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1w desires to do a lively busluess with small profits,•
liberal share of patromege is solicited
Huntingdon, Dec. 15, le5S
NEW WATCH & JEWELRY STORE
J. W. DUTCHER,
WATCH,ITAKER & JEWELLER,
Respectfully informs the citizens of Huntingdon, vicini
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iftrNTINGDON, and Lopes to
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The public gimendly. are requested to give him a call
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THE PILESBYTERIAN
A collection of tenoss a•lapted to the Psalms and
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of America, Per sale at
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QTRAY TUCK.
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A..131ZA11101 WRIGHT.
January 2tt, 18.10.1
JUST RECED.rEP
AND FOR SALI , 3 :
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change.at market prices. SAMUEL 11211:1 , 1.E.L.D.
January 12.
TNFORMATION WANTED,
of the whereabouts of JAMES itO3VER, who loft
lianitingdon on the night of, the St 6 January, 18Z9.
Groover hails from liarristiurg, has been Ili email on loco
motives, is between '25 and 30 years of ago, small
blaell'hair, and goesAvellid.ressed at the expen s e
hechits'swinctled... • • • ,
'Any information of the Whereaboute of mid. Gioover, will
too thankfully received by tlie unilarshuird.
CALDWELL, LEWIS CO.,
Iluntio! , :, , lon. Pa.
January 1.2, 1850-tf.
.-70
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D BOOKS
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- _
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1.)00KS EOlt, EVERYBODY
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estiug Louts .4f the dcv. ,In-Tror•eived met for Bale at
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ALMANACS FOE, 1859,
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INKS. •
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QCHOOL BOOKS,
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MACKIIEL—No.'s I and 2,
tit reduced prices, at LOVE
$1 50
ME
AND
NOW OPEN!
WM. LE\VIS
WILLIAM. LEWIS,
VOL. XIV.
eZ~xtVa,efal.
THOUGHT.
BY BODOLPB.
All searching, secret, magic spell,
In dark recesses hid,
What human vision e'er did dwell
Upon thy mystic bed?
Or what quick eye could ever trace,
'Mid worlds thy pathless way?
Or marl: with wondrous ken the place
Where thy deep wanderings stray
What chains can bind? 'What prisons doors
Impede thy rapid flight?
The tempest's force that round us roars—
The fleeter wings of light— •
E'en time's swift pinions cannot vie
Whit thy unequalled speed,
Through realms remote, o'er'regions high,
Through realms of darkened deed.
But thou immeasurable power,
Unfettered in thy sphere,
When struggling pangs bespeak the hour
Of dissolution near:
When life gives o'er the parting gasp,
And dust to dust is brought—
When nature yields to death's cold grasp,
" Where art thou then? 0 Thought!
v cT cct tor.
TEEE TORN NEWSPAPER ;
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
BY OLIVAIt SINCLAIR
CLIAPTER I
" I will never consent to your marriage
with William Appleton, Ida," said Charles
Reclington, .with flushed look and angry
eves.
"If I love William more than I love you,
Charles, why should you he angry? This is
not the way to make me love you bettor than
William. If I cannot lie your wife, I can be
your friend ! You have paid me a compli
ment I shall always be grateful for, in offer
ing one your hand. I feel deeply your pref
erence of me over other fair maidens of your
acquaintance, and who I know would be
made happy by such an offer. Nay, do not
look displeased ! Because I refuse to be your
wife, is no reason that I cannot esteem you
as a friend !"
.'Thus calmly and gently and sensibly r spoke
Ida Boyd; a sweet, beautiful girl of eighteen,
the daughter of a poor widow, to a rich young
man of uncontrollable passions, who had
loved her long, and would have made her
his wife ; .for though poor she was socially
his equal ; her father having,' been a gentle
man of fortune, who became bankrupt be
fore his death through the failure. of a bank,
in which ho had invested all be was worth.
They were standing at the garden gate, to
which he had asked her to accompany him,
after having called to see her, saying that lie
wished to say a few words to her alone.—
These few words were the offer of his hand
and fortune. Ifer reply was that she had
been a month engaged to William Appleton.
Ills angry exclamations of disappointment,
called from her the words of remonstrance
and kindness which she addressed him at the
beginning of our tale.
" Love or hatred 1" he replied, almost
fiercely. "I must either love .or hate you,
Ida Boyd ! There is no medium with me!—
As for William Appleton, may the der—"
" Charles—Charles ! Stop where you are !
This conduct is unworthy of you, -and painful
to me!" she cried, laying her hand upon his
arm, which he pettishly withdrew from her
touch. "If I cannot love you, why will Sou
hate me? Does not this show your love
for Me was not such as would stand the test
of life ?"
" Ida, talk not thus I My love for you
would have made me die for you! Yester
day, if you had bidden me do any deed, in
voiving, the risk of my life, I would have
marched with a smile upon my lips to death,
so that I felt that you approved l"
She looked in his face. The moonlight,
sifted through a lattice ofleaves over their
heads, fell in soft splendor upon his fore
head; for his forehead was uncovered as he
spoke to Alio fair object of his NNor ship.—
There was a momentary silence. She broke
it by saying:
" Charles, I am very very sorry for you!
I ----"
" Pity me not! Your pity adds poison to
the barb you have so completely fastened in
my heart! A heart that so loved you that,
if, like chamomile, you had trodden it under
your feet, it would have given out from its
bruised leaves sweet fragrance to regale you.
Hate me, Ida ! hate me ! This will be the
most grateful return you can make me;f‘for
robbing, me of yourself!
" Charles," said the lovely girl, as she took
his reluctant hand in hers ; dear Charles, my
friend, how can you blame me! How can
you feel so ! Love is a mystery Ido not
know why I chose William, rather than
you."
"He has known you but ten months,
while I have known you from a child I"
" I know it Charles I • I have always liked
you I Do you not remember how I have so
often gave you flowers ; and how we have
blackberried to e ,"3tler ; and how you used to
loye to carry my heavy satchel of books home
for me, and how you gave 'Me birds and rab
bits for pets, and I named them after you, and
how you used to do all my hard sums for me,
and what good friends we used to be."
" Yes, I remember it all, Ida ; and we
were very happy, and when I grew up, and
you grew up and became so beautiful, I re
solved you should be my wife ; but then came
this stranger, and—and —" • -
Here the emotion, if not a gush of tears of
the young man choked his utterance, and he
turned away without finishing the sentence.
"As 1 said, Charles love is a mystery. I
loved him as soon as I saw him. I don't
know how it was, - but our eyes no sooner met
than our hearts seemed to fly together and
embrace like long-absent friends."
The disappointed lover made no immediate
reply. He walked for a few moments to and
fro before the garden gate. There was a
cloud visible upon his brow and a stern fixed
ness of the lips which alarmed her. She ap
proached him gently, and said,-;;' ,
" Charles!"
" Well, Miss
,Boyd I"
" Do not speak to me so unkindly."
" What matters it? Are you anything to
me? Am I anything to you ? Are you not
Ids, body, soul and spirit? Are you not his
in all that made you dear--oh, how dear to
me ? Ido well to speak unkindly ! But,
forgive me, Ida! I see no moonlight reflect
ed, as . from diamonds, in tears upon your
cheeks. lam not angry with you. Poets
say love cannot be helped. But as for him,
who knowing how I loved you, and has come
between me and happiness—"
" Say no word in anger, Charles! Fur anN
sake, do not-be angry with 'William !"
" Per thy sake ?"
-
"Yes, may I not ask this?"
" Ida, what do I owo you—that for thy
sake I should not hate him ?"
"Nothing—but—oh—forgive me! I knew
not you loved me so dearly. You never told'
me till to-night!"
"Because I did not deem it necessary to
tell thee," he observed, bitterly. "Do not
the birds tell one another they love, before
they mate? Does the night-blooming ceres
tell the moon itloves before it opens its bosom to
her embrace ? Does the river tell the
,sea
that it loves before it flings itself murmuring
into his arms ?
Does the glow worm tell its mate that
it loves ere he lights the lamps which is to
guide him to her, bower in the grass ?
True love is 'instinct, and is voiceless ! I did
not believe,, Ida, I had need to tell you
how dearly, how fondly, how passionately
I loved you: I thought you understood the
look of my eyes, the touch of my hand, and
the tone of my voice. To tell you that I love
you would have seemed to me like painting
the rainbow, or leading torches to the light
of the stars ! But, alas, I see I have been
mistaken ! The love of this world to secure
itself must gabble and speak itself out, or the
loudest goose will be the victor !"
" You are very bitter, Charles !"
"Pardon me, but I feel bitterly. Good.
night, Ida."
" Let us part friends !"
" Friends ? Eh Friends ! What does
that mean ?" .
, Kot enemies I"
• " .21 7- o t enemies 1" answered the young man
as he .coldly received in his own, her. soft
hand, with which she warmly clasped his.
" I can never hate thee! When I die, Ida,
your image will be found engraven on my in
most heart! Good night. If I never more
speak to thee, do not imagine I hate thee !
But I can never look again upon the form
which is possessed by my rival !"
He left the gate and walked rapidly on
ward. She impulsively followed him half a
dozen steps, but seeing he paid no attention
to her pursuing feet, though he must have
heard them upon the pavement, "she stopped
and clasped her hands together upon her
bosom and sighed heavily, and said :
"Oh, that I had known how Charles loved
me I Yet he never told his love ! He was
so diffident and distant, while William pres
sed his suit with such fervor. Poor Charles !
I wish he could understand that I love him
(as a friend) though William is to be my
husband I"
wi-po-will !" cried in plain
tive tones a whippoorwill, in the top of a
neighboring, tree.
"What a doleful cry ! This bird's note
sounds ominously and makes me feel. fear !"
she said, as she turned slowly to the gate.—
"They say it sings thus only when some: evil
is to happen to the hearer. Shall Igoin or
wait for William," she soliloquized ns she
lingered by the gate, held half-open in her
hand. "He was to be here at nine o'clock
and the bell for nine will soon ring."
The young girl, with a torn heart—for she
loved both lovers, (but William most and
tenderest, having also pledged him her hand,
heart, and troth,) lingered long after the nine
o'clock bell rung, for William had promised
her he would come at nine. With every note
of the bell she expected to hear blended the
sound of his footstep. Half-past nine came,
and her mother came out to her and said—
"Ida, you ought to be in dear. Where is
William ? "
- "Not come yet, mother. I wonder what
has detained him."
" Perhaps some engagement. You know
he is but a book-keeper, and hasn't his time
to himself, poor young man, as Mr. Reding
ton has, who is rich. I must, confess, Ida, I
am, surprised you should have selected the
poor one."
`•IIe selected me, mother."
"But you know that on the least encour
agement the richer would have asked you."
"I did not encourage him because he was
rich. I could not trust myself. I feared I
might be thinking:of his fortune, so I let one
who offered first have my hand."
"Well, William is a good young man, and
will make you happy. But you know my
opinion. I would rather you would have
married Mr. Bedington. That fine house his
mother lives in would have been yours at her
death, with a ; carriage and. all that."
"Don't talk of such things mother. They
.do not come into my thoughts. I shall be
perfectly, happy with William. And since I
have seen the exhibition of anger and feeling
shown by Chailes this evening, I see he has
a fearful temper, which might have.made me
wretched as his wife."
"Well, come in, dear child. It is full a
quarter to ten. Honest people ought 'to be
in bed half an hour after bell ringing."
"I will ebrne in soon, dear ma. I think
William will be hero by ten. I will just
meet him at the gate here and say good night
to him, He was to bring me . a wedding
ring."
"Well at ten you must come in. Tie your
handkerchief over your head, Ida, for I feel
there is a dew."
Ten o'clock wls struck by the old clock in
the house, but Ida's lover had not come. She
waited till ten minutes past, when slowly and
..-." ~, lair
. ..
..f -
.4 .... .
: 0‘...: .. , 4; .
. . -.
r
‘'''''.
41 4
-
.....-.1 *tr.:,
"t
4. ,
!:„.
~,,,:
,-!-,,
(
. .
HUNTINGDON, PA., FEBRUARY 9, 1859.
.---PERSEVER.E.-
sadly she returned to the house.
"He has never failed me before," she said,
"but perhaps something has detained him.—
It cannot be that now that I am engeged to
him, he loves me less, and thinks be need not
be so punctual to his engagements as he was
when he was not sure of me, and was trying
to win my consent."
h ow sensitive, how jealous, how exacting
is true- love ?
Ida re,-entered the house, and by-and-by
retired, but not until all hope of seeing Wil
lian that night had expired. . -
In the morning she dreamed a dream.—
She believed that she was walking arm in
arm with William by the side of the river
when a mermaid rose out of the water before
them, and said in a harsh voice—
"Come—l have waited for you ! You
must go with me ! My home in the depth of
the.river is ready !"
She thought that the mermaid so fascinated
William that he left her side, and went as by
a resistless spell, to the syren, who was
about to entwine her arms about him, when
some one cried, as if from the air-
"Fire - and slay her or she will destroy
him !"
She heard at the moment a report as if
from behind her, and she saw William with
a wound in his forehead, fall into the arms
of the syren, who plunged with him into the
river and disappeared. There was a mock
ing laugh behind her, and she thought the
voice sounded like that of Charles Redington.
She turned to see if her fears were true, when
the loud voice of her mother awoke her :
"Awake child. 1 Up Ida 1 There is fearful
newt.?"
"What is it mother ?" she cried, starting
from her vivid dream.
"William is dead ! she shrieked, catching
the words from the pallid lips of her mother.
"I saw him shot ! Is it not so ! Oh, do not
be silent !"
"News has just come that he was found
in-',
"In the ricer, with a bullet wound in his
forehead !" she cried.
"Row wonderful and true I" cried two or
three neighbors, who were - at her room door,
while a third said—
"flow could she know this ?"
"I-saw it in a dream. Oh, tell me, is Wil
liam dead."'
"Yes answered the minister, who lived
near, and having heard the news had hasten
ed to the house of mourning, as became his
office. He was found dead' an hour a - go by
the slibre, half in the "water:: .He had been
shot in the forehead. His body, is taken to
his mother's where an inquest *ill be held."
"Oh ! William; William—who could have
done it! Dead ! William dead !" she shriek
ed, and fell insensible into the arms of her
mother.
The death of William Appleton by vio
lence, in so mysterious a manner, created the
most profound excitement throughout the
peaceful village. .11e was beloved and popu
lar, and was not known to have an enemy.—
lie had been found by the shore, his body
half in the water ' • but as his clothing and
hair were thoroughly wetted, it was believed
he had been thrown in, and floated ashore.—
The place where he was found, was about
half way between the village and the resi
dence of Ida Boyd, by the road, that led
along the winding and shady banks.
"He must have been going to see her, or
else coming from there," said a woman, who
was present as they were holding the inquest.
"He was 'gaged to her, and went to see her
every night." .
This opinion prevailed. „ The question
now clinic up, who could hate done this? and
what could have been the motive ? '
There was no suspicion of person - or motive,
and the jury gave in their verdict—" Shot
dead with a pistol or gun, by some person or
persons unknown, and then thrown into the
river."
What more could a coroner's jury, not om
niscient nor omnipresent, decide. The fu
neral took place on the third day and was at
tended by a vast concourse of people ; for a
murder invests death with a fearful mystery,
which arouses the deepest sympathies of the
human heart, as well as awakens the liveliest
curiosity of our nature.
But there were agencies of Providence at
work for the discotery of the murderer.—
The surgeon who had been called to examine
and pronounce upon the nature of the
wound, bad drawn from the orifice made
by the bullet, a mass of paper saturated with
blood and with river water. He saw that it
was newspaper wadding which had been driv
en into the wound behind the ball. He stated
to the coroner, from this circumstance, that
the assassin must have stood close to his vic
tim for the wadding to have also entered the
wound. This assertion threw no light upon
the author of the crime, and had little weight
with the coroner and his rustic jury. The
surgeon who was a shrewdlnan of the world,
and who let nothing escape him, took the wad
ding home, and having removed the stains of
blood and dried it, closely examined it. lie
discovered that it was a part of a newspaper
called the "Evening Star."
Dr. Thomas, upon looking carefully at this
fragment, compressed his lips and was for a
few moments silently fixing his keen gray
eyes upon his office floor.
"'The Evening Star ho at length ex
claimed, or rather muttered. " I wonder who
takes that paper iu this village ! This I must
quietly ascertain. I saw bfore the coroner
that this piece of paper might probably . be a
clue to the murderer, and I did not wish to
make any noise 'about it, lest the murderer
himself might be present at the inquest'and
take the alarm. I . think I have shown my
usual sagacity. Now, with the aid of Prov
idence, I may find out who murdered William
Appleton. Poor Ida Boyd ! They say it has
broken her heart, as they were soon to be
married ! The 'Evening Star !' Stay there,
bit of paper," he added, " until I look fur
ther 1"
As he spoke he locked the wadding in his
money drawer, and putting the key in his
pocket walked out. He took the direction of
,
144,
1
1
0...
1 f i l
I,ict„ . • %•
V7•.7
CtIAPTER 11.
Editor and Proprietor.
the post office, which he entered with a loit
ering step, as if he • had no purpose. The
postmaster was seated in his great armed
chair, (being a bent up rheumatic man, with
iron spectaeles,) actually reading a copy of
the " Evening Star."
Doctor Thomas was a friend and his phys
ician. After a question or two as to the pres
ent state of his rheumatism, the doctor said :
" A New York paper, eh ?"
" Yes, the Star ; Noah's paper. They say
he-is a Jew ; but he is a great wit, and a cap
ital, fine writer."
"So I've heard. Do you take it?"
" No. He is on the other side of my poli
tics. It comes here toMrs.Redington, whose
husband, you know, was a great politician.
You see her name on it ?"
"Yes, I see. It is such an interesting pa
per, I suppose, many copies of it ase taken at
this Tillage ?"
" No. This is the only one taken at this
office. It is usually taken out by her son
Charles, but he has not been here for several
days : so I thought I'd peep into it."
"A privilege," replied the smiling doctor,
" which you postmasters take not only with
papers but with letters, ch ?"
" Ah, doctor, that is a serious joke," re
sponded the man of privileges, as he fulded
up the paper, for that moment Chas. Reding
ton entered and asked for his papers and
letters.
" So you keep up the old " Star" subscrip
tion, sir, like your father ?" said the doctor.
The young man answered, with a curl of
the lip—
" I suppose one can subscribe to what pa
per he pleases ;" and thus saying, he pock
eted his newspaper and went out of the of
fice, which was kept in an open room, com
mon to all corners; indeed, the people gener
ally helped themselves to their own letters,
(and their neighbors' too, if they choose,) to
save the bent and rheumatic postmaster get
ting up from his chair.
Doctor Thomas wended his way to his own
office slowly and thoughtfully. Charles Red
ington was above suspicion, wealthy, Son of
a member of Congress, born in' the village,
and of good name and fame. Yet he was the
only
,one who took the " Star," and it was a
torn portion of the ".Star" which
° formed the
wad of the bullet'.
" It is''posiible another man may have
found or torn the ,paper. Perhaps he does
not file, them . away. If so, any one might
pick diem up'. I must be cautious. I will
call on his mother, and ask her for the loan
of a volume of the folio Encyclopedia, which
belonged to her husband. This will enable
me to look about, and perhaps learn some
thing. Yet, do I suspect her son for the
deed ! Heaven forbid ! But this wadding
must be traced."
Thus be mused as he walked along. That
day he called on the widow, and was shown
into the library for the book by Charles him
self, who looked pale and ill at ease, so much
so that the doctor said--
" Mr. Redington, you do not look well.—
Yon must look after yourself."
The young man laughed and turned away
his head. Upon a chart the doctor saw piled
in a heap a great number of the " Star." He
took one up and then said—
" This is a singularly American journal,
Mr. Redington, to be edited by a Jew."
"I seldom read it. lam not a politician.
I keep it as waste paper."
" .21. h, indeed. Permit me to look over
some of them."
"Yes ; but you will exCuse me, as I have
an engagement. You can borrow any other
books you please, sir, besides the Encyclope
dia."
After the young man bad gone ouf, the doc
tor proceeded to examine the newspapers
upon the chair, but found them all whole ;
seeing one wrapped around a parcel on the
table, he approached it, and saw that it con
tained melion seed•. A portion of this paper
was torn off. A glance showed him that he
had the missing part at his office !
Instantly and adroitly he poured out the
seeds and secured the paper. He was over
whelmed with surprise and pain. As he was
leaving, Mrs. Redington met him in the hall
and said, after a few remarks about books—
" Have they discovered the murderer, doc
tor?"
"Not yet, I believe."
" Poor Ida I Charles thought worlds of
her, and has not been himself since he heard
how she is, almost beside herself. I think be
loved her ; but I always told him she was too
poor a match for him. I am sorry for her,
and for the poor young man. How pitiful !"
The doctor left and proceeded to his office,
took out the wad, and went to the residence
of the justice of the peace. The two gentle
men remained together for two hours. That
night Charles Redington was arrested while
at the tea-table, by two officers of the law,
and conveyed to prison.
Ile denied all knowledge of the murder,
and assumed the front and bearing of injured
innocence. He was in due time, brought into
court for trial. The only ground of evidence
against him was the fragment of newspaper.
But the defense ably argued that the assassin,
whoever he was, might have stolen the paper,
as no such paper was to be found on the pris
oner's premises, or brought it from another
town.
" The Star mails four thousand copies
weekly," he added, "and there are four thous
and chances that my client is innocent."
When everybody in Court looked for an
acquittal, the torn newspaper, which the doc
tor had taken from the library, with " Mrs,
Eleanor Redington's " name upon it, was
produced, and the fragment fated to it before
all eyei.
When Charles Redington saw this paper
propuced, he uttered a cry of despair, and
sprang from the prisoner's box so unexpec
tedly, that he had reached and leaped from
an open window before he could be arrested.
Mounted men followed his wild flight, and
he was overtaken and caught, at the very spot
where- the body of William Appleton had
been discovered, The result was, that he con
fessed in prison the deed of murder so clearly
established by circumstantial evidence. Ile
said ho had gone home after leaving Ida
Boyd, loaded his pistol, tearing off a portion
of the " Star" for the wadding, resolved to
meet Appleton on his visit to Ida Boyd, and
compel him to relinquish her to himself.-'--
That he met him on his way, and upon his
refusal to comply with his command, he shot
him in a moment of uncontrollable jealousy.
Three months afterwards Charles Reding
ton empiated his crime on the gallows, and
the evening of the same fatal day, the body
of the fair Ida Boyd was laid by weeping
mourners in her last home.
Oh, lore I oh, war I which has slain tho
most victims ?
The following touching and felicitous illus
tration of the power of ideas, was given by
Wendell Philips, the other day, in a public
speech at New York :
" I was told to-day, a story so touching in
reference to this, that you must let me tell it.
It is a temperance case, but it will illustrate
this just as well. It is the story of a mother
on the hills of Vermont, holding by the right
hand a son, sixteen years old, mad with love
of the sea. And as she stood by the garden
gate, one sunny morning, she said :
" Edward they tell me that the great temp
tation of a seamen's life is drink. Promise
me, before you quit your mother's hand, that
you will never drink."
"And," said he, for he gave me the story, "I
gave her the promise, and I wont the broad
globe over—Calcutta, the Mediterranean, San
Francisco, the Cape of Good Hope, the North
and the South poles—l saw them all in forty
years, and I never saw a glass filled with
sparkling liquor, that my mother's form, by
the garden gate, on the green bill side of
Vermont, did not rise before me ; and to-day,
at sixty, my lips are innocent of the taste of
liquor." Was not that sweet .evidence of the
power of a single word ?
"Yesterday," said he, there came into my
counting room, a young man of forty, and
asked, Do you know me ?" No Well,'
said he, " I was once brought drunk into
your presence, on shipboard ; you were a
passenger; the captain kicked me aside; you
took me to your berth, and kept me there
until I had slept the sleep of intoxication ;
you then asked me if I had a mother; I said
I never knew a word from her lips; you told
inc of yours at the garden gate, and to-day,
I am the master of one of the finest packets
in New York, and I came to ask you to call
and see me.'
NO, 33,
How far that little candle throws its beams,
that mother's word on the green hills of Ver
mont I 0 God, be thanked for the almighty
power of a single word I"
WILAT I WOULD Do.—lf I were possessed
of the most valuable things in the world, and
was about to will them away, the following
would be my plan of distribution :
I would will to the world, truth and true
friendship, which are very scarce.
I would give an additional portion of truth
to lawyers,traders and merchants.
I would give to physicians skill and learn
ing.'
I would give to Printers their pay.
To gossiping women short tongues.
- To young women, good sense, modesty,
large waists, and natural teeth.
Toyoungsprouts or dandies, common sense,
little cash, and hard labor.
To old maids, good temper, smooth faces,
little and good husbands.
To old bachelors, love for virtue, children
and wives.
_ .
GIANTs.—The bed of Og was 27 feet long
and 7 feet broad. The height of Goliah was
11 feet, his coat weighed 150 and his spear
19 pounds. The body of Orestes, son of Aga
memnon, leader of the Grecian expedition
against Troy, was 11? - feet, and a woman 10
feet. Maximus, a native of Spain, the Bo
man Emperor, was Si feet high. His wife's
bracelets served him for finger-rings. His
strength was such that he could draw a load
ed wagon, break a horse's jaw with his fist,
crush the hardest stones with his fingers and
cleave trees with his hands. His veracity
was equal to his strength, eating 42 pounds
of flesh and drinkinn• '' 10 bottles of wine daily.
Bryne and O'Brien, Irish giants, were eight
feet high. A Tennessee giant lately died, 74
feet high, weighing more thanone thousand
pounds. The Kentucky giant was 7 feet 10
inches high.
par Our,correspondent at Lawrence, Kan
sas, writes to us that the barber at that cap
ital is ailaak man, a slave of Judge Elmore,
and that his Excellency, Gov. Medary, recent
ly went• to his shop to be shaved, Just be
fore Tom (that is the barber's name,) got the
ofhcial by the nose, that functionary, who
adds economy to his many other virtues, said:
" Look here, I want you to shave me by the
month." "Well, massa, I don't know massa,"
stammered Tom, hesitatingly. "Well, why ?
204 not, Tom ?" " Well, massa Gubenor, I
don't mean no Hz dispeck, but, but den, all
de Gubernors ob dis territory, don't stay here
but so short, and cloy run away so fas', and
Ps.not sure dat you be here a monf ; and SO
you see, I don't know, massa."—Ex.
THE VALUE OF A SMILE,—Who can tell the
value of a smile? It costs the giver nothing,
but is beyond price to the erring and relent
ing, the sad and cheerless, the lost and forsa
ken. It disarms malice, subdues temper,
turns hatred to love, revenge to kindness, and
paves the darkest paths with gems of sunlight.
A smile on the brow betrays a kind heart, a
pleasant friend, an affectionate brother, a da
tiful son, a happy husband. It adds a charm
to beauty, it decorates the face of the deform
ed, and makes a lovely woman resemble att
angel of paradise.
CLEAR. AS MUD.—An editor had a bottle of
London Dock Gin presented to him, and after
drinking the whole of it, he wrote a "notice"
of the article. Here is a specimen of the
style :
" Here's to the ladies and other branches
of business (hic) in and around town—and
especially the Messident's Pressage, Moning
ton Washument, etc., 'all of which may he
had cheapat the Buck—Drook—Brook and
Duk Store of Bininger's old London Doke
Gin, for $2 a year, if payment is delayed un
til the end of the Atlantic Cable."
• Zar A member of the Legislature now. in
session at Indianapolis, who had been coughed
down on several occasions, offered a resolu
tion instructing the door keeper to buy twen
ty dollars worth of cough medicine for the,
use of the members.
rrar If you cannot avoid a quarrel with a.
blackguard, let your lawyer_ manage it rather
than yourself. No man sweeps his own chim
ney, but employs a chimney sweep, who has
no objections to dirty work, because itis his
trade.
"Pray sir, what makes you walk so
crookedly ?" "My nose is crooked and I
have to follow it."
JC.' Good wheat sown never changes to
cheat or tares ; but "wild oats" sown inyoutl
always does E-0.
A. Mother's Magic.