€cwistou>a (Simttc. Vol XXXVII-Whole I\o. 1902. Terms of Subscription, ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. For six months, 75 cents. AH NEW subscriptions must be paid in advance ll the paper is continued, and not paid within the first month, $1,25 will be char ged ; if not paid in three months, $1,50; if not paid in six months, $1,75; and if not paid in nine months, $2,00. Rates of Advertising, One square, 10 lines 2 squares, 6 mos. $5,00 1 time 50 "1 year 10,00 " 2 times 75 \ column, 3 mos. 8,00 " 3 " 1,00 44 0 " 10.00 " 1 mo. 1.25 " 1 year 15,00 3 " 2,50 1 column, 3 mos. 10,00 " 6 " 4.00 44 6 " 15,00 1 year 6.00 " ] year 25,00 2 square 1 ;, 3 times 2,00 Notices before MAR -44 3 mos. 3,50 RIAGES, &C, sl2. The above rates are calculated on burgeois type. In smaller type, 15 lines of brevier, or 12 lines of nouparicl minion constitute a square. For stereotype plates, a liberal deduction will be made. The above are cash leans for all advertisements inserted for three months or less. Yearly ad vertisements are held payable, one half at the end of three, and the balance at the eud of six months. Communications recommending persons for office, must be paid in advance at the rate of 25 cents per square. iJocu-i?. AY Ml.IN!'. BY R. VV . \\ VI.LACK. Love me dearly, love m<* dearly, with your heart and with your eyes: W liisper all your sweet emotions, as they gushing, blushing ri.-<-; fit row V'.ur soft white arms about me ; sav you cannot live without jne : Say, you are my AM line: say that YOU are oufv mine ! l'lait yoil cannot Ih e without me, young and rosy AveJiue! Love me dearly, dea'-lv, dearly : speak your love-words silv.M- (early, So 1 may not d> uht thus early of vour fond ness, of your truth. I'ress, oh! press your throbbing bosom chisel v, warmly to nn ov n : l :x your k.ndh d ey< s on mine—say you live for me alone. hi!" I lix my eyes on thine, L.vely. trusting, arilvplighted: plighted, rosy Avcliue! I.'Vf me dearly, lov- me dearly; radiant dawn upon my gloom: Ravish me with beaut \ - blot m T 11 me •• Life ha.- y-t a giurv : 'tis not all an idle story As a glad'.! lmd ;;i j > >onlight; us a weary lak" in ni<- niiglit. L"t me in tlr. love recline: Show nt" li!" has yet a splendor in my tender A veiine. Love me dourly, <L vl'-, dearly, with your heart and with v or <yes — Whisper all your sweet emotions as they gushing, blushing rise : 1 brow your -oft white arms around me: sav you lived "/ till vott f iund me—— Say it. -ay it. Avium J whisper yuu are only mine; That you cannot lis" without me, as vou throw your arms about me, That sou am hot ]ie without nio, artless, ru-y Av "line ! St Srlrct calf. A TALE OF THE PAST. 'I lie Merchant's Haughter and the Judge. It was the land of poetry and song— the laud neoph d with tit memories of the nnghtv pa.-t —the land over which the shadows of a long renown reslcd more glowingly than a present glory. It was beautiful Italy ; the air. like a sweet odor, was to the senses as soft thoughts are to the mind, or tender feelings to the heart, breathing serenity and peace. That sweet air swept balmily over the worn brow of an invalid, giving to the pallid hue of his countenance the first faint dawn of return ing health. The eye of tiie invalid was fixed on the dark character of a book in cumbrous binding and massive clasps, which would now Le considered an invaluable black letter; and so absorbed vva6 he in its pe rusal, that he heard not the approaching steps of visitors, until the sound of their greetings roused him from his meditations. 4 The saints have you in their keeping !' said his elder visitor, a man whose brow bore traces of age, though time had dealt leniently with him. 4 T he* dear Madonna ble6s you !' ejacu lated his other visitor, a young girl with the large flashing cv e, the oval face, and the classic contour of Italy. The invalid bowed his head to each of these salutations. 4 And now,' said the merchant, for such was the elder visitor, 4 that your wounds are healing, and your strength returning, may we not inquire of your kin and coun try V A slight flush passed over the pale face of the sick man ; he was silent for a mo ment, as if communicating with himself, and then replied— -41 am of England, arid a soldier, albeit of the lowest rank.' 4 Of England !' hastily responded the merchant * Of England ! of heretic Eng land !* He crossed himself devoutly, and started back, as if afraid of contamination. 'I may not deny my home and coun try,' replied the soldier, mildly but firmly. 4 But I shall incur the Church's cen sure for harboring thee !' exclaimed the ipamsjffiEß isra. wsmtamm ms mmamm mBVHBraHHfe smrssmmra 3 sshskf&hsj ©oaw 8 i^T merchant; 4 thou knowest not what pains and penalties may be mine for doing thee this service!' 4 Then let me forth,' replied the soldier, 4 you have been to me the good Samaritan, and I would not requite you evil ; let rne go on my way, and may the blessing of J Heaven be upon you in the hour of your own need!' 4 Nay, nay, I said not so. Thou hast not yet strength for the travel ; and, be sides England was once the brightest jewel in our holy father's crown, and she might reconcile herself again ; but, I fear she will not, for vour master, Ilenrv, is a violent, hot-blooded man, and he hath torn I away the kingdom from apostolic care. Know you not that your land is under in terdict, and that I, as a true son ol the holy mother church, ought not now to be changing words with thee I' 4 Even so,' replied the soldier; 4 but i there are many that think the king's grace hardly dealt by.' 4 The shepherd knoweth bpst how to keep his fold,' replied the merchant hast ily ; * but you are the king's soldier ; vou take his pay and eat his bread, and doubt less ought to hope the best for him ; and even so do I. I would thai he might re pent and humble himself, and then our holy father would again receive him into the fold; but now, 1 bethink me, thou , vvert reading-—what were thy studies?' • T he brow of the soldier clouded, he hesitated a moment; but then gathering up his resolution, replied— -4 in the din of the battle this book was my breast-plate, in the hour of sickness my best balm,' and he laid the open volume before the merchant. 4 Holy saints !' exclaimed the merchant, crossing himself, and drawing back, as he held the volume which his Church had closed against the laymen— 4 then thou art among the heretics who bring down a curse upon the land ! Nay, thy sojourn here may bring maledictions upon me and mine !—upon my house and home. But thou shall forth ! I will not harbor thee ! 1 vviil dfeiiver thee over to the Church, that she may chasten thee ! Away from him, my child ! —away front him !' The soldier sat sad and solitary, watching the dying light of the sun, as he passed majestically on to shine in other lands. One ray rested on the thoughtful brow of the lonely man, as lie sat bracing up his courage to meet the perilous luture. As he thus mused, a soft voice broke upon his revery, 4 You are thinking of your own far-oil" home,' said the Italian girl : 4 how I wish that ail I love had but one home—it is a grief to have so many homes !' i There is such a home,' replied the soldier. 4 Ah!' replied Emilia, 4 but they say that heretics come not there ! Promise rne that you will not be a heretic any . longer.' The soldier smiled and sighed, 4 Y oil guess why 1 am here to-night,' resumed the Italian girl. *1 know it by that smile and sigh. lou think that lam come to tell you to seek vour own land and home, and therefore vou smile ; and you just breathe one little sigh, because you leave ibis Liighi sun—and me.' 4 Am I then to leave you, perhaps to be delivered over to the power ol your im placable Church ?' Emilia crossed herself. 4 No, no—go to your own land and be happy. Here is money ; mv lather could not deny me, when I begged it from him with kisses and tears. Co, and be happy, and for get us.' 4 Never!' exclaimed the soldier, ear nestly— 4 never! And you, my kind and gentle nurse, my good angel—you who | have brought hope to mv pillow, and be guiled the sad hour of sickness in a foreign land—words are but poor things to thank thee with.' 4 1 shall see you no more!' said the young Italian, 4 and what shall make me , happy when vou are gone Who w ill tell me tales of flood and field ? 1 have been happy while you were here, and \et we meet very sadly. My heart stood still when I first saw YOU, covered witli blood, on your way back to Milan, after the bat tle. Aou had crept under a hedge, as we ; thought, to die. But 1 took courage to lay my hand upon your poor heart, and it still beat; so we brought you home ; and never has a morning passed, but I have gathered the sweetest flowers to freshen your sick pillow. And while you were insensible, in that tcrribje fever, 1 used to steal into your chamber, and kneel at your bed-foot, and pray for the Madon na's care. And when you revived, you smiled at my flower—and when you had | voice to speak, vou thanked me !' ; Emilia's voice was lost in sobs ; and what wonder if one from man's sterner | nature mingled with them ! The morrow cante. The Italian girl gathered a last flower, and gave it in tearlul silence to the soldier. He kissed j the fragrant gift, and then with a momen tary boldness, the fair hand that gave it, 1 and departed. The young girl watched his foot-steps till they were lost to sound, and then abandoned herself to weeping. j 4 Thou art sad, dear daughter,' said a venerable father to his child, as they tra IRIDAY EVENING, AUGUST 27, 1852. versed that once countrified expanse through the oily of London to Westmin ster— 4 Thou art sad, dear daughter.' 4 Nay, nay father,' replied the maiden, * I would not be so ; but it is hard always to wear a cheerful countenance when—' 4 Thy heart is sad, thou wouldst say—' 4 Nay, I meant it not.' 4 1 have scarcely seen thee smile since we entered this England—l ntay not say this heretic England.' ' Hush ! dear father, hush !—the winds may whisper it; see you not that we are surrounded by a multitude V 4 They are running madly to some revelry.' 4 Let us leave their path, then,' said the girl ; 4 it suits not our fallen fortune, or our dishonorable faith, to seem to mingle in this stream of folly. Doubtless the king has some new pageantry.' 4 Well, and if it be so,' replied the father, 4 haply the gewgaw and the show might bring back the truant smile to thy lip, and the lost lustre to thine eye. See how anxious, how eager, how happy seem this multitude! Thou mayst catch theircheer -1 illness. We will go with the stream.' The girl offered no further resistance. They were strangers in the land ; poor, almost pennyless. They had come from their own country to reclaim a debt which one of the nobles ol the court had incur red in more prosperous days, when the merchant was rich in silver and gold, and merchandise. The vast throng poured on, swelling until it became a mighty title ; the balls pealed out, the cannon bellowed, human voices augmented the din. The Thames was lined on either bank ; every building on its margin crowded, and its surlace peopled. Every sort of aquatic vessel covered its bosom, so that the flow ing river seemed rather some broad road teeming with life, lialley after galley, glittering with gold arid purple, came on. laden with the wealth, and the pride, and the beauty ot the land, and presently the acclamation of a thousand voices rent the skies. 4 i'he king! the king! long live the king !' lie came-r— Henry the Eighth came, in all lhat regal dignity, and gor geous splendor, in which he so much de lighted. And then began tlie pageant, contrived to throw odium on Rome, and to degrade die pretentions of the Pope, Two gal leys, one bearing the arms of England, the oilier marked by the papal insignia, ad vanced towards eacli other, and the fic ticious contest commenced. Borne on by the crowd, our merchant and his daughter had been forced into a conspicuous situation. The peculiar dress, the braided hair, the beauty and foreign aspect of the girl had marked her out to the rude gallantry of the crowd ; so that, to a limited circle, the lather and daughter were themselves objects of interest and curiosity, The two vessels joined, and the mimic contest was begun. Of course, the Eng lish colors triumphed over the papal. Lj> to this point, the merchant bore his pangs in silence; but when the English galley had assumed the victory, then came the trial ol patience. Effigies of the cardinals were hftrled into the stream amid the shouts and derisions of the mob. At each plunge groans issued from his tortured breast, it was in vain that Emilia clung to his arm and implored him, by everv fear. to restrain himself. Ilis religious zeal © overcome his prudence; and when, at last, the figure of the Pope, dressed in his pontifical robes, was hurled into the tide, the loud exclamation oi agony and horror burst from his lips— -4 Oh ! monstrous impiety of an accursed and sacrilegious king !' sounded loudly above the din of the mob. It was enough ; the unhappy met chant was immediately consigned over to the secular arm. Oh ! sad were those prison hours! The girl told her beads—the father prayed to all the saints—and then came the vain consolations by which one endeavored to cheat the other. They thought of their own sunny land, its balmy air, its living beauty, and tl\at thought was home. November eanie, with all its gloom— the month that should have been the grave of the year, coming, as it is does, with shroud and cerecloth, foggy, dark, and dreary ; the father's brow numbered more ; wrinkles; the once black hair was more nearly bleached ; the features more atten uated. And the daughter—ah ! youth is the transparent lamp of hope—but in her the light was dim.' In fear and trembling the unhappy for eigners waited the day of doom. The merchant's offence was one little likely to meet with mere)'. Henry was jealous of his title as head of the church. He had drawn up a code of articles of belief, which his subjects were desired to sub scribe to, and he had instituted a court, of which lie made Lord Cromwell vicar-gen eral, for the express trial of those whose orthodoxy in the king's creed was called in question. Neither could the unhappy merchant hope to find favor with the judge, fpr jt was known that Cromwell was strongly attache to the growing reforma tion , and irom the acts of severity with which he had lately visited some of the adherents of the Rotr. : h creed, in his new character of vicar-gencral. it was scarely probable that he would show mer cy to one attached, by lineage and love, to papal Home. Strangers as they were, poor, unknowing and unknown, what had they not to fear, and what was left for hope ? The morning of trial came. The fogs of that dismal month spread like a dark veil over the earth. There was no beauty in the landscape, no light in the heavens, and no hope in the heart. The judges took their places. A crowd of wretched delinquents came to receive their doom. We suppose it to be a re finement of modern days, that men are not punished tor their crimes, but onlv to defer others from committing them. This court ot iienry's seemed to think otherwise; there was all the array of human passions in the judges, as well as in the judged. On one hand, recreant fear abjured bis creed ; on another, heroism braved all contingencies, courting the pile and the stake were given with unrelenting cruelty. At length, there stood at the bar an aged man and a youthful girl ; the long white hair of the one fell loosely over the shoulders, and left unshaded a face wrin kled as much by care as age; the daik locks ol the oilier were braided over a countenance clouded by sorrow and wet with tears. The mockery of trial went on. It was to prove what even tiie criminal did not attempt to gainsay,. The aged merchant avowed his fidelity to tlip Pope as a true son ot the Church—denied tiie supremacy of Henry over any part of the fold, and thus sealed his own doom. i here was an aivluj stillness through the court —stillness, the precursor of doom —broken only by the sobs ot' the weeping girl, as she clung to her lather's arm. Howbeit, the expected sentence was in terrupted : there cante a sudden rush— fresh attendants thronged the court. Room lor Lord Cromwell ! Room for Lord Cromwell !' And the vicar-gen cral came in his pomp and his state, with all the insignia of office, to assume his place of pre-eminence at the tribunal. Notes of the proceedings were laid before Lord Cromwell. He was told of the in tended sentence and lie made a gesiure of approbation. A gleam ol hope lead dawned upon the mind ol the Italian girl, as Lord Cromwell entered. She watched his coun tenance while he read ; it was stern, indi cative of calm determination ; but there were hues in it that spoke more of mis taken duty than innate cruelty. Yet when the vicar-general gave his assent the steel entered Emilia's soul, and a sob, the very acGcnl of dispair, rang through that court, and, where it met the human heart, pierced through all the cruelty and oppression that armed it, and struck upon the natural feel nigs tiiat divide men from monsters. The sound struck upon Lord Cromwell's car, his eye sought the place whence it pro ceeded ; it rested on Emilia and her fath er. A strange emotion passed over the face of the stern judge—a perfect stillness followed. Lord Cromwell broke the silence. He glanced over the notes that had been hand ed to him, speaking apparently to himself 4 From Italy, a merchant—Milan—ru ined by the wars—av, those Milan wars were owing to Clement's ambition, and Charles' knavery—the loss of substance —to England, to reclaim an old indebt tnent.' Lord Cromwell's eye rested once more upon the merchant and his daughter. 4 \e are of Italy—from Milan ; is t!|at vour birthplace.' 4 We are Tuscans,' replied the merchant, 4 of Lupca • and oh ! noble lord, if there is mercy in this land, show it to this un happy girl.' 4 To both, or to neither !' exclaimed the girl, 4 we live or die together !' ti ** © The vicar-general made an answer to neither. He rose abruptly sat a sign from him, the proper officer declared the court adjourned—the sufferers were hurried back to their cells, some went whither they would not ; but all dispersed. A faint and solitary light gleamed front a chink of the prison-walls—it came from tiie narrow cell of the Italian merchant and his daughter. The girl slept—ay, slept. Sleep does not always leave the wretched, to light on lids jnsullied with a tear. Reader hast thou known intense misery, and canst thou remember how thou hast felt and wept, and agonized, until the very excite ment of thy misery wore out the body's power of endurance, and sleep, like a tor por, stupor, a lethargy bound thee in its chains ? Into such a sleep had Emilia i fallen ; she was lying on that prison-floor, her face pale, as if ready for the grave, the large tears yet resting on her cheeks, and over her sat the merchant, leaning, asking himself whether, treasure that she was, and had ever been to him, he could wish that sleep to be the sleep of death. The clanking of a key caught the mer chant's ear; a gentle step entered their prison. The father's first thought was for his child. He made a motion to enjoin silence; it was obeyed ; his visitor ad vanced with a quiet tread ; the merchant , looked upon him with wonder. Surely— no—and yet, could it be ?—lhat his judge —Lord Cromwell the vicar-general, stood before him—and stood, not with threaten ing in his eve—not with denunciation on his lips, but took hs stand on the other side of poor Emilia, gazing on her with an eye in which tenderness and compassion were conspicuous, A maze;;ip nt bound up the faculties of the merchant ; lie reined lo himself 89 one that dreameth. 4 Awake, gentle girl, awake !' said Lord Cromwell, as he stooped over Emilia, 4 Let me hear thy voice once more, as it sounded in mine eat- in other days.' The gentle accents fell too light to break the spell of that heavy slumber ; and the merchant, whose lears, feelings, and con fusion, formed a perfect chaos, stooping over liis child, suddenly awoke her with the cry of— < Emilia ' Emilia ! awake and behold our Judge !' 4 Nay, nay. not thus roughly,' said Lord Cromwell; but the sound had already re called Emilia to a sense of wretchedness. She half raised herself from her recum bent posture into a kneeling one, shadow ing her dazzled eves with her hand, her streaming hair falling in wild disorder over her shoulders, and thus resting at the ieet of her judge. 4 Look on ine, Emilia !' said Lord Crom well. And, encouraged by the gentle ac cents, she raised her tear-swollen eves to his face. As site did so, the vicar-general lilted from his brow Lis plumed cap, and revealed the perfect outline of his features. And Emilia gazed as if spell-bound, until gradual shades of doubt, of wonder, of re? cognition, came struggling ever her coun tenance, and finally in a voice of passion ate amazement, she exclaimed— 4 lt is the same ! It is our sick soldier guest,' 4 Even so,' said Lord Cromwell, 4 even so, mv flear and gentle nurse. He who was then the poor dependent on your bounty, receiving from vour charity his daily bread as an alms, lias this day pre sided over the issues of life and death, as your judge ; but fear not, Emilia; the sight of thee, gentle girl, comes like the memory of vouih and kindly thoughts across the sterner mood that hath latelv darkened over me. They whose voice may influence the destiny of a nation gradually, lose the memory of gentler thoughts. It may be. Providence hath sent thee to melt me back again into a soft er nature. Many a heart shall be glad dened, that but lor mv sight of thee, had been sad unto death. I bethink me, gen- ! lie girl, of tiie flowers, laden with dew, and rich in fragrance, which thou didst lay upon my pillow. v\ bile this head throbbed with agony of pain upon it, fondly think ing that their sweetness would be a halm : and how thou wert used to steal into my chamber and listen to tales of this, the land ot my home ! Thou art here—and how hast thou been welcomed ' To a prison, and well nigh to death. But the poor soldier hath a home; come thou, ami thy father, and share it.' An hour—who dare prophesy its events? At the beginning oj that hour, the mer chant and his daughter had been the sor rowful captives of a prison ; at its close, they were the treasured guests of a palace. iHf Uaurottfi. A Story with a Moral, Air. Rones, of the firm of Fossil, Bones Co., was one of those remaikable mon ey-making men, whose uninterrupted suc cess in trade had been the wonder, and af forded tl;e material for the gossip of the town for seven years. Being of a famil iar turn of mind, be was frequently inter rogated on the subject, and invariably gave as the secret of his success, that he minded his own business. A gentleman met Mr. Bones on the As sar.pink bridge. He was gazing intently Upon the dashing, foaming waters as they fell over the dam. He was evidently in a brown study. Our friend ventured to dis turb his cogitations. 4 Mr. Bones, tell me hovy to make a housand dollars.' Mr. Bones continued looking intently at the water. At last he ventured a reply. | 4 Do you see that dam, iny friend ?' 4 I certainly do.' 4 Well, here you may learn the secret of making money. Th3t water would waste away and be of no practical use to any body but for the dam. That dam turns it! to good account, makes it perform some useful purpose, and then suffers it to pass along. That large paper mill is kept in constant motion by this simple economy. M any mouths are fed in the manufacture of the article of paper, and intelligence is scattered broadcast over the land on the sheets that are daily turned out; and in the different processes through which it passes, money is made. So it is in the living of hundreds of people. They get enough money. It passes through their hands every day, and at the year's end they are no better off. What's the reason ? They want a dam. Their expenditures arc increasing, and no practical good is at tained. They want them dammed up so that nothing will pass through their hands without bringing something back—without accomplishing some useful purpose. Dan up your expenses, and you'll soon have , i\cn Series—Vol. —Vo. 45. enough occasionally to spare a little, just like that dam. Look at it, my friend !' Trenton True American. A Ciood One. Ludicrous blunders will occasionally oc cur in cases where ignorant persons attempt ihe use of language about which they know nothing. The following is a case in point ? Not long since, while traveling from Pittsburgh to Cincinnati, two rather ver dant specimens of the female sex came on board ot the boat at one oi the landings, who. for the sake of distinction, we will call Mary and Jane. Now Mary had cut her eye teeth, or in other words, was ac quainted with the rules and regulations which govern genteel society. Jane, the younger, had never mixed to any great ex tent, and was therefore in blissful igno rance as t;> any of the rules wiTk-h govern more retined persons. Her language, too, was only such as she heard among her rustic associates. Mary was aware of this tact, and had therefore cautioned her to observe how she (Marv) acted, and to govern her accordingly. Jane promised implicit obedience. Shortly after, while seated at the dinner table, the waiter asked Mary what part of the fowl she would have. She informed him in a very polite manner that it was •'perfectly immaterial." He according gave her a piece, and then inquired of Jane what part she wuulU choose. The simple-minded girl replied, with all the self-assurance imaginable— ' 1 believe 1 II take a piece of the imma terial too.' 1 he scene that followed this declaration, is beyond our pen to describe. The as sembled were compelled to give vent to their surcharged feelings in peals of bois terous laughter ; whilst the poor girl, hei lace suffused with crimson blushes, left the table, declaring as she fled to the ladies' cabin, ' they won't ketch me aboard of one of those pesky steamboats soon again.' Ilaus Lucifer and the Indians. Among the emigrants to California in the year 1839, was a worthy son of • Fatherland,' whom we shall designate as Hans Sneifer, who having become tired ot his daily routine of hot* and hard bread, had resolved to obtain some more savory viand, and taking a rille, he started out in search oi game, lie had proceed ed a few miles from the trail, when lie ! espied a band oi buffaloes grazing in the distance. Excited by tiie prospects of a good dinner, he pushed rapjJly forward, when lie suddenly discovered a band ot Pawnees, evidently bent 011 the same pur pose with himself. Now Hans had heard dreadl'ul stories of massacre and scalping by the merciless savages, and was of course brought to u momentary stand-still. Hut, for fear that we mav be accused of embellishment, we will let Hans tell his own story.— 1 Yell v ?n I iirst see the red skins, 1 lho : t I would sthop a little and see vhat day makes dare all de vile. So I sthop and peept oqt behint some stlioues, and dere dey vas, shneakiu along, and shneakiu along, slioost like wolfs ! Aha ! thinks I veu you don't see me, den 1 goes pack again. So I solitaries down de hill and calks pooty plamebt fast, and go back most to de trail veil I looks aroundt, and dare dey coomst shoost like a toqsant tuy fuls ; so den I valked a litlje faster, and den looks around again, and all de logons was pootv closhe ; den I walks again and looks aroundt, and dey was closher still. So I tiqks Hans you've got in a blamebt scrape and 1 walked along, linking, and byme by 1 got so tarn mad I runs xhoozt like a tog.—Carpet Bag. Not long since one of the learned coun sel in a small suit deemed it necessary to shake the testimony of a Mr. Samtiet Hutterworth, bv impugning his veracity. A witness was called to the stand. ' Do vou know Samuel Hutterworth • Yes'.' • What is Butterworth V 4 Two and ten pence a pound, although some folks have paid as high as three shillings.' Some men possess means that are great, but fritter them away in the execution of conceptions that are little ; and there are others who can form great conceptions, but who attempt to carry them into exe cution with little means. These two de scriptions of men might succeed if united, but, as they are usually kept asunder by jealousy, both fail. i ' La, me!' said Mrs. Partington, on reading in the papers that Jenny Lind had a fellow feeling in her bosom for the suf fering and oppressed of all nations, 44 it I was jest so with me when I was a gal!' Her companions Gen. Pierced , (fainted.) while the old lady readjusted her specs. 4 You hav'nt opened your mouth during the whole session,' complained a member of the late Massachusetts Legislature to a Hepresentative from the same town. ' Oh, yes, I have,' was the reply ; 4 I yawned through the whole of your speech on the liquor bill,'
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