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vor/fitV] J i¦?rv

: m&o

HOME-Ifeve.- peace with gentle wing,

\ isits our culil millcloudy clinic,Or sloops, her radiant lines to lling.

L- pon the stonily shores of Tone,can y iter be tit ronl acinic feet,

A timid(b>vc, delight to roamW here hearts with hearts in union meet,

Among the quiet sicncs of homo.

Ifever Joy, in robes of light,To bless the bowed and weary one,

Comes downward through the long, longright.

Of sorrow, front her sun-lit throneV\ here can a resting placebo found.

Her pure and stainless spirit conic,Btil in the sympathies around,

And to the blessed holds of home?

If over Love, the first, the best,The sweetest dream to mortals given,

One hide spot of earth has dress’dWith dews, and rays, and flowers of

_ heaven;p It is that spot of verdant green,' . Where Virtue anil Iter handmaids come,

i To deck with simple charms the scene,And bless the holy haunts of home.

If ever Hope, that to the heartIs as the sunshine to the flower,

Comes to the spirit to impartHer sweetest and her freshest power—-

’Tis when pale Sorrow waves her shroud,The darkest in Life vaulted dome,

And sweetly beams upon the cloud,Her rainbow promise pointing Home.

BV TUB AUTHOR OF “JEST AM) EAR-

NEST.”Small quips, and sentences, and tlicsc paper |

bullets of the brain, awe a man from the careerof ids humor?” Shakespeare. |THE MOTHER AND THE

DAUGHTER.In a prefy little cottage at Richmond,

commanding a delightful view of theThames, lived Madame La Roche and heronly child, Adeline.

At an early ago, the parents of MadameLa Roche had taken her front her nativecountry, England, to France, in order thather education might be completed. Herea certain Monsb nr La Roche, a manmuch older, but also much richer thanherself, had solicited her hand. In obedi-ence to the commands of her parents,andin spite of her strongly-expressed aver-sion, the match was concluded, and theelderly husband and the young wife tookup their abode in Baris. Three years af-terwards Monsieur La Roche died, leav-ing one child, a daughter. Since thatevent Madame La Roche had resided inSwitzerland first, and subsequently, inGermany. At length, tired of the conti-nent, she returned to England, where shehad now lived two years, and where shefirmly intended to spend the remainder ofher days.

As women is placed in our present so-cial system, perhaps the most independentand life-enjoying of the sex is n youngand attractive widow. Madame La Rochewas both young and attractive —and sen-sible 100, or she would have been envi-

ous of her sweet daughther, Adeline: As iit was, she In ated her with the warmth ol ia mother, and the confidence of an eldersister. I

On a certain summer day Adeline La IRoche was seated in a room opening on !lawn which sloped to the river. By her 'side, and close hy her sidcr, was a man *youthful and handsome'. lie held one of!her hands clasped in his, was looking 1with a most impassioned air into horjiface. Her eyes were cast down, and the 1slightest suspicion of a blush was upon j'her check. The blush would have been Ideeper—but it was a situation she was |somewhat used to. They loved cacii jother.

‘‘And you fear, George, that mamma ‘would never consent?” said Adeline, con- ttinning a colloquy that had been proceed-¦ (ing, heaven knows how long; for in ,such cases (Pm told) hours are like min- iut s.

‘•I tear it much,” said George Trevor; I (“what pretentions have I? A man of jwealth and consideration like Mr. Crofton ! tmay hope—but I can. hope for noth-!,iug.” ; i

“Ha! ha? you are jealous,” said Adeline, jlooking up and smiling archly, “Do you [ IList list me then?”

"Mo, dear Adeline, it deed,” replied ’Gorge;“l do believe that your heart is ‘mine only; but say if I have not cause for j 1suspecting that Air. Cru'ton is my <rival, and that your mamma favours 1him?"’ i

-Tow you mention it,” said Adeline 4 “I 1will confess to you that I am very mis- j'arable on this account. Ever since we jfirst met Mr Crofton at that horrid ball liphas been eternally at the house. Hemust perceive how coldly 1 receive ;him?”

"And how does Madame La Roche re- 1cone him?” said Trevor.

“Ah, too well!”r eplied Adeline. ‘‘lof- 1leu see them sitting together in a cornertalking in a low lone, and every now ami 1then looking towards me, as if 1 were thesubject of their conversation. He is try-ing to gain mamma over to his interest,"l1 1know. It will be of no use it lie docs. 1I would sooner die than marry him:’4 (

• So, having experienced the misery ofa forced match herself, she would doomyou to the seine fate?” said George withvehemence. i '

“I hardly know what to think,” midAdeline, gently; “when 1 rememberedbow ulfedi mutely she always treats me,it seems impossible; but when 1 see her

! encourage so evidently the visits of Mr.Crofton, 1 am compelled to dread every i

I tiling.”"

|1 “We may be mistaken, after all, Ado-,

] line,'’ said Trevor. “These visits are;probably intended for Madame La Roche. IRemember, Mademoiselle, you are not |the only young and pretty inhabitant ofVino cottage.”

“Oh, I am sure that is not the ease,”said Adc inc. "Mamma has told me, of-ten and often, that no considersatiou onearth should induce her to marry again,and that all her care now was to see mehappily settled. Mr. Crofton and mamma

| are now viewing the conservatory togeth-er. George, 1 feel a strange presentimentthat he will propose formally for me dur-ing that opportunity, and that 1 shall bocalled upon to give him his answet atonce.”

“You will reject him, then, dear Ade-line?” said Trevor, anxiously.

“Can yon ask me?” exclaimed Adeline.“1 will never bestow my hand where I

cannot bestow my heart. That, Georgs, is

yours—past praying for?”“Ten thousand thanks for this one more

proof of constancy,” said Trevor. “Tojdoubt your truth now would imbed be tothink you unworthy of love. But 1 hear

j footsteps approaching; they are returningfrom the conservatory. Adieu, clear Ade-line, for a time. 1 will not meet MrCrofton—but 1 uni not jealous, mind?”

Scarcely had George Trevor left theapartment when Madame La Roche andMr. Crofton entered from the lawn. Mr.Crofton rather precipitately, took hisleave, and Madame La Roche and Adelinewere alone.

“Sit down, Adeline,” said her mother;“1 have something very particular to sayto yon.”

Adeline obeyed with the air of a mar-tyr. Her presentiment had evidently been

’ but 100 true.

“My dear child,” continued MadameLa Roche, “you are now of an age whenyou should begin to think of being set-

t lied in life. Nature has given you beauty, and talents; 1 have, to the utmost of my, ability,given you good education; and 1

may say, without flattery, that you arc, capable of making any man happy. Why,\ then, remain single if you meet with

j- one for whom you ran feel an affec-tion?”

Adeline offered no observation, andt Madame La Roche continued.

: ‘There is a gentleman who, lam ccr-

-3 tain, loves you I have seen enough of- him to he as certain that he deserves your- love in return-and it will giic me pIea-

DEVOTED TO POLITICS, AGRICULTURE, THE USEFUL ARTS, LITERATURE, AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE.

JBLKYOX, MD., S.iTI:RM¥ PHORA’I.VCJ, SEPTK JIS3UR 11, 1911.

sure if you tell me that la; possesses ¦it.”

“My dear mamma,” said-Adclino, with tfirmness, “it is’belter to be candid at once;:I know whom you mean,and all you are:

going to say; but it is in vain. Ido not

love him, 1 never shall love him, and 1cannot marry him.”

“Adeline, Adeline!” cried her mother,laughing, “you arc too quick hy far forme. Do y’ou not love, will you neverlove, and cannot you marry—GeorgeTrevor?”

“George Trevor!” exclaimed Adelineher breath nearly taken,'' way by estop- 1islunent.

•‘Ay, D Am Trevor,” said her,mother |“So you blush now, and 1 was not mis-jtaken, I find, in supposing that you lovedeach other, I am glad of it, dear child, andgive my most willing consent to yourunion.”

“1 feared you would not listen to him.or I would "have confided in you,” saidAdeline, half laughing and half crying at

this sudden ary.l unexpected realizationof hopes she had scarcely dared to enter-tain •

“And that merely because at present hehappens to be poor!” said Madame LaRoche. “Ah, my Adeline! it is love, notwealth, that should he considered, and ifGeorge Trevor he poor, arc we not richenough? “But,” continued she holdingdown her head and speaking falleringly,“now that IJiave wished you all happi-ness and consented to your marriage’willyou, dear little friend, wish me thesame and consent to n.y marriage?”

“You! you marry again?” exclaimedAdeline.

“And have you been so blind as to sus-pect nothing?” said Madame La Roche,raising her bead and smiling; “Iwillcon-ceal it from yon no longer. You knowthat I was married in France at a veryearly-age, but you do not know that .bc-forc that 1 had given my heart in Englandto a youth whose only fault*was poverty.My parents hud forbidden him the house,and on hearing of my engagement on theContinent, he went out in despair to In-dia. Some two months ago, you may re-member, we were at a large ball. Howcan I describe to you my sensations when

1 saw there the man, whom I had lo.ed inmy early yotidi—whom I niiil lov<*f t (

1recognized him'even before I iiewii Uis <name.”

I

“And that name was—Cioftoti,” saidAdeline, much affected.

“It was,” replied Madame La Uoclic;he bad remained single, though lie had

. grown rich enough to buy, it ho hud wil--1 led it. some poor girl, as I myself had

1 been bought. Adeline he lias prevailedmi me to change my resolution of never

i marrying again. Do you wish me joy?”j The mother and the daughter fell into

: < ach other’s arms and mingled their tears;but assuredly they were not tears of sor-row.

On tiic same morning the two weddingsj were celebrated, and opinions were divid-j cd whether the matronly or the youthful

J bride looked more charming.Monti.—The generous, from having

experienced pain, are less prone to inflictit on others: the ungenerous, from thesame cause, arc more prone to inflict it.

THE GRANARY—A TALE WHICHEVERY PERSON WILL READ.

BY HEV. A. C. THOMAS.

Who Boreadeth, lot him understand.'’

Jonathan Homespun, having purchasedan extensive farm, and provided himselfwith every thing requisite to prosperoushusbandry, proposes to furnish subscri-bers with one quart of wheat weekly, forone year, at the low price of two dollarsin advance, or two dollars and fifty centsif paid after six weeks.

The facilities afforded by the govern-ment, for the transportation of wheat toevery section of the Union and the adja-cent provinces arc such as must provesatisfactory to every subscriber, and theproprietor of the Granary assures all whomay patronize him, that he willexert him-self to supply an article of the best quali-ty. N. 13.—Agents willbe allowed a gen-erous per ccntago. Address (post paid )the Proprietor of the Granary, Hope-well.

Such was the prospectus Limed by myfriend, Mr. Homespun. Feeling a livelyinterest in his welfare, I visited his farm,although it was a long journey fromhome, and was pleased to find every thingin nice order. Ho informed me that hehad contracted a large debt in the purchaseof the premises, stock and implements ofhusbandry, but that ho had no doubt ofhis ability to discharge every obligationin a few years. He also slated that hebad received many hundred subscribers,and that in four or five weeks he wouldcommence the delivery of the wheat ac-cording to his proposals.

The scheme appeared plausible; andmy friend was so confident of successthat I bad not the slightest doubt of the

¦ prosperity. I entered my name as a sub-¦ scribor, and when I left him he was pre-

paring many thousand quart sacksEvery week, for the space oftwo years,

I receiver ray quart of wheat, ami con-cluded frmu its excellent quality andprompt delivery, that every thing wasprosperous with Jonathan Homespun andhis farm. So I gave myself no concernabout my indebtedness to him—‘for,’ said1, “to a fari”or so extensively patronized

as he is, the small pittance of two years’arrearages would be but a drop in thebucket ” TTs true, there was occasion-ally primed on the sacks a general noticeof delinquents—but 1 never suspectedthat jhisjvje.' intended for iii> friends.

The notice, however, became more fre-quent; and, roving leisure, 1 concluded Iv; mill . vi.ay friend the proprietor oftire Granary Itc greeted me cordially—-but I saw tii.it there had been trouble. Hewas evident,y worn with toil and anxietyand in the conversation of the evening, heentered into particulars.

“Here I luce been laboring day and al-most light for two years; and lam morein debt now than when 1 begun. Mycreditors aio pressing for payment; I amconscious of inability to meet their de-mands. ami 1 ran perceive no result butbankruptcy nnd ruin.”

‘But have you not a large list of sub-scribers?’ said I.

‘Ye*, a wry large list,’was the reply;‘but many of them arc like you!’

‘.Me!’ 1 quickly rejoined in amazement,too many like me!’

•Pardon me,’ said my friend; in a mel-ancholy tone —‘pardon me for oppressionwill make even a wise man mad. Youhave had a quart of wheat weekly fortwo years—and 1 have not had a cent ofpayment; 1 have a large list of the samekind of patrons scattered here and thereover thousands of miles. If they wouldpay me the nudes they severally owe me,I should he lir ctly freed from embarrass-ment. and g, on my way rejoicing. But'they reasoned as you reasoned; nnd a-1mong you 1 am brought to the door ofpoverty ami ruin.’

1 felt the full force of the rebuke, andpromptly paying arreragos at the increas-ed price named in the prospectus, nnd al-so a year in advance, I shortly bid adieuto the wonky and wronged farmer, re-solving to i* every thing in my power torepy-ir die • <,.ry which had been accruedIVom rev d ”;.mcncy.

> ¦ id h-i'i !I -pi’ll '¦[ 'vli.'-.-cvcrjVcifc, or whoever ye be! ye j

vbo have received and eaten the wheal 1from his Granary without making pay-ment! Yc are guilty of the grievous sin jof commission. Therefore repent, paythe farmer what you owe him.—UncleSam’s teamsters bring the sack of grainevery week, and Uncle Sam’s teamster

will carry the money safely to JonathanHomespun.’

A COQUETTE’S KISS.“Lore is the mistress ofus uU."

“How smooth the surface of the riveris this evening! Surely the current isgentle enough to tempt even the timidMary to venture a sail,” said I, half ironi-cally. “Come, here is a boat, let ns crossover ami spend an hour with the MissesII “But it may be dark before wereturn, and then— ’‘ she hesitated. “Thenwe willreturn by the bridge,” said 1. “Itis a delightful evening, and the last, too,that 1 shall spend in your pleasant villagefor the present, so let us enjoy it.”

She made no reply, but placing herhand in mine permitted me to seat her inthe boat. A few strokes of the oar andwt gained the centre of the river. Thedwelling of the Misses H was situa-

• ted a short distance below, and yieldingourselves to the current we floated slow-ly down.

Report had assigned to Mary W theunenviable reputation of heartless co-

quette. The village gossips would recount

her almost numberless conquests, especi-ally among the students of the neighbor-hood College. Many a fascinated under-graduate had thought more of her than ofof his cuvdics, and received for his troublea coqucUe’smiles and Ills tutor’s frowns.Mary was indeed beautiful and fullof that graceful light-hcartedness, whichmore than even beauty bewitchesous, but which is so often, alas! foundunited with heartless coquetry. Atflrst 1 was led to believe that what seemedthe general opinion was true. But I soonthought otherwise. 1 could not but be-lieve that a form so lovely enshrined aheart—a heart, too, susceptible of the pur-est and holiest passion that mortals know.My classmates, however, only smiledand shook their heads at what they call-ed my infatuation. But I had noted heractions for some time closely, and in ameasure unobserved. The more I sawthe more 1 was convinced that Mary hadyet to love, and that when she did, itwould be with a fervor of which few arecapable. Meantime our slight acquain-tance gradually become intimacy, and itwas said by the village gossips that 1would soon be added to the catalogue ofher victims. Thus the time passed byuntil the period for my departure had ar-rived and on leaving my room on the lastevening ofmy slay, I determined to know

| if she was the heartless being so general-

ly considered, or if she was capable ofloving and being loved.

For once her usual vivacity had desert-ed her,and oi:r walk on this evening was,unlike the many which preceded it, al-most a silent one.

“We return by the bridge, do we?” sheinquired, as we left the Misses H .

“Ifyon prefer it. The distance is con-siderable, however; perhaps it willbe too

fatiguing.”“Oh! no, I like a long walk some-

times.”A few vain altcmps at conversation,

and we again walked on in silence. Wehad nearly readied iier home, when shehesitatingly inquired—-

“May 1 ask yon a question?’“Ves, two if yon wish.” 1 replied,

somewhat piqued at her previous reserve.“Who is Ellen C ?”

“A cousin of mine, and a pretty one,too.”

“Yoncorrespond with her?”“Yes, and hope to see her soon.”

“She is n lovely creature; such an oneAs poets love to dream of, artists paint,”

We had now reached the grounds en-closing her father’s residence. Insteadof taking the path direct to the house, we

had, unobserved by mo, taken one leadingto a small arbor, where we had frequent-ly spent an hour in idle converse or inreading some favorite author.

“1 am fatigued; let us rest an h le,” saidMary, ns wo reached it. Wo entered. 1observed on the scat a volume of Tasso’sJerusalem which I had given her. 1 tookit up. Her glove was lying between theleaves opening to a particular passage—afavorite ofmine. Apparently without no-ticing it, I referred to the pages which 1had been reading during the day, andthen spoke of some now publicationswhich I had just received, offering to sendthem to her for perusal during my ab-end' in vacation.

“But you will cull again before vonleave?”

“1 think not. My uncle’s carriage willarrive in the morning, and wc shall leaveas soon as the commencement is over.”

“But yon can call fora moment at least,”“Doyou wish it?”She looked up reproachfully. A tear

stood trembling in her eye. My arm cn--1 circled her waist and gently drew her to

1 me. Our lips met; the first long kiss ofj love was given, and her head sunk uponimy bosom. We breathed no vow. but

; mat moment has long bun* to n.e the huli| ost one in memory.

1 llOur IIIV ,-flfe'o

j approaching the libraiy. “Yon arc just intime, Mary. Read——. Have I sketch-ed it correctly?”

“Yes—but—”“But what?”“Yon should not have written any

thing about—about—.”“About what?”“About that kiss!”“Well, not again,”“Yonpromise?”“Yes. but that promise must be scaled

or ‘twillnot be valid,”,”and, gentle readermy story is ended.United States.

The Press. —The Boston travellerwell and forcibly observes, that “thepress, guarded by true principles and seek-ing truth, is one of the greatest blessings;but if basely prostituted, it is a canker eat-ing away at the very heart of a nation’smorals.’’

“There are two lives to each of ns,gliding on at the same moment, scarcelyconnected with each other!—the life ofour actions, and the life of onr minds!—there is a secret self that hath its ownlife ‘rounded by a dream,’ impenetrated,tmgnessed.”

Ladies, What Sav You?—A cleverfemale French writer says that womanshould not sit beside the man they wishto conqnsr, but opposite him. “Attack a

heart by fullfrout, not by profile,” is herexpression.

“Do you admire fine paintings?” askeda gentleman ofa young lady, who seemedintensely engaged in contemplating an ex-hibition of aJandscapc. “Yes indeed,” shereplied, with the utmost naivette, theblushes upon her checks attesting to thetruth of the remark: “Yes indeed, sir, Ipaint myself.” How the truth willcut!

“Some say absence conquers love, but1 don’t believe no such infeasible,” as theloafer said von lookin’ in the empty rum

__

THE AIR.The air is a bachelor—merry and free,He roves at his pleasure, o’er land and

o’er sea,He ruffles the lake, and he kisses the flow-

er.And he sleeps when he lists in a jessamine

bower.

He gives to the cheek of the maiden itsbloom,

He tastes their warm kisses, and breathestheir perfume:

But truant like often, the sweets that hesips ¦¦ asp,

Arc lavished next moment on lovlier lips-

NO. o

Dit. Franklin’s Codk or Morals.—Temperance—eat not to fulness; drinknot lo elevation. Silence—speak not butwhat may benefit others or yourself;avoid trifling conversation. Order—letnil your things have 'heir place; let eachpart of your business have its time. Re-solution—resolve to perform what youought; pcifoim without fail what youresolve Frugality—make no expense,but to do good to others or yourself;that is, never waste anything. Indus-try—lose no time: Le always employ-ed in something useful; keep out ofall un-necessary action. Sincerity—use nohurtful deeeil;lhiuk innocently and justly;and ifyou speck, speak accordingly. Jus-tice; wrong no man by doing injuries, oromitting the benefits that are your duty.Moderation—avoid extremes; forbear re-senting injuries, Cleanliness—snfler nouncleanliness in tbe body, clothes, orhabitation. Tranquility— be not distur-bed about tritlcs, or at accidents commonor unavoidable. Humility—imitate JesusChrist

WOMAN.Is it in the sunshine or shade, in pros-

perity or adversity, that the female char-acter displays its brightest virtues?

Is it in the young and girlish scenes ofpublic life, or in the retired and social du-ties of her domestic fireside that she ex-cites admiration? In youth we admireIter wandering through the gilded hauntsof pleasure, [and floating in sylph-likebeauty through the mazes of the giddydance—wo admire her fostering withwarm solicitude her tender offspring, oradministring to the domestic happiness ofher cares; but where—where is site solovely ns when we behold Iter bondinglike a guardian angel o’er 'he couch ofsickness, and cheering with her last faintparting smile the bed of death—at the lastdread parting hour, who like her cansooth the couch of anguish, or light thetorch of hope in the dark bosom of des-pair!

The pride of manhood soon bows be-neath the weight of sickness and sorrow—how oft do we behold him in the morn-ing of life,in the bloom of youth, tower-ing like the mountain oak in strength andbeauty—but soon struck by the baud ofmisfortune and disease, drooping like tholowly willow.—Yes, it is then that thebaud of affection supports him throughthe Irving scene.

1 wa„ led to these reflections by a visitto the sick bed of an intimate friend—wo

I bad been Irtentre from mu caiiicoi u.tid-hood, and I now visited him with feelingsof unusual interest.

I entered with slow and mornful stepsthe house of sorrow and walked silentlyto the chamber of death—my friend laystretched upon his bed with his head to-wards tho widow, tho light from whichfell upon Ids countenance, now pale endemaciate, but which lately glowed withhealth and intelligence. His sister wasbending over him with fond and devotedaffection, fanning the cold drops from hispallid brow, and regarding him with thatsoft, pitying look which only heartfeltsorrow can express.

1 had seen her often in the rounds ofpleasure, radient with .'miles, but neverhad she appeared so beautiful as then —theair of pensive iorrow, so different- fromboisterous grief was even more lovelythan her smile—her eye so full of sou!but unmoistened by a tear, (for she wastoo intensely engaged to weep) arousedin my breast the liveliest emotions; andunrestrained by the pride of youth, and

. manhood, a tear fell upon the couch ofmy languishing friend. —Album

Lord Chatham's Opinion ofPoliteness.Now as to politeness, many people haveattempted definitions of it, but I believeit is best to be known by descrip-tion. 1 would however, venture to call itbenevolence in trifles , or the preference ofothers to ourselves in little daily, hourlyoccurrences in the commerce of life.—Bowing, ceremonious compliments, stiffcivilities, will never be politenecs, whichmust be easy, unstudied, manly, natural,noble, and what will give this, but a mindbenevolent and habitually attentive to

exert that amiable disposition in trifles,toward all you converse and live with.

Different colors ofMourning. —In Eu-rope black is generally used. In China,white; in Egypt yellow; in Turkey blue

,in

some parts, and in others, violet,

A Confession. —A recent locofocomeeting passr d a resolution that “a Na-tional debt was a National curse.” Whoinflicted a National debt on tbe country?Martin Van BurenV administration. Whocan deny the fact? Nobody.

‘•Who gave you that new frock?”said a person to a littlegirl whom he Ladbeen accustomed to see in rags. —

•‘Nobody did’ntgive it to me, for sinceFather joiuedjthe Temperance Society bebuys things and told Mother not to let ti e

childern beg any more.”

‘•Dighy, will you lake some of thisbutter?” ••Thank yon, Quilp, i belong to

the temperance society, and therefore Ican’t take anything that u strong .”