0. WABP; Editor fa Proprietor, : f j The Ox-gaxx of the Itoanol77u" Albemarle Sections. JPBBOBIPIlfc, fa .f '
VOL II. i . -: MUKFREESBOllO, N. C., THURSDAY, MAY 3, 1877. J T NO. 27
Safe ? The battle-field f life
Seldom know ft pause In strife,?
Every path is set with snares,
Every joy is crossed by cares,
Brightest morn has darkest night,
Fairest bloom has quickest blight,
Hope has' but a transient gleam.
Lore ia but a passing dream,
iru9t is Folly's helpless waif ;
Vho dare call their dearest safe ? ;
But thou, though peril loom afar.
What hast thou to do with war ?
Let the wild stream flood its brink,!
There's no bark of thine to sink, ;
Let falsehood weave its subtle net, j
Thou art done with rain regret, j
Let Fortune, frown and friends grpw strange.
Thou bast past the doom of change.
We plan and struggle, mourn and chafe
Safe, my darling, dead and safe I
The Settler's Escape.
There are many incidents (connected
with the early settlement of Kentucky,
that have not as yet been touched upon
ry the sketch-writer or thej novelist,
much as has been written of those days ;
and the following adventure, Avhich
we now give to the reader, lis one of
those that have for so long ai time lain
buried, and are now for the jfirst time
brought before the gaze of jthe great
public. "1 . . J
Among those that regarded them
selves as living within the confines of
Boonesboro, though so far from the sta
tion that bore the -name of fi:s founder
in to be almost entirely unprotected by
it, was a settler known by -the name of
Dick Turner. He had built: (his cabin
on the very outskirts of he settle
ments, and with his wife and
three children, had for tjwo years
lived in piece And quietness, unmolested
by the savages that were at all times in
greater or less numbers abroad on the
war-path.
Their nearest neighbor was half a
mile away down the river, o it'of sight
and hearing; and, had it not been for
the smoke that every morning curled
above the tree-tops, one would not have
known, standing in the doDr-way of
Dick Turner's cabin, that thjis was the
only settlement for miles around, for oh
v very side was the forest, unbroken
and solemn as in the days before Daniel
Boone led the 'first 'party of hardy ad
veuturers over the Cumberland Moun
tains. One afternoon, the last of August,
as Dick was at work in his "clearing,"
(and, as it chanced, -at a point as far
'from the cabin as was possible for him
to be without being in the forest), he
was startled by the sudden appearance
of half a dozen Indians, hideous with
war-paint, who surrounded him almost
before-: he could spring .and
err 'A n
his
the
iitle. that he always carried into
field when at work.
Startled by their sudden ajppearance,
he made a motion toward it: Out a
heavy hand was placed upon' his shoul
"iTer, and its owner said, in broken Eng
lish, "White man go with usL"
w "No," said Dick, looking nim full in
the face. "Can't do that ; much work
to do."
And he pointed at what hje had been
doing, and then he cast a wistful glance
at his rifle, which was now iiji the hands
of one of the savages.
"Come," said the savage, ttie one
who appeared to be the leader, as well
us the onlv one who knew la--word of
Knglish "White man must go.
Dick glanced towards the cabin, and
faw his wife standing in . the doorway,
apparently in great alarm at his situa-
tion. ' The savages saw herb and after
a word or two between themselves,
three of them started in thatj direction.
. Unperceived by his captors, Dick
made a sign that his wife fortunately
understood, and she disappearad withint
closing the door in such a manner tha,
the savages failed to obtain admittance,
as Dick saw, to his great joy, when,
after trying it for a few moments, they
hastily returned and joined jthe others.
Evidently small in point cf numbers,
they cared. not to waste thej time that
would be necessary fop a siege; so they
had desisted from their ettorts to make
raptives of the woman and children.
"Come," said the savage, laying ins
hand on his captive's shoulder; and
Dick, who had felt-his heart rise that
his loved ones were left behind, went
almost cheerfully into tliei forest, in
which the shadows of night were al
ready beginning to gather, ciasting only
one backward glance at 'his home,-to
w onder when he would see it again.
Then he resolutely put his face for
ward for the fate the future had irt store
for him. The future might be a long
captivity, or it might be : death ; yet, as
he walked between his captorsand the
shadows grew deeper about iim, a hope
was in his heart that he might escape,
perhaps before the sun should rise on
the morrow. J
J That night was a long and weary one
to the settler. Evidently they feared
pursuit, and .stopped not for rest or
food until the sun jwas iau! hour high,
the next day. Then, as ifj feeling se
rure, they had a long halt; piade a fire,
and lone of the number shooting a deer,
they cooked and enjoyed a plentiful re
past). I .:'.! - . r;;
Thus far, the savages! had used him
well, only taking the precaution! to bind
his hands behind his backj in such a
manner that he found it impossible to
use them In the least. They had been
very considerate of his cOmfOrt; and he
determined, by apyfearing as cheerful
as possible, ' to drive away Ifrom their
minds any thoughts' the might have of
auy unwillingness to accompany them,
o that his chances of escape might be
better; though their suspicions were
constantly on the alert. 1 I M
In this manner the day passed, and
with the first shades of evening, they
made preparations to encamp. Afire
was made as they reemed to consider
. themselves so far frpm the settlements,
that they need fear no danger fom the
1 party soon
broughtin-gamnough to afford them
a generous surffier.
This cooked and partaken of. ; thev
all lay: down to rest, Dick with a savage
uu turner suie oi.nim, so close that he
could not stir without their being
aware of the motion ; and, as an extra
precaution they, had bound his feet to
gether; as tightly as his wrists, and the
prisoner s neart. began to sink within
him as it had not done before; for he
saw, while thus bound, no possible
chance of escape offered to him.
A couple of hours passed, and still
Dick had not closed his eyes. One af
ter another of the savages dropped off,
as he knew bv their hard. reerular
Dreatnin?. Utltll at last. IIP! WAS tll nnlV 1
T J . ' .
ojicofthe group who was not asleep.
Oh ! if his hands were only free, how
soon he would be at liberty again !
He pulled upon the thongs with all
his power, until they cut deep into the
flesh, like the keen edge of a knife ; and
at last, to his great joy, he found out
that the knot that held his left hand
had slipped a little. Another strain,
and it; moved a little further; and with
another, it was parted so far asunder
that, with trifling exertion he pulled
his hand through.
The savage lying on the left side of
him moved ; and he lay perfectly mo
tionless, almost holding his breath,
with his hands under him asj when con
fined. But the Indian only stretched
himself a little, and then .was off to sleep
again,
lick uuw we in u woikio iree nis
t: i. j. r j j i
other hand ;, but the knot w as drawn so
hard that, even with the help of the
other, he found it impossible to do so.
He remembered his pocket-knife,
that he had given to his boy to play
with, upon ' going out to work, the af
ternoon of his captivity. If he had it
now, how quick he would be a free
man !;
The moon haftwsen, and was shin
ing down througthef branches of the
trees, and he sawJ rays glittering on
the blade of a knife, ih. thej belt of the
savage that had so recently moved.
It was a desperate undertaking, but
his situation required desjierate mea
sures. With the utmost caution, he stretched
out his liberated hand, and slowly drew
the knife from its resting-place. The
Indian never stirred, andr his deep
breathing told Dick that he was sleep
ing soundly.' A moment more, and he
was lviner with the cords cut from his
limbs, with none ot the
for his motions.
savages wiser
Xovv came the most . difficult part of
the operation to rise to his feet and get
beyond the confines of the) camp-fire,
without awakening any of Jrls captors'.
But Diok proved &qual ti tho omer.
gencyV Slowly arid with the utmost
caution, he rose upon hisj hands and
knees. The snapping of ja twig, .he
knew, would betray hirn to the watch
jul ears of those about him.i I
On his feet at last, he stepped over
the sleeping savage whose knife he held
in his hand, and slowly approached the
Indian bv whose side his rifle was
1 XT I t
o". That he did not mean "to leave
he would need it for his
own protection, and to procure food
with, before he would regain the settle
ment. Stooping down, his hand was
upon it, when the savage, awakened by
the slight motion he made, essayed to
spring to his feet. '
That action cost him his life, for Dick
plunged the knife he still held in his
hand into his breast, amd he fell back
with a deep groan.
All . caution was now needless, for
every sav&ge was'a wakened, and snatch
ing up his rifle, .Dick sprang out into
the forest, followed by a war-whoop
from the lips of every redskin.
A moment only was required to show
them the situation, and to shake off the
sleep that hung heavily oh their eye
lids, j They saw their dead comrade on
the ground, and caught a glimpse of
their prisoner, as he sprang away.'
Then, with another , fierce war-whoop
breaking from their throats, they started
in pursuit. ' ' i ,
Dick's blood ran cold, as he heard the
shouts that ran through the forest; and
well he knew that, if he again fell into
their hands,, he need expect no mercy,
for they would avenge the death of
their comrade by the most fiendish of.
tortures.
With only a few- paces the start, he
knew he had not much ; chance of
esrape ; but, slim as the chance was, he
determined to make the best possible
use of it.
For half a mile, about the same dis
tance was kept between ! them ; amd
then, in spite of all his efforts, they
gained upon him, and he knew that in
a few minutes more he would be in
their power, unless he could manage to
deceive them in some manner, and get
them on another track.
The part of the forest he was now in
was j very dense, so that only a few
straggling moonbeams found their way
here and there through the tree-tops.
Xo Indian Avas yet in sight; though
they, were scattered on ) every side
throughout the forest, trusting more to
the sense of hearing than to the trail
made. A large tree lay on the ground
before him, and as he passed the trunk,
he saw there was a cavity - sufficiently
large for him to force his body into
it. I :' ' " :i';!i' '
This was the hiding-place he sought,
and he at once availed himself or it.
Placing his rifle in before him, f he
forced his way in for a distance of per
haps twenty feet, where he lay per
fectly 'quiet, though almost afraid the
beating of his heart w ould" betray him
to his enemies.
Ilardly was he safely ensconced, when
he heard the footsteps of the Indians,
as they hurried by. In a few moments,
theyjhad died away; and for the first
time since he had plunged the knife in
the breast of the savage, he experienced
a sensation of relief.
; Still, he knew that he could not re
main where he was but a few moments,
until assured that they had all passed
by for ere long they would discover J
whites and a couple of T the
. ,1 F ' -JS J . I I l i . : - - -"" ' 1 ii .i in -
their mistake, and return to look for his
trail. He must emerge ; and, by striking
out in an opposite direction from that
which he had been pursuing, he hoped
to elude pursuit. j
Five, ten minutes passed, and Dick
was on the" point of emergiiig fromihis
hiding-place, when he was startled by
the sound of a footstep above his head.
An Indian was walking along the
trunk, and he could hardly fail to see
the cavity and the signs he had made
in : torcing an entrance to his
place.
hidingr-
The settler again gave way to despair,
which was augmented a moment after,
as the savage gave a shrill whoop,! to
call his companions. i hen he knewjtoo
W'Pll that Ilia rptrnaf U'QS rlcnravail
-ttm..m . . '
Dut ne lay .periectly quiet,
hoping,
that he
against his better judgment,
might yet succeed in escaping.
In a few momenfs he knew, by! the
sound qf feet, that the savages were all
t6gether, and he heard a consultation,
not one worl of which he could under
stand ; but he was not
long left in
fiiisnpnsfi as tn wVmt. itVinir
had asrreed
upon. He heard some at work at the
entrance of the trunk, while others
were heaping brushwood above him;
tmd he knew, by this, that his "hiding
place was discovered, and that the sav
ages intended to burn him alive inside
the tree.
To describe the terrible agony that
convulsed the heart of the settler, as
he became aware of the object of his
enemies, is more than our pen can
do.
He was not afraid to die ; but a death
by fire is one from which the bravest
would shrink. There was no chance
of dying by suffocation, for the tree was
full of seams that admitted the air.
Xo, death would not come to his relief,
until the red flames should wrap his
body like a winding-sheet. And this
would not be quickly done. Hours
must elapse before the flames would
reach him. The tree Was a resinous
pine, and would burn briskly ! for
awhile on the outside; but the interior
of the trunk was danip, ! and would not
catch so readily. The torture would
only be the more prolonged.
jDeath Would come at last; but not
umtil it had been experienced; as it
were, a dozen times by the unhappy
man within.
Higher and higher the red flames
rose, as the dry brushwood was heaped
upon the glowing pile. I Like so many
spirits of evil, the red demons worked
at their terrible task. To avenge their
comrade was grimly in their minds;
and as the minutes went on, they list
ened for some shriek to come from the
flames, to delight their savage hearts.
And our friend in his fiery prison,
lhw hore hp. the terrible ordeal ? Already
he could feel the heat, and i
moments more it would be insupport
able. Oncehe had tried to escape from his
shell, but found that thel aperture had
been so securely closed, up that it was
impossible. Death by their arrows
would, he thought, have been better
than by the flames; but this was denied
him.
i Hotter and hotter it became, until he
felt a stinging on his; leg, as liel lay
upon his side.
! A place had burnt through, and
the terrible torture had begun.
now
The
end was not now far away; and, with
thoughts of his wife and children up
permost in his breast, he waited for
death. j
Higher and higher rose the red
flames, as the savages ! worked steadily
for the death of their victim; but it
was fated that theirs was to be accomp
lished first.
! A loud report and a volley of bullets
came ringing through the leaves, and
the five savages fell to rise no more.
! The next moment, a hdozen of Dick's
neighbors from the settlement, j who
had been in pursuit all the past day
and night, rushed forward, and an ex-
ciamauou oi uisappoiimiieui. icu;iiuiu
their lips, as they saw nothing of the
object of their search.
! At that instant, the report of a rifle
rabg out, as if from the centre of the
fire, startling them back again; but the
next moment, the one j)t them who nad
been examining thefjend of the tree,
that as yet was untouched by. the fire,
exclaimed, "Quick, boys ! tear j away
the fire. He is in this trunk, and the
redskins were roasting him alive."
I With a will, the brands were scat
tered in the forest, and in a few mo
ments Dick was hauled out, more dead
than alive, though not much burnt;
and afterwards, whenever he told his
story, he always said that his rifle
saved his life, the heat causing it to be
discharged just at the right moment.
The Alpine Horn.
The Alpine horn is an instrument
made of the bark of a cherry tree, and
like a speaking trumpet', is used to con
vey sounds to a great distance. When
the last rays of the sun gild the summit
of the Alps, the shepherd who inhabits
the highest peak of these mountains,
takes his horn, and cries, with a loud
voice, "Praised be the .Lord." As soon
as the neighboring shepherds hear him
they leave their huts and repeat these
words. The sounds are prolonged many
minutes, while the echoes of the rocks
repeat the name of God. Imagination
cannot picture anything more solemn
or sublime than such a scene. During
the silence that succeeds, the shepherds
bend their kuees and pray in the open
air, then repair to their huts to rest.
The sunlight gilding the tops of these
stupendous mountains, upon which tbe
vault of heaven seems to rest, the mag
nificent scenery around, and the voices
shepherds sounding from rock to rock
the praises of the Almighty, fill the mind
of every traveler with enthusiasm and
awe.
1 f . ' 1 - i - I i - I I t I " i
A Romantic Relic.
once had pointed out to
had
me, at
Pealo's old museum in Philadelphia, a
bowf and quiver which had a history.
What became of the articles when the
curositie8 of that museum were divided
I do not know. !
An African prince, captured in bat
tle, begged so hard that his bow and
quljrer, jvhlch had' been his father's
might be left In his possession, that his
request was granted. Captivity; of
cOupse, meant slavery. For a beggarly
sum he was sold by his black captor to
a slaver, and In time found his way to
South, Carolina, where he 'became the
property of Colonel Motte. He brought
his jbbw and quiver with him, and in his
new home, with arrows fashioned by
his own band, he brought down many
a c hoice bit of game for his master's
tabl e. The slave was strong and re
markably intelligent, as well as willing,
and as tbje master was kind and humane,
thej life of the dusky prince was ! far
from unhappy or irksome. The whole
family prized him, and he, In turn, be
came strongly attached to them.
At length the slave died, and after be
had gonei, his bow and quiver, tble story
f which! he had often told in eloquent
language, were preserved as relics of
the faithful servitor in the colonel's fam
ily,) for the family could not but grate
fully remember the services, the forti
tude and the unswerving fidelity of the
strong and gentle Iambo.
During' the Revolution, Colonel Motte
tell while fighting for liberty. In the
campaign of 1781 his widow was driven
from herj house on the Congarees river,
and the place was turned into a British
garrison and strongly fortified. In time
this'gairison was besieged by a detach
ment of the American army, but its de
fenses were so strong that the force was
not' sufficient to take it by assault. The
American commander, who was a South
Carolinian, and an old time friend of
thej Motte family, went to the widow,
now living in a poor hut within sight
of her stately mansion, and told her
that the preservation of her house and
property was the only Impediment to
the capture of the British.
Whaifc would you do?" asked Mrs.
Motte. ,
'fSet he mansion on fire and burn
them ou" was the officer's reply.
'And how will you set it on tire?"
I have not yet thought, Madam. I
had regard for your wishes in the mat
ter, and wished first to consult you."
The widow reflected awhile and then
asked :
"When would be a favorable moment
for applying the torch?"
This very night, after the sentinels
ar posted, and the rest of the garrison
asleep." '
Make your arrangements," said the
patriotic woman, "and at your signal I
will set the house on fire for you."
You?"
"Yes. ; I will do it."
Tb& officer saw that she was in earnest
and he went his way to make prepara
tions. And then the widow went at her
work. One of the children had brought
avay with them from the house lambo's
bow and q,ui ver of arrows. The arrows
were long and finely made, with steel
heads and delicately feathered shafts.
With a lot of loose tow she made torches
of jthe arrows, the prepared heads of
which she set in a pail filled with spirits
of j turpentine.
jA.t eleven o'clock that night the Amer
ican commander came and told Mrs.
Motte that all was ready. Taking the
pail, with the soaking arrows in her
hand, she called upon her stout servant
to attend her. He was a powerful fel
low, and nsed to the bow. Arrived at
a favorable locality, she opened her
lantern, and lighted a pitchwood splin
ter. Then the servant fixed an arrow
toj-ch to the bow string, and the widow
set the inflammable tow on fire. In an
other instant the fiery messenger was
sped on its way, and it alighted upon
ihe roof of the mansion, far from the
immediate reach of the garrison.
Py the time five of these ignited
torches had been surely landed upon
different parts of the roof, the mansion
was in names beyond the power of the
aroused inmates to subdue them.
jA.nd yet the brave, noble woman did
not lose much of her property. The
British, fearing a horrible death by
fire, laid down their arms and surren
dered, and joined with their captors In
extinguishing the flames, which was
accomplished before the fire had ex
tended below the garrets.
r Turning Into Cats..
Once there was a law that, on a cer
tain day, when the meeting house bell
rang for noon, j everybody should turn
into a cat. . r
Some people don't believe this is true j
but you ask the ; children and the barn
8 wallows.!
Well, and so you may be sure It was
great fun to sit upon the big granite
rock on the side of Deer Hill and see
them turn, just where they , were and
whatever they were doing, at that very
minute!
- The minister's son had come into the
study, with his hat in his hand, and
said:- j ' . : J
"Shall Cornelius and I, sir, take our
scythes, sir, and go out and mow a little
while, sir?"
And then Mr. Fadyon's fool caught
hold of the bell-rope.
Mr. Fadyon's fool knew some things
as well as anybody; and he knew how
to ring the bell exactly when the sun
dial apd the noon-mark and his grand
mother's eight-day clock said it was
noon. j
So Ming, dong!" went the bell, and
it was only a .Maltese kitten that had
hold of the rope!
Jus; at that hour, Aunt Patty was out
in her gafden hoeing weeds, with an
old hat of Uncle Rodney's tied on her
head; and she began to turn, first her
nose and then her chin. They were
very long and sharp when she was Aunt
Patty, and they grew short and.snubby,
and whiskers began to start, and her
ears pricked up as though she heard
something,' and then, quicker than you
could say "scat I" she was a spotted cat
chasing Deacon Davis's hens, that were
trying to -sneak through the garden
fence with the old rooster's spurs on.
After scaring them half out of their
feathers, she kept on through Mrs. Dea
con Davis's cat hole, and up in the back
chamber, where she prowled about and
sniffed in all the dark corners and be
hind! the old tea-chests and barrels.
When she j was Aunt Patty she always
had mistrusted whether or no Mrs. Dea
con Davis hadn't some cobwebs and
poke-holes out of sight, for all that she
kept! everything looking neat as wax on
the outside.
And then the minister's son jumped
with one spring on the minister's hair
and clawed off' his glasses, for he liked
rough ways and mischief as well as any
boy,! only he had to be proper because
he was the minister's son.
The minister looked around solemn
andtdignified, a good deal astonished;
and then his glasses grew rounder and
rounder, and his arms grew slenderer
and slenderer ; and then he seemed to
wink all over; and then there was .a
great black cat, with a white spot on his
throat and a. white face and four white
feett, sitting in the study-chair, snap
ping at the flies, with one paw on a vol
ume of Jonathan .Edwards' sermons.
It was a great change for the minis
ter! But as for Mrs. Deacon Davis, she
didn't seem to need to alter hardly a
biti Hi r eyes were the mildest skim
milk before, much more faded 'than an
old cat's eyes ; and her hair was pale
buff and sort of furry. Aud she had a
way of rubbing herself against the side
of her chair as she talked along In a kind
of purr-purring tone. Sjie stopped work
for the first time in her life, though,
and taking her yellow ipaws out of the
wash-tub, went to chasing dandelion
down. But as soon as ten clocks anywhere
in town struck one at the same second,
all the cats turned back to people again ;
and you ought to have seen how sur
prised they were to catch themselves
doing such odd things.'
Aunt Patty was rummaging through
the minister's wife's! bureau-drawer
among her ! best clothes; andj bad as
that looked in a cat, it looked a thousand
times worse In Aunt Patty, with Uncle
Rodney's hat still on her head and a
hoe under her arm.
. Mrs. Deacon Davis
was curled up
asleep In the rocking-chair, and sue
rubbed her eyes and put her hands In
ttie wash-tub again, and didn't know
anything had happened. She wouldn't
bliev It now If you should tell her.
Only," when her clock struck one (it
was always a little slow), she felt
grieved to see a few cat's hairs on her
chair -cushion, and to find she had lost
so much good time right out of the
heart of the day. "But then," she
ttiought, "my nap has rested me up
completely, and with such poor health
as I enjoy, I do suppose I needed it.
And, all is,; I must work the smarter to
make up." I
The minister looked most astonished
to find himself playing with a large
brown, limp rat. "It Is very extraor
dinary! I Most remarkable!" said he.
"teloriana! he continued, turning to
the black serving-maid, who was swing
ing herself jdown from the cherry-tree,
where, a moment before, she had been
a black kitten, chasing a squirrel.
VtHorianallyou may take this dead ani
mal and bury the creature in the gar
den. It will act as a fertilizer." -I
And then he began to walk up and
down the footpath, from the door to the
gate, with
tils hands behind him, and
to think over the heads of his next ser-;
mon., - i
jOn the whole, it was funnier when
the cats became people than when the
people became cats ; they were so sur
prised and shocked to find where they
were and what they were doing: St.
Nicholas, .-j ' ; :' .
We are what we must, 'and not what
we would be. One hour assures not
another. The will and the power are
diverse '
FOOD FOR THOUGHT.
As we are,
so we view the world.
Air of itnnortance On'a first brfttli
Children are the to-morrow of
so-
ciepy.V:
L Pity
Yalden,
the tenderest part Of love.
Order gave each thing view. Shales-
pe-are. j 1 ,
Friendahiri
pere.. 1 : ...
Is full of dregs. Shakes-
1 We caiino ; do evil to others without
doing It to o irselves.
-"' Few men s re raised In our estimation
by being too closely examined. )'.'
v No gift, however divine, profit those
who neglfect Kb cultivate them. ;
! Amdngjall forms of mistake, prophecy
is the moac gratuitous. George Eliot
. "jYhat we know1 here is very little, but
what we are ignorant of is immense.
A; grain weight of sincerity and pracv
is worth a talent of knowledge.
Prayer as a shield to the soul, a sacrl
fleets to God, and a scourge to Satan.
Bufijah. fl
You cannot prove a thing to be good
or I beautiful to a man who has no idea
of Its excellence.
Many persons are mOre desirous to
know what! thev should do. than to do
wliit theji k
ow. r
There ajre
any who talk on frpm Ig-
nofance rat
er than from knowledge,
d in the former an luex-
and, who fi
haustible
uilid of conversation.
' To negl
fori death
ct
at any time, preparation
to sleep at our post at a
is
siege ; to dm
t it in old age is to sleep at
an attack.
' Fair ( SOMIJ1
In your fine frame hath
love no qua
Uv? If the quick .fire of
youth light
not your mind, ybu are no
maiden, but
a monument. Shakespeare.
The persOri who has a firm trust in the
Supreme BHng is powerful in His
power, wise py liis wisdom, happy by
His! happiness. .
I 1" ' ' : - ' .
Then you feel as If vou have violated
a riule of propriety, you feel ashamed ;
wtjen of pjruclence, regret; when a rule
of right, you feel remorse.
I look upon an able statesman out of
business like a huge whale, that will
emleavor to overturn theship unless he
hasjan empty eask to play with. Steele.
; i is thefamends of a short and trou
blesome life that doing good and suffer
ing; ill entitle man to one longer ' and
better.- William Penn.
1 1 God is Ihe only being who has time
enough ; tiut a prudent man who knows
make shift to find as much as he needs.
;,owell. j 1 1
i'he difference between a fashionable
hat and a fashionable bonnet is very
simple! One is worn over the ear and
thb otherf ii worn on the nape of the
nelck. ;.t 1 1 ' . ; i '
firbitraf-y power is the natural object
temptation to a prince, as wine or 1
woman toa young fellow, or a bribe to
a judge, or; avarice to old age, or vanity
,to a womajn .-. j f-
No man is poor who does hot think
himself so. But if in a full fortune,
wjth i impatience he desires more, s he
proclaimsihls wants, and his beggardly
condition j -;
j j The Chief secret of comfort lies In dot
suffering trifles to vex us, and in pru
dently cultivating our undergrowth of
small pleasures since very few great
ones, alasi are let on long leases.
' i i f i
It is never too late with us so long as
wa are still aware of our faults, and
bear tneni Impatiently ; so long as aspi
rations,! oa;er for conquest stir within
us -Jacdtii. i ' '
feo great is the effect of cleanliness
upon man 'hat it extends even to his
moral character. Virtue never dwelt
long with filth; nor do I believe there
ever was a person scrupulously atten
tive to cleanliness who was a 'consum
mate villain,
; The! custom in Eastern Turkey la to
remove the boots and shoes on entering
church. An American saw at Anital,
Turkey, i,200 boots and shoes at the
door of a eliurch presenting a very curl
ous sight, j The men go in barefoot, but
keep their: ,tiats on.
, Envy cannot be hid. It accuses and
judges w thout proofs ; it exaggerates j
defects; its conversation is filled with
gUl, exaggeration and injury. It stands
out with obstinacy and with fury against
striking rnerit. It is hasty, insensible
arid brutal, j. , , .
j Botanis ts have a class of plants which
tney name incompletes; we might ln;
sime senp speak of incomplete, imper
fect menf those, namely, whose long
ing ar)d struggling, are not in propor
tion to trieir doing and performing.
QoethL I -
- j I 'I 1 ' i
j The: faithful devoted Christian la all
hearted ness. While others do things
cpldly and without interest, he puts his
whole soul into his labor, and does it
with hearty good will and with a vigor
ous healthy zeal, because he loves to do
lii Murray.
If 'Storml king," the highest of the
Illglilandfpeaks, is 1,529 feet above tide
watjer. i The chain which was stretched
across the river at West Point in war
time waif 1,350 feet long, and was
manufactured from ore obtained near
Bear mountain, which is 1,350 feet high
singular coincidence.
Two persons were once disputing so
lAiidlv on the subiect of religion that
they awoke a big dog, which had been
sleeping on the hearth before them, and
he forthwith barked most furiously, An
olid dl vinejpresent, who1 had been quietly
-sipping his tea while the disputant
Were talking, gave the dog a kick, and
exclaimed, "Hold your tongue; you sllly
brute I You know no more about At
than
hey
do.