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HERKrMER_BEMOCHAT. c . c . W t T H E R S T iN E , editor and DKOPRIEtOE. t h e HERKIM ER DEMOCRAT Is published every 'W edsesday MoENma ut Herkim er, Herkimer County, N . Y., and will be left at the residence of village subscribers for $2,00 per annum. Mail subscribers, $2,00 par annum, or $1,5Q in. advance. RATES OF ADYEETISINS. One square or less, one I n sertion,. . . $1 00 E a c h subsequent in s e r tion ,-. ...0 25 One square 2 months,3 00 One scjuare 3 m o n ths,. . . . . . . . . . . . 4 00 One square 6 m o n ths, ............ ... 5 00 One square one year, ......................... 8 00 IJ^A liberal deduction w ill be made to thoae who advertise by the year. BOOK AND JOB PRINTING, in all its branches, executed with neatness and dispatch, and on reasonable terms. From the N e w York E v ening Post. COTTAGE DAYS. T E R M S -12 A YEAR. ‘ I<iberir. iFraterntty, and Equality” •fl 50 IN ADVANCE. YOLTJIE III. HERKIMEB, YTEDIESDAI .lOMIIG, lUeUST 2a, 1854. NUMBER 51.. 1 deep a Where windss Stands the old cot) Wrapt in a thoi I a streai itage o f m;y lusanc ded vale, tarolet full and clear, > o f m heart, id memories dear. idTre* A thousand memories o f the day O f dreamy and untroubled easi W hen I w a s y o u n g , and walked And Hope among the h ills anc M o ss gathers on the creaking dooi Vithin, the strewn w ith rusi ! the spider’s web r and clash W ithin , t sw a llow s T h e floor is strew n w ith And none th e spider’s web mojesi ling door, lOuld their n e s t s ; let leavel, Y e t, still, far from the throng : O f the great c ity’s trampled M y fancy flies lik e a lorn bee, T o this rude haunt o f rural i And list the song oJ „ , _ , And the wild glee o f brawling rills. Or musing ’neath the lattice porch, O’erthatched with richly-blossomed vine, I hear the distant tinkling fold. Or lowing of well-pastured Idne. Then comes our Florian hazel-eyed, * With sprite-like loveliness andgrace, To bless me with her converse sweet, And perfect lily-fashioned face. And arm. in arm adown the lane, Between old dusky linden rows. W e fondly rove— t ill thick’ning shades Proclaim the long day’s tranquil close. O balcyen days, when life w a s given In gentle and Arcadian calm ; W'hen I was meek Contentment’s guest, And felt her kindly soothing balm . W h en for m y thirst she drew her w in e , Fresh from each hillock’s sparkliug springs, And found ambrosia in the lush Green orchard’s autumn offerings. iesa prayer, :t p raises everywhere. W h en all the d Seem ’d And from t T h e world’s s Thus on m y spirit visions throng, Sw e e t memories o f exceeding bliss, I in thehe iiense-wallediense-walle dusty mart t l I feel a rural blessedness. THE W O R T H O F A S H I L L .IN Q 0 BY T. HERBERT WHIPPLE. Maybe there are images in our brain that will seem strange to others.— Maybe the thought that when a shil ling is given in charity it is loaned to Heaven, may, in this age, appear para doxical, But really, readers, we do believe most sincerely in the doctrin.e, Joseph Meredith had never been rich —never seen better times—-never bad a home he could call his own—^never known the luxury of being the'possess or of an extra dollar that he knew not how to spend—never passed a week, when in health, in idleness—neve* been a dishonest tenant, and never done a bad action in the sight of bis neighbor. No one could bring aught against him, save his utter and unpardonahib pov' erty. Meredith—as it seems all ^ o v men have—had a large family. His wealth lay in the possession of this collection of household gods and of an iron con stitution ; this latter was bis only cap ital upon which to speculate, and from which to draw the necessary support of himself and the aforesaid treasures. But one day there was a sad accident happened to Mr. Meredith.^ , He was working on a high building,* when, the scaffolding gave way, and precipitated him to the ground, erushing one leg, and otherwise sadly wounding him.— He was borne to his'home—or the house which bis- landlord permitted him to call by that endearing name for a monthly sum prorapjly to him in hand paid—borne ali^g. carefully o& a shut ter by four of his rough comrades ia labor, to the door of the lowly tene ment where he met the partner of his life. “ Don’t be frightened. Mary,” he said; \ it’s only a slight hurt- Don’t fret. Get the bed ready for me, and send Willy for the Doctor-” “ Oh, Joseph,” returned the careful wife, who coaid not thus be so easily deceived, know you are badly, dreadfully wounded. Oh, why did 1 let you go from me this morning!— Something has been, pressing'at my heart all day long.” But meantime she did not lose any time in preparing the little comfort and necessaries for her husband,, who bad been laid on the bed, and as she flitted about the dusby apartments she ap-, peared lik e a m inistering angel. ^ ■- Joseph Meredith had no relatives.— He had none; that is, none, as he thought, living; though there was a younger brother o f his, whose where abouts were doubtful. Ten years previous to Joseph’s start westward, and before the death of hU parents, Richard Meredith, Joseph’* only brother, had taken hia departure from, the circle whose influence had al ways been ineffectuallj^xerted for his benefit. This brolller mchasd was the exact opposite of our friend Joseph.— He was proud, haughty and resentful. He could brook no control, could bear ho insult. Fiery and passionate H o tspur, h e w a s freq^uentfy embroiled: in quarrels which always brought sou*, row to his aged mother’s, heart,, and pecuniary difficulties and embarrass- ^ meats to his father. One c’%‘ this same | evil spirit implicated him in an a^Vay where blood was spilled^ The guilty one fled. Where he went no on© knew, not even his own parents or brother. No traces were to be discovered of his whereabouts. Eventually he was.given over as lost for ever, and the exertions which had been mad© for his recovery by the bereaved family, were discon tinued. About three years subsequent to the flight of Richard, his aged pa rent*—within two weeks of each other —^took their flight from the earth, leav ing a lar^e circle of disconsolate friends to mourn their loss, and, as was sup- poseds-an only somto«follow their bod ies to tne grave. Joseph Meredith, being of a gentler turn of mind than the lost Richard, had won many friends—such as poor men generally have-not the mpst profita ble ones, probably, but the most faith ful and the warmest; ,and when he married Mary Vanderveld© and settled dpwn in the place his father had occu pied so many years, he saw in the fu ture many struggles, many years of hard labor—the poor man’s iegaciei before be could hope to become in a manner independent of the monied monopolizers and theshylock propensi ties of some who were around All the little difficulties entailed upon him by his absent brother had been In someway settled.' The wounded man had not died of his injuries, but had been maimed for life; being a Warm friend of Joseph’s, he had forgiven, as far as was in his power, the blow he had received from Richard. Taking an affectionate leave of his friends, our wanderer started lor the then wild and savage west. Arriving at one of the embryo cities west o f the Lakes, he sold his team, and renting a smalt tenement, set himself up as a car penter. He prospered finely for a few year^ and had begun to think that the dark clpud that had overshadowed all bis former life was about to open, and allow the sunshine to bless him in the future. The place where he had lo cated began to show signs of what might be expected of in the years that were to come. Joseph Meredith merited all the success he met with, and all the few years of happiness which were meted out to him—aye, more. Hi* wife was still strong and hearty; 'his children, five in number,, were alt healthy, and what was more, he was enabled to send his three elde 5 t-Jt<>^« good public schooU tmr youngsters re maining at home as company for their mother, - Ten years had passed since Joseph Meredith- ventured west, when the dreadful accident happened, which we have spoken, of in, the commencement of this sketch. Meanwhile, things had not prospered so well with him.. And so he worked on. worked early, worked late, worked when other men slept, worked for poor pay, and worked steadily and perseveringly. Still, he was conapelled to labor without appar ently bettering in any great degree his circumstances. It took all he could earn to keep bread and meat on the shelf, and clothing on the bodies of his children. Such being the case, when the fall he received* laid him up for manjr many months, it is not to be supposed that tha family could but suf fer. They did suffer. The ten years which had elapsed an terior to Mr, Meredith’s accident, had brought no news of his brother Rich ard; and in truth, he looked upon himr a s deard,- asr h a d M s father before his ow n d'ecease. Mr. Meredith received his wound in the spring, and the months rolled a- rOUnd until winter; still he got no bet ter. ‘The cold month of Januafji the drifting sn o w , the ehilKjjg blast,- the shrieking wind, the loose clapboards, the brack in the door—that needed his hand’s craft—and no food, no money, no friends—save one only—God, to whom he and Mary prayed earnestly, sincerely and trustingly—no* hre®d. no •elotbes, and five children to cry for both'.* Oh, heavens! where will the succor G.ome from! God watches, it is said, the sparrow that falls, and tem pers the wind to the shorn lamb.'^ The ’faith of Mary and Joseph in the Su preme Ruler was great; but it almost wavered when this state of hunger and cold had continued many,, many days, and still no relief. One raWf blustering, winfer*b day, Mr. Wendell was seated beside his glow ing stove, in his storci reading the pa per which had recently been establish ed in the fast growing city, The mer ch a n t w a s a tall, w ell-form ed m a n , o f some forty j’ears, and w'ith a healthy crimson glow covering his still cdmely ch e e k s . H is hair- w a s sligh tly sprink led w ith grey, and a deep line w a s drawn across bis forehead more than’ once, telling its own story o f suffering' * and mental anguish. Yet, on the.whole, the storekeeper wns hot an ugly man. Oa the contrary,, there were many good points in his physiognomy, and there was a grace- in Ms form and stature, and in the crisp curls of bis*silvered locks, that naturally impelled one to look npon their.possessor as something more than an acquaintance, even- at gjTst sight.. Something kindly gfewiied forth from his dark grey eyeSv- But our business! at present is dot with Mr. Wendell’s face, with his life, nor with his thpught^—jt is with his business.^ - ' In the new country, at that time, they had but few fancy dry goods stores, and but a small mimber o t any sort. Mr. Wendell kept a little of eve rything in his—from a needle to an ox- yoke. from a peck of potatoes to a bar rel o f jflour.' Mr. W*ndeil was sitting, sometime* nodding, and sometime* reading, ever and anon stuffing in the- fuel, to keep up the heat of b it store. Ho had prob ably been thus engaged an hour, the passage of which the clock with the steamboat face had duly and faithfully chronicled^^whan the front door of M y shop opened softly, and fearfully-liko, admitting the form of a little girl.-— She was clad in a faded hood and a shawl that appeared as If it had seen service, and as she laid her little hand on the counter, it ira« red and trembling with the cold. “ What do yon waiit, child?” asked the storekeeper, as he turned and view ed the shivering intruder. “ Come to the stove and warm you,” he added, feeling himself the cold draught of air that the girl had admitted on her en- traiiOe. ' . The ohild obeyed, and stood holding out her red, chapped hands to the gen ial warmth, as she answered— “ M a s e n t m e for a sh illing’s w o r th o.’ flour I” , ■ ■ - “ Ah, flour! Well, did she send any thing to take it away in?” “ Ma said you’d lend her a tin pah.” . “ What is your mother’s name?” queried the storkeeper. “ I seldom lend new pans for such purposes,” \ “ Oh, do this time, sir; for we are en tirely out o f flour, and father’s lame, and mother’s almost dead a waitin’ on him these long months past, and. we hain’t got any more money but this one shil ling piece that father’s had put away SO carefully in his pocket-book so many year*. Oh ! you Will lend us the pan, won’t ypu?” Thus the little girl went on, whilst she stood there before the store with her pale face, and her red hands, and she forgot t® answer the first qiiesfioiL Mr. Wendell had propounded concarUi* ing her mother.. The* merchant was a man of the world. He had seen considerable *of that grand hupibug—life; yet, he was not heartless; he had retained a por tion o f the memory of the mother who bore him^ and h s listened to thepiteoai ^^Gteg3$^Tr\the\hfi'ndr whus silent chord in his bosom vibrated and made him think that perhaps it would be right in him to grant the suppliant’s request. “ What did you say your mother’s name was, ohitd??’ • “ Meredith—Mrs. Meredith,” answer ed the girl, aiid she looked up into the storekeeper’s face. There was an instant change in the features of Mr. Wendell. He turned as pale as death, and brought bis hand up to his eyes and drew it across them a s if to bring ba^k some long-forgotten tale or vision of the past. As he weigh ed the flour and poured it out into a new pan, he more than once cast searching glances into the countenance of his, little customer. ^ Meredith ! Meredith !” the mer chant muttered more than once to him- self. ^ “ Where did your father come from when he moved West ?‘ What city did he live in before he came here-?” he asked aloud, before he delivered the flour. “ I don’t 'know, sir ! _,I never heard him say anything about i t . B u t i t was Look a t me and say that Jam not for- prompt the gieemi shout ? What mat- iutirelyl Oh, that you ^erthat the coarser fare b e hers , so should he so near to me, so' poor and' feorn the E4st somewhere, for hia says so whenever we see the sun rising out o f th e lake. H e r e is th e shilling, and I’U fetch back the V^n directly, sir.— Ma is in a great hurry.” T h u s fiaying,. th e girl th r e w th e mon ey on- the counter and departed, leav ing the storekeeper in a,-reverie, turn ing, over and over the sMlling in his hand—examining, minutely first one side of it. then the Mher.- The Mack iron hands of the clock were pointrngout the hour of eleven. The owner of the said clock wYsIrav- ersing the floor of his store with rapid strides. At each abrubt turn in his continuous walk he would pause, run his fingers through his greyish locks, and then stride forward faster than ever. He was awaiting, with the great est impatience, the return of Mr. Mere dith’s little* girl. Once ho paused in his walk, aad taking a piece of silver from his pocket, examined it-with ex treme carefulness. Then he replaced it again in its receptacle and resumed biY preregrinationa. T h e lo o s e clapboards rattled m o u rn fu lly w ithout, and th e Wind sighed cheerlessly through the crevices in the shattered door,- Joseph Meredith’ fay in one corner of the* only comfortable room his dwellihg contaiued'. Mary Meredith, the carpenter!* wife, sat on a poor crazy chair before the hearth, wrapped in an old camlet cloak,, her head bowed low and resting on lier hands, her body shivering with the Cold. * “ Mary !” sftidi Joseph,JVom beneath his coverll4 aud kw voice, was weak and shrill; “ Mary, did you tell .the doctor how swoRen my leg Wi^ji^nd how feverish k felt^' : \ Yes,” answered the woman, raising jher head,, and* Iwr eyes were dim with ) weeping or hunger.' “ lies,, 1 told him all. He said bo would'^como and see you to-night. But it’s my opinioirthigt be will not; you know hoo” often he has promised the same thing and never performed i t ! I am sure he might come! It’s many a kindness you have done for Mm, Joseph, when he was poor and |U3t starting in practice—when we were able to help the helpless, and I should think he might remember it now.’.* The woman knew very well, from sad experience, that the memories of rich men extend hot so far back as tbe time when a friend eSEtended a Iielping\ “ Well,” said' Joseph Meredith, 1 don’t know what we are to do-now.— Thg la^t^hUiing ia s p ^ t, Hverv artj- cle of furniture o f any value, that can be- sparej. has been sold. Our cftildren are freezini^Mmost starving, and I am afraid we*sha'H be turned out to die in the streets; and you—^you, Mary- my wife, are shivering with the cold.’- Oh, God! what shall We do?” “ Have faith, Joseph, in the God of: the fatherless, in Him ‘ who knoweih all things,’ and worketli all things for the best. He will not let us die, here in free America, where the bounty of His hand:/ is so profusely shown. He watches over us. Look upward, my husband, look to Heaven,look to God 1” The speaker burst into a flood of tear*,•and turning to the bedside of her husband, she wiped flie cold sweat from his brow, gazed dbwa so hopeful ly on hi* pallid face, aqd kissed his lips, and pointing upward, said— “ Trust in Him, Joseph, trust in Him!” “ What can keep ’Vira so long a- way?” said the mother, 'as she again seated herself before the expiring fire. But just then there were steps heard on the frozen snow outside, a whisper ed consultation at the,‘entrance; the door opened, and the rayt o f noonday sun—streaming into the dark sick chamber, left A *miie oh the floor, and a warm place.in each chilled heart.— ’Vira entered, and with her the kind storekeeper. He rushed* to the bed— searing little ’Vira like a frightened pheasant—turned down the coverings from the sick man’s face, put his brawny arms beneath h ish e a i—stared into hi* dim, trembling eyes a moment —then clasped him to his breast,-and “ My brother ! my brother? Joseph ! dG you not know me—^me—Richard I “ THE OID WOMAN.” Look int(T yonder window I What do you see ? Nothing n e w , surely; nothing but what the angels have, look ed smilingly upon since tbe morning stars first sang together; nothing but a loving mother hushing upon her faith ful breast a wailing babe, whose little life hangs by a slender thread. Mortal lips have said, “ The boy must die.” A mother’s hope never dies. She clasps him closer to her breast, and ga zes upwards; food and sleep are forgot ten, so that that little flickering taper die not out. Gently upon her soft, warm breast she woes for it baby slum bers ; long, weary nights, up and down the cottage floor she paces, soothing its restless moaning. Suns rise and stars pale—seasons come and g o ;—she heeds them not, so that those languid .eyes but beam brightness. Down the meadow—by tbe brook—bn the hill-side —^she seeks with him the heallMre- storing breeze. i God be praised!—health comes at last! What joy to see the rosy flush mantle on the pallid cheek !—what joy to see the shrunken limbs grow round with health !—what joy to see the damp thin locks grow crisp and glossy J What matter though the knitting lie neglected, or the spinning wheel be dumb, so that the soaring kite or bounc ing hall but please his boyish fancy, and prompt the gleeful shout ? . ................ friendless, and 1 so long, ignorant of your sufferings ! Oh, Joseph ! Joseph ! Joseph! I have found you—my broth er !” The strong man sobbed like a child; whilst his silvered curls mingled with those o f his long-lost brother. Mary Meredith and the three chil dren stood motionless until ’Vira went on to explain. In a few moments eve rything was as clear as noonday. Then Mr. Wendell, the merchant, was none other than the almost forgot ten Richard. The worth of a shilling” was il lustrated through the medium of that small piece of money—now rendered doubly dear to the family by the cir cumstance—the two brothers had been united and hopp sat smiling in their presence. The piece of silver had been presented to Richard ivhen a child scarcely able to lisp a syllable, by his lather. A hole had.- been made in it, and he wore it suspended by a string as an ornament and plaything in the days of innocence. It had been long in the family. The cutting of the two letters, “ R. M./’ in the face of the coin w a s the first essay Joseph m ade in tb s art o f etching, and probably h is last. But froiff the simple feet of the eider brother having preserved the bauble, it had been instrumental in saving hita from poverty, disease, and mayhap, death also, and bringing back to his hearth the brother he had so long mourned as dead. W hat abb C onsols !— Many inqui ries having been made relative to Con sols, we take from'the “ Banker’s Maga zine” the foIIowiDg hccoant of what Consols afe r- They are thfee per^ cent, ^English stock which has its origin in an act of tha British Parliament consolidating (hence the name) several separate Gov ernment Stock, called in the act con solidating annuities, and Gommonly quoted, for brevity, as ** consols.’ When the consolidation took place, the principal of the several funds thus merged amounted to ^69,137,821; by ) funding Of additional and subse- qUeAt loans and parts o f loans into- this- stock, it amounted oft the 5th of danib ary, 183$, to fj5fi,768,238. Since that period only one loan has been raised— that for compensation to the West India planters in the emancipation of slaves; ^20;000;000‘ and a few millions have been paid off. The total in January, 1833, was ^317,824,981 E n g l^ debt, and X’6,194,874 Irish debt, out of a to tal debt of JB774,401,751 sterling- This stock, foom its amount and the immense number o f its holders, is more sensitive in its financial influence than any olhfer, and is therefore the favorite ^tdek of the operation of spedufators and jobbers. Its dividends are payable setni-ahnualiy.\ {p^'Themnn who is a, “ stranger to thn finer feelings,” proposes to have ah introdUKition^ W e w s e e boys to g e t h b b . We were boys together, Atid never can forget . Tbe school-house near the heather. In childhood where \we met ; When you and I We«reire ! And, re youths together, d castles built in air ; heartart wasas likeike a featlieier, Xour he w l a feath W h ile mine w as dashed With care. To you came wealth with manhood’s* prime, To me it brought alloys Ne’er imaged in the primrose time When you and I were boys. ■ We’re old men together 5 s loved o f ; The friends w e loved o f yore. With leaves of autumn weather Are gone forevermore. How blessed to age the impulse given-— The hopes time ne’er destroys— lestroyi thoughts from f W hen you and'l were boys. :hts from earth to heaven. lip ? What matter that her robe be threadbare, so that his graceful limbs be clad in Joseph’s lain bow coat ?— What matter that h e r couch be hard, so that HIS sunny head rests nightly on a downy pillow ? What matter that HER slender purse be empty, so that ms childish hea^ may never know denial. Years roll on. The loving mother’s eye grows dim; her glossy locks are silvered; her limbs are sharp and shrunken; her foot steps slow and tot tering. And the boy ?—the cherished Joseph ? he of the bold bright eye, and sinewey limb, and bounding step ?— Surely, from his kind hand shall flow ers be strewn on the dim, downward path to the dark .valley; surely will her son’s strong arm be hers to lean on j his voice of music sweeter to her dull ear than seraph’s singing, No,_no !—the hum of busy life has struck upon bis ear, drowning the voice of love. \ He has become a m a n ! re fined, fastidious !—and to his forgetful, unfilial heart, (God* forgive him,) the mother who bore him is only— “ t h e OLD WOMAN I” G ood A dyice .— T hp fojlow fog au thentic a n ecdote, being true, is o f course, not new to all, but we never met with it until a few days s|nce, when it was related to us by on e of the ‘’profession.”', It is told of the Hon. Jeremiah Mason, of N.' H , and is said to-* haVe occurred af Portsmouth : There is a well-known custom prevailing in oiir criminal courts, assigning counsel to such prisoners as have no* One to defend tfai*m.r On one occaslBWi^ the coUrt finding a man ac cused of theft and without counsel, said to a wag of a lawyer who was present — *'Mr. ----- — please Withdraw with the prisoner, confer with Mm,, and give him such counsel as may be best for his interests,” T h e , lawyer and client withdrew;.and in fifteen minutes the lawyer returned into court alone.— Where is the prisoner ?” asked the court. “ He has goncy your honor toidm eio give him tbe best advice I could for his interest; and as he said he was guilty, I thought tbe best coun sel I could offer him, was to ‘'Cut and run,’ which he took at otice.” The se quel to the story came very near being a tragic and serious one for the lawyer in question' who was at first arrested ill place o f the escaped prisoner; but the fudge saw he bad actually commit ted himself by the directions which he had given the counsel, v iz.; “ withdraw with the prisoner, confer with him, and give him such counsel as may be best for his interest.” The lawyer took the judge’s words literally, and the prison er thus escaped by his advice, is* fast day to-day,and!must not-eat,” said the cat, on seeing apiece of liver she could not reach. {E?” Many persons are now anxiously examining tbe maps to find the “ seat of war.” The discovery was made by sitting down upon a yellow wasp’s nest ia* a hayfield,. M ind THE DOOR. Did you ever observe how strong a street door is ? How thick the wood is —how heavy the chain is—-what farge bolts it has—and what a lock ! If there was nothing of value in the house or no thieves outside, this would not be needed, but as there are precious things within, and bad men without, there -is need that the door be strong, and we must mind the door. ^ We have a house. Our heart, dear children, may be called that house.— Bad things are forever trying to come in and go out of your heart. I will describe some of these bad things to you. Who is at the door? Ah! I know him, it is Anger. What a frown there is on his face ! How his lips quiver ! How fierce he looks J I will hold the door, and not let him in, or he will do me harm, and perhaps some one else. Who is that? It is Priie. How haughty he seems ! Ho looks down on everything as though it was too mean for his notice. Ah ! wicked Pride ! I will hold the door a,nd try to keep you Here is some one else. I am sure, from, his sour looks, his name* is III Temper. It will never do to let him in the house, he makes every one un happy, and it will be hard to get him out again. No, sir, we ^ a ll not let you in, so you may go away. Who is this? It must be Vanity, with his'flaunting strut and gay clothes. He IS never so well pleased as when he has a fine dress to wear and is admired. You will not come in, my fine fellow ; we have .too much to do, to attend to such fine folks as you. Mind'the door. Here comes a stranger. By his sleepy look-and slow pk.ee; I think 1 know him. It is Sloth. He would like nothing better than to live in my house, sleep and yawn the hours away; and bring me to rags and ruin. No, no, you idle drone, work is pleasure, and I have too much to do. Go away; you shall not come in. But who is this? What a sweet smile! what a kind face ! She looks like an angel. It is Love. How hap py she will make us if we ask her in. Come in, come in, we must open the door for you. Others are coming. Good and bad are.crowding up. Ob ! if men kept the door of their hearts shut, bad words aim uair eno tiguns- -wTorata trov gw out as they do. Welcome to all things good—war with all things bad. We must mark well who comes in, we must be watchful and in earnest. Keep the guard ! Mind the door !—Empire City. “ I’LL DO IT WELL.” There lives in New England a gen tleman who gave me th'e following in teresting account of bis own life:—He was an apprentice in a tin manufacto ry ; when twenty-one years old he h*ad lost his health, so that he was entirely unable to work at his trade; wholly Restitute o f means he was thrown out upon the world to seek any employ ment foP which he had strength; he said he went to find employment, with the determination, that whatever he did he would- do it weft. The first and only thing fie found that he could do was to black boots and scour knives in a hotel; this he did, and did it well, as the gentleman now living would testi fy. Though the business was low and servile he did not lay aside his self-re spect, or allow himself to be made mean by his business. The respect and eonfideuee of Ms employee was soon: secuTed, and he was advanced to a more lucrative and laborious position; at length his health was restored, and he returned to his legitiraate business, which he now carries on extensively he has accumulated an ample fortune, .and is training an interesting family by giving them the best advantages for moral -and mental cuftivation,* and he now holds an elevated place in the com munity in which he lives. Young* men -Who may chance to read the above statement of facts, should mark tbe secret success. Thu man’s whole character, of whom I have spok- ken, was formed and directed on the determinatioa to do whatever he diff WeR.- Do the thing you are doing so well that you nail be respected in your place, and you may be sure it will he said to you, “ Go up higher.” B oth AT H ome .-—“ I shall beathome next Sunday night,” a young lady re marked, as she followed her beau to the door, who seemed to be somewhat wa vering ill his attacbiftent. “ So shall I,” was his ready reply. * Q:> “ I say. John, where did you get that loafer’s hat?” “ Flefise,-yoar hon or.” said John, “ it’s ai*n ol’d one of yours, that ^ issis gave me yesterday when you were to town. lO*\ A country schoolmaster began OHO mofjiing the duties of the day with prayer, as usual-, hut after prayer he went and asked a* little boy why he hadn’t shut his 'eyes -daring the prayer, Wheu the hby sharply responded, “ We are instruieted in the Bible to watch as well as p r ^ .” . , - H?\ Men are very mucli l«ku frogs^ they are ever in the mire,- but alwa^-^ croaking.— Otir Eeml, CHEESE AS A DIUESTES. As a digester, as some not inapnro- priately call it; cheese—=that whic'his decayed and mouldy being preferred by connoisseurs—is often, eaten after dinner. The action which experience seeins to have proved it to possess, in aiding the digestion of what has previ ously been, eaten, is-both curious and interestingi and has had some light thrown upon it by recent chemical re search. When the curd of milk is ex posed to the air in a moist state for a few days at a moderate temperature, it begins gradually to decay, to emit a disagreeable odor, and to ferffient,— When in this state, it possesses tbe property, in certain circumstances, of inducing a species of chemical change and fermentation in other moist sub stances vyith which it is mixed or is brought into contact.. It acts after the same manner as sour leaven does when mixed with sweet doughj Now, old and partially decayed cheese acts in a similar way when introduced into the stomach. It causes chemical changes gradually to commencce among the particles of the food which has pre viously been eaten, and thus facilitates the dissolution which necessarily pre cedes digestion. It is only some kinds of cheese, however, which will effect this purpose. Those are generally con sidered the best in which some kind of cheese mould has established itself-— Hence the mere eating of a morsel of cheese after dinner does not necessarily promote digestion. If too new or of impure., quality, it will only add to. the quantity of food with which the stomach is already overloaded, and ^vill have to await its turn for digestion by tbe ordinary process .—Chemistry of Common Life. T h e D iv i n i n g R o d . —A writer in the’ Charleston Mercury, who has had re source to^ the divining rod to discover' wells on his plantation, explains the proeesa by which this feat in “ Eleto- niam,” as it is called, is accomplished. The writer professes to have been a skeptic in the'matter; but he points to nine wells on his estate discovered, with the forked twig. Why, when people believe in turning tables and rapping spirits, should any one doubt that a hazel twig has secret gravitation towards a hidden spring. The process is thus d e s c r i b e d “As this virtue may be possessed by others likely to receive as much benefit from it as I havedonCV I will give saeb flirectious as will ena ble aii 3 * one desirous of making the tri al to do so. For this purpose, cut a fork or,a long slender switch of either the hickory, walnut, peach, plum or olive; qr,- in short, any stone-fruited tree. The size may be a little larger or smaller than a common goosequill. If a fork is cut, hold the end of each fork in one hand,- with the ends at the* I thumbs, and Witli the point downwards ;• then with the hands bring the point up and the thumb’s near or together; and- if with a straight switch, hold one end in each hand, wifh the thumbs turned xfo\ vxnxt x n t ’ pB.lniS'T$p-VT-WX-x3-Sr) bring the hands near together, bending the switch in the form of a bow or arch- upwards, between them. Thus prepar ed, walk leisurely about in different di rections where it is wished to find wa ter, and if the switch turns downwards of itself, the holder possesses the virtue* or p'ower, and water will be found ex actly under where the rod points. It may happen that no streams may he passed over immediately, therefore sev eral trials in different places may bq necessary; but if the rod turns of itself,- there need be no further doubt.’’ pEEDslNG O ld P a p e r s .-—H ow d e p r e s s ing is th e overlooking o f Old pers long locked u-p, and filed aw a y , w r itten m a n y j^ears ago, when f h e w o r ld was brighter and friends w ere m o re nu m erous than now, b efore m isfortune had dim m ed the one, or death had* snatched aw a y the other f Nor are o n e ’s sp irits made m ore cheerful, w h e n som e old* docum ent or letter transports u s back ward \to a season o f bereavem e n t or s a d mischance. The sunshine o f the pres- en-t is elouded By these reminiscences- which produ'ce in all tfceir gloom the* shadows of a former day. But when if happens as is most commly tbe fact, that a day of darkness and storm is se lected for this melancholy review o f past scenes, the sombre skies above mingle their weeping with the tears of revived affliction, and then a f)al'l of darkest hue settles upon the mind. Be ware of this*; let no one unlock the trunk of old papers, especially such as concern the heart, except in a cloudless da?y, -with the sun shinifig in meridian- splendor. 0-7* Two darkies in the vvenf out to hunt possums, &c., andtiy accident found a laVge cave, with quite a small' entrance. Peeping in,- they discovered three young bear whelps in the interior. “ L o o k heab, S a m ,” said one, “ w h ile ^ I go dar, and get the young bars, you' jest watch heah for de old bar.” Sam got asleep in the sun, wdiem opening his eyes, he saw the old bear scouring her way into the cave. Quick as wind he caught her by the tail, ahd' (held on like blazes. “ K eilo; dar, Sam , w k a t dark de h o le dar ?” “ Lor bless you, Jumbo, save yourself , I honey, e f dis tail come out you'll knovr' what dark de h o le!” OT*** “ Mother, mother ! here’s Zeko’ ffetting.the baby I Make him cry again, .^eke, and then, you know, mother will give him some sugar to make Mm quiet, and I’ll take ft away from^ hi®, .and hh will squall worse than ever,ahd mbtllby* will give him some feOro sugar, and yotl can take that,’and then We’ll Both have so m e ” There is policy like politeness; ana a ^aod manner is the Best thing in the world either to get a good name, or to supply tbe want o f it.
