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®ht A Oia." COLLINSVILLE, CONN., THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 1858. NO. 3 . ®hi; liising ^tiir Is publislied cvorv Ti i tn’.suAY tuorniug, at Col-liii. svillo, l lurtrord ’Co., Conn., by (MI.VIlLKlH H. CM-.VKLAM). Tei imp.—Vitty ccnt.s n yoiip. in navanco. An X before tin- nnnif of a .»ulwcribi‘r, deuotCB the e.\pi-r a t io n o f th e siib.-icriiition. I'ransivnt advcrtisi’mcuVs « cents a hno. i early aihfitit'cnicntff as por eoiit iact. F o r tlie I tising Star. Oi l! IT IS I lAKl ) TO SKVEU. I sigh for jovH (IcparteO, My toarn like summer rain Flow for thi! jfentlo-liearted That ne'er return a.i?ain. Tliey've cros.'^ed the ihirk cold river, Tfio.se I have loved ho well; _ How iny torn heart-strings quiver Wi tiranguish. noius may tell. Oh: it is hard to sever Hearts bound so firm together; To part, and that forever, Forever, oh! for»!ver! W'e are left a lone to<»eti'ior, My Mary dear and 1; Mie asks me for her mol her, I'hen says, “ I'apa, d o n ’t cry!” Mie wonders I d on' t answer . Nor dreams of Rivinf; pain. As she repeats the que.stion, "Wi l l she not conic agiain?” Oil! it is hard to te l l her That mother's i;onc forever. And we must live ^vithout her Fo re te r—oh! forever. Kartli's h armony seems « ant ing; fhe lif'ht of home has tied; More sad, and far more h >nely 'I'han the dwelling o f tl le d e a d ; Where sleeps my burieo joy, III silent, dreamless sluml 'er— My wife, and aimel boy ! Oh! it is hard to sev er, Hearts bound so tin u together, To part , and tha t fo rever. Forever—Oh! forever. Vot. hush this snd complaining ,'<inee 1 know they’re wi th the ble.'st— “ Where the wicketl cease :t'rom troubl ing And the weary are at rei ' t l” Why should the green e a r th cov'r lng He steejied in bitter tears ? Whv waste my breath in sighing, A’nil pine through lonelj- years? Death shall not always sever Hearts bound on ea r th together; In Heaven we'll meet, to sever No more, no more—;''oj ikvek! l'ollan.l„May, 185K. M. U. f 'II ATK AIIHKI AN t).----- Cluit eiiubriand had a fiiitlil'ul Cliristiau motlier. li was the stron<; desire of lu;r heart that lie should become a follower (if (./'lirist. For this lilie labored and prayed, yet uiijiareutly without success, lie lie-caine a wanilei-er, and for yetu's di.sowned his mother’s (iod. It seemed tliat all iiuiternal in-tluence was lost upon him. Years rolled on, and the mother went down to her >irave. She did not liehold her sou at the cross of Christ. Jle was still a ■;reat sinner v,'beii she closed her eyes in death. JJut (iod remembered his jirom-ise. The mother’s faitli triumphed, and its fruit appeared when she was gone. A Ni;\v Uiccii't;.—We do not know but that the following latest recipe for destroying tiles, is just about as eti'ectual as a great many that are going the rounds of the press. Here it is: Ciet a four horse power engine. Tut it in the back kitchen, run shafting in even' room, connected with the engine aforesaid by belting.— On the shafting jilace fly wiieels ; smear the wheels with molasses and set the engine going. 'I'he Hies being attracteil by the molasses on the (ly wheels, will light on thorn, and the wheels revolving rapidly they will be wheeled off.— Have a boy undereach wheel with a flat shingle, and let him smite them as they fall and before tliey have time to recovcr froni their dizziness. A smart boy haa boon known to kill Otf many ns fifty a day. KEV. PETER CARTWRIGHT. Some church aftairs made it neces.sary for Mr. Cartwright to visit New-York city some years ago, and it was anunged for him that he should imt up at the Astor House. It was here,that his brethren espectcd to meet him; liis social and denominational appointments had ivference to the Astor House as his headquarters. When Mr. Cartwright, however, appeared at the Astor, there was nothing in his backwoods appearance that suggested to its ]iroprietors his worthy position among the fathers of Methodism; when, thea'fore he requested to be slioYii to his room, ho was very cavalierly turned over to a servant to show him up stairs. Up stairs they went—up, up, up — I ’etcr Cartwright in wondering amazement lost, the serv ant .•piiarently untiring in his amusement of luseending. Pinally the servant o])ened the door of an apartment up in the attic story, and i)ointed it out to Mr. C. as his room. Father l^ fcr detained the servant while ho took a general survey' of the premises— rejieated the inquiry if this was the room ho was to occupy—and at length, apparently well satisfied, he disposed of his baggage, luid very politely requested the servant to be good enough to show' him down stairs again. The servant preceded Father Cartwi'iglit— down—down—down—till they reached, finally, the street landing; hnt, be'forc the servant could make his escape, Peter kindly inquii'ed if he wouldn’t please to show him u p a g a i n ! So, up they went again, heavenward, and at last Peter found his rotmi, and permitted the . tc ir. Tb** uoryont, l-nw. ever, had little more than found himself down stairs, when uncle Peter rang the bell vigorously. In due time, uj) came the servant, by this time panting with the usual exertion. “My good friend, I am soiTy to trouble you, but I should be glad to see the clerk, it you will be kind enough to send him to my room.” “Oh! certainly.” And so, down’ down goes the sen-ant, to say to the clerk that a singular old chap up in the ujiper stoiy wanted him to come to hw room. And then, u]), uii goes Mr. Clerk. “Are you the clerk i” “Yes, sir.” “Well, you will placc mo lAder great obligations to you, if you will show mo the way (lown stairs.” And when once more down stairs, after Uncle Peter had taken a caivful survey of the surroundings, the clerk very politely incpiired if there was nothing further he could do for him. “Yes,” says uncle Peter, “yes, my friend, I would bo greatly obliged to you for a broad-axe.” “A broad-axe !” says !Mr. Clerk in astonishment, and what do you propose to do with a broad-a.xe (” “I thought I should like to ‘h l a z e ’ my w.vy TO MY ROOM 1” It is needless to say that Peter Cartwright was the lion of that week at the Astor; and that it was not furtlier iwjuired of him to climb up that endless series of stairways—but, when his friends called again to iniiiiiro for, or call upon him, they found him snugly enscon-sed in one of tlie most eligible rooms in the house. ________ __________ _ I.v AND Oirr.—One day, at dinner, Curran said to Father O’I.eary, “Reverend father, I wish vou were St. Peter.” “And why, counsellor, would you wish I were St. Peter?” asked O’Leary. ^ “Because, reverend father, in that ease,” replied Curran,“you would have the keys of heaven, and you would let me is.” “liy iny honor and conscience,” replied the divine, “ it would be better for you that I had the keys of the Other place, and then I could let you OUT.” A Virginia i)aper records the marriage of Miss Jane Lemon to Mr. Ebenezer Sweet;— whereupon an exchange thus moralizes : How happily extreme.s do meet In J ane and Kbenezer; She ia no longer sour, but Swkkt, And lie's a X emox Kqueezerl A n sw k u s t o CouRKf»roNDKNTS.—Inquirer. The Fourth of July does not occur on the 22d of February, nor is it, as you suppose, commemorative of anythiiifj that ever liappened to the Rochester Uuion. Robertson.—He was not hid in tho slop-pail. He was under the bed. Mother.—Reverse and spank. Rride.—Victoria jiins can be had at a drygoods store. Statistics.—Seven times five arc thirty-five. Helen.—Y'ou can keep them up with “elastics.” Medicus.—Apjily shoemaker’s wax and then squeeze it. Geographer.—Rochester is on tho canal cast of Lock port. Stumnckake.—Fifteen drops each of laudanum and camphor, and rub it. Ambition.—Very few men will descend so far. To be spoken of for alderman, involves loss of reputation, friends, and citizenship. Y”ou can imagine " hat a mim must to be e l e o - TEu as such. W i f e T am in g .—The Boston Gazette announces Mr. Paul Prettjinan as a teacher of the art of wife-taming, at the low pricc of S')0 |jcr icHM/ii. IiJj. CLi*Tit.c.'afCl. I This is to certify that Mr. Paul Prettyman has succeeded in subduing my wife. He took her when in her most restless condition and in one hour she was cooking a beefsteak with tho placidity of an angel. Ja.s. P. I I o r n e u . New York, May 8, 1858. Mr. Prettymanliaslull liberty to refer tome. His art 1 consider the great desideratum of married life. He quieted Mrs. Simpkins who was always ugly in double harness, and accomplished wonders. Not a shirt button has been missing since the date of his trial. P.’ SiMi-KiNS, Newark, N. J. G o o d C o uN T E u nA la n c e s Evii,.—A man should be valued in s u-iety according to tho good that he does. Even arefonned scoundrel who endeavors to atone for deeds in the jjivst, by charitable and proper designs exhibited in his present conduct, should receive that meed of jiraise to which such designs and conduct, aro entitled, without any hesitation on tho ptut of those who give it. Withhold that from him and you instigate a return to former habits. But when a man of unblemished character devotCH his time, his mind, and the labor of his hands, to philanthroiiy, nothing short of the most convincing proof of his liyjiocrisy should be held as a wanant for assailing his motives and crippling his usefulness.—Di s i* a t c i i . “Woman” (says an exchange) “is often the occasion of much trouble and mischief to man. For her he toils aiul slaves—for her he gets drunk—foi-*her he left Paradise—for her ho blows his brains out—and for her ho makes a confoumled fool of himself, in a variety of wavs. Notwithstanding woman is a blessing. Her intluenco over us, rough-hewn sex, is as mild as the moon upon the tides, and twice as powerful. The moral fragrance that surrounds her is as sweet as the odors that arise from a tield of white clover; and her beauty makes her one of tho most interesting living ornaments that wears either legs or wings ; I don’t care whether you mention a bird of Paradise, butterfly or straddle-bug.” Honest industry must surely succced.
|Title||Rising star, 1858-06-10|
|Uniform Title||Rising star (Collinsville, Conn.)|
|Subject||Collinsville (Conn.) -- Newspapers; Canton (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 1, no. 1 (May 27, 1858); Publication dates: Ceased in Aug. 1858|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.B4 N49|
|Relation||Continued by: Collinsville star|
|Relation-Is Part Of||Series title: Hartford County miscellaneous newspapers|
|Publisher||Charles H. Cleveland|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|Title-Alternative||The rising star,|
|CONTENTdm file name||4151.cpd|
A Oia." COLLINSVILLE, CONN., THURSDAY, JUNE 10, 1858. NO. 3 .
®hi; liising ^tiir
Is publislied cvorv Ti i tn’.suAY tuorniug, at Col-liii.
svillo, l lurtrord ’Co., Conn., by
(MI.VIlLKlH H. CM-.VKLAM).
Tei imp.—Vitty ccnt.s n yoiip. in navanco. An X
before tin- nnnif of a .»ulwcribi‘r, deuotCB the e.\pi-r
a t io n o f th e siib.-icriiition.
I'ransivnt advcrtisi’mcuVs « cents a hno. i early
aihfitit'cnicntff as por eoiit iact.
F o r tlie I tising Star.
Oi l! IT IS I lAKl ) TO SKVEU.
I sigh for jovH (IcparteO,
My toarn like summer rain
Flow for thi! jfentlo-liearted
That ne'er return a.i?ain.
Tliey've cros.'^ed the ihirk cold river,
Tfio.se I have loved ho well; _
How iny torn heart-strings quiver
Wi tiranguish. noius may tell.
Oh: it is hard to sever
Hearts bound so firm together;
To part, and that forever,
Forever, oh! for»!ver!
W'e are left a lone to<»eti'ior,
My Mary dear and 1;
Mie asks me for her mol her,
I'hen says, “ I'apa, d o n ’t cry!”
Mie wonders I d on' t answer .
Nor dreams of Rivinf; pain.
As she repeats the que.stion,
"Wi l l she not conic agiain?”
Oil! it is hard to te l l her
That mother's i;onc forever.
And we must live ^vithout her
Fo re te r—oh! forever.
Kartli's h armony seems « ant ing;
fhe lif'ht of home has tied;
More sad, and far more h >nely
'I'han the dwelling o f tl le d e a d ;
Where sleeps my burieo joy,
III silent, dreamless sluml 'er—
My wife, and aimel boy !
Oh! it is hard to sev er,
Hearts bound so tin u together,
To part , and tha t fo rever.
Vot. hush this snd complaining
|CONTENTdm file name||4147.pdfpage|