VOL. III.
OXFOUD, N. C., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 25, 1877.
NO. 17.
WHIXIIEtt)
1)Y OAEBIB A. SPALDIXa.
“ Wliitlier ftoest thou, iliid whence
comest thou I”—Judges 19: 17.
1 come from n Uiud of bcuutj,
Wliere skies are eutranciiigly fair,
Where the flowers are dressed in tlieir
regal robes.
And their perfume floats on the air.
But the blossoms whitlier as iiigiit
dews fall,
And the droopiug petals become a
pall.
I come from a land of x>rouu.se,^
AVdiere the rainbow is spanning the
cloud, , , 1 •
AVhero the song of the skylark is
clieeriiig
The heart that is cartliward bowtal.
Bat the bright lines faile on the dark-
eiiiiig sky, .
And tlie strains of the music m echoes
die.
the Central Kail road. II he had
desired a grander memor)' among
the coming generations, he could
have purchased it by leaving
twenty-live millions to morefulh'
endow his college in Tennessee.
Astor’s name is only known to
thousands through his library,
and Cooper’s tlirough his Insti
tute, and John Harvard’s name
would never have been remem
I come from a land of changes,
Wlici'c iiotliing but deatli is sure,
AVliere the tempest follows tlic sun
beam,
And tlic meteor flaslies allure;
AA'liere the lieart grows cold ore it
turns into du.st,
AA'liere the moth consumes and the
trea.sures rust.
I come from a laud of trial,^
Teiuptatiou and bitter strite,
AVhere the good that we would, we do
not, .
AVhere the coiifliet ends but with lite,
.AVhere the path is be.set with pitlalls
ami suare.s,
AVhere tlic reaper .seeks grain and oii-
Iv linds tares.
bered if he had not given his
property to start a poor colonial
college. Not one man in a hun
dred thousand would ever have
heard of John Hopkins, if he had
not given his millions to endow
his hospital and university.
The poor .starving Chatterton
will be known when the Stewarts
and Rothschilds shall have been
forgotten a thousand years. All
along the ages, the blind old
Homer has been worshiped as
one of the grand demi-gods of
time, and poverty-stricken Soc
rates lias been revered b}' mil
lions of affectionate reader.'. Brv-
ant did more to perpetuate bis
memory by writing ’I’hanatopsis,
than Astoi-, Stewart, and Van
derbilt could have done in a
hundred lives spent in piling up
I come from a hind of parting,
AVliere tlie loved of llie early day.s,
AVith eurtaiiied eye, and with unclasp
ed hand,
ras.s helplessly from our gaze :
AVhero we dare not cling to the lot ing
and fair.
Lest the black-plumed wing should be
hovering tliere.
millions of gold. It fame and
I go to a land of beauty,
Alure fair than the jioets have told,
AVhere the waving palms and tliejas-
jier wall,
And the streets of the piire.st gold,
And the gates of pearl by the ery.stal
Are blit svmbols dim of the glories to
be.‘
1 go to a land of iiromise,
AVhere the rainbow around the throne
Is the pledge that none of Ills words
. shaUfall
AA'herewith He hath gathered IIis own.
No broken chords in the harmony there.
No heaven-born hoi>es exchanged tor
despair.
I go to a land unclouded
By any .shadowing night,
AVhere “ they need no caudle nor sim-
beani,”
yor oiir God is its cliaiig'oless Iigiit.
AVhere the dazzling beams on om- vis
ion that fall
Are but wandering rays trom tne
fountain of all.
I go to a land celestial,
AA'liere God wipes away all the tears,
AATiere the former things have de
parted,
The sorrows, the pain, and the tears ;
AVhere “ beauty for ashes,” and joy lor
our woe, , ,
AVheu He “ makes up His jewels,” His
hand will bestow.
glory are what men want, let
tliem write for it. It matters not
very much about personal ebar-
actei- in tliis race for immortality.
Talent tells. Byroii and Roe
may have committed repeated
crimes, their private characters
may have been as black as mid-
niglit, that has nothing to do with
ou" estimate of their talents. We
worsliip genius. Tliere is some
thing god-like in it. Teachers
liave an unequal chance in this
race. They are never made rich
from the proceeds of their labor,
seldom write an immortal book,
and generally onlt’ live on plain
tombstones, at unvisited graves.
Some pupil may become great,
and in an autobiographical sketch
of his life, may kindly mention
his teacher, and thus pinned to
the coat-tails of fame and glory,
he may soar into the high regions
of perennial memory. As _a
teacher, he has not one chance in
a million of ever being remem
bered long after his funernal ser
mon. is preached. If he writes a
a book, or makes a discovery in
science, the investigator lives, but
the teacher, dies. * * * His_
is the least, in the estimation of
the world, among learned^ pro
fessions, and yet his work is the
greatest of all.—^atiofiul J^gcicIicts
Monthly.
Oh, glorious, beautiful laud!
Unworthy, and fettered by sm,
How dare I hope for a vision
Of all the glories within f
His promise is sure. His robe shelters
nic,
“ AVhere the Master is, there the ser
vaiit shall be.”
fame AND GEOBT.
FAUMEKS’ CSilEDBEN.
A millionaire who only lives in
his dry-goods boxes, left behind
him, his railroad stocks, and his
great name, is poor indeed. As
long as packages go into his
mighty stores, marked with his
name, as long as gloves, corsets
and muslins go out with his im
print on, he will live, no longei.
Vanderbilt will live in his
University long after his name is
forgotten in New York and along
Of the discontent which exists
among the young people in regard
to agricultural life, the great cause
is what a writer in Scribners Month
ly so aptly terms the “social lean
ness” or social starvation of Amer-
can agricultui al life :
The American farmer, in all
his building, has never made any
provisions for life. He has only
considered the means of getting
a living. Hverything outside of
this—everything relating to so
ciety and culture—has been stead
ily ignored. He gives the chil
dren the advantages of schools,
not recognizing the fact that these
very advantages call into being
a new set ot social wants. ^ A
1 bright, well educated family in a
lonely farm house is very differ
ent material from a family brought
up in ignorance. An American
farmer’s children who have had a
few terras at the neighboring
academy resembled in no degree
the children of the European
peasant. They come home with
new ideas and new wants, and if
they find no opportunities for
their satisfaction, they vvill_ be
ready on reaching their majority,
to flee the farm and seek the city.
If the American farmer wishes
to keep his children near him, he
must learn the difference of living
and getting a living; and we
mistake him and liis grade of cul
ture altogetlier if he does stop
over this statement and wonder
what we mean by it. To get a
living, to make money, to become
forehanded—this is the whole of
life to agricultural multitudes,
discouraging in their numbers to
contemplate. To them there is
no difference between living and
getting a living ; and when their
tamilies come back to tliem from
scliooling, and find tliat, really,
this is the only pursuit that lias
any recognition under tlie paren
tal roof, tliey must go away. The
bo3'S push to the centre of cities,
and tlie girls follow them if they
can. A young man or a A’oung
woman raised up to the point
where tliev' apprehend tlie differ
ence between living and getting
a living, can never be satisfied
with tlie latter alone.—Either the
farmer’s children must be kept
io-norant, or provision must bo
madefortheirsocial wants. Brains
and hearts need food and clothing
as well as bodies j and those who
have learned to recognize brains
and hearts as the best and most
important of their personal pos
sessions will go where they can
find the ministry.
What is tlie” remedy? How
sliall farmers manage to keep
their children near them ? How
call we discourage the influx of
unnecessary;—nay, burdensome
population into cities I We an
swer : By making agricultural
society attractive. Fill the farm
houses with books and periodi
cals. Establisli central reading
rooms, or neighborhood clubs.
Encourage tlie social meetings of
the young. Have concerts, ^ lec
tures, improvement associations.
Establish a bright, active and
social life, that shall give some
significance to labor. It is better
to go a mile to one’s daily labor
than to place one’s self a mile
away from a neiglibor. ’1 he is
olation of American farm life is
tlie great curse of that life, and it
falls upon theiwomen with a hard
ship that the 'men cannot appre
ciate, and drives the educated
young away.—Selected.
and ladies were making merry,
and singing praises to the gods ot
gold and of silver, of brass, ^ of
iron, of wood, and of stone. Res,
they were even drinking from the
liolv vessels tliat liad come^outof
tlie house of the Lord God at
Jerusalem. None heeded the
sounds outside the city; low,
deep sounds they were as of men
working in silence.
The feast was at its height,
wlien the king started, grew pale,
trembled, and pointed to the
wall. Terror was on all faces.
A hand was seen slowly writing
words that none understood.
The revelry was at an end. T- he
wise men of the kingdom were
called to read that uiA'sterious
sentence, but not even for a
scarlet robe or a gold chain, or
the third seat in the kingdom,
could any presume to tell its
meaning. At last a grand old
man, who had never bowed the
knee to an idol god, was brought
before the king. With many a
word of warning he read the sad
writing. Even as he read, the
enemies of the king outside had
marched in a mighty army.
That same night they killed the
wicked king. Thus died one
who had heard of God and the
wonders shown his father, and
yet had hardened his heart and
gone on in sin. Do you know
his name ?
••the TBAMF” in THE SIX
TEENTH CENTFTY.
THE WONDEKFFE WOKKS OF
GOD.
X'HE HAND-WRITING ON THE
WALE.
Nlcrlit was upon a certain city
ages ago, but the streets were
brilliant, and as far as eye could
read), were to be seen the grand
old walls, so wide that chariots
could be driven ^ abreast upon
them ; the hanging gardens, the
wonder of the world ; and a hun
dred magnificent palaces, the
pride of many a king. Gradual
ly all the gayety in and around
seemed to centre about one pal
ace, where the king and his lords
Some daj'S since, while writ-
inir in my office, my attention
was directed to a small spider
descending from the underside of
a table in the corner of the room,
where it had stationed itself un
molested. A large horse-fl}',
man}' times to^ largo for the
spider (which was very small) to
manage, had by some means be
come disabled and lay on the
floor. The spider decended to
the fly, and, and with some caution,
began to entangle it in its web,
and soon hadjt completely bound.
The spider then ascended to the
table, and soon descended again;
and thus continued to ascend and
descend for some time, fastening
the fly more completely each
time it returned. I was at a loss
to know its object in binding the
fly so completely to the floor.
Soon, however, it ceased descend
ing, and appeared to be busily
employed at its station near the
table. I could not conceive what
its object was in passing about
so very actiyely ; but imagine my
surprise, when, in a short time,
I saw the fly leave the floor, and
begin to ascend toward the table.
This was soon explained. The
spider had attached a number of
cords to the fly, extending from
the table, and by stretching each
to its greatest tention, and con
fining the upper end, the elastici
ty of all the cords (some fifty or
more) was combined in ra,ising
the fly. By continuing the pro
cess of tightening one cord at a
time, in some fifteen or twenty
minutes the fly was raised to the
table, and there deposited for
future use.
Although villenage had long
died out in England, and had
been suppressed even in the
western countries before the lat
ter part of Elizabeth’s reign (1574)
the condition of the hired laborer
was such, that from a modern
point of view, he could not fairly
be called a free man. His em
ployers ; the landowners, passed
laws which kept him in a state
of half-bondage to themselves.
His wages were fixed by the
justice of the peace, according to
price of food. If he refused to
work at the rate of higher wages
offered, or went out of his county
in search of higher wages, he be
came in the eye of the law a rogue
and vagabond. The laws against
such were exceedingly severe.
Any person for the first time
found “wandering or roguing
about,” was to be whipped on
the naked back until his body
was bloody, and then sent from
parish to parish straightway to
the place of his birth ; or, if this
was not known, then to the
“parish where he last dwelt tor
the space of a year,” (49th Eliz,,
1597). “Poor Tom,” says Ed
gar, in King Lear, when he plays
the madam, “who is whipped
from tything to tything, and
stocked, and punished, and im
prisoned.” In order tliat a va
grant might be recognized, he was
to bo branded on the left shoul
der with the letter R, and if a
second time found begging or
wandering about was to be
adjudged a felon and hanged
(2d James I, 1604). This bar
barous law, though probably not
often enforced to its whole extent,
was quite in keeping with the
criminal legislation ot the time
which condemned the thief, who
stole any article above ten
shillings in value, to die as a fel
on on the gallows.—From “King
and Commonwealth; a Histori/ of
Charles I and the Great Rebellion.”
-The proportions of the hu
man figure are strictly mathme-
matical. The whole figure is six
times the length of the foot.
Whether the form be slender or
plump, the rule holds good, and
deviation from it is a departure
from the highest beauty in pro
portion. The Greeks make all
their statues according to this
rule. The face, from the highest
part of the forehead where the
hair begiQS,to the chin,ison6-tenth
of the whole statue. The hand,
from the wrist to the middle
finger is the same From the top
of the chest to the highest point
of the forehead is a seventh. If
the length of the face, from the
roots of the hair to the chin, be
divided into three equal parts,
the first division determines the
place where the eyebrows meet,
and the second the place of the
nostrils. The height from the
feet to the top of the head is the
same as the distance from tho
extremity of the fingers when the
arms are extended.
—An Irish lover remarks, “It’s
a very gieat pleasure to be alone,
especially when yer sweetheart
is wld ye!”
—A Spitz dog weighing five
pound, contains ten tons of hy
drophobia, and is almost as dan
gerous as treading on the toes of
a red-haired Avoman.
■M