Locomotive, Volume 32, Number 3, Indianapolis, Marion County, 10 March 1855 — Page 1

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JOHN R. ELDER, Editor. '.'The Chariots shall rage In the streets, they shall seem like torches, they shall run like the lightnings." f'ahum,ii, 4. ELDER & HARKNESS, Publishers.

VOL. XXXII.

T II K L O C O OT O T I V 10 s printed and Published evert satdhday:by ELDER & HARKNESS, At thoir Book and Job Printing Office. on Meridian Street Indianapolis. Ind., opposite the Poet Office. TKHMS: One Dollara your. Twonty-flve Cunts for three months. Six oopios to one address forone year, Five Dollars; thirteen copiesone year for Ten Dollars. ir?i mrnci'i u all Casks Jjf No paper will be sent until paid lor, anil no paper will'bTriontinuod afterthclime paid forexpires, unless the subscription is renewed. Look out for tub Cross. All mail and county subscribers an know their time Is out when they see a large cross marked n their paper, and that is always the last paporsu lit until the inscription is renewed. TERMS OF 1BV1RTIIIBO. One Square, (8 lines, orless, 250 ins,) for 1 week 0.50 4 t foreachsubsequeutinsorlion, ft.'!.1) t forthroo uiotiihs, t forsix months, 5.110 (i ti for one year, without alteration, fi."0 ci it for one year, with frequent changes, 1..(M) A small reduction made on larger advertisement. Cuts and Special .Notices double the above rates. TT AdertisementemMttbe handed in bit Thureday of each week, or they Kill be deferred until tin nezliteue. Printers Ink! WE have .lust received, direct from the Manufactory 0 John G. Liahtliodv, fresh supply of Summer Ink, which will bo sold in the following sized kegs, and at the folnlwinir nriees: NKWS1NK 25 Cents per It : 12 fts and keir, 21 M and keg, . 5 54 Iks and keg, In half barrels, of 100 fts, no charge for kegs. NKWS INK. NO. 130 Cenf per lb: 21 t,s and keir, - - - Sli.BO 54 fcsaud keg, - - 100 lbs, (no chargo for keg,) - BOOK INK 4 Centt per ft: 12 ftsand keg, - - - $5.30 21 lb and keg, - - FINE BOOK INK 5(1 Cents per : 21 fcsaiidkeg. - - --.." $10.!).', 30.00 $8,110 $11.0u jn.FLXj Ill 1 nnd 2 8, cans, at $1.00 per lb. COI.OHED INKS : Red. Blue, and Green, in half pound cans, at $1.5(1 perenn All orders accompanied with the cash, will be promptly attended to. Address, EI.DKK HAKKKKSS, Agents lor i.igmoouy's inns, luuiauapous, mu. Stoves. Plow) Ac, Ac. TUST received a largo and general assortment of Cooking ,9 and Parlor .Stoves, Vilncharo unsurpassed oy nny in iuo liiitrkot.. Amnnir our Cook Stoves may be found Pacillc, 1 riumph, Buckeve Slate. Bav State, Empire State, Hoosier State, Qnimn Cit.v. Prize Priinium. Ohio Premium. Oregon, Calllornin. Piiemiix. and Cleveland Air Tight: also, a great variety of Parlor Sloves and Coal Grates; also, a general assortment of Steol Plows, kept constantly lor sale, waranieu i nie uu.-i qualitv. I in-ware const a in ly Kepi on iiaiiu, wuuiusmu uu tail. All kinds ol Tin, Copper, and Slice 'roil work done to order. Those wantiug anything in our line, will do well to give us a call before purchaaine elsewhere, at the sign of the Gilt Ball, south side of Washington Rtreet, near the Masonic Hall. OC-l 1-y R.Ij.oca. n.mtuKfli. TVOTICE.-DR. WM. R. JEFFERIS most respectfully informs the people of Indianapolis and vicinity that ho has just returned from the East, in full pes- myj-:"?X session of all the latest improvements in Ukntistkv,-I-LLIT und is now ready to resume his practice in all its branches insuring perfect satisfaction in all operations or no charge. Being aided by one of the best practical Dentists of the Philadelphia School, 1 feel no hesitation in saying we can get up work in every point equal, and in many respects superior, to any other establishment in the State. We particularly request the attention of those having artificial tooth, and receiving no benelit from them, as we warrant all alterations to give entire satisfaction, or make no charge. Dentists supplied with teeth and plate at the usual prices. Otllce on Meridian street, two doors below the Post Otlloc, Idianapclis. apl5-tf gavl5i"s Itanit, South JWeridii Sreot,op3 posite the Post Office. Open Daily from 7 A. M. to 12 M; from 1 to 6 P. M., and on Monday and Saturday evenings to 8 o'clock. Interest allowed on all sums of $1 and over, from 4 to 0 per cent. Any amount received on deposite of one dime and over. Allure invited to the Benellts of a Savings Institution. WM. KOBSON. Indianapolis, Juno23, 1854. June24-tf r-1 km VENETIAN BLINDS, M ABB AND REPAIRED, iSecond door North of Plaining null, on Alabama st. J. BARK. nov25-3in fw I1VC 1IE. Just received and for sale, a large assortJf luent of Zinc Piping of all sizes, suitable for Chain Pump, Well and Cistern Pumps, &c., atNo. 26 West Washington st. seplO HENKY S. KELLOGG. jTSZTISs K. JOIllNSOJi, clltist, OfflceandresAsSf'TXideiice, Pennsylvania street, one-half square north -UQiXrof Washington, opposite Mrs. Ferguson's Boarding House. mar25 JOHN F. JOHNSTON, D. D. S. N. E1V A 1 1 K A IV G E M K IV X TO TAKE EFFECT INDIANAPOLIS AND CINCINNATI fcJ&tftfH' mOUAYi July 2 1,1851. .Tg RAILKOAD, Ooniiectine with the Ohio anil "iViistiisaiijpi Hull road, by Special Train. No detention on this route by waiting for other trains! Through to Cincinnati in 41 hours. The only direct route to Cincinnati, being 30 miles shorter and ll hours quicker thnn any other route. Lightning Express Train leaves Union Depot at 11 A.M., and arrives at Cincinnati at 3 P. M., only stopping at Shelby villa, Greensburgh and Lawrunceburgli; dine at Shelby ville Chicago Mail Train leaves at 4 P. M., attwr the arrival of the Chicago train and arrives at Cincinnati at 9i P. M., supper at Greensburgli. Fare to Cincinnati, $3 00 Baggage checked through. Through tickets can be procured ut Union Depot, over this route to New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Columbus, O., and Wheeling, via the Little Miami Kailroad. Piissengers taking the 11 A.M. train, arrive in Cincinnati iu time to take the 5 P. M. trains for the East. July29 T. A. MORRIS, Pres't. GUEAX CENTRAL A!V5 EASTERN ROUTE. INDIANA CENTRAJL HAILWAY. 185 m 1855. vae-a tr --r.tr NEW ARRANGEMENT rcivltouto to Cincinnati and Dayton Co. leluliia and New Vork. lumbuw. Clevclana. V ittshurirli . 1'liiln. On und ulierTlnirsdny, August 17,1854, PassengerTrainswill run as follows, .Sundays exeepted: Two Trains daily, each way. Morning Express leave Indiunapolis at 5.45, A. M. Passengers leaving in 5.45 A.M. train arrive In Cincinnati at 11.45 A. M., in Dayton at 10.40 A.M., in Columbus at 2.3U P. M., in Cleveland at 6.45 P. M. Mail train leaves Indianapolis at 12 M. Passongersleaving in 12 M. train arrive in Cincinnati at 6.30 P.M., iu Davtoniu 5.00 P. M. Passengers for Columbus, Newark, and Zanesville,by taking the 12 M. train arrive in Dayton at 5. IK); in Columbus at 9.45 P. M., being six hours in advance of all other Routes. Passengers taking 12 M. train arrive in Cincinnati at 6.30 P.M. Pussengers leaving Indianapolis at 12 M. for Dayton, Columbas, Crestline, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and New York, arrive in Dayton at 5.00 P. M., in Columbus at 9.45 P. M., at Crestline 12 ut night, in time to connect with the night train on Ohio and Pennsylvania Roud, for Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and N. York. No change of gunge or cars to Dayton. Passengers save by this route 28 miles to Dayton, and 50 miles to Columbus, Pittsburg, or Wheeling, over any other Railroad route. Through tickets can be procured at the office, in the Depot. TTjliastern Baggage Checked to Buffalo; Pittsburg, Philadelphia and New York Baggage to Pittsburg. JAMES M. SMITH, Supt. As regards Freight, inquire of Jan7 W. A. BKADSHaW, Freight Agent. THE GREAT EASTERN ROUTE. 1855. mM?mm 1855. INDIANAPOLIS, BFLLEFONTA INK AND CLEVELAND RAILROAD. COlVNNECTIIN'eat this place with trains from Lafayette, Terre Haute, Jeffersonville, and Madison. Passengers will find this the cheapest, shortest, quickest and moit comfortable route to Dayton, .Springlield, Urbanna, Bellefontaine, Columbus, Cleveland, Pittsburg, Dunkirk Buffalo, Albany, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. Two Trains leave Indianapolis daily (Sundavs excepted). 1st day Telegraph Express leaves the Union Depot ut 6 A. M.; connect at Union with Train for Dayton and Cincinnati; at Bellefoniaine with Train for Sandusky, Toledo, and Detroit; at (iallion with Train for Columbus; und arrive in Cleveland at 7 same evening, in time to connect at Cleveland with the Lake hhore rtailroad ExpressTrain, connecting at Dunkirk and Buffalo with the day Express Train, and arrive in New York early same evening. Passengers by this train breakfast before leaving Indianapolis. 2d. Express Mail Train leavesthe Union Depot at 12.45 P. making the way-connections arriving in Cleveland next morning in timo for the Express Trains for Dunkirk, Buffalo and rew York also for Pittsburg, Philadelphia and Baltimore ' Through Tickets can be procured at the office in the Depot. TCpPaasengcrs for Columbus, bv taking 6 A. M. train via. Bellefontaine.arnve at Columbus ato same afternoon. Fure Through 4. CO J. NOTTINGHAM, Superintendant, Oilice nearthe Union Depot, Indianapolis 1858. ocU'0-tf

INDIANAPOLIS,

From tho Fountain and Journal. THE LITTLEMAID OF ALL W0KX. BIT T. 8. ARTHUR. Supper was not ready whi-n Abraham Munday lifted the latch of his humble dwelling, at the close of h long, weary summer day. He was not greatly disappointed, for it often so happened. The table was on tho floor partly set, and the kettle over the fire. "There it is again," exclaimed Mrs. Munday, fretfully, "home from work, and no supper ready. The baby has been so cross! hardly out of arms the whole afternoon. I'm triad you've come, though. Here, take him while I fly around and gel things on the table. Mr. Munday held out his arms for the little one, who sprang into them with a baby shout. Mrs. Munday did fly around in good earnest. A few pieces of light wood thrown on the tire, soon made the kettle sing, and boil, and bubble. In a wonderful short space of time, all was ready, and the little family, consisting of husband, wife and three children, were gathered around the table. To mother's arms the babv was transfer red, and she had the no very easy task of pour ing out her husband's tea, preparing cups of milk and water for the two older of tho little ones, and restraining the baby, who was grasping first the sugar bowl, then the milk pitcher, and next ihe teapot. "There!" suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Munday. And two quick slaps on baby's head were heard. Baby, of course, answered promptly with a wild scream. But what had baby done the whole surface is covered with milk. Her busy, fluttering hands had overturned the pitcher. Poor Mrs. Munday lost her temper completely. "It's no use of attempting eating with this child," said she, pushing her chair back from the table. "I never have any good of my meals." Mr. Munday's appetite failed him at once. He continued to eat, however, but more hurriedly. Soon he pushed back his chair, also, and rising up, said cheerfully "There, I'm done, Lotty. Give me the baby, while you eat your supper." And he took the sobbing child from the arms of its mother. Tossing it up, and speaking to it in a lively affectionate tone of voice, he soon restored pleasure to the heart, and smiles to the countenance of the little one. Mrs. Munday felt rebuked Tor her impatience. She often suffered from these silent rebukes. And yet the trials of temper she daily endured were very great. No relish for food was left. The wants of the two children were attended to and then, while Mr. Munday held the baby, she busied herself in clearing off the table, washing up tho tea things, and putting the room in order. An hour later. Baby was asleep, and the oth er children with them, in the land of dreams. Mrs. Munday was busy sewinjr on a little frock, and Mr. Munday sat with his face turned from the light, in a brown study. "Lotty, said the latter, waking up from his reverie, and speaking with considerable emphasis, ii s no use lor you to keep going on in this way an' longer. You are wearing yourself out. And what's more, there is no comfort at home for any body. You must get a woman to help about the house." "We can't afford it, Abraham," was Mrs. Munday's calm, but decided answer. "We must afford it, Lotty. You are killing yourself." "A woman will cost a dollar and a quarter a week, and her board at least as much more. We can't spare that sum and you only get ten dollars a week." The argument was unanswered. Mr. Munday sighed and was silent. Again his face was turned from the light and again the hand of his wife plied quickly the glittering needle. I ll tell you what we might do, said Mrs. M., after a lapse of nearly ten minutes. Well". Her husband turned towards her and assumed a listening attitude. "We might take a small girl to help me in the family. It would onlv cost her victuals and clothes." Mr. Munday mused for some time before an swering, lie aicin t just like tne proposition. "Anything," he at length said, "to lighten your labor. JJut can you get one; 'I think so. You remember poor Mrs. Bar row, who died last month? She left aJittle girl eleven years old, with no one to see after her but an old aunt, who I've heard isn't very kind to the child. No doubt she would be glad to get her into a good place. It would be very easy for her here. She could hold the baby, or rock it in the cradle, while I was at work about the house, and do a great many little things for me, that would lighten my task wonderfully. It is the very thing, husband" added Mrs. Munday, with animation. "And if you agree, I will rnn over and see Mrs. Gooch, her aunt, in the morning before you go to work." "How old did you say she was?" inquired Mr. Munday. "She was eleven in the spring, I believe." "Our Aggy is between nine and ten." Something like a sigh followed the words, for the thought of having his li tie Aggy turned out ! motherless among strangers, to do drudgery and task work, forced itself upon his mind. "True. But a year or so makes a great difference. Besides Anna Barrow is an uncommonly smart girl of her age." Mr. Munday sighed again. Well," he said, after being silent for a few moments "you can do as you think best. But, it does seem hard to make a servant of a mere child like that." ' "You call the position in which she will be, by too harsh a name," said Mrs. Munday. "I can make her very useful without overtasking her. And then, you know, as she has got to earn her own living she cannot acquire habits of industry too soon." Mrs. Munday was now quite in earnest about the matter, so much so that her husband made no other objections. On the next morning, she called around to see Mrs. Gooch, the aunt of Anna Barrow. The offer to take the little girl was accepted at once. Wlien Mr. Munday came home at dinner time he found the meal all ready and awaiting his ap

IND., SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1855.

pearance. Mrs. Munday looked cheerful and animated. In a corner of the room sal a slender little girl, not very much larger than Aggy, with the sleeping baby in her arms. She lifted her eyes timidly to the face of M. Munday, and he gave her a kind look. "Poor motherless child I" Such was his thought. "1 can't tell you how much assistance she is to me," whispered Mrs. Munda, to her husband, leaning over to him as they sar at the table. "And the baby seems so fond of her." Mr. Munday said nothing, ' ut before his mind was distinctly pictured his own little girl, a servant in the house of a strangers On his return from work in ; evening, everything wore a like improved appearance. Supper was ready, and Mrs. Munday had nothing of the worried look so apparent on K.e occasion of her first introduction to the reader. Everything wore an improved appearance, did we say? JNo, not everything. There was a change in the little orphan girl: and Mr. Munday saw at a glance, that the change, so pleasant to contemplate, had been made at her expense. The tidy look noticed at dinner time, was gone. Her clothes were soiled and tumbled; her hair had lost its even, glossy appearance, and her manner showed extreme weariness of body and mind. She was holding the baby. None saw the tears that crept over her cheeks as the family gathered around the tea table, and forgetful of her, enjoyed the evening meal. Supper over, Mrs. Munday took the baby nnd undressed it, while Anna sat down to eat her portion of the food. Four times, ere this was accomplished, did Mrs. Munday send her up to her chamber for something wanted either for herself or child. . "You must learn to eat quick, Anna," said Mrs. Munday, ere the girl, in consequence of these interruptions, was half through her supper. Anna looked frightened and confused, pushed back her chair, and stood gazing inquiringly into the face of her mistress. "Are you done?" the latter coldly asked. "Yes, ma'am," was timidly answered. "Very well. Now I want you to clear off the table. Gather up all the things and take them out into the kitchen, Then shake the tablecloth, set the table back, and sweep up the room." Mr. Munday looked at his wife, but said nothing. -1 "Shall I help Anna, mother?" inquired Aggy. "No," was rather sharply answered. "Have you studied your lesson?" "No, ma'am." "Go about that, then; it wil' .a much as you can do before bed-time." Mrs. Munday undressed her baby, with considerable more deliberation of manner than usual, observing all the while the proceedings of Anna, and every now and then giving her a word of instruction. She felt very comfortable, as she finally leaned back in her chair, with her little one asleep in her arms. By this time Anna was in the kitchen, where, according to instructions, she was washing up the tea things. While thus engaged, to the best of her small abilities, a cup slipped from her hands and was broken on the floor. The sound started Mrs. Munday from her agreeable state of mind and body. "What's that?" she cried. "A cup, ma'am," was the trembling answer. "You're a careless little girl," said Mrs. Munday, rather severely. The baby was now taken up stairs and laid in bed. After this Mrs. Munday went to the kitchen to see how her little maid of all work was getting on with the supper dishes. Not altogether to her satisfaction, it must be owned. "You will have to do these all over again, "-v. she said not kindly and encouragingly, but with something captious and authoritative in her manner. "Throw out the water from the dish-pan and get some more." Anna obeyed and Mrs. Munday seated herself by the kitchen table, to observe her movements and correct them when wrong. "Not that way Here, let me show you the way. Stop! I said it must be done in this way Here, that is right. Don't set the dishes down so hard; you'll break them, they re not made of iron." These, and words of like tenor, were addressed to the child, who, anxious to do right, yet so confused as often to misapprehend what was said to her, managed at length, to complete her task. "Now sweep the kitchen, and put things to rights. When you're done come into me," said Mrs. Munday, who now retired to the little sitting room, where her husband was glancing over the daily paper, and Aggy engaged in studying her lesson. On entering she remarked "It's more trouble to teach a girl like this, than to do it yourself. Mr. Munday said nothing, but he had his own thoughts "Mother, I'm sleepy; I want to go to bed," said Fanny, younger by two or three years than ASSJ"i don't want to go yet; and besides, I have not got my lesson," said the older sister. "Wait until Anna is done in the kitchen, and she will go up and stay with you. Anna!" Mrs. Munday called to her, "make haste! I want you to put fanny to bed." 1 In a few minutes Anna appeared, and as directed, went up stairs with Fanny. "To bed," ejaculated Mrs. Munday, in a voice of surprise "I've got something for her to do besides going to bed." "Mr. Munday resumed the reading of his paper and said no more. Fanny was soon asleep. "Can't Anna go with me now? I'm afraid to go alone," said Aggy, as the little girl came down from the chamber. - "Yes I suppose so. But you must go to sleep quickly. I've got something for Anna to do!" Mr. Munday sighed, and moved himself uneasily in his chair. In half an hour Anna came down; Aggy was just asleep. As she made her appearance; the baby awoke and cried out. "Run up and hush the baby to sleep before he gets wide awake," said Mrs. Munday. x The weary child went as directed. In a little

while the low murmur of her voice was heard, as she attempted to quiet the baby by singing a nursery ditty. How often had her mother's voice soothed her to sleep with the self-same melody. The babe stopped crying; and soon all was silent in the chamber. Nearly half an hour passed during which Mrs. Munday was occupied in sewing. "I do believe that girl has fallen asleep," said she at length, letting her work drop in her lap, and assuming a listening attitude. "Annal" she called. But there was no answer. . Mrs. Munday started up and ascended to her chamber. Mr. Munday was by her side as she

entered the room, bure enough; Anna had fallen asleep, leaning over the bed where the infant lay. "Poor motherless child!" said Mr. Munday, in a voice of tender compassion that reached the heart of his wife, and awakened there some womanly emotions. , "Poor thing! I suppose she is tired out," said the latter. "She'd better go to bed." So she awakened her and told her to go up into the garret, where abed had been made for her on the floor. Thither the child proceeded, and there wppt herself again to sleep. In her dream that night, she was in her own pleasant home, and was still dreaming of her mother and her home, when she was awakened by the sharp voice of Mrs. Munday and told her to get up quickly and come down, as it was broad daylight. "You must kindle the fire and get the kettle on in a jiffy." Such was the order she received on passing tho door of Mrs. Munday's room. ' We will not describe particularly, the trials of this day for our poor little maid of all work. Mrs. Munday was a hard mistress. She had taken Anna as help; though not with the purpose of overworking or oppressing her. But now that she had sonre one to lighten her burdens and 'take steps for her,' the temptation to consult her own ease, was very great. Less wearied than in days past, because relieved of scores of little matters about the house, the aggregate of which had worn her down, she was lifted somewhat above an appreciating sympathy for the child, who in thus relieving her, was herself overtasked. Instead of merely holding the baby for Mrs. Mundav, when it was awake, and would not be in its cradle, and doing for her 'odd turns,' as first contemplated, so as to enable her the better to get through the work of the family, the former at once began to play lady, and to require of Anna not only the . performance of a great deal of household labor, but to wait on her in many instances where the service was almost superfluous. When Mr. Munday came home at supper time, he found his wife with a book in her hand. The table was set, the fire burning cheerfully, and the hearth swept up. The baby was asleep in the cadle, and as Mrs. Munday read, she now and then touched with her foot the rocker. This he observed through the window, without being seen. He then glanced into the kitchen. The tea-kettle had been taken from the lire the teapot was on the hearth, flanked on one side by a plate of toast, and on the other by a dish containing some meat left from dinner which had been warmed over. These would have quickened his appetite, but for another vision. On her knees, in the middle of the room, was Anna, slowly and evidently in a state of exhaustion, scrubbing the floor. Her face, which happened to be turned towards him, looked wan and pale, and he saw at a glance her red eyes, and the tears upon hercheeks. While lie yet gazed upon her, she paused in her work, straightened her little form with a wearied effort, and clasping both her hands across her forehead, lifted her wet eyes upwards. There was no motion of her wan lips, but Mr. Munday knew that her heart, in its young sorrow, was raised to Heaven. At this moment the kitchen door was opened, and Mr. Munday saw his wife enter. "Eye service!" said she severely, as she saw the pjsition of Anna. "I don't like this. Not half over the floor yet! Why, what have you been doing?" The startled child bent quickly to her weary task, and scrubbed with a new energy, imparted by fear. Mr. Munday turned, heart-sick, from the window, and entered the little sitting-room as his wife came in from the kitchen. She met him with a pleasant smile, but his was grave and silent. "Don't you feel well?" she inquired, with a look of concern. "Not very well," he answered evasively. "Have you felt bad all day?" "Yes. But I am heart-sick now." "Heart-sick! What has happened, Abraham?" Mrs. Munday looked slightly alarmed. "One whom I thought full of human kindness has been oppressive, and even cruel." "Abraham! What doyou mean?" "Perhaps my eyes deceived me," he answered "Perhaps it was a dream, but I saw a sight just now that made the tears flow. And as Mr. Mundav spoke, he took his wife by the arm and led her out through the back door. "Look!" said he "there is a poor motherless child, scarcely a year older than our Aggy." Anna had dropped her brush again, and her pale face and teariul eyes were once more up lifted. Was it only a delusion of fancy? or did Mrs. M, really see the torm of Mrs. Barrow, stooping over her suffering child, as if striving to clasp her m her snaaowy arms. For a few moments the whole mind of Mrs. Munday was in a whirl of excitement. Then, stepping from the side of her husband, she glided through the open door, and was in the kitch en ere Anna had time to change her position. I1 lightened at being lound idle again, the poor child caught eagerly at the brush, which lay upon the floor. In doing so, she missed her grasp, and weak and trembling from exhaustion, fell forward, where she lay motionless. When Mrs. Munday endeavored to raise her up, she found her insensible. "Poor poor child!" said Mr. Munday, ten derly, his voice quivering with emotion, as he

NO 3.

lifted her in Jus arms. He bore her up to the children's chamber, and laid her on their bed. "Not here," said Mrs. Munday, "up in her own room." "She is one of God's children, and as precious iu llis sight us ours," almost sobbed the husband, yet with a rebuking sternness in his voice. "She shall lie here!" Mrs. Munday was not naturally a cruel woman; but she loved her own selfishly; and the degree in which this is done, is tho measure of disregard towards others. She forgot, in her desire for service, that her little servant was but a poor, motherless child, thrust out from the parent nest, with all tho tender longings of a child for love, and all its weakness and want of experience. She failed to remember that in the sight of God, all children are equally precious. But the scales fell from her eyes. She was rebuked, humbled and repentant. "Anna must go back to her aunt," said Mr. Munday, after the child had recovered from the brief fainting fit, and calmness was once more restored to the excited household. "She must remain," was the subdued but firm answer. "I have dealt cruelly with her. Let me have opportunity to repair the wrong she has suffered. I will try to think of her as my own child. If I fail in that, the consciousness of her mother's presence will save me from my first error." And Anna did remain to be Mrs. Munday's Maid of all work. But her tasks, though varied, were light. She was never again overburdened; but treated with a judicious kindness that won her affections, and made her ever willing to render service to the utmost of her ability. Thoughts on Hospitality, and Character of an Apostle. uBe not forgetful to entertain strangers, for some thereby have entertained angels unawares." Kind reader, the preceding is a piece of advice from that good old. gentleman, St. Paul. Now Paul was, as it happened, no ordinary individual. He had the very best opportunities the times afforded for early education. He wrote Greek very well; and his head had been trained to accurate thinking by mathematical discipline. He- had traveled much, and had experienced in many places a decline of that sublimo' virtue, hospitality, which has been 60 much eulogized, even by strangers.' He, doubtelss, was often received with such frigid looks as would give him the 'chills" in a "fever and ague" country. He did not go in a shining buggy with two or three horses to draw an indolent carcass, for there was not a lazy fibre in his whole apostolic constitution. He had no ' gold dangling about his person to trip his feet, and to cliain the attention of imbecile minds. He was thought by the fashionables of those days poor, helpless and pitiable, but he was not he was strong and rich in every thing ennobling to human nature. "Head and shoulders" was he, in intellect, above the mass of gregarious humans. Commissioned from the source of purity, he went abroad to disseminate salutary doctrines, true politeness and moral (not fashionable) etiquet. His pathway was illumined by a torch lighted at the altar of eternal truth not by a cigar nor the glow of a brandy fa(;c, like our big modern men and he carried no huge quid of tobacco to swell out his cheeks, to pry over with his tongue and to extract juice to variegate, with fantastic spots, every body's fine carpet, fireframes and brass andirons. Like all great minds, the Apostle had large capacity for wit, and could, if he chose, weave ideas and language together so as to excite only the risibles, and tickle the multitude "almost to death;" and he would have been popular, if he had only exercised his comic powers.' But he was not appreciated; for his motives and aims were higher. Any vacant-headed fop could laugh at human mistakes and frailties; and any fool could wink and grin and there were many things to laugh at, then as now; and the most laughable subject of all, was, then as now, the ludicrous absurdity of human opinions, notions and actions, founded in ignorance, which; he aimed to correct; therefore he must not laugh at them, for nothing makes mortals so mad as to laugh at their opinions. He was grave his head held weighty thoughts an ocean of pensiveness, not gas. High philosophy and Christian philanthropy have not much time to spend in gassy speculations! The saint's head was capacious, and, no doubt, he was called a "big head" by many whose own heads were as big and as green as a pumpkin and containing matter hardly as valuable as a squash ! The chief Apostle was rather young when he began his pilgrimage, and, indubitably, he could have made himself very captivating trf the fair of those times, for he had all the ability to do so; and, if he had forgotton his high calling, he might have carried on extensive flirtations with the coquetish TobiLhas, Marias and Marthas of those ancient days, causing many a Grecian or Ephesian dame to whisper with a sigh to a confident, "Mr. Paul has broken my daughter's heart. Ahem! she never will marry unless he returns." Yet he took no advantage of his high talents to play