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,Select V tutu.
THOUGH CLOUDS OF SORROW LOWER.
HT FINIET JOHNSON'
l'hough clouds of sorrow lower,
Let not reproach find vent;
But midst the darkness and the gloom
Learn thou to be content ;
And with firm, unwavering faith,
Hope's bright sunshine borrow;
And recollect though dark to-day,
It may be fair to-morrow.
.And give not way to vain regret,
It la no balm for woe ;
It cannot close the hidden spring
From whence thy sorrows flow;
Forget not that afflictions deep
Are oft from heaven - sent,
By God, to teach unto his flock
A lesson of content.
Then in your journey through this life,
If trials you should meet;
If thorns unnumber'd and untold
Spring up beneath your feet;
Look up, look up, above this earth
To heaven's starry scope;
And pray that pure and steadfast faith
liray warm your soul with hope.
Then ne'er complain beneath your load,
Nor at your lot repine;
But let sweet faith around your heart
Its silken fetters bind;
Let holy feeling of content
Repose within your breast ;
3:lnrinur not at heaven's decree,
And leave to God the rest.
THE HARDEST CASE ON RECORD
1!e took the ague badly,
And it shook him, shook him sorely ;
Shook his boots off, and his toe nails;
Shook his teeth out, and his hair off;
Shook his coat all into tatters ;
And his shirt all into ribbons;
Shirtless, coatless, hairless, toothless,
Minns boots, and minus toe-nails,
Still it shook him, shook him till It
Made him yellow, gaunt, and bony;
Shook him till he reached his death-bed ;
Shook him till it shuffled for him
Off his mortal coil, and then it
'Having made him cold as could be,
Shook the earth still down upon him ;
Arid he lies beneath his grave-stone,
Ever shaking! shaking! shaking!
ig, ttttt tor.
A SCENE IN A JURY ROOM.
A-THELLLING stony.
I once had the extreme felicity of leaving
my business to serve upon "the Jury." I
plead in all manner of ways for release, but
to no effect.
I could not swear that I was deaf, nor
blind, nor yet non compos ; but did tell them
that I had already formed an opinion. They
asked me if my opinion would prevent me
from receiving the testimony in good faith,
and rendering a, verdict according to it. I
replied that of course I should weigh the evi
dence carefully, and he governed by it. I
was then informed that I " would do."
The case to be tried was one of arson—
then a capital oftnce—and the prisoner at
the bar was a young man, named Charles
Ambold, whom I had known from boyhood,
and who was naturally one of the finest
youths of the town where he resided. lie
had a widowed mother who depended upon
him for support ; and his circle of friends
was large and choice. I was morally certain
that he did not commit the crime ; and
hence, I am sure, that those who were friend
ly to him got me on the panel, and had me
retained.
The trial commenced, and we twelve men
took our seats in the jury box. I had a very
respectable set with me—only there was one
man whom I didn't like b) see there.. This
was Moulton Warren. He was a dark-faced
sinister looking fellow—at least to me. I
knew that young Ambold had one fault. He
bad recently been addicted to drink, and
had been known to visit disreputable houses.
It was one - of those houses that had been
burned, for setting fire to which be had been
apprehended.
Now I had often tried to persuade Charles
Ambold from the course he was pursuing.—
He had repeatedly promised me that he
would reform, and as repeatedly had he bro
ken away. I had often talked to him of his
poor mother, until he had wept like a child;
but the effect was not lasting. There was a
power of temptation more effective than any
influence I could wield. He would fall away
into this evil companionship, and for a while
his manhood was gone. One or two aban
doned women had gained great power over
him, and upon them he wasted much of his
substance.
And I knew that this very man who was
now upon the Jury—this Moulton Warren—
was the one who had done more than, all
_others to lead the poor youth away. It was
Warren who had drank with hini, and who
bad led him away to those abominable haunts
of sin and pollution. Why was he uptin the
Jury? I could only account for it upon the
ground that Charley still supposed him to be
his friend. The poor scorched insect was
still ignorant of the flame that scorched him.
He really believed that Moulton Warren was
his friend.
The trial commenced. The indictment set
forth that Charles Arab°ld had "with malice
aforethought," and with all sorts of wicked
and felonious intent, - set -fire to a certain
dwelling house, thereby endangering human
life. This dwelling, as I have already inti
mated, was a low sink of iniquity, where the
abandoned of both sexes were wont to con
gregate, and where the youthful prisoner
bad spent much of his time.
The evidence for the prosecution came on,
and' I was startled. One after another gave
In their testimony, some of them very reluc-
WILLIAM LEWIS;
VOL. XIII.
tantly, and I was frightened when I saw
how plainly it all pointed to the prisoner as
the guilty party. Several credible witnesses
swore that they had heard him threaten to
burn the house down, and others had heard
him say repeatedly that he wished it was
burned down ! Then came several witnesses
—three of the prominent citizens—who saw
him lurking about the premises on the night
of the fire.
With regard to the provocation on the
prisoner's part for such a deed, it was proved
upon his own admission that he had been ill
treated there, and he had sworn to have re
venge. And furthermore, it was proved that
he had been heard to say that his salvation
of soul and body depended upon the destruc
tion of that house. Next came more testi
mony stronger still.
The fire had been set in a back basement
room where shavings and other stuff for kin
dling were kept. Entrance had been gained
through a back window, which had been
partly pried open with a stout knife. This
basement wall was of brick, and beneath the
sash was found the blade of a knife which
had been broken off in trying to raise it,
(the sash.) It was recognized as belonging
to the prisoner's knife. A maker of cutlery
had made a knife to order for Ambold only
a month previous, and he knew the blade at
once, and swore to it.
But this was not all. The fire had been
evidently set first to the shavings which lay
upon the stone floor, but piled up against a
wooden partition. This floor was damp, and
some of the outer shavings even were not
burned up. But just at the edge, where the
fire commenced, lay a piece of paper, rolled
up, and about half burned, and from the
manner in which it lay, it was very evident
that the fire had been set with it. This piece
of rolled paper had been ignited by a match,
a number of which were scattered around,
and as soon as it was on fire it had been laid
upon the floor with the burning end just in
the shavings. Of course, these shavings were
in a blaze instantly ; but the paper torch be
ing upon the damp stones, had not burned
wholly up.
And this paper was found to be a part of
a letter belonging to the prisoner ! A. letter
which be had received from a friend of his
(and a friend of mine) only a week before !
That friend had to come forward and swear
that piece of charred paper was a part of a
letter he had written to the prisoner ! This
friend's name was Stephen Grant. He was
a. young merchant, and the letter had been
written for the purpose of inducing Ambold
to reform. Stephen tried hard to avoid testi
fying, for he knew, as did others, that the
fire must have been set with that identical
paper ; he was summoned, and he could not
deny his own chirography.
The case looked dark. Many witnesses
were willing to testify to the prisoner's good
qualities; but no one could swear that he
was not dissipated and degraded. That house
had been to him indeed, a region infernal.--
Its destruction cried out for his bodily life ;
and its existence had long been eating away
his soul. Poor Charley! I had before been
sure of his innocence ; but now I could only
shake my head and pity him.
Finally he was allowed to speak for him
self. Ile said he was innocent of the crime
imputed to him. He said that be had threat
ened to bnrn that house down—that he had
said about all that had been sworn to. And,
furthermore, be was around the house on the
night of the fire. He was not ,ten rods off
the house when the flames burst forth, and
he was one of the first to give the alarm.—
He had uttered one cry of fire when he no
ticed where the flames must have originated,
and the thought came to him if he were
found there, he might be suspected of hav
ing set the fire, so
. .he run away. He also
said that three nights before the conflagra
tion, he had been robbed - in that house. His
pockets had been robbed of everything in
them, and his pocket-book, containing forty
dollars in money, and some valuable papers
had been taken. He had gone there on the
night of the fire to try and persuade them to
give him back his money and papers—or at
least to get back what he could. When he
got there he saw a man go in whom he did
not wish to see, so he had hung around wait
ing for him to depart. He was around by
the back of the building once—and that was
an hour before the fire broke out. He knew
nothing—nothing. He clasped his hands,
and with his tearless eyes raised towards
Heaven, he called on God to witness that he
was innocent !
I have told you that I knew him well. I
knew him so well, that from that moment I
knew him to be innocent! I knew his very
soul—l knew how free and open it was—ah,
how sinfully so ! I knew there. was no false
hood in the story he had told us.
My boy is innocent! My boy is lima.
cent! ' •
I heard the cry—and I saw an old woman
sink back into the arms, of a. male companion.
It was his poor old mother! Her heart was
well nigh broken! Yet I saw that all this
had but little effect upon the mass of specta
tors. The prisoner's course of dissipation;
his many threats against the house—and the
very fact .of.. his having been robbed and
abused there, were heavy against him.
The counsel for the prisoner made his
speech which was labored and hard. He
was foolish enough to intimate that if his
client was around at the back part of the
house more than once he must have been in
toxicated. In short his plea. had better been
left out. The evidence he could not, shako,
and he did all he could to suppose evidence,
some of it most absurd and. ridiculous. I
afterwards learned that Moulton Warren en
gaged that lawyer for the youthful prisoner!
The government attorney made his plea.—
It was plain, straight forward and very con
clusive.
The judge finally gave, his charge. He
was fair and candid. He 'reviewed the evi
dence carefully, and pointed ont'such as bore
heavily upon the case. He told us that if
there was a lingering doubt in our minds we
must give the prisoner the benefit. But I
could plainly see there was no doubt in his
mind.
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We—the jury—were conducted to our
room by an officer, and there locked up. A
silence of some minutes ensued. Moulton
Warren was the first to speak:—
"Well," he said "I 2'pose there's no need
of our being here a great while. Of course
we all know that the prisoner must have set
fire to the house !"
There was something in the manner of
that man as he said this that excited my cu
riosity—l won't say it was suspicion then--
only curiosity. He spoke with a forced ef
fort at calmness which I at once perceived.—
The more I looked at him the more I became
strangely nervous and uneasy, wondered
why he should be so anxious to be rid of the
case, and have Ambold convicted. I knew
that he had frequented that evil house, and
that he had done much toward tempting
Charley to dissipation. I knew that he was
in that house on the night on which the pris
oner was robbed—for Charley told me so
when I visited him in his cell. I had then
asked the unfortunate youth if he was sure
Warren was his friend. o,—he was sure of
it. He should have hunted him up on the
night of his robbery, only they had told him
Warren had gone.
By and by, the foreman proposed that we
should each take up . a piece of paper and
write down our opinion, and then compare
notes. I went to my hat, which I had pla
ced upon a table with a number of others,
and took out a sheet of paper. I had got
half way back to the table when I found
that I had made a mistake. I had got part
of a letter from another man's hat. I was
about to turn back when the name of the
letter arrested my attention. I looked more
closely and read—" Stephen Grant." Next
I caught this sentence—
" And now, dear Charles, if not for your
own yet for your mother's sake, let me hope
you will do better.
I started as though a shot had struck me.
I held in my hand the other half of the sheet
which had been used to fire the burned house!
I went to the table and found that I had tak
en it from Moulton Warren's hat! I looked
to see if I had been observed—and I had not.
I put the paper back, and then took one from
my own hat, which was of the same pattern
as the other, and placed by its side.
I returned to the table and sat down.—
Warren was by my side. He had written his
opinion, and took a knife from his pocket to
cut it from the large sheet.
"Let me take your knife a moment, if you
please," I said to him.
Without hesitation he did so. I took it—
it was Charles Ambold's knife—the large blade
was gone! With all the power I possessed I
restrained my deep emotions, and having cut
my paper I handed back the knife.
Why should he have the knife so boldly
about him. I afterwards learned. He had
not worn those pantaloons before since the
night of the fire; and now he used the knife,
probably, without the least remembrance of
of the loss it had sustained, during a very
peculiar piece of work, to the execution of
which it was made subservient.
We talked some ten minutes, and I found
that eleven of the jury were bent on render
ing a verdict of guilty; though most of them
were in favor of recommending the prisoner
to mercy, Moulton Warren was decided. He
had no mercy at all.
Presently I started up and pretended to be
faint. I said I must go out a few minutes.
I kicked at the door and the deputy sheriff
came. He heard my plea and let me out.—
As soon as wehad gained a safe distance I
told him all. He was astonished. He went
away and when he came back, he brought
the district judge and the sheriff. I told
again what I had seen—that it was no mere
suspicion. And I explained, too, Warren's
manner in the jury room, his former connec
tion with the prisoner, and his known char
acter.
The officers went away, and at the end of
ten minutes, they returned with a constable
added to their number, and this constable
had a freshly written instrument in his hand.
The sheriff bade me point out the hat to them
as soon as we entered the room.
The door of the room was opened, and I
pointed them to the hat. The sheriff took
it, and asked whose hat it was. Warren
leaped to his feet and seized it, but was held
back.
Word was instantly sent to the judge that
the jury could not agree. They were dis
charged, and then Moulton Warren was
searched. The knife was found upon him,
and his behavior at once exposed his guilt.—
The presence of that letter was accounted
for by him in a dozen different ways within
an hour.
A new jury was impannelled, and Charles
Ambold was acquitted. Shortly afterwards
Warren was tried, and it was plainly proved
that he had set fire to the house, and that the
woman who kept it was to have been burned
up in it, as he had contrived to lock her into
her room shortly after setting the fire. She
had incurred his displeasure in various ways,
and this was his revenge. Not only she, but
two of her girls had suspected him from the
first, but they dare not complain, for fear he
would not be convicted, and would then be
sure to murder them.
The hardened villian confessed his guilt
after he had been condemned, and then it
was that he told how he happened to be so
careless in regard to the knife. It was he
who had robbed Ambold, and when he took
the old letter from his hat to use for a torch
in setting the fire, ho did not notice what it
was, and even when that partly burned half
had been exhibited in court, he had entirely
forgotten that he had torn off the other half,
and put it back in his hat, as he must have
done. The letter had been found in Ambold's
pocket-book, and he bad kept it because in
it the youth was warned against his influ
ence. He confessed that he had held a slight
idea of calling the writer to an account when
it should become convenient. With regard
to the knife, it was as I before stated. He
took that from Ambold's pocket, and put it
in his own; and on the night of the fire be
used it to pry up the sash, and when he had
broken it ho put it back in his pocket and
forgot it.
-PERSEVERE.-
HUNTINGDON, PA., DECEMBER 9, 1857.
Thus was Charley saved—and saved from
more than an ignominious death, too. He
was saved to be a noble, virtuous man, and
his mother once more took ample delight and
joy in the love and tender care of her only
child.
When Charles Ambold knew that Alfoulton
Warren had expatiated his crime upon• the
gallows, he sat down and pondered upon his
past life. The thought of his old companion
being hanged, sent a strange thrill through
his frame. But he was able to trace out,
clearly and logically, this terrible result from
the course of life the ill-fated man had pur
sued. He shuddered as he remembered how
far he had gone in the same course himself ;
and he was able to see the only safe path for
any youth.
Not only must he shun temptation—not
only keep clear of even the appearance of
vice, but, above all, he must shun evil com
panionship. A youth may make all the
good resolutions thought can afford, but if he
continues one evil companionship, he is not
.dafe!
ai'utertsting
A Word to the Girls
'We never expect to tire in interest or in
labor for the girls. We see so much to hope
for in relation to the young females of our
country and so much that is defective in their
education, that their interest—their good lies
upon our heart like a perpetual inspiration.
When we see girls educated in the schools of
folly and fashion, selling themselves body
and soul to the blandishments of the shop
keeper and mantua-maker, idling their young
lives away in gossip and nonsense, taking
early lessons in rouge-daubing and toilet
gilding, talking seriously of matrimony in
their early teens, looking forward to making
a fortunate match, as their only hope and
care in life, forgetting all that is greatest and
best in their minds and hearts, ignoring all
womanly aspirations and aims, giving no
heed to the preparations for life's great du
ties and joys, my heart bleeds within me.—
How many good people are trying to improve
the homes of the world. How many are
seeking to awaken in human hearts a better
ideal of home life, a truer estimate of home
virtue, a more thorough insight into home
duties. How limited will be their success
unless the hearts of the girls can be warmed
with a burning zeal for improvement. Wo
man is the mistress, the presiding genius of
home; and she must become true to herself,
true to her womanly qualities of mind and
heart, ere the homes of this world can be
what they should be. She must cease to
worship at the shrine of folly ; she must cease
to place her sole good in marriage; she must
cease to regard herself simply as the doll or
plaything of man; she must cease to desire
to be his pet, or anybody's pet ; she must
cease to lean on father, brother, husband for
support, for instruction. She must feel that
she has a mind to be educated, a soul to be
taught the way of duty. She must learn to
be independent in her opinions, her actions,
her duties and aims. Every girl should have
some aim in life, and educate herself for some
place and duty. Her educction should be
solid and thorough. Why should the boys
be sent to college from fourteen to eighteen
and the girls to a seminary or academy only
as many months. Why should the boys be
three or four years learning a trade or pro
fession, and the girls never learn to do any
thing? Why should the boys be all their
minority learning agriculture with the best
books, instructions and experiences they can
get, and the girls that are to be their wives
be ignorant of everything that pertains to
their future duties and trials? Why should
it be the province of the boys to know much
and the girls so little ?
We want to see the girls of this age wake
up to a new life and every one of them fix on
some great attainment that they will secure.
First of all let them aim to be true women,
intelligent, self-reliant, virtuous, high-mind
ed, sober, affectionate, thoughtful, loving, all
that is truly lovely and nothing that is not,
demanding of all their associates that they
shall be honorable and respectful. Secondly,
let them determine that they will know the
most they can about the practical and useful
duties of life, that their hands shall be taught
to be useful and their minds active come what
fortune may. Thirdly, let them learn how to
preserve their health, to care and do for the
sick, to be judicious managers of households,
sick rooms, nurseries, gardens, dairies, and
whatever falls to the common lot of men and
women. Fourthly, let them learn to do some
thing by which they could earn an honest and
comfortable living were they thrown upon
their own resources. Fifthly, let them read
and acquire useful knowledge. With such
efforts the girls of to-day may be glorious wo
men for the next forty years.— Valley Farmer.
" TIME IS MONEY."—So says the good old
adage. Those who squander it, therefore,
squander money. And if a person has no
moral right to waste his substance or spend
his money in a way that neither profiteth
him or his kind, he certainly has no moral
right to spend the precious moments which
God has given him, in a like profitless man
ner. Least of all, has the person who has
no disposition to improve his own time, a
right to non those who are inclined to make
the most of a brief existence. And yet how
many robbers of this class there are in the
world. Men who would scorn to defraud a
neighbor of his property, but who will enter
the study, the office, or the work-shop, and
detain the occupant from his business, by
frivolous and profitless conversation, when
thq know, or might know or should know,
that they are inflicting as serious an injury
upon that individual and the community, as
the highwayman. The latter takes money
forcibly, against the will of the possessor,
the former takes TIME in the same - way, un
der the same circumstances. Morally, is not
one just as bad as the other?
par -Fortune may often defeat the purposes
of Virtue, yet Virtue in bearing affliction can
never lose her prerogative.
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i L
We gave the particulars yesterday morning
of two attempts of a woman, residing in the
region of the Miami canal and Twelfth street,
to commit suicide by throwing herself into
the canal, but was dragged out both times by
a party near at hand. A party conversant
with her history, gives us a few incidents in
her past life that are rather interesting. At
the age of fifteen her father died in a village
in Western New York, leaving a snug com
petence for both mother and daughters, suf
ficient to protect them from want for many
years. Time soothed the grief of the widow
and in a year or two she married a second
husband, who soon appropriated all of the
avails of the prcperty, and left the orphans
to work their own way in a cold and unfeel
ing world. At seventeen the would-be sui
cide of yesterday married an old bachelor,
more for a home than affection, who in a year
left her a widow with $lO,OOO, deposited in
Money and securities in his brother's hands,
and depending upon his honor to pay it over
as it should be needed. In a year the broth
er reported the estate exhausted and bank
rupt. Two or three years after the lady
again married a widower, who left her at
his death some $30,000 in money, stocks and
property.
She was then wealthy enough, lived in good
style; was a gay and beautiful woman.in the
prime of liM. Honest and confiding, she
trusted others to do her busines.s, and as a
consequence found herself houseless and pen
niless in a brief period. With little courage
or energy she sought relatives at the West,
and after buffeting about from one city to an
other, for a season, disheartened at the tri
als of the world, she married again in Cin
cinnati=not as before, with happy surround
ings, but she wedded far beneath her former
position, and year after year carried both
deeper in the scale of degradation. The hus
band indulged daily in liquid potations that
made him a brute; the wife attempted to
drown present care and remembrance of the
past in the bowl. From a decent home to a
less comfortable one was a natural conse
quence, and from that to a shanty a necessi
ty. Hard times came on apace; poverty and
want made life a burthen, and sick, tired and
desperate, she attempted destruction, as be
fore related.—Cincinnati Gazette, 21rov. 13.
As a man of generous heart ; from the coun
try, was guiding, a feNf days since his lead of
hay to the market, we saw following him, and
gathering the wisps of hay which dropped
from the load, a poor woman and two lads,
the latter of perhaps the ages of seven and
nine years. Our attention was drawn espe
cially to them, by observing that the man
frequently took pains to throw whole hand
fuls of hay down the side of the load, in or
der, as was quite apparent, to convey in as
quiet a manner as possible, sentiments of
comfort to the hearts of these suffering poor.
As our walk lay in the direction of the mar
ket, we were determined to witness the con
clusion of this exhibition of sympathy and
generosity. By-and-by the gleaning became
so abundant, that the poor woman could re
frain from her expressions of gratitude no
longer; and, bursting into tears, she beckoned
to the man to stop, and then in a manner
which indicated both intelligence and a deli
cate sense of her wretched condition besought
him to permit her to express a single word.
of thankfulness for his kindness. "Mad
ame," said the man, "I too, have been in
the vale of poverty and seen the time when a
lock of hay has been considered a treasure.
A friend, by an act of kindness, of less val
ue in itself than the one I have done to you,
saved me from despair, and made me hopeful
for better days. Years have passed now, and
a kind Providence has blessed me with a
good farm and happy home. For years, as I
have waked each morning, I have seemed to
hear a sweet voice whispering, " This day
remember the poor." As be said this he rais
ed the fork, and threw in the woman's arms
as great a quantity as she and the lads could
carry, and then drove onward, with a coun
tenance expressive of the truth—" It is bet
ter to give than to receive." We turned from
the scene to read again, and with greater
profit than ever, the story of Ruth gleaning
in the fields of the generous Boaz, and of the
kindness of the reapers to the destitute and
successful gleaner.
A RELIES' 3G.IINSr CELIBACY.—In parts of
France there is, among the female sex, a holy
horror of being regarded as old maids ; and
as want of money is considered there the
chief difficulty in obtaining a husband, resort
is had to a novel expedient to relieve them of
this disability. A late letter from Paris says
that several female clubs have been formed
in the departments of the Var and the Gironde
for mutual relief against celibacy. Tho orig
inal club, after which the others were model
led, has been in existence for four years.—
Each member pays 10f. monthly to the treas
urer. These subscriptions produce annually
24,000 f., to which is added the amount rais
ed by two half-yearly lotteries, of which the
prizes arc composed of valuable articles, the
gift of the members. The original club is
composed of two hundred young ladies. At
the end of the year the society is enabled to
dispose of thirty or forty thousand francs,
which serve to give a marriage portion to
two or three of the members chosen by bal
lot. If the fortunate candidates are not mar
ried within a year the money returns to the
common fund, and additional candidates are
portioned' the following year.
The members of the club continue to pay
their subscriptions for ten years after their
marriage, and are bound to facilitate by all
means in their power the marriage of their
former associates. The members of the as
sociation, married or single, are bound as
long as they live to aid and succor their fel
low-members under all circumstances. How
it would shock the sensibilities of our Amer
ican ladies to resort to such means as the to
obtain husbands I
fierlt has been finely observed by Mrs. S.
C. Hall that "Men sacrifice others! women
themselves !"
Editor and. Proprietor.
A Mournful History.
A Passing Incident
AteirFarmers, read the address of the Hon:
Edward Everett, on Agriculture, on the fourth
page of this paper.
WORTIIY OF NoTE—That'the Et uniingdori
Globe contains a larger amount of useful and
interesting reading matter than any other
paper printed in the county.
)18-A Shocking- bad hmsband.—d man
was arrested in New York, a few days ago,
on the charge of biting off his wife's nose in
a family fight:
Sebc.A poet of a neighboring county thus
immortalizes our beautiful river, the Juni
ata:
"Roll on loved Juniata, long bast thou,
ran, giving eels to old _Huntingdon and free
dom to man !"
NO. 25.
SdrA new-laid egg, broken into a cup of
tea, coffee, or chocolate, and well beaten up,
is an excellent ingredient in the breakfast of
a person having a deficient appetite, and will
be found very substantial.
"PAYING ATTENTIONS."—This is getting to
be dangerous 'Out West,' the law gives dam
ages for apparent breach of promise. Tho
bachelors, however, obviate the difficulty by
labelling their cards, " Good for this call
only 1"
A NOISE-LOTING CONSTITIIENCY.—The peo
ple in one of the upper districts of Wiscon
sin, were represented in the last Legislature
by a Mr. Gunn, but he not making noise
enough, they have this year nominated a
Mr. Cannon.
giErA widow said one day to her daugh
ter : " When you are of illy age, you will be
dreaming of a husband." "yes, mamma,"
replied the thoughtless little hussy, "for the
second time."
SWEET SOUNDS.—The sweetest sound in
nature is said to be the voice of the lady we
love. Next to this is the man who cries
"lobsters."
Lors or PIGEONS.—Four sportsmen of
Clarksville, Tenn., killed 2,000 pigeons one
day last week, at the pigeon roost, 14 miles
from that place.
CoitiNG Dow:.—Sugar is said to be selling
now in the New Orleans (La.) market at 4i
cents per lb.; and molasses at from 18 to 20
cts. per gallon.
le , '•A Lady in Holmes county, Miss., hung
herself a short time since, from mortification
on account of her husband having been
caught playing cards with a negro.
EZY.Why was Pbaroli'S daughter like a.
chairmaker? Because she got a little prophet
from the rus7te.T on the banks: So is a broker
like Pharoh's daughter, then l
ZOld King Lear, in the play, *hen he
was out in the storm, said in his apostrophe
to the rain, wind, thunder and lightning:
Wish we could say as much to all - our
readers.
gOrStrong doses of coffee have recently
been successfully administered in New York,
(as an antidote to poison,) to a person who
had taken four ounces of laudanum. He
was aroused to consciousness from a deep
sleep on the first application, and on repeat
ing the dose was soon oat of danger.
CL~xitr ter. Wir.—The Rev. Dr. C—, of
New York, is as noted for his wit as his elo
quence. One of his friends recently remarked
to him that the "currency was deranged."—
"I should think it was," replied the doctor,
"for we hear that ten mills do not make one
cent."
lB A countryman took his seat at a bo
tel table opposite to a gentleman who was
indulging in a bottle of wine. Supposing
the wine to be a common property, our un
sophisticated country friend helped himself
to it with the other gentleman's glass.—
" That's cool!" exclaimed the owner of tho
wine, indignantly. "Yes," said the other,
very solemnly, " I should think there was ice
in it."
SISMULAR.—There is a curious fact said to
exist a few miles south of Greencastle, Put
man county, Ind., where thbre is a family of
six, all having the same birth-day. The
father and mother are each thirty-five years
old—the children respectively, fourteen, elev
en; eight and five years old. Their birthdays
all come on the 17th of May.
keg- Only one-tenth of the human body is
solid matter. A dead body weighing one
hundred and twenty pounds was dried in an
oven till all moisture was expelled, and its
weight was reduced to twelve pounds. Egyp
tian mummies are bodies thoroughly dried.—
They usually weigh about eleven pounds.
GIRLS FOR THE WEST.—The Cincinnati
(Ohio) Gazette says:—" The great want in
the West is of domestics. Send us the girls
who are willing to work in the kitchen—tidy
handy, willing girls, and We will find em
ployment as fast as they can come ; but of
the class of girls with trades, who want wait
ing on, we have quite enough in the West al
ready."
PcNcTuATioN—That is, putting the stops
in the right places—cannot be too sedulously
studied. We lately read, in a country paper,
the following startling account of Lord Pal
merston's appearance in the House of Com
mons: "Lord. Palmerston then entered on
his head, a white hat - upon his feet, large
but well polished boots upon his brow, as
dark cloud in his hand, his faithful walking
stick in his elle; a meaning glare saying
nothing. He sat down."
. lite—lt is stated that Dan Clark, one of the
New fla.mshire 'Republican U. S. Senators,
has purchased a second hand revolver to aid
him in the discharge of his official duties at
IVashington. We do not know whether ,or
not this fact had any influence upon the city
authorities at Washington ; but we notico
that, since the announcement of Clark's pur•
chase, the councils of that city have passed
an ordinance imposing a fine of not less than
twenty dollars upon any person convicted of
carrying deadly or dangerous weapons.
A HOUSE FOUND EIGHTEEN FEET BELOW
TUE EARTH'S SURFACE.—During the excava
tion of a street in Lovensville, Indiana, last
Tuesday-, the workmen came across the re
mains of a cabin eighteen feet below the sur
face of the earth. This wonderful subterra
nean house was about twelve feet in length,
formed by upright posts set in the ground,
and boarded up with oak puncheons, secured
by wooden pins. The posts, puncheons and
pins were partially decayed, but still stuck
together. Within the wall s‘em found, por
tions of an old fashioned spinning wheel, a,
wooden maul, several pairs of boots and
shoes, and the identical charred stick which
the former occupants of the house had used
to punch the fire with.—St. Louis Republi
can, Nov. 14.
paritt g .
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