BtM oi3r (Gillette.
BY MEYERS & BEY IOKD.
WHOLE NO. 2760. VOL 53.
ftltscellantotts.
OCR OLD GRANDMOTHER.
Blessed be the children who have an old fash
ioned grandmother. As they hope for length
ofdavs, let them love and honor her, for we
can tell them they will never find another.
There is a large old kitchen somewhere in
the past, and an old-fashioned fire-place therein,
with its smooth old jambs of stone—smooth with
many knives that have been sharpened there—
smooth with many little fingers that have clung
there. There are andirons, too—the old andi
rons, with rings in the top, wherein many tem
ples of flame have been builded, with spires and
turrets of crimson. There is a broad, worn
hearth, by feet lhat have been torn and bleed
ing bv the way,or been made ''beautiful," and
walked upon floors of tesselated gold. There
are tongs in the corner, wherewith we grasp
ed a coal, and "blowing for a little life," ligh
ted our first candle ; there is a shovel, where
with were drawn forth the glowing embers in
which we saw our first fancies and dreamed
our first dreams—the shovel with which we
stirred the sleepy logs till the sparks rushed
up the chimney as if a forge were in blast be
low, and wished we had so many lambs, so
many marbles, or so many somethings that we
coveted ; and so it was we wished our first
wishes.
There is a chair—a low, rush-bottom chair :
there is a little wheel in the corner, a big
wheel in the garret, a loom in the chamber.—
There are chests full of linen and yarn, and
quilts of rare patterns, and samplers in frames.
And eveywhere and always the dear old
wrinkled face of her whose firm elastic step
mocks the feeble saunter of her children's chil
dren—the old-fashioned grandmother of twenty
years ago. She, the very Providence of the old
homestead—she who loved us all, and said she
wished there was more of us to love, and took
ail the school in the Hollow for grandchildren
beside. A great expansive heart was hers, be.
neath that woolen gown, or that more stately
bombazine, or that sole heir-loom of silken tex
ture.
We can see her to-day, those mild blue eyes,
with more of beauty in thern than time could
touch or death do more than hide—those eyes
that held both smiles and tears within the faint
est call of every one of us, and soft reproof,
that seemed not passion but regret. A white
tress has escaped from beneath her snowy cap;
she has just restored a wandering lamb to its
mother : she lengthened the tether of a vine
that was straying over a window, as she came
in, and plucked a four-leaved clover for Ellen.
She sits down by the little wheel—a tress is run
ning through her fingers from the distaff's dish
eveled head, when a small voice cries, "Grand
ma" from the old red cradle, and "Grandma !"
Tommy shouts from the head of the stairs.—
Gently she lets go the thread, for her patience
is almost as beautiful as her c harity, and she
touches the little red bark in a moment, till the
young voyager is in a dream again, and then
directs Tommy's unavailing attempts to har
ness the cat. The tick of the clock runs faint
and low: and she opens the mysterious door and
proceeds to wind it up. VVe are all on tip-toe,
and we begin a breath to be lilted up one by
one, and look in the hundreth time upon the
tin cases of the weights, and the poor lonely pen
dulum, which goes to and fro hy its little dim
window, and never comes out in the world, and
our petitions are all granted, and we are lifted
up, and we all touch with a finger the wonder
ful weights, and the music of the little wheel is
resumed.
V\ as Mary to be married, orJane to be wrap
ped in a shroud'' So meekly did she fold the
white
hands of the one upon her still bosom,
that there seemed to be a prayer in them there ;
and so sweetly did she wreathe the white rose
in the hair of the other, that one would not
have wondered had more roses budded for com
pany.
How she stood between us and apprehended
harm! how the rudest of us softened beneath
the gentle pressure of her faded and tremulous
hand! From her capacious pocket that hand
was never withdrawn closed, only to be opened
in our own, with the nuts she had gathered, the
cherries she had plucked, the little eggs she had
found, the "turn-over" she had baked, the trin
ket she had purchased for us as the product of
her spinning, the blessings she had stored for us
—the offspring of her heart.
What treasure ol story fell from thos" old lips
—ol good fairies and evil, of the old times when
she was a girl : and we wondered if ever—
but then she could not be handsomer or dearer
—but that she ever was "little." And then,
when we begged her to ring ! "Sing us one of
the old songs you used to sing mother, grand
ma."
"Children, I can't sing," she always said ; j
and mother used to lay her knitting softly down, i
and the kitten stopped playing with The yarn
"pon the floor, and the clock ticked lower in
the corner, and the fire died down to a glow,
like an old heart that is neither chilled nor
dead, and grandmother sang. To be sure it
Wouldn't do for the parlor and the concert,
room now-a-days; but then it was the old
kitchen and the old-fashioned grandmother and
the old ballad, in the dear old times and we
■can hardlv see to write for the memory of
them, though it is a hand's breadth to the sun
set.
Well she sang. Her voice was feeble and
wavering like a fountain just ready to fall, but
then how sweet-toned it was; and it became
deeper and stronger ; but it couldn't grow sweet
er. What "joy ol grief" it was to sit, all of us
except Jane—to sit there around the fire, and
Weep over the woes of the "Babes in the Woods;"
who lay down side by side in the great solemn
shadows ; and how strangely glad we felt when
the robio-redbreast covered them with leaves ;
and last of all, when the angel took them out of
'the night into day everlasting.
We miy think what we will of it now but
the song and the story heard around the kitchen
fire have colored the thoughts and lives of most
of us ; have given us the germs of whatever po
etry blesses our hearts ; whatever memory
blooms in our yesterdays. Attribute whatever
we may to the school and the school-master,
the rays which make that little day we call
life radiate from the God-swept circle of the
hearth-stone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to
mother— her mother sang to her ; but she does
not sing it through, and falters ere 'tis done.—
She rests her head upon her hands, and it is si
lent in the old kitchen. Something glitters
down between her fingers and the fire-light, and
it looks like rain in the soft sunshine. The old
grandmother is thinking when she first heard
the song, and of the voice that sung it ; when a
light-haired and light-hearted girl she hung ar
ound that mother's chair, nor saw the shadows
of the years to come. Oh! the days that are no
more! What spell can we weave to bring them
hack again? What words can we unsay, what
deeds undo, to set back, just this once, the an
cient clock of time?
So all our little hands were forever clinging
to her garments, and slaying her as if from riv
ing, for long ago she had done living lor herseif,
and lived alone in us. But the old kitchen
wants a presence to-day, and the rush-bottomed
chair is lenantiess.
How she used to welcome us when we were
grown, and came back one more to the home,
stead.
We thought we were men and women, hut
were children there. The old-fashioned grand
mother was blind in the eyes, but she saw with
her heart, as she always did. We threw out
long shadows through tb* open door, and she
felt them as they fell over her form, and she
loooked dimly up and saw tall shapes in the door
way, and she says, "Edward I know, and Lu
cy's voice I can hear, but whose is that other?
It must be Jane's"—for she had almost forgot
ten the folded hands. "Oh, no, not Jane, for
she-—let me see —she is waiting for rue, isn't
she?" and the old grandmother wandered and
wept.
"It is another daughter, grandmother, that
Edward has brought," says some one, "for your
blessing."
"Has she blue eyes, my son? Put her hand
in mine, for she is my latest born, the child of
my old age. Shall 1 sing you a song children?"
ller hand is in her pocket as of old ; she is idly
fumbling for a toy, a welcome gift to the child
ren that have come again.
One of us, men as we thought we were, is
weeping : she hears the half-suppressed sob: she
says, as she extends her feebie hand, "Here my
poor child, rest upon your grandmother's shoul
der ; she will protect you lrorn all harm.—
Come children, sit around the fire again.—
Shall I sing you a song, or tell you a story.—
Stir the fire lor it is cold ; the nights are grow
ing colder."
The clock in the corner struck nine, the bed
time of those old days. The song of life was in
deed sung, the story it told, was bedtime at last.
Good nigtit to thee, grandmother. The old-fash
ioned grandmother was no more, and we miss
her forever. But we will set up a tablet in the
midst of the memory, in the midst of the heart,
and write on it only this:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF THE
OLD-FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER,
GOD BLESS HER FOREVER.
SI VA I.
In about an hour and a half from the time we
left the convent, We reached the lop the "grey
top" of Sinai, for while the great body of the
mountain is of red granite, this is ol grey.—
Whether from decay or the peculiarity of the
original formation Ido not know, the granite
appeared luminated at the top, so that we w- re
able to split off*some slices with the help of our
hammers, of perhaps an incti in thickness.—
With these exfoliated fragments we filled our
bags or pockets, thinking it worth our while to
carry home with us specimens of that mountain
which "burned with fire," and on which Jeho
vah himself descended. The wind was strong
and the air cold, so we took shelter under part
of the low w all at the entrance to one of the
chapels. While the monk was striking a light
and preparing coffee, we were gazing on the
scene, and writing a few short Utters to friends,
dated "the top of Sinai." I had taken with rue
ten commandments in the original, on a large
sheet, and,spreading it out, I read over the law
on the summit of the mountain where it hail
been given three thousand five hundred years
before.
The cold and driving rain was considerable hin
drance, and more than once my tables of the law
Yvere on the point of being lorn in pieces and car
ried away, but I accomplished rny purpose. It
Yvas interesting at the time ; nor is it less so in
my recollection. The day was not clear: misls
Yvere rising in the horizon, so that we did not
see far off. But YVP sa\v the "great and teriible
wilderness" around us, and it it was a vision of
more utter barrenness and desolation than we
had ever seen or fancied. No soft feature in
the landscape to mitigate the unbroken horror.
No green spot, no tree, no flower, no rill, no
lake—hut dark brown ridges, red peaks like
pvtamids of solid fire. No rounded hillocks or
soft mountain curves, such as one sees even in
the ruggedest of home scenes—hut monstrous
and misshapen cliffs, rising tier above tier, and
surmounted here and there by some spirelike
summit—serrated for miles into ragged grand
eur, and grooved from head to foot hy the win
ter torrmts that had swept down like bursting
waler-spouts, tearing their naked loins, and cut
ting into the very veins and sinews of the fiery
rock.
—A wax figure of Mrs. Cunningham is about
to be placed in the American Museum, New
York. Brass would be a much more appropri
ate material.
FRIDAY MORNING, BEDFORD, PA., SEPTEMBER 4,1857.
Heroism All Around fs.
It is the cant of the day that the age ofher
oism has past. Men talk of Leonidas'and Tell
with kindling eyes and lament that no such no
ble souls survive in modern days. Ifneedwere,
however, we could show that hearts as bold as
ever marched to Thermopylae still exist, and
that Inkerrnann and Malakuff'proved it, to sav
nothing of Lexington and Bunker Hill. But it
is a radically false notion to look only to war
for heroism. The tiuest courage, perhaps, is
that which fights the battle of life under adv
circumstances, day by day, month hy month,
and year by year, rather than that which rush
es to the assault, or defends the imminent
breach. And of such heroism modern times is
full. One of the most prominent examples of
such a life has come to light since the death of
Charlotte Bronfe, the author of "Jane Eyre," a
woman, who, from her childhood, was called
to struggle with grief and care, who had but
little hope constitutionally, and from whom that
little was taken away by the saddest experience,
yet who went through all uncomplainingly,
doing her duty in a straight.forward, honest
manner, tfiat ought to shame those who senti
mentalize about the license that ought, as they
say, be allowed to genius.
Charlotte Bronte was the eldest surviving
child of an eccentric, though strong-minded cler
gyman, who held a curacy at Ilaworth, York
shire, in the midst of bleak, wild, lonely moors.
Left motherless when quite young, she grew up
with her sisters apart from all the world. Her
writings show how remarkable was her genius;
yet she did not consider this as exempting her
from the duties of her lot ; and she performed
even comparatively menial services without
complaint, as the family circumstances were
narrow. One by one, her sisters died.
They were preceded by her brother, a young
man originally of great promise, but who fell
at last into evil courses. He came home to
live a confirmed sot, and tilled the house for
years with shame and terror. She bore bravely,
however, against ail this, cheering her aged and
half-blind father, writing Shirley and Villette,
and denying even the lover of her choice to
please her parent ; and all this without a mur
mur, because it was in the line of her dutv-
An eloquent critic well says of her biography :
"It depicts a poof, plain, dependent woman,
sore beset hy social scorn and suspicion, fighting
her little battle of life, which was greater in
the history of her soul than Marathon and Wa
terloo in the history of tiip world rana the sto
ry is so told, that thp little battle becomes as
poetic and pathetic as those greater combats,
and every honest heart cries out, God speed!"
Yes! while two continents are wondering
who wiote "Jane Eyre," while every newspa
per that reached her rung with acknowledg
ments of her genius, Charlotte Bronte was qui
etly waiting on the sick brother, nursing the ec
centric father, doing what her hand found to do,
like any other true woman. She listened to
no suggestions of the pardonable morbidness of
genius, though her own constitutional selfish
ness had been developed to excess, by her soli
tary mode of life ; hot went straight on with
the heroism of a martyr, and clinging to her fa
' mily because it was her family, and resisting
.every temptation to desert it for a more brill
iant destiny elsewhere. For eight and thirty
years she waged its battle unceasingly and hope
lessly ; a sadder life, indeed, is not on record:
At last, with her father's consent, she married,
but, in less than a year afterwards, she died.—
I The gleam of brightness was the prophetic sun-
I set of a brighter dav : but that day dawned in
! another world. VVe, have been so happy she
i said to her husband just before siie expired.—
'■> Alas! it was the only happy year she had ever
' beheld. It would almost seem as if she was sent
to strive and suffer thus, with all iter resplend
ent genius, to shame those who, with vastly less
excuse, seek fo evade the duties of life when re
pulsive or hard. II there ever was a hero Char
lotte Bronte was one !
Beautiful Extract.
The future with all its thick-coming events
lies before us. \\ M are in the midst of a rapid
and forward age. 1 lie Spirit of inquiry is a
broad among the masses. Every land, far and
near, feels the quickening impulse of the times.
VVe cannot stand still if we would: for to move
is to live, and to halt is to die. We must dis
charge our duty to ourselves, and so to otheis.
VVe must know what is transpiring around and
beyond us. The great questions that concern
our common humanity are no longer mysterious
ly confined to the few; they are interesting to
the world and to all its tribes of men. Let us
he up to this age. Let us be equal to such an
era. And we can only be so by pouring into
every corner the light <>f that knowledge which,
thanks to a free and fearless press, illuminates
the pathway of Liberty, and exposes to the con
tempi and abhorrence of the historian the PI rot s
and the vices of her foes. The quest ions which
relate to our own Destiny, are profoundly in
teresting. The obligations we owe to out Con
stitution should be sharply defined; the relation
we bear to each other as citizens, and tie rela
tions of each Stale to every other State;the at
tachment we owe to the covenant ol theGinon:
the opposition we should give to fafU'icisin,
! North and South; the narrow extent of ime that
J divides us from the old nations \\ 11 hi■ t m
communities of living men and all thef inemor
: ies of dead greatness- the novelties < our pos
! ition, with inventions, its improvernrds, and i s
j wonders, and thus its responsibly and Us
j dangers:—what a field for actionf hat a t!,t '
! atre for ambition.
"MinH, mind alone.
Is Liehf, and Hope, and
Earth's deepest night from V* ble-t bonr, ,
The night of mind is
'The PRESS,' all lands
'The PRESS,' 'The Press, ** bring
All lands to bless."
stand an Indelicate cxprento K -
i u*e om\
i wi—r
Freedom of Thonght and Opinion.
Symptoms of First Love.
When you fitfi' Master Jack suddenly refuse
one morning, to play marbles any more forever,
be sure that Master Jack is seized with his first
love.
When you find in Master Jack's bed room
sundry bottles, With a yellow bear or a blue for
est on the table, which the lable, not the bear
informs yon that the contents of the bottle is an
unguent that males the moustaches grow you
may be sure thatiSlaster Jack is seized with first
love.
If Jack becomes satirical, and alludes in scorn
ful terms to the world, be sure Jack's first love
has just sprouted.
it you find a pocket edition of Byron about
Jack's clothes, le sure Jack's far gone in his
first love.
If you find a pair of patent leathers coming
home from your rhoemakers on Saturday after
noon, and can't remember ordering them and
they don't fit anybody but Jack, don't blame him.
First love is responsible.
If you see Jacl's finger ends rather inky, and
scraps of an acroitic anywhere around, be assu
red thst first lovehas caused the spoilwg of some
good strtionery.
Finally, if Jatk is suffering from first love,
don't be hard on the poor fellow; and above all,
don't meet the complaint with too strong reme
dies, lest it strikrf in, and Jack strikes out from
parental authorif ?. First love is like the whoo
ping-cough— we must all have it and it is best
to catch it young.
Hotv Pat learned lo make a Fire.
"Can you make a fire, Pat?" asked a gentle
man of a newly jirived son of Erin:
"Indade 1 cai sir, I learned to do that same
yer honor, to my cost sure. Whin I came over,
YOU see, there utiis no one along Yvid me except
myself alone am' my sister Bridget. Whin we
got ashore we wfnt together to a boording-house
and the boordirfmaster took me up stairs to a
room, and when I went to bed I took the coat
and shirt off' my back, and for fear some dirty
spalpeen would jie after staling 'em, I put 'em
away snug in a great iron chist that stood right
fnrninst the beef. In the morning, whin the
day was brakin through my winder, says I to
meself. 'The top av the morning to ye Pat ; is
yer clothes suf* l ' and I jist opened the door av
the big chist, and begorratlie coat off my body
and the shirt ot me back was burnt to ashes! Be
dad sir, that bold divil of a chest, was a stove,
b*f tuck to It* and Wer *inec mat, I've know'd
how to kindle tires, sir."
AiTfflion.
We sometimes meet with men who seem to
think that any indulgence ofaffectionate feeling
is a weakness They return from a journey
and greet their families with a distant dignity,
and move arreng their children with the cold
and lofty splendor of an iceberg, surrounded with
its broken fragments. There is hardly a mora
unnatural s'g'it on earth than one of those fam
!ies without i heart. A father had better ex
tinguish tiis boy's eyes than take away his
heart. IVho lhat has experienced the joys of
friendship, and values sympathy and affection,
would nit rather lose aii that is beautiful in na
ture's sentry than be robbed of" the hidden
treasurebf his heart? Who would not rather
follow Hs child to the grave than entomb his
parentalaffection? Cherish, then, your heart's
best auctions. Indulge in the Yvarmth and
, gushing of fraternal love. Think it not a weak
ness. teach your children to love; to love the
rose; thi robin: to love their parents; to love
their Gtd. Let it be the studied object of their
domesti culture to give them warm hearts, ar
dent auctions.— Bind your whole family to
gether jy these strong cords. You cannot
make tUrn too strong.
John Bull's Latest.
The illowing is the latest joke upon John
Bull:
Johnjwas travelling on some Western rail
road, w|en a tremendous explosion took place—
the carjat the same time coming toasudden
hall. The passengers sprang up in terror, and
j lushed o>t to acquaint themselves with the
nischief-j-all but Mr. Bull, who continued reari
ng the newspaper. In a moment somebody
ushed back, and informed hint that the boiler
lad burst.
j "Awe!" grunted the Englishman.
"Yes," continued his informant, "and sixteen
I :eop|e have been killed."
"Awe!" mnttered the Englishman again.
"And—and," said his interlocutor with an ef- j
ort, "vour own man—your servant has been
! llovvn info a hundred pieces."
".live ! bring me the pice that has the key of I
mj portmanteau."
I printer out west, whose office is half a mile
froi anv other building and who hangs his sign j
on he limb of a tree, advertises for an appren- i
tic< He says: "A boy from the country pre-i
ferrd."
[/'"Love is like a river, if the current be oh- !
strcted it will seek some other channel. It is J
nolunfrequently the case that the kisses and at- ;
terions bestowed on the child of six years, are j
intnded for the sister of sixteen.
Of* A Miss "Steed," a lady of brief stature,
haing lately married a man by the name of
"Crry," after a week's acquaintance, Brown
rerarked that it was an exemplification of the
oldproverb—"A short horse is soon curried."
[/'""You have considerable floating popula
tioi in this village, haven't you?" asked astran
gerof the citizens of a village on the Miss
issijpi. "Well, yes, rather," was the reply;
"abuit half the year the water is up to the sec
ondstory windows."
Of* A man had a sign up," cheap ladies ' shoes I
for ale here." He found that not a woman en- I
terej his shop. No Yvonder. The ladips don't
like to he called cheap; they want to be call
ed dar.
THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA.
According to a note to Childe Herold, An
gostina (whose recent death at Cueta was men
tioned in the Post of Tuesday,) was in her 22d
year when the siege occurred, and must there
fore have been about 70 at her death. When
Byron was in Seville, she was to be seen walk
ing on the Prado decorated with medals and
orders, bestowed on her by command of the
Junta. We quote his celebrated stanzas: —
Is it for this the Spanish maid aroused,
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
And, all unsex'd, the aniace hath espoused,
Sung the lour) song, and dared the deed of war?
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Appall'd, and owlet's 'larum chill'd with
dread,
Now views the column scattering bay'net jar
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm
dead
Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might
quake to tiead.
Yet who shall marvel when you hear her tale?
Oh! had you known her in her softer hour,
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal
black veil,
Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower,
Seen her Jong locks that mock the painter's
power,
Her fairy form, with more than female grace,
Scarce would you deem that Sangossa's tow
er
Beheld her smile in danger's Gorgon face,
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in glory's fear
ful chase.
Ilpr lover sinks—she sheds no ill-timed tear :
Her chief is slain—she fills his fatal post ;
Her fellows flee—she checks their base ca
reer ;
The foe retires—she heads Ihe sallving host :
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can avenge like her a leader's fall?
What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope
is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman's hand, before a batter'd
wall?
Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons
But form'd for all the witching arts of love :
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons,
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move,
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove,
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate:
In softness as in firmness far above
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ;
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance
as great.
The seal love's dimpling chin has impress'd
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his
touch:
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their
nest,
Bid man be valiant ere he merils such :
Her glance, how wildly beautiful! how much
Hath Phcebus vvoo'd in vain to spoil her
cheek !
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous
clutch !
Who round the north for paler dames would
seek?
How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan
and weak!
A HORSE STORY.
This abridgement of a horse story is taken
from W. C. Prime's work, "Boat life in Egypt
and Nubia," as related to him by one of the gov
ernment officers at Edfou. It is a story of an
old Sheik of the Bedouins, Yvhich has often ap
: peared in print, but not like this:
j "The Sheik was old and poor. He owned a
! tent, a Nubian slave, and a mare ; nothing else.
The mare was the fleetest animal on the desert,
j From the Nile to the Euphrates, the fame of
this animal had gone out, and kings sought in
vain to oYvn her. The love of a Bedouin for
his horse is not that fabled affection that YVP
, read of in books. It is the love an American
| nabob has for bis gold, or a poor laborer for his
! day's wages. His horse is his life. He can
i rob, plunder, kiil and destroy, ad libitum, ifhe
j has a fleet stepii. If he has none he can do
; nothing, but is the prey of every one who has.
; Living this wandering life, the" old Sheik was
rich in this one mare, which Yvas acknowledged
to be the fleetest horse in Arabia. Ibrahim Pa
sha wished the animal as his father had before
lnm. He sent various offers to the old Sheik,
; but in vain. At length he sent a deputation
. with five hundred purses,a purse is five pounds,
j and the old man laughed at them. 'Then,'said
| Ibrahim Pasha, 'I will take your rr.are.' 'Try
it. He sent a regiment into the desert,
and the Sheik rode around them, and
laughed at them, and the regiment came
home. At last the Sfiiek died from a wound
received in a fray with a neighboring tribe.
Dying he gave to his Nubian slave all "he had,
his priceless mare, and the duties of the blood
revenge. The faithful slave accepted both, and
has ever since been the terror of the eastern de
sert. Yearly he comes doYvn like a hawk on
the tents of that devoted tribe, and leaves a ball
or a lance in a man or a Yvoman. No amount
of blood satiates his revenge ; and the mare and
the black rider are as celebrated in Arabia as the
Yiild huntsman in European forests, and much
better known.
General Convention of Universal
ists in the United States Yvill hold its next annu
al session in Chicago, on the 15th of September.
Among thp importations at Boston, from Eng
land, last week Yvas a quantity of human hair,
valued at $2,624.
Nothing was so much dreaded, in our school
boy days, as be punished by sitting betYveen two
girls. Ah' the force of education. In after
years we learn to submit to such things without
shedding a tear.
TERJIS, $ 2 PER YEAR.
NEW SERIES VOL 1, NO. 5.
[Er""A little urchin, some two or three years
old, being a little distance from the house, was
suddenly started by a clap of thunder. He was
very much frightened, and made rapid tracks
towards the house. But as the shed was the
nearest shelter he entered it, and casting a de
fiant look at the clouds, exclaimed, "Thun
der away, I'm under the shed!"
newspaper is something better than
what it has been aptly enough called, "the ful
crum which Archimedes longer for." Lord
Mansfield recognized one of its great uses when
he remarked to a foreigner who was surprised at
the scanty public in the Courts of Justice in
England: "No matter, sir, we sit every day in
the newspaper."
fTF"'My dear,' said a wife to her husband,
"did you ever read of the plague in London?"
"No, I don't want to read of it; it is enough to
have a plague in my own house."
QTF"S nod grass, being sick of single blessednpss,
advertised for a wife. The next day he received
a note irom Mrs. McPherson, inquiring "wbit
he wanted of her."
[Er*Groom signifies one who serves in an in
ferior station. The name of bridegroom was
formerly given to the new married, because it
was customary for him to wait at table on bis
bride and friends on his wedding day.
KF*A man being asked bv his neighbor how
his wife did, made this answer: "Indeed, neigh
bor, the case is pitiful; my wife fears that she
will die, and I fear she will not—which makes a
disconsolate house."
Q^=-A story writer says, "Florabel clasped
her wide white brow with her two white hands,
as il to still the thunder of thought booming
through her brnin." How her head must have
ached with such a noise in it! Florabel must
be the young lady whose "eyes emit lightning
flashes."
0""An editor out West calls on maidens to
take courage; because the census shows that there
are half a million more men than women in the
United States.
[£r = "A witty doctpr says that tight-lacing is
a public benefit, inasmuch as it kills off all the
foolish girls, and leaves the wise ones to grow up
to be women.
look wiser than eagles, and many a
sheepskin passes for chamois.
[IFThe intelligent have a right over the igno
rant—the light of instructing them.
great many people have some knowl
edge of the world, although the world has no
knowledge whatever of them, and no particular
desire to acquire any.
[£F"Punch savs that every family ought to
keep a kitten to amuse the children. They
should also keep children to amuse the kitten.
philosopher who had married a vulgar
but amiable girl, used to call her "Brown Su
gar," because, he said, she was sweet, but un
refined.
ON THE WING. —"Dad, if I was to see a duck
on the wing, and was to shoot it, would you
lick me?"
"Oh no, my son! It shows you are a
good marksman, and I would feel proud of
you."
"Well, then, dad, I plumped our old drake as
he was flying, over the fence to-day, and it
would have done you good to see him drop
—The Tobacco crop in some parts of Mary
land and Virginia is said to be very poor, on
account of the wetness of the season. This has
caused the stalks to grow very rank, without a
proportionate growth of leaves.
—Giles the Express messenger, who has had
a preliminary trial at Quincy, Illinois, on a
charge of being concerned in the Express rob
bery, has been held to bail in the sum of $6,000,
to answer for his appearance at the next term
of the circuit court.
—ln Denmark, Me., a few days ago, a little
daughter of Mr. John Blake was frightened to
death by a man named Grover shooting a dog
that was standing near her. Grover has been
committed to jail.
—Counterfeit gold dollars, of the size of the
new emission, are in circulation. They are
well calculated to deceive those who are not in
the habit of scrutinizing the money they receive.
They are made of tin, galvanized, and are easily
bent with the finger.
General Rusk*s seat in the Senate will
probably be filled by Ex-Governor J. Pinckney
Henderson, the intimate friend and former
partner of General Rusk, in the practice of the
law.
—A correspondent of the New York "Tri
bune" asserts that the trick undertaken by Mrs.
Cunningham, was successfully performed by her
sister Sarah, in 1827.
—The Democratic Convention of the fifth
district of Maryland assembled at Hagerstown,
on Tuesday, and nominated Col. Jacob M. Kun
kel, of Frederick, for Congress.
Our sorrows are like thunder clouds which
seem black in the distance, but grow lighter u
they approach.
Every woman is born with a master wind
that is to say, with a mind to ba roaster, ilshc
can.
Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting
the benefits that arc your doty.
p
I*