BY DAVID OVER. ' - ' PO E T : From the Boston Courier. THE COMET. Yon ear of fire, though veiled by div, Along that field ot at auiing blue, tt'iifcl. twilight fol led carte u g: ay, A world-wide wonder, flew. Duly in turn each oil) of light, From out the daikening concave broke: Fve's glowing herald swam in light. An I every star awoke. The Lyre rc-!>truug its burning chords. Streamed from the Cross its earliest ray,— Then rose Aitair, more sweet than words On niu.-ic's soul could say. Ti.ry, from old time in course the same, Famili ir set, familiar rise ; tint what art tliou, wild, lovely flame. Across the si irtled skii I Mysterious yet, as when it burs? Through tile vast void of nitiir? burled. And shoo!? their shrinking hearts, it first, The F.i'h- rs of the world. No curious sigetiic scroll Unseals, — Vain quest to bullied science given. It- orbit ages, while it wheels. The inir.iCie ct Heaven. in nature's plan thy sphere euknovv.:. Save that no sphere His order m .rs. Whose law could guide thy path alone. Iu realms beyond the stars. God's minister I We know ro more Of thee, thy frame, thy mission stiil. Than he who watched thy flight, of yore, On the Chaldean Lid. Yet thus, traiiscendant from thy l.la/e 8.-anis light, to pierce tnix mortal clq i ; Scarcely a foot on thee eontd ga/e And say—There is no God ! HYMV Great Go 1 of nations ; now to thee Our hymn of gratitude we i ds : With humble heart, and !■ ding knee. We otf r thee our song of pr iis.,-. Thy name we bless, almighty Gol, For all the kindness timu hast shown To this lair land the pilgrims trod— This land v\v lbndlv call our own. IF re freedom spreads her banner wide, And casts her soft and hallow'd ray ; Here thou our fathers' steps didst guide In safety through their dang'rous way. We praise thee that the gospel's light Through all our land its ladiance sheds; Dispels the shades of error's night, And heavenly blessings round us .spreads. Great God, presetva us in thy fear; In danger still ou; guardian he ; O, spread thy truth's bright precepts hero ; Let all the people worship thee. A M ERIC AN CHARACTER. The character of the American is slauiped with many and lold peculiarities. Schooled or unschooled, he never lacks capacity to accom plish what he undertakes—whatever is possible to man. lie has an instinctive ingenuity which devises uew ways to accomplish everything, his disposition is to cut loose from the unique and oustotuaiy. Nothing deiigbts hiui so much as experiment and hazard, and experiment lie will, though the price he annihilation. What has made this Anglo-Saxon so different from his progeniior, so utterably unconscr votive l No thing but the force of circumstance-. "Necessity is the mother of invention," and of course the inspirer of the inventive, and who has had more necessity to battle than the Amer ican? A voluntary pilgrim to the wilderness, his life lias been moulded aud sttengliciiel, and his wits sharpened by the vety vicissitudes of his condition. It i nlniort strange that such an ordeal has not left him uuoouth and savage, but instead of this he is the frankest, most generous, and, if he chooses, the most pol ished of men. He who has felt peril, want and suffering, knows how to exercise human sym pathies. The wilderness, rugged life, and com parative outward poverty of the American has ruade him independent, iugenious and noble, beyond tho measure of riboDs and titles. He i - boru and bred to think and act for himself as soon as he is clear of the nursery. And what giants have grown of bis stock— men exalted in every art and profession. He roes, sages and bards, and best of all, hard working men, proud of their crafts and cal lings. Energy and endurance are synonymous with tho Auitriean. These push him to the outermost verge of things. They unfurl his sails in iHe remotest seas, and pluck imperial trophies for him from battle fields. By tho qualities of his social organism and civilization he is carnivorous. lie swallows up, and will coininue to swallow up, whatever comes in con tacit with him—man or empire. Whoever closely seans tho aspect of the genus man OD earth, cannot fatl tm-see tbat the Auglo-Saxou ti destined to conquer the world-—and the A merican branch ot the family will get the larger share of the spoil. A Weekly Paper, Devoted to Literature, Politics, the Arts, Sciences, Agriculture, &c., dec—Terms: One Dollar and Fifty Cents in Advance. INDIAN BRIDGE. KELATRD BY DANIKL WKBSTTR Many years ago there lived !i man in Oonte cock by the nauie of Bowen—Peter Bowen— not a man of largo substance, but still what wc would call in New Hampshire, "a fore-handed tuuu." Living on the frontier, lie necessarily ei-nic much in contact with the iudians—some times in hostile contact. Fearless, and abound ing in resources, he had gained a uanie among them, and there were few of their braves who would have cared to meet him single-handed. Not naturally quarrelsome, he had avoided tin necessary hostilities with the savages, and, in deed, Lad gained no little of their good will by unny acts of generosity, for with no people more than with them, were bravery and libe rality held in high estimation. Sabatis aud Plausawa were the two princi- j pal chiefs of the tribe, the smoke of whose wigwams arose nearest the settlements of the English colonists. The first was of a sullen and vindictive disposition, and when excited by drink, intractable aud savage. Plausawa was of a milder temperament, aud felt better disposed towards the English, lie had iutcr ctiauged kind offices with them, and warned them more than once of plots ag .instj-their safety. At this time tliero was a truce between the Indians and the colonists, and both parties had agreed to punish anv violation of it. If an In dian should be killed by an Englishman, the colonists promised to treat it as a capital crime, and the Indians, on their part, made a corres ponding stipulation. There was peace between ; the crowns of Fraucc and England, and their respective colonies affected to keep it at least in name Relying upon this present good under taiid ing,Sabatis and Plausawa one day made a hunt ing excursion upon the shores of the Merrimac, in which they" were very successful. They were encountered, late in the afternoon, loaded I with the skins of the animals they hud killed, by two EuglislituoD, somewhere near Boseaw cn. Sabatis had procured drink from the set tlers, always too eager to barter it forjurs, and was in a quarrelsome humor. Plausawa, ' therefore, eatuicDed these men against any at tempt to trade with hiru, and advised them to go home. "There are others of the tribe . about,*; lie said, '-wfio wquld < support SabaiNU in any hostile demonstration." As they wo; departing, Sabatis cried out to them, "we want rio more of you English here! I have evil in my heart, and if you do not leave our ten Do rk, and abandon them forever, we will take ; i sod and life from you. We will drive the I 1.1: faces into the t:~ Vr*:!*?F Otic of the ! men replied, "there is no fighting uOW between 1 us. English and Indian- ate ail broikrs."— i They had cot goDo far on their homeward road before they met Peter Bowen, ar.d telling him I "f the threats of Sabatis, endeavored to per * suade him to accompany them home. Bowen | liughed. "Threatened men," he said, "live 1 long. I would not. prize a life heid at the mer- I' cy of these savages. I will meet them in friendship or tight, as best suits them." The Indians had got into their canoe before heover | took them, and were going up the river. Bow jen hailed theui, and urged there to go to his house, where they would have a frolic aud pass i the night. After some reluctance on the part j of Plausawa, they assented, and accompanied ! Bowen to bis house in Oontocock. Bowen had | had many a deep carouse with the Indians and understood how to manage them, j He set before them drinking cups and bot j ties of rum, and leaving his wife—a woman as j fearless and courageous as himself—to cntgr | tain them, went out of she room on pretext of i going to the well for water. But while he was •ibscut be drew the charges from their guns, which they had unsu-peetiugly left behind the door in tin entry. The uight wore on, aud ; their potations were deep and oft repeated.— iAt first the Indians wero groatly pleased— I laughed at Bowen's stories, and called him brother; but by degrees, as they drank more I deeply, they began to grow quarrelsome, abu ; seif the English and threatened their extertni j nation. Boweu affected to treat their throats as jokes, but had all the while a watchful eye *on their motions. At last the sun rose and j the ludians said it was time to go home. They ■ had not drank so much but that they could walk as well as ever—the rum had only affect ed their brains. Bowon consented to take his horse ai.d carry their baggage to the place I where they had left their cauocs. On the way : Sabatis proposed to run a race against Boweu uiouuted; but the latter, judging from Sabatis' eye and manner that some mischief was intend ed, at first declined to run, but finally, on much urgiDg, consented to run, taking howev ci, good care to let the Indian outrun the horse. Sabatis seemed much pleased with his victory, and laughed heartily at Bowen for owning so sorry an animal. For awhile they travolled along aftdr this in apparently good humor, until Sabatis, as they were neariug the river, tnrned around to Bowen and said, "the pale face must walk the woods with us"—that is, go with them as a prisoner. Bowen replied, ; in seeming unconcern, that be could not walk the woods, for Indians and Englishmen were now brothers. Whereupon Sabatis proposed a second race, and that Bowen should uuload his horse and start a little beforo him, "be cause," be said, "the horse of the pale face could not rur. so fast as Sabatis." This Bow- I en refusod to do, bat consented to start at the same time. They started, but the horse had not gone far ahead of the Indian before Bowen heard a gun snap, and looking around, saw the smoke and the gun pointed at him. He turn -1 eel, and buried his tomahawk in the Indian's | bead. Ho then went back to meet Plausawa, * who, seeing the fate of his friend, took aim at i Bowen and fired; his gun flashed. Then he BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY. OCTOBER 29, 18-58. begged Bowen to spare bis life, pleaded his in nocence of Sabatis' intent, and called to utind the tunny kind acts he had done to English men, the lives of many whom his intercession had saved ; but ali in vain. Bowen knew very well th it there never would be safety for him sa long as the friend of Sibitis lived. One must die, and to secure himself, it was neces sary to put BJaovtwa to death, and as tite lat ter turned to fly he struck it is tomahawk into tiis skull, 'l'he dead bodies he hid under a small bridge, ever after called Indian Bridge, where they were discovered the next spriug. The colonics at this time were desirous of being ou good terms with the Indians, for whenever war broke out between them, the lat ter were always aided by the French in Cana da. The sudden disappearance of men of such note as Sabatis and Plausawa, occasioned the borderers no little alarm; for some time their deaths were undiscovered, and when the manner of it became known, serious apprehen sions were felt of Indian retaliation. Bowen was arrested and placed iu Exeter jail, and the Indians were assured that proper puuishmcut should be iuflicted on him, according to the terms of the treaty. But the people of the vieinity assembled hastily aud in large force, broke into the jail aud released the prisoner.— In those days killing Indians was no murder, and in this case, Boweu's Irieuds maintained that the act was committed iu self-defence; so perhaps, it might be considered, upon Bowen's account, without any rebutting circumstances. The fact that the Indians had large quantities of furs in their canoes, which Bowcu appropri ated as opima spolia, threw some suspicion up on his proceedings. However, be returned quietly to his home, aud as the French war, called in Europe the Seven Years' War, soou after broke out, no further notice was taken of the act, and Bowon died at a good old age. But the most extraordinary circumstances at tending the transaction was its effect up.rn Buwen's sou —a youth at tlio time of sours dozen years. Either remorse at the father's deed, or apprehension of ludiau revenge, kept his mind iu continual agitation, and he grew up a reserved, wayward, incomprehensible person. He shuuned tutereourso with his fellow men, guarded his house with redoubled bolts, and slept with his gun beside hiin. Soon after he had arrived at man's estate, his anticipation of Indian revenge had become a tnooomauia.— Ho heard their voices in the sigh of the winds, t}ie rus l Imp ' ,f k*tf <■ -rt *#?Sfcte , thy tread, aud lie saw their dusky faces iu the , waving grain. Ho dared not leave his house i for fear of an ambush, or look out of a win dow lest a bullet ot the lurking toe should hit him. Mortal fear sat at his table, pursued him like a phantom through the day, and in the deep watches of tho uight startled hiui frour Jij unwholesome slumbers, This became, uf" icr a while unendurable, and he at last deter mined upou an net of seemiog desperation.— Consulting or informing none of his friends, he left his home, journeyed into Canada, and sur rendered himself to the tribe of the murdered men, as an expiatory sacrifice. The Indians, barbarous often in the treatment of their cap tives, seldom maltreated a voluntary prisoner. They took Bowen into tueir tribe, anu the mother ol the slaughtered Piausawa adopted him as her son. He became acquainted with their customs, joined their expeditions, partici pated in their fortunes, aud, indeed, became ore of them. In his old age, however, a de sire to revisit the scenes of his childhood over took him, and the Indians interposing no obsta cle to his wishes, he left them, his ludiau mother being dead, returned to Coutacoek, aud died in peaoc among bis kinsfolk aud neighbors, to whom his adveuturous life furnished a never failing theme of interesting conversation. AN ENGLISH LADY'S EXPEHIENCE IN A MEBICA. — A traveled London lady gives the following incident, among others, to a circle of alruiriug friends,on her return from Ameri ca: "i was a diuiu' ha board a first-class steam boat on the Hoeigoh river. The gentleman next ipe, on ury right, was a southerner, and the gentleman on my left was a northerner.— Well, they gets imoa kind of discussion ou the habbolition question, when some 'igh words hariz. "Please to retract, sir,'said the south erner. ' 'Won't do it,' said the northerner. ''Pray, ma'aaa,'said the southerner, 'will you 'ave the goodness to lean back in your ch iirl ' 'With tho greatest pleasure,' said 1, not knowin' what was a cornin,' when what does my gentleman do but whips out a 'oss pistil, as long as my harm, and shoots my left-'and neigh bor dead ! But that wasn't hall, for the bullet coruiu' out of the left temple, wounded a lady in the side. She buttered an 'orrific scream. "'Pon my word, ma'am,' said the south erner, 'you needn't make so much uoise about it, for 1 did it by mistake.' "'And was justice doue V asked a horrified listener. " 'Hinstantly, dear madam,' answered Miss L . 'The cabin passengers set right to work and lynched him. They ! ung 7 im in the lamp-chains, right over the diniu'-table, and then finished their dessert. But for my part, it quite spoiled my happatite.' " "Blast your stiDgy old skin !" said a runner to a competitor, before a whole depotful of by standers ! "I knew you when you used to hire your children to go to bed without their supper, and after they got to sleep, you'd go up aud steal their pennies, to hire them with again the next night." Girls sometimes put their lips out poutingly, because they are angry, and sometimes because | their lips are disposed to meet yours half way. PRWAMTf. BY J. I). WILLIAMSON. It is liiuantuble to look abroad through this j civilized and enlightened country, and behold j how widely and how almost universal is the prevalence of this sin. In the hells of deprav i'y wItH: fo mar the face of this otharwis" beautiful earth, the uutne of God may be heard mingling w:-'h the obscene jest, the vulgar joke, the riot of debauchery, and the swagger of iu- I temperance. In the marts of business it is ut j tered by thoughtless tongues amid tho chatter- I ings of traoo aud the bargainings of avarice.— In the fatuity and social circle, in tho solemn i hall of leg.-dation, aud tho houses called seats of justice, in the presence of magistrates and judges, in the warehouses and workshop ; yea, everywhere save only iu the pulpit, aud .some times even there, the ho'y name of God ia used with lightness aud irreverence—showing that its mention awakens no veneration, aud conse quently is seldom, if ever associated with the idea of that a'l-gracious and over-present Be ing to wtojrii it belongs. \ Nor hi this pi\n may do, froui one cause aud another; but the fatal effect is, he will do nothing from a s-use of duty — nothing because his duty to God requires it aud yet this is the beginning of virtue. , How, indeed can the profane m n talk into nuritv t The admission Of thai word into his vocabulary is an acknowledgment that there is something due from hiui to his Creator and if' anything is due, surely common civility and de ceut respect for his name may be reckoned among the debts. But if he refuses these, and instead thereof uses Gcd's name in jest and derision, aud in associations to which he would not degrade tho name of a favorite servant, much less that of a friend, how dare that man talk of duty. Besides all this the vice now under consid eration is so destitute of an apology, so u'tcr ly inexcusable, that its causes can be traced to nothing else than an obliquity of moral vision, or obtuseness of perception, which cannot or will not see the right, or which cares not tor ; the difference between the right ami wrong.— j It therefore indicates a moral depravity, ticepoy and more blameworthy than that which is ne cessary to account for crimes which rank higher in the catalogue of iniquity. There is no con stitutional infirmity, uo hope of gam, no rag ing thirst or appetite claiming satisfaction, uo : love of honor or praise, no strong temptation J moving a man to blaspheme tho name of God, that may be urged in extenuation of the eriutc. ! It 13 but the free and unsolicited outgush of a j | spirit that loves the wrong for its own sake aud j I which wautonly insul's the majesty of heaven, | without even the miserable apology of a pro- : vocation or a shadow of reason for doing so. j THE WHITER OF THE HEART. Lot it never come upon you. Live so that i good angels may protect you from this terrible evil—the winter of the heart. Let no chilling influence freeze up the j foundations of sympathy and happiness from its , depths; no cold burthen settle over its wither- j od hopes, like snow on the faded flowers ; no ' rude blasts of discontent moan and shriek, through its desolate chambers. Your life path may lead you amid trials? which for a time seems utterly to impede your 1 progress, and shut out the very light of heaven j from your anxious gaze. Penury may take the place of ease and pieu- j : ty ; your luxurious home may be exchanged for j i a single low room, the soft eouch for a siraw j pallet—tho rich viands for tho coarse food of j the poor. Summer friends may forsake you, j und the unpitying world pass you with scarce ly a word of compassion. You may be forced to toil wearily, steadily j on, to earn a livelihood ; you may encounter i : fraud and base avarice which would extort the j last farthing, till you well nigh turn in JEgust j from your fellow beiugs. Death may sever the dear ties that bind you 1 to the earth and leave you in fearful darkness. | The noble manly boy, tho solo hope of your de- j dining years, may be taken from you, while ! | your spirit clings to hint with a wild tenacily ; which even the shadow of the tomb cannot wholly subdue. But amid all the sorrows, do not come to j the conclusion that nobody was ever so deeply 1 nfHicted as you are, and abandon every sweet anticipation of "better days" iu the unknown J future. Do not lose your faith in hum-in excel! .nee i because your confidence has been betrayed, nor j believe that friendship is only a delusiou, ami i iove a bright phantom which glides away from your grasp. Do not think you are fated to be miserable because you are disappointed in your expecta tions, and baffled iti your pursuits. Do not declare tuat Go a has forsaken you, when your way is hedged with thorns, or repine sinfully when he calls your dear ones to the land be yond the grave. Keep a holy trust iu Heaven through every trial; bear advers y with fortitude, and look upward in hours of temptation .and suffering. When your looks are white, your steps falter on tue verge of Death's gloomy vale, still re- j tain the freshness aud buoyancy of spirit, which would shield you from the winter of the heart. SOLOMON'S TEMPLF. Mr. Williams, the editor of the Utiea Her ald, has reached Palestine in the course of bis Eastern wanderiugs. The following is an ex tract from his last ietter describing the "Holy City." "There was one "Holy Place' iu Jerusalem I sought in vain to visit—the site of the Tem ple of Solomon. It i>, as you know, occupied j by the principle Mosque of the city—the : Mosque of Omar. Including ihe enclosure, it • occupies the whole southwestern portion of the j city, and appears to be one of the ' most im- ; posing edifices I have seen in the East.— ! Hitherto strangers have been permitcd to visit it by paying a modest backsheesh of from five to fifteen dollars each ; but of late the Mo hammedans have been "growing no better fast" in the matter of toleration, and this yeat have saucily shut the door of the saercd edifice in the teeth of the whole squad of "Christian dogs." "1 attempted to look into the enclosure, but a Turkish sentinel offered to tuuko me a pre sent of the contents of a very rusty uiusket, while an old vagabond who stood Bear sug gestively drew his finger across bis throat, in dicating by such suggesturo that in case 1 should enter I should for tie futuio be re lieved of the bore of carrying a bead upon my -i—.t . T' ..... have also placed some sacred edifice or other over the tomb of David, so that no Christian is per mitted to see ♦he resting place of the great Psalmi>t. Ami 1 may heie remark, that there is no sadder spectacle iu all this curse-stricken laud than that of Arab-, and, if possible, still more degraded Turks, lording it over the sacred city. The ground once pressed by the feet of Sel- ni >n ; and David, and Christ, now | echoes to the tread of Moslem, and Janissary, | and the drivelling Dervish. While the Jew is j cowering in obscure places, the Moslem struts ' with the air of one who treads ou thrones ; j while the Christian begs permission to kneel at i the tomb ef his Saviour, ttie Turk disdainfully j proclaims himself monarch of all lie surveys. While the "Holy Sepulchre" is nominally in the bamls of the Christian, Turkish soldiers j keep guard at the door, and a Turkish Pacha 1 keeps the key." 'Did thee receive my remittance, Nathan, \ my son?' 'Yes, father.' 'Then, why did thee not buy a new coat? thy present one is very fragile.' 'Why, the fact is, 1 left all my money at the bank at New Orleans.' 'Ah, thy economy is certainly commendable, in what oank?' 'I do not exactly remember iu what hank, father. 1 know it was a very good one, as it j bad a scriptural uame. It was —urn —let me | -oe—it was the Pharaoh bank, I think.' 'Hon, banks are very uusafe, now, and thee j i had better send for tby money immediately.' Hon took a coughing spell. i ~ " "**" ~ I 'Mother wants to know if you will please ; | lend her your preserving kettle—'cause you j j know, we wants to preserve.' 'We would with pleasure, boy, but the truth ! is, the last time we loaned it to your mother, she preserved it so effectually that we have ' never nsed it since.' 'Well, you needn't be so sassy about your ; 1 old kettle. Guess it was full of holes when | i we borrowed it, and mother wouldn't trouble I you again, only we seen you bring home a new j one." Among the numerous casualties recently de- j ; tailed, the following is very melancholy : 'The young man who recently went on a bri-. i dal tour with an angel iu book muslin, has late | returned with a termagant in hoops. A pcrsou named Owen Moore once left his creditors somewhat unceremoniously upon which j a wag wrote Owen Moore has ruu away Owin' more than he could pay. An Indian was lately hung in Texas for the murder of a child. When on the scaffold be said he was goiug to Arkausas, and wished the other Indians to send his gnu to him after he should get there. A dissatisfied wife says that her husband is such a blunderer that he cannot put a new boot or shoe on without "puttin his foot in it." Three things that neter agree—two cats . over one mouse, two wives in one bouse or tw.o ' lovers after one tnaidcu VOL. 31, NO. 44. | M.A?SAOTLE Of Fxv K Vol . NO GiaVS IN Sp'AIN ■ j—At Victoria the province of Catalonia, on tiie 31st ult., as six young of { be a get of j 2l, 21, If, lb, 12, 10 years, were walking i homo tiom Mai us cotton mills, which arc sitna ; K,d oear the village of llodas, to Ingaroias, they were stopped by two miscreants, who pistol iu hand, obliged them t< tun: i n k t<> a solitary, place in the r-erraduuwm>d ilr< they were ordered to sit dowu, and while or.* wretch kept guard over five, the other 1 0. tb<- eldest a few paces off and plunged his long Catalan knife into her thio.it. Hoi dying shriek was heard by her comp* Lions, who one by one, were led away and buivhcr"!#. The youngest of ull, a child of ten jcais, ou re ceiving a wound iu tbc neck Cell, feigning di-alh, upou which the assassius, after taking the Ii j the money the girls had about them went £ in | the village of liouas where they lived. The crime was perpetrated at night. The wounded child remained motionless until day light, when she crawled to a neighboring farm house. When the authorities anived at the seat of crime, they found the th;e eldcs; girls dead, and two desperately wounded* — The cause of this bloody act is said to have been jealousy, erisiug from some display ot ; coquetry at a bail, the preceding Sunday, where I the prettiest of the girls, the one 21 years of i age, refused to uance with one of the assassians, jor to return him a ring, or some other love token, lie had then looked for an accomplice, and found one iu a neighbor. The accomplice, it appears from the deposition of the child, ; would have spared the younger cms, tut the | other alleging the danger of discovery, in ! sisted upon their completing their butcherfs ! wurk. HORSK AND A (Joitrst, TIED TOOKTUKU i THREE W EEKS. — Early in August, Juo. llawie, | a lad l(i years, living in Voicr.uo, Auiaopr I county, who had vainly been endeavoring to j obtain las father's consent to go to Frazer River, disappeared, taking with him a valuable horse belonging to the family. It. was sup posed that he had started for Frazer River, and so little anxiety was felt in regard to liiiu. On the 15th of August his body was found iu the Butte Pitch, a few miles cast of Jackson, attached by a 'larriat' to a half dead horse."- From appearances, the hoy, on the night after leaving Lome, lay down to sleep, with the horse lied to his person to preveur his t-scape. The animal, becoming unmanageable through ! nieht. had run off, and i dragged his master by the rope, until tne ooy s I life was extinct. Afterwards, the horse had ! continued to graze around, dragging ti.u body | with it for three weeks. Finally the corps had 1 becu dragged into a ditch where it Lccuue eu- J tangled, "beyond the horses strength to extricate i it. In hi.-i efforts to pull loose, the horse had I cut his aeclt with tnc rope. The bcy'n remains j were horribly mutilated. Most of Lis limbs j were broken, and (be flesh rubbed bare from j the body. There are various ways of pronouncing the word tomato, i formerly -poke ir as il spelt tomato, until after the occurrence which J shall now relate. Some- years since, while dining at a hotel in this city. I accosted one of the colored gemmsn as follows : 'Waiter, hand me the losiaytoes The negro looked puzzled lor an instant, and j glanced Lis eye op and down the table, uu fr! it j lighted upon some potatoes, which he politely i handed me. I rtj cted the dish, and said, 'I n -red for the lomaytocs !' •Fes, Sa."he answered, his face assuuriug the ! same puzzled look as Lo glanced over the table i uuti., seeing a dish of egg-plant, ho brought it I to yie. Now, as I am extiemeiy foui of this uolick us ■ vegetable, I helped myself plentifully fo it— ! when, thinking he had discovered what ! at first I asked for, he leaned down and patronizingly | whispered in tuy ear— 'We don't cali 'emdal Lure, 6*'. we calls'em ! cgg-p!ctr>fs. '■ . , 1 will only add tuat when I asked for the . '^^omtl{tuesses, ,, tbey were immediately handed | to uu*. A SHARP BARGAIN- It was hard to catch 'Old Jack Jones' in a place too tight for him to get out. Tne follow ing occured recently at Ccdartown Court.— There had been a hard frost the night before, and some of the knowing ones prophesied an i entire failure of the wheat crcp. 'l've got one hundred acres," sa)s old Jack, I 'tLat I'll take one hundred dollars for.' j 'Jack I'll give it, and hand you the money j in an hour,' said Mitchell. I Before tho expiration of an hour, a negro j from the plantation reported the wheat unii:- : jured, and Mitchell advanced, moueyaiu baud. 'Thank you,' says Jones. 'When will you | take your wheat away V 'Take it away! Why, as souu as it is ripe.* I— 'No, you don't, i ,>u luiis. out :t thia week, j I want to plough up that flylu attd put it in ! corn. _ . A Frenchman built a four story house.— ! Being on the roofs of their respective house* one day, the one on the low house exclaimed to tho other : 'What for you buibi *o high tart-?' To which the Frenchman replied, 'l)e ground is very cheap up here.' A SPECULATION. —Two brothers went iutoa speculation. Oue west to Georgia to buy ft farm, and shook hands with all the farmers and and children on the route. In about two weeks, the other followed with an itch ointment and found a great demand for his remedy j A miser glows rich by seeming poor: iße ex travagant man grows poor by seeming licb