Oh. be nbttb.wB'Iwfcl LOCAL MEKESTS AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. strnscntrnox rntcc, Oiio Dollar por Year, in Advnnoo $1,50, JMiucrctf to Villaje Subscriber!. til ADVERTISER HAS TBS L1R0BST CIRCLLATIOS Of »n» paper in this section, and subscribers are eon rtautlr coming In. Wo shall aim, a s heretofore, M Mako it one of tho bast Advertising mediums in the country\ and bchevo thut \ro give our patrons moro than \value rocoivod\ by tho following low HATES OF ADVERTISING Published Weekly, BY A. O. BUNNELL. Three Cents per;:Qopy, On* Week, una Month. Tliroe Months, Six Months, On* Year, 1 square. \ 60 ' 1 25 3.00 5.00 8.00 4.00 8.00 12.00 20.00 3.00 COO 12.01) 18.00 30.00 4.U0 8.00 18.00 30.00 60.00 JC *.m WJiJ\\tEIi. Wo oflfcr tho most liberal inducements to agents •who would liko to canvass for subscribers,—mado known on application Th e Advertiser goes postngo free in tho County, and is but i% cents par quarter elsewhtre. Address A. O. BO.VN ELL. Dnnsville, N, Y >V. O. BUNNELL'S gxttteior gaoli mul $O!J printing IB1US.BLIBHMSNT. Vail 8tr»ct, • • - DantvlUe, N. Y . VOL. II. DANSVILLE, N. Y, THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 1.861. jfir In tho days of Grecian glory tho .poets sang their own verses. In hater times Border lhlnstrols chanted their rumnunts of chivalry, nnd English bal lad lingers were wvlijomo to tho boards of. poer and peasant It brings with it an air of old rintiance%ri echo of ancient melody when a modern poet sings to his own music his own rhymes. A two singer as well as a true poet is Mr Monies G. Clartt. Ills songs have tho cadonce dear to tho muses, and his muMC is worthy of his wor.ds. To us th o most beautiful, p rhaps. of any of lu .-i inspirations is Marion Moore; set to music by himself and recently publishftd by Russell and Tolman, of this elty. Wo'copy below tho words of the ballad:— Boston True Flag. Marion Moore. Joi Paixnuo of every description, dono with neat n«is and dispatch, and on vary low terms Proiisos Tjpe, Borders, Ornaments Cult, etc., entirely now— IttiUUos unoquallod in this section of country S&. Officio in the New American Hotel Block, e n Waco through Uogors Bros Sloro g,\tlv<rti]6i<mctttsf. S. P. WISNKR & CO., Manufacturer* and Dealers in Out Tohacco, Snuff & Cigars. Manufactory, CornerSchool & Tenth His., IJuUiUo, X. Y. J.HEMMVUJ>' HOTm., mix srnBir. - - • IM>»VIM .]£, w. T BY i, C TAU.UK. This Hotel is now titled up to meet the wants of the traveling einiimunity in a superior style, and with arnpfo HceoiiiiiMMliitioii for a large HUIII IH r of gii.-sts Tliokablo i s at nil titn«s suppli. il with the hest of ilm •oasiin Particular attention paid t o tho pleasure ami cumfort of thoso who stop ut tins Hotel St f F. II. MARSHALL\ PLAIN AND <)HN\MKNT\L And Blank Book Manufacturer, Burns' Block. ( orncr of Iiuflulo and State Streets, Roelioster, N Y K K KOOEK.S A CO.. Agents for Iiansvillc and uiinily ' ./. .J. 11KOWN , ANALYTICAL CHEMIST, ItumvUlt Htmtnnry, \iyparod to furnish e<»rrn t analysis of Soils Mm tit. Mineral Well or spring Water, Drugs, Analysis Otf i/the detection of Poisons, Ac Dansvilla, N \ , Sept 0. IW0 HENRY N. St'HLICK, Fnatiionable Barber and Hair Dxesser, WENDELL BLOCK, - • MAIN STREET, DANSVILLE, N Y . Hair, Whiskers & Moustaches Djdl Jlfttr tht .Tloat JKpprovt* Htylt. EJULE HOTEL, CORNER OK CVWL WD JErt £nSON STREETS, M I. STEDM.W. Proprietor Tins Hotel has been fitted up an I much impro\e.l sin< r it ram - into the hands of its present own. r who fuels confident that he enn nvct the wants ofthe public in an etitir. ly ^atisfu. lory maun, r M f UJJS'HfiLLE HOUSE, BY W T LOZIER. The Dansrillc House is now in better condition for the accommodation of the piiMie than ever hefir. an 1 is x-oiinitc a ivulo sptc.i I reputation for its supe rior management M f C. I*. J.VMtUSS, SPUINGWATER, N Y. DKM.Kll IN I>rr ftomls, Oroeeries, 1 ul.rs' Trimmings. Hosiery Ulove.s. Slurts Drawers, Itulihers, Boots and Shoes 1'niL's and Me.ln nies, t locks. Watches, Jewelry. Yankee Notions, Ac , &<• CtlitM'N UHCSS II ITS, Fall Btvle, 1S00. \|s„ n l.ir^e i»s,,rtinent of the la- vist alt lea of Soft Hata. ju^t reepiveil at tlif U«».-»Tn\ ( I.iliJIINU Hut SE. Scptcmher. 1S<50 UILIJIRI) HOOT1. Scott's Billiard Rooms, provided with two unri- Tilled tables, are situated in Howarlh's new Brick Ulock, 3d story open at all reasonable hours 3 A SCO IT. Proprietor IJeuuty to Liiulies IS A PRETTY SHAPED BONNET, TRIMMED IN GOOD STYLE, A l»rg« assortment now ready at tho Emporium \f Kinhion an.l Kirst 1'r. miuiii \Millinery Store of Mr •nil Mrs ,1 11 Prusia, _ West side of Main Street. Dansvillo 9 SCOTT'S COUXICT 13 AN J), \ Tlas celohr.lted Band eomposeil of fifteen exerl- li'tlt nntsti'ians, is now hetl* r prepared than e\er l.»*- f>rc, to executo all or.lers for nni«ie for Military ami t'ltic proeessiouH. Anniversary Kxert isi s. t'te , etc Orders rospcetfullv snlieili-if Addri'ss ( W'T A NfMlT Iian-ville N > _ IH:SINKSS CARDS Tinted, In Colors and Plain gotten up in every «H l» f'll printed, and furni-hcd at the luuo^t rates. Ii\ h 0 Bunnell, at the Advertiser Office MHS. C. A. HOTTL'.n, Manufacturer of Hair Jewelry, such as Ear-Rings, nns. Necklaces. Rings ltrae. lets. Crosses. ( Inn ms. uuard Chains, Vest Chains, to., opposite the Amer tain Hotel, Main street. 0 Jt.lHTMJV KOF, ^Mhlonablo Barber and Hair Dresser. Rooms nd- joining American Hotel. Main St.. Dnnsville, N Y. WedaiHg and Visiting Cards Pnatcd at tho Advertiser Office in tho most unique »»d fashionable style, and neatly put up in cases ex- P'Msly for the purpose AO Bl'NNEM. T . EH H\/»V J OJVES, ^nufucmrcr of Huguies and Cutters, corner of Pine »od Spruce streets. Dansville Ho manufactures the and highest finished Carriages. Bucgiesan d Cut- ''fsin Western New York. Cnrnago Trimmings for Sign Painting done to or<W _12 CJTJX.OOVKS For Schools. Nurserymen, Merchants. Mechanics •od others, printed at low rates. Call at the Adve- *str Office. Dan-vtlle. N Y A. O BUNNELL. FKJjy'X STEI.VUJRDT, B »rtwr and Hair Dresser. DansMlle, K. Y. Rooms '0 Kedijcs Block, Main Street. Gone, art thou. Marion, Marion Moore 1 Gone like ti e bird in tho autumn that singeth; (tone, like the llowej- hy the waysido that springoth, Ooiio, like the leaf Of the ivy thut clingetli 'Knund the lone rock on a storm boaton shoro. Dear wert thou, Marion, Marion Mooro 1 Deaf as tho tide in my broken heart throbbing; Dear as tho soul o'or thy memor y sobbing;^ Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing— W asting is all tho glad beauty of yoro. 1 will rcniembor thee, Alarum Mooro I I shall remember, alas' to regret thee; I -hall regret when all others forgot thee; Deep in my breast will tho hour that I motthoo Linger and burn till life's fever is o'or. Gone, art thou, Marion, Marion Mooro I d'lm . like the breeze o er tho bnlow that blowoth; Gone, like the rill to tho ocean that flowoth; Gone, as the day from the grey mountain goo(h-i- Darkness behind theo, but glory before. Peace to thee Marion, Marion Mooro I Peace whii.li the queens of tho earth cannot borrow Pence from a kingdom thatorowned theo with sorrow, U ' to bu happy with thee on the morrow. Who would not lly from this dosulato sphere' En Enpaemj. I built a Pal ice, whitu mid high, W ah sweeping purple tapestnod. No dusty highway ran thereby, But guarded alleys to It led. And sh.iv< n lawns about wore spread, Where bird and moth danced daintily So grai ions were its pertain wulo, 1 So light ami fair the turrets stood, No Haw mine eager eyo ospied. I fashioned it. and called it good. And lavished on its sohtudo All gariiishiugu of poriip nnd pndoi lhai w.i> in golden Summor-tiino;— The Wiiitt r wm I i< howling now. My Palu' e has passed out of tune,— The sward is only sheeted snow. Its hangings with tho dead leaves blow; TI MT > < one s an end to mortal pi.me. And I, who laid it stone by stone, Stone after stone do take it down. . What if ivkiug. whoso state had flown, Should piiil apart his regal i rown ? For kingly hearts no fate can frown, Tie v nth forever o'er ihcir own 2he Mw§ Sclkv. JUf W CJtSES J\ ap m the best stvlo. on short notice, and in U.e v required by law, at the Advertiser Olfiee A <> nr-\-kr;: I mora. Strangers oamo to shroud her, and fold the thin hands on tho broast—no sigh, no tear, no kiss imprinted on her cold fore head; coldly they laid her in a strnngor's grave, witto no prayor, and unblessed,—yet ovor tho pale face came back', and tho thin lips tried to murmur, \Father forglvohjm.\. There was another busy weaving, but this time tho tracery was different. Thore were gay lights—gaudy, glittering tinsol—painted faces and decorated forms—harsh, discordant v»icea, and a laugh fearfully hollow, min gled with boistorous merriment, thnt sound ed painfully on his ears. The lights flicker ed a moment, and then i t was misty durk- no<ss, with a wild, fitful echo of the past,— then by the wnysido a shrunken form lay dying. jNono camo near it as if they dreaded pollution, nnd ^hen rough man laid her in a pauper's grave. Memory went back to tho heart's first love, in its dcop, ardent intensity—how she had watched for his coming, and lain on his,bo som, whispering, i n lutj-liko tones, tho depths of her impnssionod love—and how had it been repaid? When tho tempter came, he had left her to struggle ttlono—withdrawn even tho light of hiss/nile—planted thorns in her pathway that might-not be seen, but oh ! how keenly felt. When she wished for a glittering homo in tho city, why had he turned cnrelossly away, instead of unveiling its heartless gaiety ? After sho had known its glittering was only nn outsido show, bhe would havo turned lo\ingly to him, and longed for hor swt 'ct cottage home in its wenlth of love. TWO SIDES OF LIFE'S PATHWAY BY AMANDA M. UOlOLAfaS. CH \PTER II—CONTINUED. Four} ear» ago, in the twiligfit memory recalled the past by the blinding glare ol pride—now she travelled tho same path that had known no foot-print sincefflnXiiie soft gems of love shadowed the way,, bringing to light many an unforgotten deed that circlex!; it radiantly. There are times ythpn t\lo neart is full to overflowing, and; only \one word determines its fate—so it Wwrwilh. Al lan Evcnird Hud a stranger spoken his wife s name, it might have called forth hit ter thoughts, and sternly would hi) have hushed every angel spirit that plnnded for her; but Ins child s long remembered love, and unforgotten prayer, woke every thought of love that had lingered in his bosom. Fan cy brought her in till h<«r youthful beauty— again heard her voice mingled with soft, dreamy harp-notes—then her beaming face, radiant with siniles, as she came to groct liis return. Unselfish, too, had been her love Many a time, when ho would have lavished his wild profusion of kisses upon .her, she would playfully hold her child between—oh: how pure; and she had given nil her love to him, when others gayer, more youthful, would have deemed her little less than an angel, and taken her to their bosom as a holy thing, to be loved and cherished, and shield ed from aught that could harm; she had danced in magical light upon hbs pathway until,—no, it was not the coming of the tempter thut changed her; she had been light and joyous as a summer bird,.until, in his wilfulness, he had trod upon tho pure heart, crushed the aspiring 1. vc, and even a worm would have turned then. The moon had well nigh reached its me ridian, and its coruscant beams crept hither and thither, sometimes interrupted by a darkling cloud, and then bursting forth in new oflfulgroncc from its transient prison; but Allan Evcrard'sat by his child's bedside unheeding how tho time passed on. There were innumerable angels flitting in tho light that silvered tho rQom, and weaving with their starry Angers strange words, tracing many pictures, while ^Vlercy, with ber dcw-»J drop eyes and pleading fj.ee, ^vhispercd, \even so, blessed \ones forgive'orve another as God has forgiven you;\ and sTio traced a pale, tearful face, whoso blue eyes had lost their lustre, an d a thin, attenuated form, wasting day by day, weaker arid paler, not with deep and unforgiven sin—no, dying, because there was none to live for—ponaw lovo; faffing^ the roso whose stem hftS \Dp «ri bent, until the heart strings gavo way and therfileft to wither; the pallid lips qiuvoVcd for brertti- one gn*p, and they trembled no Thero nre bles-ed visitants alike to city and country—warm, vivifying sunlight, ma king tho stones almost glitter, and, gleaming among tho trees, half trying to muku amends for its burning rays at nnd-duy by softer beams morning and night;—rain that patters musically on the roofs and cools the heated atmosphere; gonial dew, that bids tho thin, straggling blades of grass bo cheered ; soft moonlight, fulling like Gilcad's balm ; gen tle stars, Unit look out from their blue cov ert with bright eyes; and there is love, priceless lovo, cherished ahko in city or country. , It was bummer time in the city. Thore was no merry cricket toenhven the evening —no sweet sound from forest depths—but the silver moon shed undinimcd lustre on all urouid. How the gas lights twinkled, as if they would fain outshine it, unci throngs of merry, happy faces—crowds of miserable suffering ones, men, women, and children, jostling one another in the busy thorough fare—windows, that ilummt.red and shone with costly plate and jewelr}—others dis playing rich silks, satins, laces, and ribbons; some full of toys, where the little ones lin gered longest; some piled with bread and cake, while sunken eyes from without gazed wistfully upon it—here a place through whose large plates of glass a glimpse may be obtained of something not unlike an oasis in the desert, full of many colored lamps suspended from tho wuvy trees, where young hearts mot, gaily dreaming of nought but bliss and Elysian homes. Then thero are quiet streets, still and deserted, w hero you would almost fancy a blight had been and swept away the busy, bustling inhabitants Now and then perhaps, half in the shade, by an open window you might see two forms, busy whispering gentle words into future happiness, and it might be an infant's wail, or a quick footstep, to break that silence— nought else. Where was Lucy Evcrard all this time? Not by the casement—not in the gay, pleas ant gardens—not in the crowded streets—oh! whoro was sho, then ? No—not dead—not fallen—but a pure, strong-hearted woman, toiling for daily bread—a weak, suffering woman—a barque tossed on life's tempest uous ocean—no light, no guide. No light! noguido! 0,1 was strangely wrong. There was a sweet, holychjld—part of her life: and, morning and night, it lisped a prayer for the wanderer—)icr« who first taught it to pray for all alike; and each one of those words was a link in a chain that kept tho mother from sin. There aro myriads of unseen nngcls flying hithorund thither, searching tho heart's most secret places, and like them we will seek the wanderer. Apart from tho busy world, in a lonely, silent street, thero are high houses, that almost shut sunlight from the opposite window, and tho wind can scarcely sweep through the narrow way. They arc dreary looking places, small, ill ventilated rooms, and God's neglected poor aro crowded in them, shut from every pleasure on which the eye may look with delight, save tho blue sky and bright sun, the cloud, nnd the pillar on which our eyes may rest when turned heavenward. In one of theso dwelt the beautiful Lucy Evcrard ; not in the damp, unwholesome basements; not on the first, second or third floor, but high above them, whore tho air might como the purest, and at sunset the glowing tints of tho western sky streamed richly in her room. Many time had her weary feet trod thoso long stairs, and yet she would not have exchanged places with any of tho inmates, for hers seemed nearer heavon. Tho moonlight was creeping through tho dorranr window, and fell in rich folds on tho rarpetloHB fl^r, silvering each board with brilliant iparkles, and weaving fantastic shadows, that danced merrily to and fro. In ono corner stood m neatly arranged bed, and a tablo, with a fow chairs, completed the fur- nituto of tho room. By tho table sat Luty Evcrard sowing, bonding and unbending the thin taper fingers until they flew like busy fairies, or half unconsciously gazing upon tho flickering candle, that had well nigh burnt down to tho socket. Faster, faster went therestlcssflngcrs, and tho weary oyos looked dim and tearful, not less altered thari (ho rest of tho features. Lips and chedlcshad lost thoir fullness and color ; suf fering, from care and sickness, had changed her thus outwardly;but^was the heart the same? The human heart has been likened to a book, so I will unseal this, and let you read from its pages; but ah ! many of them bear the impress of deep, bittor grief—tears that have well nigh blotted words and deeds out. Wo havo opened to n picture, a scene fairer than poncil hath over drawn—that of a pure- hearted boy. Brightly doth his wavy curls gleam, and from underneath tho long lush es peeps nn eyo of lovo, hardly equalled by heaven's starry gems. And his words come liko tho chimo of distant music, falling on a listoning car with a power none but a wife- lens father can know. Day by day does he roam at his father's side, gathering flowers, watching birds, and chasing buttorflics ; and when night comes, he falls asleep en^inud by a loving father's arm. When the fair boy is sick, the parent is his only watcher; when the hues of health return, an ardent thankfulness fills his bosom. They aro two gems so closely entwined that taking away ono would break tho other. Tho bright boy has no mother—at least so they told him ; and he is too happy, too full of innocent gai ety ever to think of her; yos, long ago she was forgotten by both—erased from their memory as a blot, an unseomly thing not worth remembrance. There is a laugh ring ing through the cars of the putient sower, a sweet laugh of sunny childhood, ere care huth dampened ono spring—a full, free, sweet sound, waking an echo among the (lowers nnd trees, and dying away as the gushing melody of a summer bird. How it thrilled ever} feeling—uh I it was only fan cy ; yet if she could sec him onco more, clasp him to her bosom, and hear him mur mur \mother !\ then she could lay down nnd die with every wish of life granted—every hope fulfilled.- 0, thafccould never bo, for ho would gaze vacantly 'on her, nnd turn away ns from the veriest slran^sr, Strange, strange.ijf|tt-:|h'c could thus have lost her way in a patW'of \unwavering light —strange she should have sought strangers in preference to thoso who had loved long and sincerely—and yet, thank God, she hud pre<or\ed her woman's estate, amidst it all. Never once had words of love passed he r lips for other than the husband of her early choice; but she had been fearfully blinded by pride, wlicn, she thought tho fault was his. Sho had wreathed hor lip iri smiles for strangers; sho had /lanced, and sjwg—flitted about like the butterfly, knowing^' casting from her pure lasting happiness for a spark ling beam that faded liko sunshine on the waters. And the tempter—well did she re member him,—how each word be had utter ed sent fire through hor every vein, and taught her to look upon her cottage homo ns a prison ; ench day had worn away a link, and seen it replaced with a stopping-stone of future suffering—'blindly she had lot it pass without one effort of resistance. When the handsome stranger knelt by ber, thore wore words of lovo on his tongue, not for her, no, would it had been, for there the tempter might have stood in her prcsonco unveiled, and she could havo shunned him; but ho spoke of music, his passion—her passion, and sho had listened entranced, fascinated; not with one unkindly thought of him who had .been nil in all to her, in her heart, but the tempter's words had woke a spirit of the beautiful in her inmost soul, and when sho met her husband, and heard his tannting words, she answered proudly in innocence of heart. One kind word would have forced opon the gates ,of his hoart, t and lovo 'gushed forth fondly, warmlv as beforo, but sho wo'd not sny even one in extenuation or sorrow, and thus she had left her early home. Mon- oy could purchase stranger friends, but not love as she well knew by this time. Then once the tempter crossed her pathway, and whispered words that made her shrink in affright, nnd she spurned him as sho would a loathsome thing. Bravely she hud endur ed every privation, uncomplainingly toiled until sickness came. Onco she had thought sho could die among strangers, but, , a \.N0.\.4. xm\\ oh! it was hard, very hard, and Lucy Bvorard prayed for life—not. that sho feared death, no, : there came a wild longing to die a't Rosc- dcll. Fur better it would be to lay in some unheeded corner, than among entire strangers. True, it mattered but little whero tho body laid, but sho could not die among strangers; and when she roso from her bed, there was no pride in her heart, but dcop sorrow—and that had como too late. Well, sho had chosen her own path—not a thorn WOB thero that she did not desorve—not ono cloud, but sho had \willfully barred the sun shine from it; and now hcrsmust bo a weary desolutopath—unloved jjhemust go down to tho gravo. 'Jc be oontinncd • What I Begln.to Believe. \Bubbles of tho California'Golden \Era furnishes that paper, under the head of \ Notos and Cogitations,\ with the follow ing: I begin to believe that, now-a-days, mon ey makes the man, and dress the gentleman. I begin to believe that th<» purse is more potent than tho sword arid tho pun together. I begin to believe that thoso who sin the most during tho week aro tho most devout upon Sundays. I begin to bolicvo that honesty is tho best policy—to speculate with until you gain eve rybody's confidence ; than line your pockets. I begin to believe in humbugging people out of their dollars. It is neither stealing nor begging, and those who are humbugged have themselves to blame. I begin to believe that man was no/ made to enjoy life, but keep himself miserable in tho pursuit and possession of riches. I begin to believe that the surest remedy for hard times and a tight money market is an extravagant expenditure on the part of individuals—to keep tho money moving. I begin to believe that none but knaves art) qualified to hold office under govern ment—with the exception of a few natural born fools and lunatics. I begin to beliovo that a piano forto is more necessary in a family than meat and potatoes. I begin to believe that a boy who doesn't swear, smoko nnd chew tobucco, may be a very good boy, but is naturally stupid I begin to belicv* that if the devil shobld die, one-half of the world would be thro! ou't'^f employment. I bc-gin to believe that ho has tire most merit, who makes tho most noise in his own behalf; und that when Gabriel comes—not to be behind tho times—he, too, will blow his own horn protty hard. wn A B KAUTIKUL R EFLECTION. Bulwer eloquently says: \I cannot believe that earth is man's abiding place. It cun't bo thnt our life is cast up by the ocean of eter nity to float a moment upon v its waves and then sink into nothingness! Else, why is it that tho glorious aspirations, which heap like angels from the temple of our hcurt, are forever wandering about unsatisfied? Why is it that the rainbow and clouds como over with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass olfand leave us to' muse upon their fa vored loveliness? Why is it that the stars, who hold their festival around tho midnight throne, arc, set above the grasp of our limi- hd faculties, forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory 1 And, finally, .why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to our view, and then taken from us, leaving tlie thousand streams of our af. fections to-flowbriokin'Alpine torrents upon our hearts ?\ We arc born for-a higher destiny than that of earth\; * there is a realm where the rainbow never fades—Where the*stars will be spread before ns liko islands that slujnbcr on the ocean—and w^icre'the beings tl»4t pass before us like shadows* will stay in our presence fo*^jfcr. M BX NO RIGHT TO BE S ICK.— No ma n has a rightto withdraw so \much capital from human society, nor.add %o much tax or bur den to it, as evory sick man must. Where sickness is inevitable, nnd without tho fault of its victim, he is a subject of pity. But where, as in the ca3o in a majority of fnstan- ce;, it is the subject's own fault and sin that incapacitates him, though wo may still pity, and should certainly show mercy of watch ful attention, yet he should blumo himself for deserting the great army of industry, from that noble host of workers by whom tho great tasks of life are carried on. No man has a right to be sick when prudence would prevent it, anymore than a soldier has a right, in a critical campaign, to bo wounded needlessly, and so, instead of stand- ing with his comrades to attack or defend, lay himself upon them a dead weight, or worse yo' f a living weight, substratcing not only himself, but all others, also, who aro re quired to tako caro of him, and minister to his recovery. Not only is evory sick man ono taken away from tfio workers, but ho, takes away all thoso that arc required to at-' tend upon him. , jOal, benot th«.fl»tt« m»e0T«r! ; \ • A blot on th« A IM of a frUnd, A (law in the faith Of a lov*r, Whose heart mar prov* true to th« \We none of us know on* another, And oft into error we falls. Th»n lot us speak well of our brother, - Or speak not abouj him at all. . A smile or a sign may;, awakw , Suspicion most fiU»« aad unda* | • And thus our belUf mar bV*hajc«a In haarU .that ara honest and true,' now often the lightsmll* of gladness Is worn by the friends that we To cover a soul full pf .sadness, Too p'roud to «ok'no*wle4f • de«*at. How often the sigh of dojc'otion I N heaved from the hypocrito's breast, To parody truth and affection, Or lull a suspicion to rest.' How often tho friends wo hold dearait Thoir nobloet omotiona conceal; And boioms the parent, slncorost, Havo secrets they cannot rtreal. Leavo baso minds to harbor suspicion, And smallones to trace our defects— Let ours be a noble ambition, For base Is tho mind that auspteta. We nono of us know ono another, And oft in.to orror wo fall; Then let us speak woll of our brother, Or speak not about .him at all.' Homo Influence. Ax anecdote is related of tho Rev. Dr. Kirk, of Boston. EaTly in life, a Indy of fortune, whoso attention wart awakened tow ard him by his conspicuous talents, wrote him a note offering him her heart, fortune, and hand. The Rov. Dr., however, with moro terseness than gallantry, replied }o hor, thut sho had better give her heart to tho Lord, her fortune to tho church, and reserve her hand for him who should ask it. A MERCIIAKT in N. Y. , Who was on the verge of bankruptcy, took a walk one day with his cashier, who had grown rich and built several fine houses in a fashionable av enue. In his pride of heart, be showed his employor his palatial dwellings, and asked triumphantly, \What do you think of that?\ \ I think,\ said the merchant, after a pause, \••that you had hotter take my business, -and letmo.act as casnier,\ Why not be polite? How much does U cost to say, \I tbank you ?\ Why not prac tice i t at homo? to your husband, your children, your domestics? If a stranger does you some littlo act of courtesy, .bow sweet tho smiling acknowledgment! If your husband—ah! it 's a matter of course; no need of thanks. Should an acquaintance tread on your dress, your very, very be*t, and by accident tear it, how profuse you aro with your \never minds, don't think of it, I don't care at alll\ If a husband does it, v ho gets a frown; if a child, ho is chastised. Ah! theso aro littlo things, you say.— They tell mightily upon tho heart, let me assure you, littlo as. they are. A gentleman stops at a friend 's house, and finds it in confusion. \Ho don't see any thing to apologize for—never thinks of such matters. Everything is all right—cold sup per, cold room, crying children; perfectly comfortable. Goes homo, whero tho wifo has been taking caro of tbo sick ones and working her life almost out. Don't see why things can't bo kept in better order; there never were such cross children before. No apologies accepted at homo. Why not bo polito at home? Why not use freely that golden coin of courtesy?— How sweet they sound, thoso little words.— \I thank you,\ or \You aro very kind!\— Doubly, yes, thrico sweet from the lips we love, when heart-smiles mako tho oye spar kle with the clear light of affection. Be polite to your children. Do you ex pect thorn to be mindful of your welfare ? to grow glad a t your approach? to hound away to do your pleasure before the request is half spoken ? Then with all your dignity and authority mingle politeness; give it a niche in your \household tcmplo. Only tbon. will you Lave learned tho truo secret of scncl ing out into ',the^wo'rld, really finished gen tlemen and ladies. , 4 What we say, we sny unto all; bo polito. H EALTH AXD D OMESTIC B USS.—Tho morbid states of health, the Jrritableness of disposition, arising from unstrung nerves, the impatience, the crossness, the fault-find ing of men, who, full of morbid influences are unhappy themselves, and throw tho cloud of their troubles like a dark shadow upon others, tench us what eminent duty thero is. in health. .It is not of itself alono;' domestic happiness, for that depends uporr%, moro positivo causes; but it certainly is true that in the present ill estate of human lifo, tho want of a good stomach, of firm norvo, of patience and endurance, which belong to health, fill thousands of households with quarrels, And moroscness, nnd complaints, and .unhnppiness; and when tho family is sour, human life itsolf cannot be sweet.— Much of tho power of monto produce happi ness depends, not, as you say upon grace, but upon their disposition; and their dispositions depend upon their health. A man that is robust and bardy, naturally tends to carry cheer wherever ho goes, nnd to bo forbearing toward others. Paticnco belongs to robust ness. On tho other hand sickness ministers to sensibility; and when a man is sick, es pecially iu our time, when sickness almost always takes on the form of nervousness, ho is sheeted as i t were, with nerve from head to foot; and everything torments him, and ho is a tormontto.overybody olso. H E is unfortunatirvwho cannot bear mis- fortune, dt shows a' diseased mind to desire such things as cannot bo obtained, and'tb'be .unmindful of tho misery of others. Hopo is swe_et. It is hotter to decide a difforenco be tween our enemies than our friends; for ono of tho friends will becomo an enemy, and one of tho enemies a friend. Most men aro evil. Practico honesty. M EN in tho health and vigor of thoir age should endeavor to fill thoir lives with, read ing, with travel, with tho best convorsation, and tho worthiest of actions, cithsr in public or private stations; that thoy may hay* something agreeable loft to feed on when thoy aro old, by pleasant remembrances. W E should take a prudent caro for tho fu ture, but so as t o enjoy'tbo present. It is no part of wisdom to be mi.g'ora'blc f o-d&y be cause wo may -happen ,to bo so fo-morrow. JEDttCAJOJ tho whole man—tbo head, tb« heart, tho body; the head to think, the-beart to feel, and the body to act.