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THE INFIDEL'S TOMB.
BY Pit. 0. N. TUCKOK.
f CONCLUDED.]
*Thc brothers had just completed their nine
teenth and twenty-first years, and Pauline was
verging into seventeen, when the event, which I
am about to narrate, occurred.
The gentle girl was a being, whom "to know
was but to love," and it will not be deemed won
drous that the affectionate nature of Alplionzo,
thrown an he was daily, into her society, yield
ed to her charms; nor at all surprising that the
maiden unconsciously loved the being, who had
ever been her constant companion and protector.
But it will be thought "passingstrange" that
the heart of the stern and saltish Leopold, should
be moved by any feelings of a tender nature;
but 'twas even eo. J-le, too, loved; but not
with the self-sacrificing, disinterested emotion
that pervaded the soul of his brother. His love
wan characteristic of his selfish nature. Ilis
cousin was beautiful, transcendently so, and ad
mired, end he longed to be the possessor of so
much loveliness.
Pauline, from her childhood, hod a constant I
fear of him, and often in their youthful sports, j
when she would inadvertently provoke his anger |
would she turn trembling to her more gentle*
cousin for protection from his unkindness; and ;
now that lie sought to win her heart, it is not ;
strange that she turned from hint with ill eon-!
oealcd dread and aversion. Many times did ho
ftrive to gain her love, hut as often was repuls
ed; and though with kind words she rejected his
suit, lie could not but be at last aware, from her i
instinctive abhorrence of him, betrayed in the
trembling and apparent fear with which she met
him, and the anxiety with which she shunned
him, that his was a hopeless suit; and with the
dawning of this consciousness upon him, all his
tender feeling for her turned to intense hatred—
hatred such us only lie could foel; and lie vow
ed the. most bitter vengeance.
It had been an early formed wish of the Sig
ner arid his lady, to have had their elder son and
his cousin united in marriage, when both should
have arrived at a proper age; but as each suc
cessive year showed them how totally unfit lie
was to make her happy, and how she clung with
all her confiding nature to her dear Alphonzo,
they relinquished their long cherished project,
for although they loved their son and ardently
wished for his happiness, they could not but
know, that to second his suit successfully, would
be to render her supremely wretched.
A favorite resort of Alphonzo and Pauline,
was a mora covered reck, beside a limpid stream
in the fcrcet. It had been the theater of their
childish sports, and the terminus of their youth
ful rambles. Thither would they bend their
steps to pore over some cherished book together;
or in conversation, to pass away the unheeded
hours. All in all to each other, tLeir guileless
hearts had little divined the nature of the affec
tion that had unconsciously become part of their
being.
If of the existence of that love they them
selves were unconscious, not so their guardians.
Thev saw, they knew how dear they were to
each other, and they fervently invoked the bles
sings of Heaven upon the hnppv pair.
Nor was Leopold unaware of their attach
ment. He could not lie ignorant of it, and it
w ill be impossible to depict the jealousy, despair,
hatred and revenge that rankled in his bosom.
Fenrfullv portentous was the scowl that o'er
sprcad his dark features, as he witnessed the con
fidence reposed in his successful rival.
Ono beautiful evening in June, the lovers wan
dered cut to their favorite seat upon the moss
chid rock. Alphonzo'a forgiv ing disposition, de
spite the many insults he had received from his
brother, still citing to him in love, and he was
ever ready to offer some argument in palliation
of the conduct of Leopold. lie was the theme
of their discourse on the present occasion. As
they convened they heard a rustling among the.
branches behind them. Pauline started in fear;
—they listened, hut the sound was not repeated.
"'Tis only a bird among the foliage," said Al
phonzo, "we have nothing to fear, dearest, from
such innocent creatures." "Methinks, my cous
in," he continued, "that your manner toward
car Leopold is by far too constrained and cold.
That ho is unhappy, and ill at ease, is obvious.
Do try, swe ct Paulines to let your demeanor to
ward him, be more, affectionate and attentive in
the future."
,/Dh! Alphonzo," she replied, "if you knew
how I fear him, and how much reason I have
for so doing, you would not upbraid me for lack
of kindness to him. I have striven, ever since.
I knew the import of the word, to be to him a
eistcr, a loving sister, even such as I have been
to you; but ho hue not been the gentle brother
that you have been. His stern nature has ever
repelled mo and .chilled the warm love I have
tried to cherish for.hint. I pity him, Alphonzo;
what an agony of pity is mine. I
VOL.Hits 13 a?s.
NEW SERIES.
have wished, and do wish to love him with all n
sister's heart, but to do more, is vain, while eve
ry emotion of love, is chilled by a fear of him
that I cannot control."
"Say not, Dear Pauline, that I upbraid you;
forgive me if my words seemed t>f that intent.
I would not, you know I would not, say aught
to wound you. You have ever been to me us a
dear, dear sister, and would I not give up my
life for you, and think the gift but small? Oil 1
Pauline, 1 would willingly endure a thousand
years in purgatorial flames to save you from a
single pang. Then think me not unkind, that
I who b;isk perpetually' hi the sunshine of your
smile, should wish my Leopold, who is slill, to
me, a dear brother, to share in the same happi
ness."
"Oh! Alplionzo, how I have wished that it
could bo as you desire; I do long to give him a
sister's love. 'Tis due him for the sake of his
parents, through whose tenderness the orphan
has never known the orphan's sorrow. It is
due him for the sake of the. dear, good Antonio,
whose prayers and counsels have been equally
ours. It is due lor your sake, Alphonzo, and
for your sake I will try to love, and be affection
ate to liira."
"Do, dearest," lie replied, "and .yours may
yet be the work to win him from his error, to
the paths of peace."
"The trial shall be mine, Alplionzo; be sure i
it shall be mine; but oh! hope not that, by ef- ;
fort of a weak girl, he shall be reclaimed. I ;
have seen his deeds of cruelty, that you would 1
shudder at; deeds of which you know nothing;
of which he thinks no one, but himself, is aware, j
Oil! he is a dark, dark and fearful man; and
rather than spend one year; one day; nay, one |
hour, with no friend, no protector but him,. 1 1
would endure the flames of which you speak, j
for an eternity; yes, yes forever."
Just then the, tread of feet was heard upon
the green sward, and Pauline turned pale and
shrieked with affright, as (lie subject of their
remarks stood before them, his face livid with
rage.
"Ho-IIo! My noble lord nnd dame," lie half
yelled, half growled, "you spend your precious
moments of love, in traducing ilie cnaraoiei uf
your betters ; On faith, hut 'tis a noble occupa
tion ! So it appears that my noble lord Alphon
zo cannot, credit that his beldame speaks the
truth, when she whispers tales of his darling
brother's cruelty? Well, that's generous! Put
on my soul, your own eyes shall prove to you
that she lies not. Take that now* thou vile
strumpet, for thine impertinence!" and he dealt
the lovely girl a cruel blow upon her fair cheek
with the side of his naked sword.
"Devil! Fiend! defend yourself!" exclaimed
the now infui iaied Alphonzo,' springing upon
liiin, with Lis sword drawn, this cruel insult a
rouring ail the latent fires of his nature. "I>y
Heaven! Thou shalt learn that insulting a help
less girl, is no child's play!"
"And thou, fair brother," sneered Leopold,
through his clenched teeth, as they closed in
fierce combat, "sluilt. now have a chance to try
those iircs of which you spake, for the sake ot
your lovely paramour."
They fought long and well. They were fair
ly matched; equally skilled in the use of the
sword; and Leopold's superior strength being
but an offset for Alphonzo's activity.
Paulino stood pale and motionless, unable to
speak, her eyes starting from their sockets, with
the intensity of her gaze; her pallid Hps parted,
and her entire aspect betokening extreme terror.
Nought was heard but the clang of their weap
ons, and the muttered curses of Leopold. 'Twos
a doubtful contest; now one seemed to be upon
the vantage ground, and now the other. It
would not have born soon decided, had not fate,
by nil unlocked for circumstance, brought it to
a speedy termination.
The Father Antonio was walking in the, for
est, as was his custom at eventide, to meditate
upon the works of God; and hearing- the clan
gor of arms, lie instinctively divined the cause;
and running, fast as his aged and trembling limbs
eould carry him, in the direction of the sound,
he soon came within sight of the scene of con
flict.
"Hold! Hold!" he cried in consternation.
"Hold! for the love of Keaven!" That ciy was
fatal. Alphonzo involunmrily turned his head at
the sound of his loved tutor's voice, and the next
instant, the sword of his antagonist was buried
to the hilt in his bosom.
j With one wild, frenzied shriek of anguish,
! Pauline sprang toward her prostrate lover, and
| fell, senseless, to the earth,
i "Forgive!— Heaven!—oh!—Pan-
i line!— Loop ," he gasped, the warm blood
j choking his utterance, as the reverend Father
; approached to raise him. "Forgive!" lie again
; faltered, as the old man bent over him in ag
' j ony
' j "Oh! look, my son," the old man said,' "tc
1 Jesus- ..Look on this holy emblem of bis suf
i ferings, and think.how. he died, for your salva
-1 tioo; look to him in faith," and ho held st jew
Freedom of Thought and Opinion.
BEDFORD,PA., FRIDAY JOINING, APRIL 11, 1352.
olctl cross, that was suspended from his heek,|
befoi-e him.
Leopold rushed forward and snatched the sym-f,
bol from his hand, breaking the chain by which
it was suspended; saying, "not so, old man;
none of your priestcraft mummery over him now.
Let him die, like a dog, I say, like a base dog
that he is."
"Incarnate wretch!" exclaimed the now ex
cited piiest, "gii*' back that sacred symbol
touch it not! as you value your hope of heaven,
give if ltnckl give it back! I say, ere thy bro
ther's life depart."
"Heaven!" lie answered in a hoarse whisper.
"Ilcaven 1" and his proud lip curled with a de
mon's smile. "Ay, prate of heaven, old fool,'
to fools such as tlipu thyself art, and such as is!
thy meek disciple there; but tell not me of suclj
old worflan's tales. Heaven indeed! ha! hal'f
and lie laughed until the forest, rang again.—l
"No! lot him die! lieking the dirt like a viloi
dog! for thus by h—ll he shall!" and he dash-l
ed the jeweled emblem upon the earth and tram
pled it in the dust.
The. old priest shuddered and turned pale with
horror. "Forbear! impious wretch!" lie cried, j;
"lest the just judgments of Heaven strike then*
dead."
"Old dotard, T defy both thee and heaven !" ■
and spurning with his foot his prostrate brother,'
lie turned on his heel and left the spot. '
The old man knelt beside the dying youth.
"Forgive him, my blessed boy," lie softly whis
pered, "and thou shalt be forgiven."
"Forgive him! yes,—l do—Goil knows—l
do—oh! —Heaven—for-givo! Moth-or, —Paul
—," and with a long drawn sigh lie expired. j
The good old man wept aloud in agony, as he j
prayed long and earnestly for the departing soul;
then turning to the unconscious maiden, he used
hia utmost exertions for her restoration; but
finding his efforts vain he hastened to the man
sion for assistance.
When the sad tidings reached the Lady Elvi- j
ra, she swooned and was carried to her lied, i
from which she. never rose. This last terrible I
sorrow finished the work that care and anxiety
had.-be.oain. IIPV in 1 /.]il/ul p.onsjitj'.lum rmilil
endure no more, and after lingering a few days
in delirium, she expired, calling in heart rend
ing accents 011 her son; beseeching him to restore
his brother to her arms, and spare his mother
the agonies of a broken heart.
The morning after the sad tragedy, a servant j
entering the chapel where the corse of Alphonzo |
was laid preparatory to its burial, found the j
body of the Father Antonio stretched, lifeless ;
and cold, across that of his beloved pupil. The ;
scene of the previous day was more than his
aged frame, accustomed ns it was to tranquil
repose, could bear. An apoplectic fit had done
its work, and during the lone, faithful vigils of
the night, summons came that called the
good old man to his rest.
For weeks the gentle Pauline lay in the bal
ance, as it were, between life and death; but
finally her constitution gained the mastery; but
when those eves were unveiled, which were wont
to shock such gladness round, their brightness
was gone; and the Signor, who had been watch
ing, patiently, sorrowfully watching, for a look
of recognition and love from the now only re
maining member of his once happy family, felt
the sad truth, oh! how desolately, that her rea
son was dethroned, and she was an idiot.
Oli 1 it was sad to sec that lovely girl, when
she had strength to leave her room, go immedi
ately to the rock, where she was accustomed to
meet him, to whom her heart's first, purest affec
tion belonged; and there sit and converse with
him, as if he were by her side; and gaze for
hours upon the spot where he yielded up his life
for her sake. Sometimes her guardian would
think of hope, as her eye would momentarily
brighten, and iier pale cheek flush, and she would
weave a chuplet of white flowers, (she always
chose white) and whisper the name of Alphonzo;
but it was only for 11 moment; the vacant stare
would return ; her check would resume its wont
ed pallor; and listlessly scattering the flowers
at her feet, she would gaze and gaze until it was
painful even to a disinterested observer, to note
the fixed and passionless expression of her fea
tures. Day by day would she resort to her cho
sen scat, and even when the dews of evening
were falling, would not return, unless her uncle
or a kind attendant would take her by the hand,
and then she would suffer herself to be led, pas
sively, as though she were an infant.
She lived many years, and was ever the same
pale, quiet, gentle being. She never wept; the
fountain of her tears was dried. The rock was
her constant resort, and at last one chill evening
in autumn, the, attendant going to lead her home,
found her cold and rigid, in a kneeling posture,
on the very spot where Alphonzo died. Rea
son seemed to have returned, and with it the sad
j memories of former years; for a tear drop was
! on her chock, and in her hands was clasped a
little cross of pearl, the last gift of her early
friend.
The heart of the Signor Leon wae crushed;
jlt ii3vor was himself again. A relative came,
j-g his request, awl resided in the mansion, and
i the retirement of his family, and in the du
fcs of religion, he sought relief from the jtoign
cy of liis sorrows.
He often tria l to obtain tidings of his ab-j
itit son, but in vain. lie never hoard from ;
; hn, after his departure on the evening of tlie >
ttal affray; and finally believed him deail. His
j natives, however, years after the death of his
' filter, learned that he was living.
w • * * *
While the star of Napoleon, the conqueror,
was yet in the ascendant, a notorious robber, a
man old in years, and an adopt in crime, had,
for a longtime, kept the inhabitants of the south
eastern borders of France, and the neighboring
provinces of Sardinia in constant disquiet, by ids
dating acts, awl reiined cruelties. Aided by u
baud of followers, desperate as their leader, no
on? was secure front his attacks, l'rinceiy re
wards were offered for his apprehension, alive
or dead; but all was of 110 avail. Each attempt
at his capture was revenged by .sonic new ag
gression more terrible than the former. At
length the outraged public feeling could endure
no longer, and the entire population turned out
against him, en ina&e, from the noble to the peas
ant. His hiding place being betrayed by one of
' his band, and his fortune® becoming desperate,
I he abandoned his nom de guerre of Diavolo, and
assuming another, he joined himself and his fol
lowers, to the army of the victorious consul,
j Under the guise of an assumed character,
lie had, even at the age of three score years, won
the "affections of a youthful maiden," almost
| a child, aud formed a clandestine marriage. His
' wife accompanied him to the conqueror's camp.
) He fought under the victorious banners during
one or two engagements; but a disaffection hav-
J ing been detected in the army; it was traced to
I him, through the treachery uf one of his own
j men (a servant of his father's, who had left home
! with him) in revenge for some injury. His life
J was proclaimed forfeit, and he having escaped,
j a large, reward was offered for the apprehension
I of Leopold Del Favaro.
*****
*.l !lr- year cigntoen Hundred and nine, mere
oame to the part of the country in which the
first scene of my narrative is laid, a man evi
dently advanced in age far past the usual limit of
j human life, hut still active and robust, calling
; himself Joseph Argrand. lie made purchase
I of a tract of the then wild, untenanted land,
j and after croc ting a house upon it, occupied him
! self in its cultivation.
I With him came a young and delicate woman,
I who war. thought, from the dissimilarity in their
| ages, to be his daughter, though shesubscqucnt
j'ly proved to be his wife.
j He rejected all advances, and offers of kind
j ncss and sociability, from hi 3 neighbors, andbc
i ing uniformly repulsed, they soon ceased to
|be tendered. If he had occasion for the service
j of any one, the bargain was arranged with few
| words and payment therefor as summarily made.
I lie never was seen in attendance on places of
•worship oral any public assemblage. Ileevinccd
a hatred of religion as well as of his kind, and
I soon was known in the vicinity as the '•lnfidel."
i Ilis wifostirvived their arrival but a luwyears.
' She seemed a gentle, crushed being, and in the
| little intercourse she was permitted to hold with
i those around her, gave evidence of fervent piety.
' ller husband was uniformly harsh and unkind
jto her.and her piety augmented her sufferings;
I for if he showed an antipathy to one character
! more than to another, it was to that of a chris
! tian. llisunkindnessnnd brutality soon brought
' her to her grave. At her funeral, Hb religious
I rites were permitted; in fact the presence of a
: minister of the gospel at her burial was prohib
i lied, and he sullenly suffered the kind offices to
| the dead, which necessity forbade him refuse.
I His son, their only child, finding his home in
; tolerable after the death of his mother, deserted
! it at the age of twelve years, and providential
! ly met, in a distant state, with a benefactor
! and friend, through whose kindness ho was re
ligiously educated, and lie commenced a career
1 of usefulness, as a clergyman in a protestant
' church. Arriving at manhood he repeatedly
sought reconciliation with his father, but was
i as often repulsed with curses,
j After the death of his wife, and departure |
| of his son, the old man lived "solitary ajid a
• lone." A few years before his death, he caused
I the edifice, which bears the name of the "Infi
j del's tomb" to be erected, and invested in it the
1 property, which with his characteristic haired
; of his race he had determined should not be in
herited by one of human kind.
| For months before he died, it was observed
1 by passers by, that ho was becoming enfeebled,
! and finally lie. was missed from his accustomed
scat before his door, and impelled by a spirit of
kindness and charity, his neighbors went to his
house, and entering, found him almost in the
last stages of mortality, True to his nature to
the last, he received the kind attention which
he could not prevent, with sullennees and mut
tered cursings.
WHOLE NUMBER. 3099.
His son was sent for, and came. As lie en
tered, a malignant scowl overspread the face of
the aged wretch, and in hotlfSe accents he bade
him begone.
"Oh! Father!" the young man cried: ';Dear
Father! do not drive me from you, in this your
dying hour. Oh! let me stay, and minister to
your need. I cannot; indeed I cannot —will not
go.—"
"licgone, I say; or I shall yet wreak my ven
gcr.ee on thee thou —cur-scd thing ; —may the
cur-s'e "
Oh! Father! Father! for the love, of Jesus,
curse not your child; for my dear mother's sake,
forbear; bid me not go; let tno pray "
"Hegone!" and he almost yelled the word;
and with the strength of fury, lie sprang front
the bed, and seizing an old carabine that hung
above it, he raised it to his shoulder, aimed, and
fell back upon the floor. The exertion was too
much. His aged hand had not strength to do
his bidding. - He turned His eyes fiercely 011 his
son, and with a mad, suffocating yell of frenzy,
expired.
A few days before his death he had tottered
to his tomb, which as yet was without an in
scription, and carved upon it, in rude charac
ters, his own epitaph. The name he inscribed
upon it, was not that which lie bore among his
neighbors qnd which his son bears; but the rec
ord there is
iaDatl©.
iEt. 104. Y.
(Elje Schoolmaster 2lbroab.
EDITED BY SIMON SYNTAX, ESQ.
fp?"Teacherand friends of education are respect
j fully requested to send communicationsto the above,
j caie of ü ßedford Gazette
RECITATION- —NO-1
Schools and teachers have changed much
within the. past few years. The old condition
of things is passing away, and a new and bet
ter is being introduced. Among the most im
portant and most apparent of these changes arc
lIIWJC ill MM* v-- - t , e
can remember when pupils did not recite Arith
metic, hut they "worked their sums" or "cypher
ed." Indeed, what is now known as recitation,
was then almost unknown in our common schools.
Now it has become the great bulk of the teach
er's work. It may not be, unprofitable to in
quire into the grounds of the practice as it now
is, and into the reasons that have led to so great
a change. And in pursuing these inquiries we do
not propose to say anything new or original,
nor anything that may not he found by read
ing or suggest itself by reflection. On the con
trary we are conscious that wc shall say much
that to the experienced and skillful teacher will
seem stale and common place. And yet we in
dulge the hope that even these may gather some
hints that will repay the perusal, lint we
write chiefly tor the young, the inexperienced ;
and if wc can aid such in overcoming the dif
ficulties and perplexities that beset them, espe
cially if we can awaken earnest thought and
reflection as to the ratio- ale of the duties of the
schoolroom, wc shall feel ourselves abundantly
repaid for our labor.
Wc propose, therefore, to speak of recitation
in a series of articles in these columns, and
shall speak,
Ist, Of the Objects of Recitation.
2dly, Of some preliminary requisites to Rec
itation.
3dl_v, Of General Methods of Recitation.
4thly, Of Specific Methods of Recitation.
And, first, with regard to the objects of rec
itation, it too often happens that teachers and
pupils have very vague and indefinite notions
on this subject. We remember to have once met
a pupil who objeeted to reciting in toto, and lie
put. the ease in tills wise. "I know my lessons,
or Ido not. If I know them there is no use in
reciting; and if Ido not know them, I can t re
cite; so that in either ease the time spent at rec
itation is time wasted." His argument was
good, and nothing but a clear and intelligible
explanation of the whole subject, could remove
his prejudices. lie that assumes to teach should
lie able to give such an explanation, and he is
unfit for his duties unless lie can.
Educators have divided the objects of recita
tion, perhaps with sufficient accuracy, into four.
First, to enable the teacher to ascertain now
well the pupil has prepared his lesson. With
out ascertaining this no teacher can proceed
safely and intelligently. In most studies there
is a logical connection; each succeeding lesson
depending on the preceding, in such manner that
unless the first in order is mastered those that
follow cannot he understood. This fact is too
much overlooked by teachers. They do not
ascertain, accurately, whether the class is ready
for the next lesson or not; but assign at random,
an impossible lesson perhaps; fail to get a reci
tation as they must in the very nature of the
case; and then blame the claw when only tham
selvce were in the fault.
~ wtriiwtfr-7
One Square, thre/ weeasor lei*.. . . i.. •Ui -
One Square, each additional insertion letq
than three months . ... } { .
3 MONTHS. 6 TKiR.
One square - $2 00 $3 00 $3 09
Two squares ....... 309 500 909
Three squares 400 100 12 00
t Column 5 00 8 00 13 00
i Column 800 13 00 20 09
4 Column 12 00 13 CO 30 00
One Column 18 00 30 GO 50 00
The spice occupied by ten lines of this size of
type counts one square. All fractions of a square
under fire lines will be measured as a half square ;
and all over five lines as a full square. All legal
advertisements will be charged to the person ban
ing them in.
VOL. 5. NO. 36.
Second, to giv j the teacher an opportunity of
explaining to the cla.is, any difficulties that may
occur, instead of explaining them to each p
pilseparately, as v.-ft 3 formerly done; thus Rav
ing mudi time and labor. In a clans of twen
ty an explanation given once effects the same
purpose that a repetition of it twenty times
does, liy the? old individual method still practic
ed in many parts of this county.
A third object of recitation in tofix the porta
and principles of the lesson more indelibly in
the min iof the pupil. It is a law of our men
tal nature that repetition aids retention. Any
one may satisfy himself of this by looking close
ly into the operations of his own mind. Ati
eminent jurist well understood it when he said,
| "I read many tilings which I am sensible I for-
I got: but I found withal that if I had once talk
ed over what I had read, I neve? forgot that."
l'ecitation supplies the needed opportunity of
talking over the facts and principles to be re
tained.
The fourth and last object of recitation that
we shall name, is to cultivate the pupils' pow
ers of expression. The pupil should not only bo
taught to know but to communicate, also. This
can only be done by practice, nnd practice can
nowhere be better secured than in recitation.
Indeed, no more valuable exercise could be de
sired for all who aim at ease and accuracy of
expression. We have often thought we could
tell students who never recited by the stiffness
and awkwardness of their utterance. Such, too
often are our self-made men—men who by their
own indomitable will, have pursued a liberal
course of study without the slid of school or
teachers.
These being the cheif objects of recitation,
it will follow that all methods of recitation nro
good just in proportion as they attain these ob
jects. Wc propose to examine the most appro
ved methods now in use and try them by this
"tandard.
MIDDLE WOODBEBRT, APRIL 2d, *62.
Simon Syntax, Esq.—
DEAR SIR:
In the March number of the "Penn
sylvania School Journal," there is a communi
trast;" in which a certain individual has taken
the liberty to "show up" some of our "local
institutions" in a manner not very complimen
tary either to the district, or himself, —not com
plimentary to the district, because the school
which lie so mercilessly contrasts with that of
the "MLssesYounkin," (Brown's Institutes, pago
50, obs. 9.) never had an existence except in
the brain of that brilliant (?) writer himself, —
and net complimentaiy to the writer, because
his production does no credit, whatever, to the
district of Middle Woodbcrry. The articlo is
certainly very "racy" and orignal—at least if
we judge it by its peculiar style and finish. Why,
it bristles all over with exclamation points!—
so much so that one might think that Mr. D.
was evidently astonished to find everybody ig
norant but himself! (excuse the exclamation
point.)
Now my estimate of the matter is this: Tho
gentleman evidently lost his "report" on his
way home, and being less fortunate in finding it
than he was on his way to the schools, he sup
plied tho "Contrast" from his fancy. We ad
mit that it might apply and be truthful in soma
localities even in Bedford County; but Middle
Woodbcrry is not one of them nor is that school
house, to which he refers, within a day's walk of
it.
Upon the whole I think he has succeeded in
giving the truth about as well as the young'
Frenchmen who, in attempting to make a dic
tionary, defined a crab to bo ":V little fish, with
out tins, that always swims backwards," and
upon submitting the definition to BtnFon for his
opinion, the latter said: "You are perfectly
right, young gentlemen, with these exceptions:
first, a crab is not a little fish; second, it is not
without fins; and third, it does not always swim
backwards. With these little exceptions, gentle
men, It is all right."
So with Mr. D's. article; with these "littlo
exceptions," it is all right. A u Hceoii'.
ONE OF TIIE BORED.
tRT Solutions to the problems published last
week reached us too late for insertion this week
—we will insert them next.
ear You havn't opened yonr mouth during
the whole session, complained W of the
Legislature to another of the representatives.
"O, yes, I have," wa3 the reply, "I yawned
through the whole of your speech."
S3T A wag being asked the name of the in
ventor of tho butter stamp, replied that it was
probably Cadmus, as he first brought letters in
to Greece.
gjp A dramatic author, expressing his sur
prise to his neighbors in the pit at the thinnest
of tho house, added, "I suppose it 1 # owing to
tho war."
"No," was tho reply, * **
piece"