VOM 39. NEW SERIES. THE BEDFORD GAZETTE IS rt T BUSHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING BY MEYERS & BEN FORD, \t ttio following terms, to wit: $1.50 per annum, CASH, in advance. $2.00 ' " if paid within the year. $2.50 " " it not paid within the year. ETN" subscription taken for less than six months. CCF"No paper discontinued until alt arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the publishers. It has been decided by the United States Courts, that the stoppage of a newspaper without the payment of ar rearages, is juitna facie evidence ol fraud and is a criminal offence. CTTThe courts have decided that persons are ac countable for the subscription price of newspapers, if they take them from the post office, whether they subscribe for them, or not. A SEA SONG. nv r>R. o w. HOLMES. As 1 look from the isle o'er its billows of green, To the billows of foam-crested blue Yon bark that afar in the distance is seen, Half dreaming my eyes will pursue ; Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray. As chatrin the stroke of the flail ; Now white as the sea gull, she flie3 on her way, The sun gleaming bright on her sail. Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun— Of breakers that whiten and roar ; How little he cares, if in shadow or sun They see him that gaze from the shore ! He looks on the bpacon that looms from the reef, To the rock that is under the lee, As he drifts on the blast, like a wind wafted leaf, O'er the gulfs of the desolate sea. Thus drifting afar to the dim vaulted caves, Where life and its ventures. are laid, The dreameis who gaze while we battle the waves, May see n? in sunshine or shade ; Yet true to our course, though our shadow grow dark, We'll trim our broad sail as before, And stand by the rudder that governs the bark Nor ask how we look from the shore. Itl i s c e i I an c a it s. THE WILD GIRL or CWIMPAGNET The story ofthe Wild CJirl of Champagne is •detailed by a trustworthy French writer, M. de ia Condamine. One evening, in September, 1731, the people of the village of Songi, were alarmed by the entrance into the street of a girl, seemingly nine or ten years old, covered with iag and skin , and bavins (ace and- .bam GUa<rf. us those of a negro. She had a gourd leaf on her head, and was armed with a short baton. So strange was her aspect that those who observed tier took to their heels and ran in-doors, ex claiming, 'The devil! the devtl Bolts were drawn in all quarters, and one man thought to insure safety by letting loose a large bull dog. The little savage flinched not as the animal ad vanced in a fury, but throwing herself backwards on one limb, and grasping her club with both hands, she discharged a blow at the bead of the dost, as it came nigh her, with such force and celerity as to kill it on the spot. Elated with tier victory, she jumped several times on the carcass; after which she tried in vain to enter a house, and then ran back to the wood, where she mounted a tree and fell asleep. Thirst, it was supposed, had led her to the village. The Viscount D'Epinoy, then in the country, was quickly told of this apparition and a search being made early n*.\t morning, the little wan derer was observed at the lop of a lofty tree.— Supposing that she was thirsty, they brought a j pitcher of water and placed if below the tree.— The wild girl, after cautiously looking all a rotind came down and drank; but being startled * she reascended the tree befo-e she could be ap proached. In the hope of startling her less, a woman and child were then directed to offer food to her, and entice her down. This plan was successful, and the savage was caught.— She struggled violently, but was carried to the house of M. D'Epinoy. In the kitchen, fowls were being dressed at the moment, and she in- , sfantly flew on one of them, tore it to pieces and ate it. An unskinned rabbit was placed before her, which with amazing rapidity and voracity she also skinned and devoured. ft was soon found that if the little savage possessed*any speech whatever, it was merely a word or two in some foreign or instinctive tongue. The usual sound uttered by her was a wild scream not articulated, but formed entirely in the throat. If any one approached to touch her, she grew wild and shrieked violently.— She had blue eyes, and, strange to say, it was speedily discovered that her skin was really white, or nearly so, a black paint having been apparently laid on her face and bands. It was noticed that her thumbs were very large, and this was afterwards explained by her, as arising from her habit of spiinging like a squirrel from tree to tree, by resting upon them. Being pla ced by J\l. D'Epinoy under the careofa shepherd, she at first gave much trouble by scraping holes in her place of confinement, and flying to the tops of trees and the house roof, where she was as much at home as on the level ground. She could rur. with immense speed, and some time after she was taken, frequently showed her powers by catching rabbits and hares at the re quest of her patrons. Iler food had been raw flesh, fish, roots, fruits, branches and leaves; and she nevef chewed her meat but swallowed it whole. It was found extremely difficult to wear her stomach from the taste of raw food.— She swam like a duck, and was extremely dex terous in diving for and catching fish, which she brought ashore in her teeth, and then gutted and ate. Frogs were a peculiar dainty to her. One day when presented to a dinner company at M. D'Epinoy's, she looked around at the ta ble, and seeing none of her own good things, she suddenly ran out to the nearest ditch, where she speedily gathered an apron full of frogs. These she brought into the oining-room, and, before the guests knew her drift, she had spread her collection over the whole of tbeii plates. It may be guessed what consternation was caused by the leap-frog game which took place. When she had learned to express her ideas in speech, she informed her friends that she had had a companion, a girl somewhat older than herself,and black, or painted black. They had quarrelled about a chaplet, dropped by some one: The elder girl struck the younger one on the arm and the younger one returned the blow by a violent stroke of the baton on the brow, which felled the other to the ground, and I I "made iter red," that is, drew blood. Sorrv ! for her companion afterwards, the younger ; look the skin of a frog and placed it over the | wound. They parted, however, each taking j different directions. Before this happened, the J pair had crossed a river, which must have been j the Maine, three leagues from Songi. It had ; . been their custom to sleep all day in frees, which they could do with perfect safety. The elder girl alluded to was sought for, but was never found. A rumor went that a black girl had been found dead not many leagues from the 1 spot where the other was taken; but as it was, long ere the latter could tell the story, the-af fair could not be unravelled at that distance of , time. * Le Blanc, as the little savage was named,! had a distinct recollection of being twice at sea, and of latterly escaping with her companion from a ship by swimming. From her statement it was conjectured, that Le Blanc, at least, was from the coast of Labrador, and had been kid napped and carried to the West Indes. Failing to seTfner 5} riie itTo* •/f tm, tsm .• 0 ~, the kidnapper seems to have brought her 'o some coast near to France. The hazy recollec tions of Le Rlanc, which had reference partly to canoes and seals, and partly to sugar-canes, con firm this conjecture. How long the wanderers had been in Europe it is impossible to say, but it is evident tbgt Le Blanc had been long famil iar to solitary as well as savage habits. Ihe attempts made to accustom her to cooked food nearly cost her life, and her acquired voracity could not be overcome. At the hospital of Chalons, and subsequently in a convent, where she spent much of her after life, she was civili zed, however, in every respect. The Duke of Orleans and many great people were kind to her. She was, of course, an object of great cu riosity to all. The period of Iter death is un- j known to us, but in 17Gb she was still living j in Paris. Some peculiarities marked her 1 through her whole lite, and particular!}' a cer tain rolling motion of the eyes, acquired when she wandered in the woods, and had to guard against surprise. She knew then no fear, how ever, and hesitated not to front wolf and wild cat. Besides the bludgeon mentioned, which she said she brought from her own country , she had for defence, a stick pointed with iron, which she brought, she said, from the hot country. AN INFERNAL RETORT. —Somebody, to the writer ol this unknown, tells a joke that may be worth printing, even after making a reasona ble ded net ion for the risk of its being old: j Tn a small town, in one of the countiesof Ohio, a stranger rode up to the door of a tavern, and having dismounted, ordered a stall and j some oats for his horse. A crowd of loafers—that class of independent citizens who are never equal to decent men except on election day— swarmed about the bar-room and steps, waiting to be "invited up to the counter." Among this crowd the stranger's business was at once the subject of impertinent speculation. One fellow, more impudent than the rest, made free to inquire of the traveller what occupation he followed :to which the latter replied that his business was a secret at present, but that he would probably make it known before leaving town. Having spent a day or two looking around, — visiting the place where whiskey was sold, and 1 makinc various inquiries as to the amount de tailed, the number of habitual drunkards in the place ; the number of dogs kept by men u hose children never went to school or had enough to eat—after, in short, making a complete moral inventory ofthe town, he concluded to leave, and having mounted his horse, was about to be off, when his inquisitive friend urged on by his associates, stepped up and said, — "See here, Captain, you promised to tell us your business before you left, and we d like to hear from you on that point." "Well " said the stranger —"I am an Agent for the Devil—l'm hunting a location for h—ll, and I am glad that I have found a place where it will not be necessary W remove the present inhabitants !" AN IMPROVISATORS. Ed. Merlin was chargeJ with being drunk and noisy in a house in Baxter street, and it *vas also intimated by the complainant that Ned was in all probability a little cracked. Mr. Merlin was considerably out at the knees and ell ows and his shirt seemed as if it might be the identical two napkins, sowed together, winch belonged to the second most fortunate ol Sir John FalstalFs country troopers. In short, Mr. Merlin appeared to be a regular loafer from his pimple cover to his shanks mares, with this sole exception that his tongue went like a perpetual motion, whereas it is one of the peculiarities of the fialernity that they are too lazy to talk. The most interesting feature, however, of Mr. Merlin's character is, that he. is a poet, arid that 100 of so unadulterated a complexion, that whatever he says runs into rhyme as naturallv as if it was bespoke and paid for at a penny a line. Mrs. Donovan, the complainant is a little Irish woman, who keeps one of those "hole in the wall" shanties where they purport to sell "the best of good liqtiots, at three cents a glass," and it appeared in evidence that Mr. Merlin bad done every justice to her "best of good li quors"—but hail ventured no farther in her favor, for when she began to remind him of the "three cents a glass" part of the ceremony, be i went into a blaze of indignation, and let the ! arrows of his wrath fly around him like a feu de. joie of Congreve rockets, a In Clancy. "Faix, yer Honor," continued Mrs. Donovan at the conclusion of a long drawn story of her woes, "hedhrunk me brandy wid as little com punction as if it was nothin' but so much wather, for the divil a sup ova pint an' a nail he left behind tosarve another customer." Magistrate.— Did betake it by force? Mrs. Donovan.—Musha, no your honor, but he wint on like a play aether until 1 tho'l he was raisin the divil, bad win to me if I wasn't afeard to say a single word until the sorta a dhrop was left in the bottle. In thruth, yer honor, if he's not a witch—or divil, or some thing in that line, I think he must be out of his seven senses. Magistrate.—Merlin, what have you to say to this business ? Merlin.— I say, my lord, a- quick as winking, The liquor was not worlh the drinking ; And charge the hog 1 have my eyes on With selling drugs that's worse than poison. Mrs. Donovan.—That's the way he wint on when lie was dhrinkin' up ail me beautiful bran dy without pay in' for it, yer honor. Jaizez, you blackguard, if you call me a hog agin I'll otnaso votfr tigiv rntig into smuuereen,. -. . Merlin. "^ Beware, good woman, say not so, And we'll be friends, before we go ; Though much I fear your liquor horrid, Will bore a hole out through my forehead. Mrs. Donovan.—The divil mind yoti, or any thing that spake.? in such an outlandish language as that. Your honor, dear, do you think he git it all out ova hook, or ts it cracked wid larnin' > he is ? Magistrate.— He is either a fool or a rogue.— Merlin, answer me plainly, what are you ? Merlin.— A man, my lord from hat to shoe. Flesh, blood, and bones, the same as you. Magistrate.—l mean, what's your business ? Merlin.— My business. Bah ! I scorn the name, My business is to seek lor fame ; The muses, sir, are my delight ; I woo them ail from morn till night, j (tome, sweet Urania, heavenly maid, i Oh, come to thine own Merlin's aid. Magistrate.—No humbugging sit ; how do you get your bread ? Merlin.— My bread, sir. Oh !my answer's ripe, 1 live on suction like a snipe— -1 mean a woodcock—but you know 'J"tie rhyme says snipe, so let it go. Magistrate.—(live over rhyming, sir, and tell me plainly, where do you live ? Merlin. When the sun is bright and hot, All around I seek my lot, Lolling in sequestered nook, l.istening to the babbling brook. Or, scorning blanket, sheet or rug. Snoozing in the Park so snug ; But in cold weather 'tis my plan To live, my lord, where best I can. Magistrate.—Hang you, rascal, speak in prose. Merlin.— I will, my lord—by all the gods, 1 meant no harm, hut where's the odds 1 O blest Urania, come along, And give my lord a soul for song. Mrs. Donovan.—The Lord help the poor craythur, but I believe he wants asthrait waist coat worse nor my brandy. Your honor, darlin't, I'll forgive him the brandy, an' the brakin'of me chair, but T think it'd be a charity to have him out somewhere that I'd bring him to his raisin' an' purwint him from spaikin' in such an unchristian language. Merlin.— Thus I am doomed, where'er 1 go. My jewels before swine to throw. Mrs. Donovan.—You blackguard, if you call me a swine I'll make you pay for me brandy if you were as mad as a March hare. Magistrate.—Does any one here know this man ? Policeman.— Yes, sir, I do; he's called the mad poet, and is always drinking brandy and | talking nonsense ; he does nothing for a living, and lives nowhere ; 1 believe he couldn't speak like another man if he tried. Merlin. 'Tis trup, I am before my time ; For all men yet shall speak in rhyme, My lord, I atn no cheat, for see The proofs of my true poetry My hat, with half the crown beat in ; My trowserloons, not worth a pin ; My coat, deficient of a skirt ; And then, my thirst for brandy—sure You want no more—the proof is pure. Freedom of Thought and Opinion, BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, JUNE 25, 1858. I Magistrate.—l believe you're a belter poet than a man—but your doggerel can't save you I must commit you as a vagrant. Merlin.— Oh, shades of Homer—Milton—O ! And must I to the treadmill go ! Magistrate.—No Homer and Shakespeare say that you need only be sent a stone breaking. Merlin.— O, Mrs. Donovan be kind, But if you'll kill, why I'm resigned. Mrs. Donovan.—'Pon meson!, your honor, I'm almost sorry for bringing him here, for aftlier all there is something nice about this manner ov thiatin' the King's English. Merlin.— O poetry, a god thou art, For soothing down a woman's heart ; O lady take it not amiss, For here 1 thank you with a kiss. Mrs. Donovan.—Well, now that mighn'tsin, but if that is not the bight ov assurance.. However, no matter, for it'll all rub out whin if? dry. Your honor, wont you forgive him, and I'll take him homo, an' give him some breakfast, and see what I can make of him. Magistrate.—Mrs. Donovan, are you a maid or a married woman ? Mrs. Donovan.— Neither, your honor, but I'm a widdy, an' a snug wan too—the Lord be praised for all his marcies. Magistrate.— l thought so ! hut you may go : and take \our poet along with you. Mrs. Donovan.— I thank your honor kindly; but laix now yees needn't be laugh in' for I mains no harm. Merlin.— So let them laugh who cares—the day is mine, For poetry and beauty take the stnne ; On, lady, on, nor waste the precious hours, And let us hasten to ambrosial bowers. And so saying, the immortal Mr. Merlin, and ' ilie poetry-smitten "Widdy" Donovan made themselves scarce. This Merlin, whom we have frequently seen ' at Washington Matket, can talk for hours to- i gether in doggerel, whereof the above quotations j may be taken as a fair specimen. PEG AYOFFINGTON. Within ayear or two of the birth ofEdinund ; Burke, a French woman, Madame Yiolante, had I an exhibition in Dame street, of Paris. Her attention was attracted to a very graceful girl j whom she observed with a pitcher on her head j i daily carrying water from the Ltffey, and whom j flie learnt, on inquiry, to be the daughter of a ; poor widow who kept a small grocer's shop and j , took in washing on Ormond Quay. Instructed j by this kind patroness, the beautiful child play- : ■j - -"y> "- ' o rwrq achieved a ■ signal success, and became the talk of the town. ; This was the first introduction to the stage ol • the actress, who, as Margaret Wellington, be- ' came so widely celebrated in England and Ire- • land, bne was undoubtedly one of the most ' fascinating women of her day. 7 a!! in her; form, and with the most graceful proportions, : eyes as black as jet, ever sparkling with anima- j lion, and overarched by eyebrows at once soft, full, and delicate, a nose tending to the aqui line, ricli hair hanging in profusion round a finely-mounted neck, full of life, full of humor, and full of intelligence, she was the envy of all women, and appeared formed by nature to win the hearts of'all men. Though she occasionally played Lady Macbeth , there was nothing tragic in her style. It was into comedy that she threw all her exuberant spirits, her natural playfulness, and her untiring energy; and she delineated four different sells of comic charac ter which had nothing in common. She per sonified the fine lady of fashion, with a grace, tact, and dignity, which astonished those who knew her humble origin. She prosonified the . vulgarity of a city dame, with a breadth and; force ol humor which drew laughter and tears ; from all eyes. She personified an old woman j with all the garrulity, feebleness, and irritabili- ! ty of old age: and, what was then thought ex- j traordinary magnanimity on the stage, that she might represent senility more effectively, she did"not hesitate to hide her lovely face under a hideous mask of paint, patches, and pencilled wrinkles. She personified a young rake, so as lo make women (all in love with her, and deter Garrick front ever acting the part ol Sir llnrry Wildair, after she had by her ease and vivacity rendered it peculiarly her own. But she was not merely an actress; the woman, and not the artist, predominated in her life. While in the I first element of'all, female honor, she was said to be deficient, and could therefore neither be tiuly respected, nor purely loved, so many ro mantic tales were told of her sympathetic be nevolence, and munificent charity to thedes ! titute who had no other benefactor, and to the wretched, who had no other consoler, that even grave people could not but pity her degradation, and regret that, exposed as she had been to contaminating influences from her early youth, with none to'direct her unguarded steps, the shadow of her vices shall follow with equal pace the seductive lustre which her talents, beauty and accomplishments, and impulses ol generosity threw around her, and all who came into her presence.— Macknighl s Life and limes of Edmund Burke. PREPARING FOR CONTINGENCIES. —Tt is staled that Louis Napoleon, with wise forethought, has been preparing for possible future contin gencies bv making investments in England and the United States. It is stated also by the Paris correspondent of the Manchester Guardian, ' that his aunt, the Grand Duchess Stephanie, of Baden, has left Paris, seriously alarmed at the position of things; and that she considers the state of France sufficiently unsafe to have taken out of the country the sums of money she had invested in it. Louis Napoleon, however, may not, in the event of another revolution, be as fortunate as Louis Philippe in getting out ofthe country without injury to his person. At all events, he should keep on friendly terms with the United States, as lie may again be obliged to seek our hospitality. PATRIOTISM. PERHAPS no feeling was ever so prevalent in ' the United Slates as the indignation which now exists against the outrages committed upon our i merchant vessels by British war steamers.— ! Everywhere the people feel that it is a gross j violation ot.our national rights, and an insult to our flag cannot be passed l>y without disgrace.! This feeling is found in every heart imbued with a spirit of patriotism—in every heart which look.s to this as his own, his native land with pride, and lo every one who prefers honor ! to infamy for the country of his nativity or a doption. But amid this unanimity of feeling— this general desire to hold up the hands of the ! administration in obtaining redress of those! wrongs—we find those who deny such a right, j and assert that our government should not vin-! dieateowr national sovereignty by an appeal to 1 arms. Had these same persons lived in 1770, they would have been called Tories. Then it was only that class that preferred subjection to the British yoke to freedom and national inde pendence. Had they lived in 1812, they | would have belonged lothat party called "Blue- j Light Federalists." Now they assume the j name which stupid and malignant opposition to ! reform always claims, and c.ill themselves Con servatives! It was the same party, or their representatives, that voted against sending sup- 1 plies to our army in Mexico, when that little j j band was there marching on from victory to; victory in vindication of our rights. These men now stand in the same place. Whether they ! oppose the government for the mere sake of op- I position, or from honest convictions of right, ; history will have but one language for them all j —one word to call them by, and that shall be i Tories! This spirit, which is called Conservative, has i been one of the greatest banes of our nation; it : j has opposed every great and radical important j j movement that has been advocated since Liber- i jty built hei temples and Jit her fires in "this; iland ofthe free." It received blows during j j the Revolution—during the administration of' i Thomas Jefferson, and during that of Andrew . Jackson, from which it never can recover.— \ ■ Yet it still lingers, and, we find it now opposing j the idea of demanding reparation for these last ; acts of British insolence and tyranny. Once it 1 | may have merited hatred—now it demands on j !y contempt.— Phila. Hrgus. THE WIFE OF BEN EDICT ARNOLD. We have been accustomed to sympathize ' with the wife of Arnold, in the distress which j 1 Hamilton's account represents her as having j ■ suffered when apprised of Iter husband's treason ■ ana night, uu. j. ..... ~ n ; sympathies have been wasted. According lo I Pai ton's Life of Burr : I "He was silling one evening with Mrs. Pre j vost, when th- approach of a party of horses was heard, and sooa after a lady, veiled and ; attired in a riding habit, burst into the loom, and hurrying towards Mrs. Prevost, was ori the point of addressing her. Seeing a gentleman j in the dim light of the apartment she did not recognize, she paused, and asked, in an anxious tone. "Am I safe ? Is this gentleman a friend ?" 'Oh, ves,' was Mrs. Prevost's reply, 'he is my most particular friend, Col. Borr.' 'Thank God ." exclaimed Mrs. Arnold—for she it was— 1 I've been playing the hypocrite, and I'm tired oTit." She thengavean accountof the way she had deceived Washington, Hamilton and other American officers who, she said, believed her j innocent of treason, and had given her an es- ; cort from West Point. She made no scruple of i confessing the part she had borne in the nego tiation with the British General, and declared that it was she that had induced her husband to do what he had done. She passed the night at Paramus, taking care to resume her acting of the outraged and frantic woman whenever strangers were present. Col. Burr's relations with the Shippen family, of which Mrs. Arnold was a member, had been of the most intimate character from childhood. They had been his father's friends, and the orphan bov had been taken from his mother's grave to their home in Philadelphia. He stood toward this fascina ting, false-hearted woman almost in the light of a younger brother, and he kppt her secret until she was past being harmed by the telling of it. the Reign ol Terror, the mob got hold of the Abbe Maury, and resolved to sacri fice him. "To the lamp-post with him !" was the universal cry. The Abbe was in a bad fix with a mob for his judges—the tender mercies of a mob ! With the utmost coolness, the Abbe said to those who were dragging him along, "Well, it you hang me to the lamp-post, will you see any clearer for it ?" This bright sally tickled his executioners and saved his life. 05r""Oh, pray let me have my way this time.", said a young gentleman to his lady love. "Well, Willy," I suppose I must, this once; but you know that alter we are married, I shall always have a Will of my own." ffjr=As two of our children were playing to gether, little Jane got angry and pouted. John ny said to her, "Look out, Jane, or I'll take a seat up there on your lips." "Then," replied Jane, quite cured of her pouts, "I'll laugh, and you'll tall off'." A WORD TO THE WEAKER VESSEL.—A lady who obstinately persists in wearing hoops ought not to complain ot being ridiculed. II she will make a barrel of herself, she must expect to be treated as a butt. Q7p""Well, John," said a man to his son when he was one and twenty, "you have a fool for a master now." "Yes," said John, who supposed himself to he but twenty, "and have had for the last twenty i years." NYHOB.i: \( YlitEß | POLITICAL Ar;>UEDITII:s or TIIK DAY. —Of , all llie cant and clap-Itap of our .Northern nig -1 ger worshipping politicians, they are guilty of nothing so impudent and preposterous as their i rediculuus outcry against the "aggressions of the ! slave oligarcy," and "the intolerant despotism |of the slave power." Look at the facts. At the present session of Congress bills will have | been passed directly admitting two new free Stales—.Minnesota and Oregon—and providing ' lor the addition of the third (Kansas) to the Northern side of the Ledger. Here, then, ar<- ■ three new tree States, and without the offset of a single new slave State, to spoak for the "ag i gressions" and the "intolerance" of the "slave oligarchy. Do our nigger worshipping agita | tors suppose that there is neither the common j est intelligence nor a particle of common sense | remaining among the people of the North 1 One would think so, or why these impudent at tempts to keep up the excitement against "the slave oligarchy," when, with nineteen Stales against fifteen, and with several embryo States behind, the people ol the North have ail the ! power of the government in their hands.— ! Sensible men, with these facts before them, can only be disgusted with this effrontery, which would attempt to frighten them with this sense less hue and cry of fools and fanatics against the "aggressions of the slave oligarchy."—„V. 1". 1 Herald. DRAWING our CHILDREN. —Some persons j pride themselves on their power of drawing • out the intelligence of children by their mode of putting questions lo them. And occasionally i have seen this well done: more frequently, i verv absurdly. The following is a specimen of | a style of examination which we have witnes ! "What, dear children, what was it (hat swal lowed Jona!) ' Was it a sh-sh-sh-sh-shark 7 " ".Talis !" roar a host of voices. "No, dear children, it was not a hark.— 1 Then was it an al-a!-alligator ?" "Yahs !" exclaim the voices again. I • "No, dear children, it was not an alligator Then was it a u h-wh-wti-w ha'e ?" "No roar the voices. d termined lo be light | tiiis time. "Yahs, deai children, it was a whale."— Frnzer's .Magazine. [£p*.\ LF.FT H A NDED COM n. I M ENT.—A young exquisite was lately listening to a lady friend singing a song, in which the following lines oc cur : ''By that fair brow where innocence repo ! ses, Like moonlight resting upon snow." l/joking at him intently she divided the words in the first line in a manner rather difier- V ' ' °' s ' < not narficularlv complimentary, thus : "By that fair brow vcherc-in no-sense repo ses. Like moonlight resting upon snow." A GOOD WITNESS. —"Did the defendant knock the plaintiff down with malice pre pense ?" I "No, sir; he knocked him down with a fiat iron." "You misunderstand me my friend ; I want to know whether he attacked him with an evil intent." "Oh, no, sir; it was outside the tent." "No, no; I wish you to tell me whether the attack was at all a preconcerted affair." "No, sir: it was not a. free concert affair, it | was a circus." A Goon ONE. —In the bull-fighting days, a Wednesday blacksmith, who was rearing a buit pup, induced his old father to go on all-fours and imitate the bull. The canine pupil pinned the old man by the nose. The son, disregar ding the paternal roaring, exclaimed, "Hold him, Growler boy, hold him ! bear it, feyther, bear it 1 ifll be the making of the pup." VERY LUCKY. —The editor of an exchange paper, in giving an account of the murder of a fellow-citizen in his bed for the purpose of rob bing his house of a large sum in specie, says, "but luckily the murdered man had deposited all his money in the bank the day before." How very lucky the victim was, truly : he lost noth ing but his life ! LADIES are like watches—pretty enough to look at—sweet faces and delicate hands, but somehow difficult to "regulate" when once set "agoing." (p*Tl is said that Judge Douglas, in invit ing Mr. Lamar, of Mississippi, to the grand banquet which he gave on Friday to the Medi cal Association, informed him it was a medical caucus called to h<al the ulcers of Democracy. "The idea may be a good one," said Mr. Lamar, "but Judge, 1 would begin by amputating the diseased limb." [TP"A young Irishman, who had manied when about nineteen years of age, complaining of the difficulties to which his early marriage subjected him, said he would "never marry so voung again if he lived to be as old as Methusa lim." (£p""Mister, will you lend pa your newspa per ? he only wants to send it to his uncle in the country."—"Oh, certainly ; and ask your father if he will just lend me the roof of his house. I only want the [shingles to make the tea-kettle boil." LPOn a very pretty girl saying to Leigh Hunt, "I am very sad you see," he replied, "Oh no you belong to the other Jewish sect, vou are very fair I see." Tp""fs that clock right over there ?" said a stranger to a news-boy the other day.— "Right over there," answered Young America ; "taint nowhere else." OP" What is the best line to lead a man with? Crinoline. And the best line to lead a woman with, is a masculine. VOL 1, NO. 17.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers