A Forest Faneral. 



We liatl one lonj; and we-iirv, iiiiil sotnewliat 

 misuccesdful, e.Npedilion last (all. We ruafle (Uir 

 calciilalions to go tliioiigli llie wlinle luiiiling dis- 

 trict ill the oouise of six days, and loachtlie riv- 

 er ten miles lielovvoiir cahiii, on Satnnlay, so tliat 

 we niiglit attend clmrrli tlieie — or rather hear 

 liruaehiiii;, In a loj; sclioul house, Croin h clergy- 

 man who once a nionlh visited the small seltle- 

 1716111. We worked liard during the «eeli, and 

 we were not sorry at dnsk on S.iturday to sit 



down in the coinlbrtable liaiiie house olCol., , 



who is the owner of some thousands of acre's in 

 that immediate vicinity. The school house in 

 wliich services were to he, is heaniifnily situated, 

 ill u grove of oaks, on a point around which the 

 river bends niul runs rapidly, with a hilling sound. 

 Did yon ever notice how different the voice of n 



<SI)c jTttrmcr g iHontl)li) faieitor. 



71 



;ver is in passing ijiffereiit scenes ? LI|i in the 

 •lorge above it is wild, and rages, as if angry with 

 the rocks it meet.*, and its voice is like the" voice 

 of a roused warrior. But here it goes slowly and 

 sedately by the little oak school house, as it is 

 called, and would seem to linger, as if loving the 

 qniet scene. 



Jt was nearly midnight of Saturday night, that 



a messenger came to Col. , requesting him 



to go to the cabin of n settler, some three miles 

 down the river, and see his daughter, a girl of 

 fourteen, who was supposed to be dying. Col. 



awoke me, and asked me to accompany him, 



and I consented, taking with me the small pack- 

 age of medicines, which I always carried in the 

 forest. But 1 learned .soon that there was no 

 need of these, for her disease was past cure. 



Leaving the house we descended to the bank 

 of the river, and stepped into a canoe that lay in 

 the eddy, and seizing a pole, flattened at one end 



for a paddle, Col. pushed the slight vessel 



• Nl into the current, and we shot swiftly down. 

 1 liMve described so many night scenes that I for- 

 bear giving you this. You may imagine the scene 

 if yon choose, as I lay in the bottom, and he used 

 now his pole and now his paddle, to guide the 

 bark in tiie rapids. 



" She is a strange child," said the Colonel, "her 

 father is as strange a man. They live together 

 alone on the bank of die river. They came here 

 three years ago, and no one knows whence or 

 wliy. He has money and is a keen shot. The 

 child has been wasting away (or a year past. 1 

 have seen her often, and she seems gifted with n 

 m.-uvelloiis intellecl. She speaks sometimes as 

 if inspired ; and she seems to be the only hone 

 of her falher." 



VVe reached the hut of the settler in less than 

 half an hour, and entered it reverently. 



The scene was one that cannot easily be for- 

 gotten. There were books and evidences of lux- 

 ury and lasie lying on the rude table in the cen- 

 tre. A guitar lay on a bench near the small win- 

 dow, and the bed furnilnre, on which the dyinir 

 gill lay, was as sn(t as the covering of a dying 

 queen. I was, of course, startled, never having 

 heani of these people before; but knowing it to 

 lie no nncottimon thing for misanthropes to go 

 into the woods to live and die, I was content to 

 ask no explanations, more es|)ecially as the death 

 'lour was evidently near. 



She was a fair child, with ma.sses of long black 



lair, lying over her pillow. Her eye was dark 



nd piercing, and as it tnet mine, she started 



lightly, but smiled and looked upward. J spoke 



few words lo her father, and turning to her, 



died her if she knew her condition. 



"I know that my Kedeemer liveth," said she 



a voice whose melody was like the sweetest 



■ain of an /Eolian. Vou may imagine that the 



«wer startled me, and with a few words of like 



ijiort, 1 turned from her. A half hour passed, 



a) she spoke in that same deep, richly melodi- 



Oi voice : 



Father, I am cold ; lie down beside me" 



J'l the old man laid down by his dying child 

 an she twined her emaciated arms around his 

 iiek, ai.d mmniured in a dieaniy voice, "Dear 

 fttler, dear father.'' 



"My child," said the old man, "Doth the flood 

 ^een deep to thee .'" 

 "Viiy, ather, for my soul is strong." 

 "Seestthou the thither shore ?" 

 . "1 see it, father; and its banks are green with 

 immortal lerdure." 

 I^Hearea thou the voices of its inhabitants.'" 

 J near them, father; as the voices of augels 



falling from afar in the still and solemn night- 

 time ; and they call me. Her voice too, falher, 

 —Oh, I heard it then 1" 

 " Uoth she speak to thee ?" 

 "She spenketli in tones most heavenly." 

 "Doth she smile?" 



"An angel smile! But a cold, calm smile. 

 But I am coM— cold— coM !— Father, there's u 

 mist ill the room. You'll be lonely, lonely, lone- 

 ly. Is this death, father?" 

 " !t is de.'ilh, my Mai v." 

 "Thank God," 



I stepped (lilt into the night, and stood lougand 

 silently looking at the rushing river. The wile 

 of a settler arrived soon after, and then the Col- 

 onel's excellent lady and her daughter, and wn 

 left the cabin. 



The Sabbath morning broke over the eastern 

 hills before we reached the school bouse again. 

 But never came Sabballi light so solemnly be- 

 fore. 



As evening approached, a slow and Bad pro- 

 cession came through the forest to the little 

 school-house. There with simple rites the good 

 clergyman performed his duty, and we went to 

 the grave. It was in the enclosure where two of 



Col. 's children lie, a lovely spot. The sun 



was setting as we entered the grove. The pro- 

 cession was short. They were hardy men and 

 rough, in shooting jackets, and some with rifles 

 on their shoulders. But their warm hearts gave 

 beauty to their unshaven faces, as they stood in 

 reverent silence by the grave. Ttie river mur- 

 mured, and the birds sang, and so we buried lior. 

 I saw the sun go dow n tioni the same spotand 

 the stars were bright before I left it— for I have 

 always had an idea iliat a grave-yard was ihe 

 nearest place to heaven on this earth ; and with 

 old Sir Thomas Browne, 1 love to see a church 

 in a grave-yard, for even as we pass through the 

 place of graves to the temple of God on earth, 

 so we must pass through the grave to the temple 

 of God on high. — Jeurnal of Commerce. 



ward, as if treading upon the rear of a slowly 

 retreating foe. In about forty days its work is 

 done, and il emerges once more into the open 

 country, and pursues its appointed journey. 



And whither is it tenrliiig? Will it pause up- 

 on the sillily plains of iMosid ? Will it stop its 

 career of coinpiest under the walls of old Byzan- 

 tium ? Or will it siveep over Fmopo, finishing 

 the sad work which liniiine has begun ? And 

 for lis there is aimther question more interesting 

 still. Will the broad All.iniic arrest the march 

 of this dreaded foe ? In Jrti'i it proved to be no 

 barrier. Will it avail us now? Th(-.»e inquiries 

 are not propounded with the view of exciting' 

 premature and groundless fears; but, rather, that 

 we may look the danger in the (iice, ascertain its 

 nature and extent, and do w hatever true wisdom 

 may e\\']on\.— Boston Traveller. 



God save the I'lough. 



BY MRS. SlGOURNET. 



The Asiatic Cholera. 



The distresses of Europe are causing ns to 

 forget the scourge of Asia. The famine in Ire- 

 land and Scotland seems lo be almost at our ve- 

 ry elbows. .Men and women and children, speak- 

 ing the same language with ourselves, are dying 

 by thousands for lack of bread. And the end is 

 not yet. Without the merciful interposition of 

 Providence, this work of death may go on for 

 months. Let there be another harvest like the 

 last, and who will venture to foretell the scenes 

 of the coming year? 



But let us turn for a moment to Central Asia, 

 and watch the progress, slow but resistless, of 

 the king of terrors in another form. Early in 

 1840, it was announced that the cholera had com- 

 menced its ravages in Khorasan, the eastern 

 province of Persia. About midsummer it reach- 

 ed Teheran, where it swept ofl^tcn thousand souls 

 in a few weeks. Going out from this centre of in- 

 fluence and power with a divided force, as from 

 a conquered capital, it took the great roads north, 

 soiiih and west, s|ireading desolation and woe 

 along its course. Soon it lays 'spahan under 

 contribution— Bagdad is compelled to yield up 

 seven thousand of its inhabiianls ; and in the 

 whole pashalic, thirty thousand fell before their 

 relentless (be. Tabreez was spared till the 7th 

 of Octolier; but then it paid dearly for its re- 

 prieve. In Ibrly days nearly seven thousand souls 

 were hurried lo the grave. Three weeks later, 

 Oroomiah was smitten by the hand of the same 

 fell destroyer; and two thousand persons shortly 

 became the trophies of his power. 



Here the disease was stayed in its westward 

 progress by the mountains of Koordistan ; but 

 with the ready skill of an able General, it chang- 

 ed its line of march and proceeded south, scat- 

 tering its deadly arrows on every side, and 

 threaleniiig very soon to find a practicable pass 

 to Asia Minor and Kiirope. Indeed, in watching 

 the advance of tliis formidable enemy, we have 

 been constantly reminded of the tactics of war. 

 It is careful to seize the great roads for its lines 

 of communication. It moves forward with a 

 solemn and measured tramp, as if in no haste, 

 and yet sure of success. It attacks the great 

 centres of business, as being the strong points, 

 which are in no case to be left unassailed. — 

 When it enters the walls of a populous city, it 

 moves along, from street to street, and ward to 



Sec how the shining shnre 

 Rlarketh earUi's bosom Ihir, 



Crowning her brow — 

 Bread in its furrow springs, 

 Henlih and repose it brings,' 

 Treasures to unknown kings — 



God save the plough ! 



Look — in the warrior's blade, 

 While o'er the tented glade, 



Hate breathes its vow — 

 Wrath, its unsheathing wakes, 

 Love, at its lightning quakes, 

 Weeping and woe it makes — 



God save the plougli !, 



Ships o'er the deep may ride, 

 Storms wreck their bannered pride 



W.-.ves whelm their brow — 

 But the well loaded wain,' 

 Garnering the golden grain, 

 Gladdened the househo-ld train — 



God save the plough 1 



Who are the truly great 7J 

 Minions of pomp and slate, 



Where the crowd bow?) 

 (Jive us hard hands and free, 

 Cullurers of field and tree, 

 Best friends of Liberty — 



God save the plough ! 



How TO BE Happv.— Do all the good you can 

 Whenever you hear of a poor widow, an orphan 

 chilli, or aged man who is in affliction, pay that 

 iiidividiial a visit. Do not hoard i>p ail you earn ; 

 give a certain portion of your property to the 

 poor. Never get angry. If you are slandered or 

 imposed upon, better suffer a little, than to retal- 

 iate and use harsh language. Be not proud or 

 selfish. Think no more highly of yourself and 

 your talents than you do of the capacities of oth- 

 ers. Pay all you owe. Keep out of debt. Have 

 nothing to do with lawyers. Get not entangled 

 in the meshes of the law ; avoid it as the sure 

 gate to ruin. Shiin vicious pursuits and unprin- 

 cipled as.sociates. Honor the Sabbath, serve God 

 and be devoted to truth and religion. Finallv' 

 take some useful paper, pay for it in advance, and 

 read it attentively, and our word for it yon 

 will be happy. Peace and contentment will smile 

 in your jiatli, joy dance on your countenance, and 

 every lane oflile before you will be fraught with 

 blessings rich and abundant.— Por«a«rf Tribune 



Rotation of Crops. 



There is living in Northampton Jcounty, Penn- 

 sylvania, on the bank of the Lehigh, a very aged 

 man, whose successes in falling uponja system 

 of rotation, by which he could obtain the great- 

 est possible yield of wheat, in a given term of 

 years, has caused it to be generally adopted in that 

 fertile region. It is called Slieimer's system, 

 after the discoverer, Jacob Sheimer, whom I had 

 the cuiiosiiy to visit at his most substantial home- 

 stead some years ago, and from whom I obtained 

 the following account : 



When a young man with a large family of chil- 

 dren growing lip around him, and depenilent on 

 him for support, he plainly perceived that under 

 the rude practice then existing, he would not be 

 able to maintain them. He often thought over 

 his difficulties while following the plough, and at 

 length determined upon his plan ; wliich follow- 

 ed up without faltering, has conducted him in 

 the decline of life to ease and nflluence. 



When I saw him he had resigned the active 

 duties of Ilia farm to a son, who was following 



