerv_ emony at the Spotted Cow InU, in Gib. bet street, and proceeded thence tow- •«!• the church. When they had ar- rived at an ion nan^edthe King o f Bells the bride,foand fault with her Intended, husband for not having bis ahoet dean. They, however, still pursued 4bei*|our. / ney, but so shocked was she on-going along the aisle of the jch^rch in compa- s oy with tifedirty booty that she knew- 0 ed her ccmjflMlfyj^'t$fa.i(-ti l j&. ance~all remonstrance, lefttthe church' and refused to be married. ^Dinner had • been provided for' sixteen ted *te*. fo^ twenty, After the return of the wee- ding, party, the proportion .of the ex- penses to be borne by each party forfti- - ed a farther topic df dJspbte. -The dis- appointed bridegroom reteed: to pay fauything unless he had the ring, which cost him 10s., returned, and then de- ' cliued to contribute more than one-half The final issue will probably have to be decided m a court. of .jaw. LAWYER A*D- Wrryxse.—A story is toid of a very pron iWt lawyer in New York city receiving a severe reprimand from a witness on the,stand whom he- was trying to brow-beat. It was an im-, portent issue, and in order to save his cause from defeat, it .wap necessary rhatv Mr. A. should impeach the witness lis endeavored to do it on the ground of age; The following dialogue ensued : Lawyer- 2 —\ How old are yon f Wi tness—\ Severity-two years.'' Lawyer^-\ Your memory, of course, Is not so brilliantly vivid as it was twen- ty years ago, is if? Witness—\ I don't know but it ts.\ Lawyer—\ State some circumstance which occurred say twelve years age, and we shall be able to see bow well you can remember.\ Witness— \ I appeal to your honor if I am thus to be interrogated in this man- ner, it is insolent!\ Judge—\ Yeai sir, state HI\ Witness—\well shrjif yon eornpel me to do it, I will. About twelve years ago you studied in Judge B's office, did you not I\ ' ';. v -/ . '] .',:' ..;:. Lvtry^^r^-., '.[• .,-«r:-.-. ';• . Whaesa—\ Well, air, I remember . your father ooming intjomy office and saying to me, *M>. Dy-toy sotj ia.to be examined to-morrow, and I Kdsb you would lend DM fifteen dollars to buy bim a salt ofdothes.' I remember also, sir, that from that day to this, he ha ^ r ^:i^pte#45 m^m v
