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WE - LO ES DEAD 1-
VILLAGE AND CITY!
BY JOllti A. 'WILLIS
Tolling solemnly, and slow,
Swings the little village bell,
While doth pause the passers-by,
Saddened by the knell!
Saddened as he passeth by—
Praying for the spirit lied—
While he murnfreth with a sigh,
"Who is dead 1"
Treading solemnly and slow,
Comes the little village throng,
Who, with Pastor at the heard,
Bear the corpse along
Whilst the children cease their play—
Drawing nearer, half in dread—
Wondering, as it passcth onward,
" Who is dead ?"
And the busy workmen cease—
Gathering, now, the windows round—
Whilst their upraised hammers all
Fall l‘lthout a sound!
"'Tis the coffin of a child—
God, rest light its little head!
God, preserve our little one !"
" Who is dead?"
i3roken is the number, now,
All had learned to think complete!
One familiar face is gone,
Now, from church and street!
And the busy query runs,
Till, before the day is sped,
E'en the smallest child could tell you,
" Who is dead."
Tolling solemnly, and slow,
Swings the city's solemn bell,
:Hut the passer hindeth by,
Reeding, hearing not the knell !
Heeding, hearing not the knell—
To some busy purpose wed—
sever finding time to ask,
"Who is dead ?"
Now, with hearse and nodding plume,
And long escort to the grave,
Death conies rattling down the street—
Life goes up the busy pave!
Careless faces—tearless eyes—
No one iu the throng bath said,
As the long procession passed them,
" Who is dead ?"
Labor bath no time to loose—
Noisy wheels still whirl away!
Death's a common thing, which goes
By the windows every day!
From the thronged and busy pavemeutF,
No familiar face is fled—
Not one, even. in a thousand,
Knows who's dead!
THE GIP SEY' S REVENGE;
THE STOLEN CIIILD.
" Welcome, welcome, Aunt Ella," cried a
group of pretty, merry girls, as a sweet be
nevolent looking woman entered the drawing
room where they were conversing.
" We were just speaking about you, and
wishing you were here to tell us one of your
" Most willingly, my dear girls, would I
oblige you, but indeed I feel so sorrowful to
night, I fear my tales would fail to interest
" No fear of that, Aunt Nellie, but as you
are so sad, we will wait until some other eve
But she, dear kind auntie, seeing we were
disappointed, said, " girls, I will tell you the
cause of ray depression this evening ; but in
imagination I carry you back to- the days
when I was a laughing, light-hearted girl like
yourselves. Full of life and gladness, I tripped
gaily along the pathway of life, plucking
flowers of affection from every bower, little
thinking that my bright dreams would so soon
be dispelled by the dark clouds of bitter mis
" Our house was a perfect paradise ; con
tent and happiness beamed on every inmate's
face. One evening as we were enjoying the
pure pleasures of the social circle, a tap was
beard at the door, and a servant entered, an
nouncing to my father that a stranger desired
to see him.
" lie instantly rose, and upon leaving the
room was met by a tall dark man, wrapped
in a heavy cloak.
• "I presume you are Dr. Austin," said the
-man, looking earnestly at my father, who
graciously smiled assent.
" Well, Doctor, my wife is dangerously ill,
and I want you to come with all possible baste
:to see her."
• "Is she very ill ?" inquired my father, who
-did not relish the idea of leaving home on
such an inclement night.
- • " Yes, very," replied the man, sternly, "so
for God's sake be quick, Doctor, or she will
be dead before we reach my home—home he
repeated—once indeed it was a happy one—
earth's choicest gifts were mine—but now,
ruined and desolate; and she, its light, its
beauty, my wife, my own darling wife, dy
ing, surrounded by misery and want. Oh,
my God," he groaned in • deep agony, "if it
is thy will spare me this dreadful trial."
" My father, gently touched him as he sat
with his face buried in his hands, saying the
horses were ready. In a moment they were
rapidly driving to the stranger's home, and
" onward, onward, for the sake of Heaven,"
were the only words he uttered.
" Alighting at a miserable cottage, at the
outskirts of the city, the man pushed open a.
creaking door, and entering a miserably cheer
less room, beckoned my father to approach
.the bed upon which the sick woman was ly
"My father saw in a moment that no hu
4aan aid could avail .ber anything ; and it
was with reluctance be imparted the news to
her despairing husband ; but he, in Whose
bosom the lamp of her life was not yet extin
guished, begged thy father to do something
at least to relieve the sufferer.
" William. come near me—l wish to speak
to you ere I depart," murmured the dying
" The man arose, and kneeling by the bed
side, took her pale, thin hand in his, and
kissing it fondly exclaimed, " Oh, my Mary,
little I thought when first I clasped this loved
hand in mine, and pledged before God's holy
altar to love and protect you forever, and
when I took you from your friends to share
my home and heart, oh, Mary, I never dreamed
that this would be the end of it—wretch that
I am—why did I not leave you in the midst
of the comfort and affluence that once was
yours, and you would have escaped this mis
" William," said the sufferer gently, "
am dying ; do not disturb my last moments
by thoughts like these, for never did I regret
my choice—and if wealth and luxury were
mine, I would give them all for thee."
" My father who had been standing at the
window, was about to leave, when the woman,
who had forgotten his presence, motioned him
to draw near.
" Listen, Doctor, to what I have to say.—
It does not, indeed, concern you, and perhaps
1 am trespassing on your kindness, but I feel
with the goodness of your noble heart you
will listen to my story."
" .11Iy father seated himself, while the wo
man related as follows :
"Mine, Doctor, has been a strange fate ;
and short though ,my life has been, it has
been an eventful one. I have no remem
brance of my parents, for in my childhood I
had no settled home, but led a wandering life
with a gipsy band, who ever treated me with
great kindness ; yet I always fancied I did
not belong to them ; but at the time the thought
troubled me little, for =I was too full of gaity
to think long on anything serious. From a
wild, frolicsome child, I grew up to be a tall
girl of sixteen, beloved by the band of dark
gypsies, and was treated as a queen among
them. My slightest word was law, and it was
strange to see the tenderness and respect
which they tendered to me.
"But they had been branded as outlaws,
and the government had set a large price
upon their beads. One day we had taken
refuge in a cavern, after being hunted as wild
beasts, when we were suddenly surpriged and
captured by a large body of constabulary.
" We were put in prison, and after a short
trial the band were condemned to death ; but
my youth gained me friends, and the venera
ble Judge, who had taken an interest in me,
having no children, adopted me as his own.
" I. wept bitterly at the terrible fate of my
old companions, whom I sincerely loved, and
as I was bidding them a last adieu, the chief,
who was a stern mysterious man, called me
to him, handed me a small box, bade me on
my honor never to open it until my twenty
first birthday. Solemnly vowing to do his
bidding, I bade them a last farewell.
" My home with the judge and his beauti
ful wife was all that I could desire ; they loved
me tenderly, and did all in their power to
make me happy. I had the best masters, and
every attention was paid to my education.
" At eighteen I entered society as the adop
ted daughter of Judge Dudley; was well re
ceived, and reigned a belle during the whole
season. My adopted father, who was very
proud of me, intended that I should make a
great match, but when I told him that I had
bestowed my affections on my William, his
rage knew no bounds. Ile declared that no
beggar should win me, and bade me hence
forth consider his friend, the Hon. Jasper
Singleton, as my future husband.
" I replied that I would never wed any per
son but William, and that it would be useless
to urge me in the matter. I was indignant
at his applying such an epithet to William,
who was a man of rare talents and a young
lawyer struggling to attain an honorable po
sition in the world.
" Hoarse with anger, he bade me begone.
" Too long," said he, " have I harbored you,
ungrateful girl, in my home, never thinking
that like a viper you would sting me when I
least expected it. Begone !" he cried, as he
almost hurled me from his house.
"Loving my adopted father, I sought to be
reconciled to him, but he was deaf to my en
treaties unless I would give up William.
" That week William and I were married,
and humble though our home was, happiness
ever hovered around us, until one unfortunate
day my husband was riding in haste to a
neighboring town, when he was thrown from
his horse and severely hurt. For weeks his life
was despaired of. Night and day I watched
by the bedside of my only earthly hope, and
the Almighty at last rewarded my efforts and
spared my husband's life. During the ex
citement I had forgotten that we were almost
penniless, and soon the reality stared us in
face. We were forced to leave our pretty
cottage, and William, whose weakness pre
vented his working, with unutterable agony
watched me as I endeavored to earn a small
pittaroe to sustain life. But my constitution
was not strong, and I was soon attacked by
a dangerous illness which is wasting my life
away. I have but a short time to live, Doc
tor, and as this is the anniversary of my
twenty-first birthday, I would, before I die,
have the mystery which 'hangs over my life
unraveled. Doctor, please hand me that box
lying on the mantel. Poor William," she
said;stooping over and kissing her husband's
pale brow, " be comforted."
" My Mary," be murmured, " I will never
know comfort again."
" My father, as desired, opened the box
and took Out a bundle of papers, and was
about handing them to the man, when the
woman said, William is too agitated, Doc
tor will y,ou be kind enough to read them
aloud ppirself ?"
" A slip of paper fell from his hand, and
on picking it up, my father read:
"(Ibis is to certify that the child Mary,
whd has lived with our band for years, is the
daughter of Dr. Austin, of B- , stolen
by Me to avenge my wrongs in winning from
me the only being I ever loved. lam dying,
' . '''' . .: . :: ::,,,,54:f , i 1 . ...;, : .::: • -,;.:,,
and I seek to repair the only injury done to
one I once loved."
" Emanuel Vallerino, my child, my child 1"
cried my father, bending over his new found
daughter. "My darling Mary, for whom I
have mourned for long years ; is it thus I be
hold you; my God, spare, oh, spare my child,"
he said with frantic emotion, kissing her.
" Father, father ?" was all she could mur
mur, as she sank back exhausted upon her
" I am thy father, too ; love me
as a son. Our loved one may yet live; but
if it is God's will to take her, we will never
" Unable to speak, the husband clasped
warmly my father's hand.
" We wondered father did not return that
night, and were not a little astonished to see
him driving madly up to the house next morn
ing, and, in excited tones,
ordering the ser
vants to place a bed in the easy old family
carriage, and directing my mother to prepare
. a sick person. Without - waiting
to give any explanation, he hurried back to
the sick, and in about an hour he and Wil
liam tenderly carried in the sick woman and
laid her in the soft, comfortable bed which
my mother had prepared.
" Calling her into the library, he told who,
the stranger was. The shock was too great
for my mother, and she swooned upon the,
floor. Upon recovering, she gazed wildly'
about, murmuring, " My Mary, my little one, ,
have they brought you back ?"
" Oh, how affecting was the meeting be
tween my mother and her long lost daughter ;
and when I kissed my sister's hand, I felt that
I would willingly give my life to save hers.
" Mother," she asked one day, " do tell me
who was Emanuel Vallerino."
" My child," said mother with a sigh, he
was my adopted brother, and only in that
light did I ever regard him ; but he, unknown
to me, loved me with all the fervor of his pas
sionate nature. He declared 'his affection fur
me, but I told him I was the affianced of your
father. He then vowed before heaven, if
ever I became the wife of Hubert Austin, he
would be avenged. I heeded not his threat,
and soon after was married. A few years
after you were born you were stolen from us.
In vain we searched in every direction, but
could find no clue to our lost darling—and
long, long, my Mary, we have mourned you
" The night wind wailed sadly around our
home as the shadow of death deepened upon
the, brow of sister - Mary.
‘` Father William —Mother all come
near me," she murmured faintly. " I would
see you all before I depart. Good-by," she
exclaimed, kissing us affectionately. " Oh,
do not weep for me ; I am leaving you but for
a time ; and oh, what a happy re-union ours
will be when we meet in yon bright spirit
land. But hush, they are coming. I see
their arms ont-stretched to greet me. I hear
the music of the heavenly Jerusalem. Fare
well earth—farewell, all that is dear to me,
farewell. Almighty God, unto thee I com
mend my spirit. Jesus, receive my soul."—
And with one faint gasp, the soul of my be
loved sister was wafted to the realms of bliss.
" It would be needles for me to picture our
grief at her loss. It was heartfelt—earnest ;
and poor William at this moment needed all
our tenderest sympathies.
" Girls," said Aunt Ella, as she saw the
tearful eyes of her attentive auditors, " this
night is the anniversary of that death-bed
scene. Do you wonder, then that lam sad ?"
" Oh no, darling Aunt Ella," they all ex
claimed, " It was a scene too touching ever
to be forgotten ; but tell us, auntie, is dear,
good Uncle William, who is always so kind,
yet sorrowSul, the William of whom you
" Yes, girls ; he has never forgotten his
idolized wife ; and I often thought when you
were teasing him about getting married, what
deep wounds you must have inflicted on his
" Had we known we were inflicting pain,"
said the girls, sobbing, " we would not for a
moment think of tormenting him ; but the fu
ture will show how sorry we are for the past."
From that day many a blessing did Wil
liam Warrington bestow upon the fair young
girls who sought to sooth his melancholy, and
by a thousand acts of kindness to render him
happy; and they who loved him as a brother,
found in him that friend which the young
need, a sincere and truthful counsellor in
every act of their lives.
THE DOCTOR OUTWITTED.—When Doctor
Bodge, an electic physician, was lecturing on
the laws of health and particularly on the evils
of tea and coffee, he happened to meet one
morning at the breakfast table, a witty son
of Erin, of the better class.
Conversation turned on the Doctor's favor
ite subject ; he addressed our Irish friend as
" Perhaps you think I would be unable to
convince you of the deletorions effect of tea
and coffee ?"
" I don't know said Erin, " but I'd like to
be there when you do it I"
" Well," said the Doctor, " if I convince•
you that they are' injurious to your health,
will you abstain from their use ?"
" Shure and I will, sir."
"How often do you use coffee and tea ?"
asked the doctor.
" Morning and night, sir."
" Well," said the Doctor, " do you ever ex
perience a slight dizziness of the brain on go
ing to bed ?"
" I do—indade I do," replied the noble son
"And a sharp pain through the temples,
in and about the eyes, in the morning."
" Troth, I do, sir."
" Well," said the Doctor, with an air of
confidence and assurancein his manner, "that
is the tea and coffee."
"Is it, indeed ? Faith and I always
thought it was the whisky I drank."
The company roared with laughter, and
the Doctor quietly retired. He was beaten.
ZJiir' Some persons can be everywhere at
home; others can sit musingly at home and
HUNTINGDON, PA,, JUNE 6, 1860.
The Rat-Tali Cactus
The N. Y. Leader, in giving a sketch of
the late Mike Walsh, relates of him when a
member of Congress, the following story,
which, though old, is worth repeating, as no
one can by any possibility read it without
At the foot of the capitol gardens at Penn
sylvania avenue, (on the right band side as
you are fronting that building,) is an en
closed space—national property—containing
one or more tenements and some conservato
ries and hot-houses. Here for some years
past, and until his death, enjoying Uncle
Sam's patronage, sojourned a Frenchman,
learned in botany and many other sciences.
Some companions, while passing these prem
ises, were vaunting his acquirements to Mike
who from a spirit of contradiction, called
them in question. Ile doubted whether these
eminent botanists knew the difference be
tween oats and wheat, and believed, he said,
that a Bowery boy could persuade them that
their corn was clover. Finally, Mike under
took, "botanically," to deceive the French
man with whatever he could pick up where
they stood, in the lane skirting his premises.
From a wreck of flower pots and rubbish, he
selected one sound pot and a rat lying next
the heap. Placing the rat in the flower pot,
be covered it up with mould, leaving out the
tail, which be fixed perpendicularly by tying
it carefully to a small green rubbish. lie
next called on the Professor, and told him
that a friend, Lieut.
having touched at one of the Islands of the
then terra incognita, Japan, had excited some
interest,) had presented him with a very cu
rious kind of cactus. This he wished the
Professor to examine. No one, Mike said,
had been able to make it out, and he might
have it for ten years and not find five people
who would ; so he hardly felt justified in
keeping it out of the public collection, and
yet he did not like to part with a keepsake
from a "friend."
The Professor eagerly repaired to examine
the vegetable curiosity. After a close inspec
tion he determined what it was, or at least
christened it by a fine Greek name—two
words, as Mike said, averaging sixteen let
ters. The Professor exhausted himself in
persuading Mike that the interests of science
required that he should sacrifice to them the
sentiments of friendship, by surrendering
this rare production of the vegetable king
dom to the keeping of the botanist. The re
luctant Mike eventually consented, on the
willing and solemn assurances of the Pro
fessor that it would be tended to with the ut
most care ; and so it was. Placed in a hot
house, it was cautiously but carefully be
sprinkeled with water at a temperature of
seventy degrees by the thermometer. It was
noticed and described in the National Intelli
gencer. The notice was copied into other pa
pers. The plant was exhibited with pride to
several eminent individuals; at length with
the heat and moisture the tip of the tail be
gan to exoriate. The Professor was delight
ed—it was budding. It was examined with
great interest by one of the chief patrons,
" the Great Daniel," to whom the botanist
promise& one of the first slips for Marshfield.
" It was too good a joke to keep," said Mike,
" especially in a hot-house, so before long
they smelt a rat." The wrath and shame
of the Professor was excessive, and so was
the indignation of the great Daniel, not at
the author of the joke, but at the unfortunate
botanist, whom he stigmatised as a ",d--d
frog-eating Frenchman, through whom he
bad been taken in, and ought to have known
I Wish and I Will
I wish I could play on the piano as well as
Miss Hellott," said Ellen Rose.
" Well, so you will, when you have had as
many years' practice," was the reply.
" I mean now, without waiting so long."
" I wonder if wishing will make her a good
player," thought I. " If wishing were efforts,
most men would he great."
" I wish I knew as much as you do Miss
Emily," said the same young lady.
"So you may if you will study and improve
" I wish I knew as much now."
" Knowledge does not come into your head
of its own accord, Miss Ellen ; you have to
put it there by efforts of your own."
" I wish I knew my lessons."
" Sit down and study them, and you will
soon have your wish."
"I do not feel in the humor of studying;
I'd like to know them without."
" I wish," must be a great help to you,
you say it so often. If I could discover the
magic, I would use it myself, but it must be
invisible to all but yourself, for I cannot see
that you accomplish a great deal by it after
"Now you are laughing at me. It does
not do me any good I suppose ; but it is so
easy to say it, and I do really wish what I
" No doubt you do, if you could get it with
out any trouble. I wish' is a lazy friend of
yours ; he isn't any profit to you. Suppose
you turn him off and take instead
word for it, you will find that he helps
you more than the other. He is the very sou}
of industry ; and he accomplishes more in
an hour than wish' does in a life-time.—
Say will' learn my lessons, and there will
be no occasion for I wish I knew them.'—
You will cut the acquaintance of your old
friend when you have tried the new one, I
Ellen laughed. "Well," she said "I don't
like to dissolve old friendship ; but I will try
your advice, that is if I can remember; but
' I wish' is easier to say than ' I will,' is to
Her resolution is good; let us follow it.—
'I will' is the brave word that conquers all
ZEir " There's a brandy smash," as the wag
said, when a drunken man fell through a
pane of glass.
ZEir A Dutchman went into a cooper shop,
and asked for an empty barrel of flour, to
make his dog a hen-coop.
Editor and Proprietor
The Lamb Asleep
Are there those who believe that the Good
Shepherd has not many lambs to feed ? Cer
tain it is that they are often overlooked—by
all but Him—and that He is often carrying
them unheeded through our midst.
Tenderly has be drawn little Anna S—
to His side ; and very trustfully she treasured
His words and watched for His coming, so
that though no sickness paled her cheek,
her soft blue eye seemed ever looking into
She had read—" Do this in remembrance
of me"—read it longingly, yet the prudent
"not now" that fell from the lips of her
doating mother sent the child away in pa
tience to do what she could.
Time passed away, and ere she came again
with her timid request, the light which the
great Teacher had placed in her small hand
had grown so bright that old and young had
felt its great rays, and said wonderingly that
God was glorified. The grave minister came.
Many and subtle were his questionings.—
The mother sat by fearing and trembling ;
but there was no cloud on the young under
standing—none on the heart.
" The child has been taught of God," he
said. Then he laid his hand on her silky
hair and looked misgivingly into the sweet
childish face, as though wondering whether
it might not compromise his dignity to place
her before the great congregation, shook his
Lead and went away.
There was no murmuring sound from the
child's lips, but the sad, uncomplaining fea
tures dwelt with the mother all that night,
and with the early dawn she softly sought
the spot where her darling slept. Slept ?
yes—with her hands beseechingly together,
as though asking the Lord Jesus for that
which man refused to give, she slept the long
sleep—for on that still night, though none
but the angels saw and heard, the Saviour
turned from his eternal feast above, saying
'Suffer the child to come unto me;' and his lov
ing arms opened to receive the gentle suppli
ant, she went meekly into their clasp, leav
ing a tear on the little white face for a testi
mony unto them.-2 etv MrA; Observer.
ENCOURAGING A NEWSPAPER.—The follow
ing incident illustrates pretty forcibly the
idea that some people appear to have of en
The editor and publisher of a paper of
one of our inland cities, had a few years ago,
among his subscribers quite a prominent in
dividual of the place, who had been a con
stant reader of the paper since the com
mencement of the publication, but who had
never paid a penny fur subscription.
The collector of bills having returned that
against the delinquent to its employer as one
impossible to convert into cash, the editor re
solved to give the party in question a broad
hint as to his remissness the first time an op
portunity should occur in public. He did not
have to wait long, for in a few days he dis
covered his negligent patron seated in the of
fice of the principal hotel, surrounded by
quite a group of his friends, and disposing of
cigars and other little luxuries sufficient to
have liquidated at least one year's subscrip
tion. When the laugh at the joke had sub
sided, the editor approached the group, and
after the usual salutation to his subscriber,
" Colonel, you have-had my paper now for
five years, and never paid for it, r hough the
bill has been frequently sent. I should like
my pay for it."
" Pay ?" ejaculated the Colonel, with genu
ine or well-feigned astonishments , " did you
say pay ?"
"Certainly," was the reply, "you have had
the paper, and I want pay for it. '
" Pay!" said the Colonel again, "why it
can't be you expect me to pay anything for
your paper, why, I only took the blamed
thing to encourage you !"
The laugh from the circle of listeners to
this dialogue came in here, like the bursting
of a bomb-shell.—Commercial Bulletin.
How bIR. GOTLEIB BROKE the PONY.—Chon
you reekermember dat little plack bony I
pyed mit the bedler next veek ?"
" Yoh, vot of him."
" Notings, only I gits sheated burdy pad."
" Yah. You see in de vurst place he ish
plint mit bote legs, unt ferry lame mit von
eye. Den ven you gits on him to rite, he rares
up pehint and kiks up pefore so Terser as a
chackmule. I dinks I dake him a liddle rite
yesterday, unt no sooner I gits straddle his
pack he gommence dat vay, shust so like a
vakin peam on a poatsteam ; unt von he gits
tone, was so mixed up mit eferydinks, I vents
minezelf zittin arount packvards, mit his dail
in mine hants vor de pridle."
" Veil, vot you going to do mit him 2"
" Oh, I vixed him better as cham up. I
hitch him in to cart mit his dail yore his heat
out to be ; den I gife him about so a tozen cuts
mit a hidecow ; he starts to go, put so soon
he see to cart pefore him he makes packwards.
Burdy soon he stumbles pehint, unt sits town
on his banches, unt looks like be veel purty
shamed mit himself. Den I dakes him out,
hitch him in de rite vay, unt he goes rite off
shust so goot as anybodys bony."
WITNESS THREE.—Shortly before he died,
Patrich Henry, laying his hand on the Bible
said: " There is a book worth more than all
others, yet it is my sad misfortune never to
have read it, until lately, with proper atten
tion." With voice and gesture, penitent, and
all his own, John Randolph said: " A terri
ble proof of our deep depravity is, that we
can relish and remember anything better
than THE nowt." When the shades of death
were gathering around Sir Walter Scott, he
said to the watcher,• " Bring the Book."
" What book l" asked Lockhart, hia son-in
law. " There is but one BOOK," said the dy
" Good morning, Mr. Gramm ; what
is the news to-day?" " Oh, there is no
news ; my wife was sick yesterday, and didn't
go out; no news—no news !"
Vir Love thy neighbor as thy self.
The dairying season is now at full tide; the
milk pails overflow with their foaming treas
ures, the pans are crowned With rich cream,
and golden nuggets of butter are ready for
transportation to the market, there to be min-:
ted into solid coin. The quantity of dairy
products brought to this market would sur
prise a novice; the quality of much of it
still more astounding. An average of 500-
000 lbs. of butter per week is consumed in
New York city and vicinity ; 100,000 lbs.
would be a full estimate of the prime article
to be found in the whole quantity. The pried
paid for the best sorts; oter the inferior,
would seem to be inducement enough to fur
nish a good article in abundance, but, when
purchasing family supplies, we have often
sampled and tasted large lots—smelling was
enough in many eases—without finding a sin
• gle desirable firkin. Scarce a country house
keeper would allow such trash to appear on
her table; indeed, visitors from the country
find the poor butter here one of the greatest
drawbacks to their pleasures at the table.--
Why then is such butter sent here? From:
some sections, no doubt, because it is poor.
A neglected churning is found unfit for
family use, and is "sent to the store" in bar;
ter for other necessaries ; the merchant pays
one price to all customers, packs it all, yel-:
low and pale, pure and poor, waxy and greasy
in one firkin ; the better quality is soon cor
rupted by evil communication, and when
opened in market, all is thoroughly vile. If
country dealers would fix the price according
to the quality, much of this would be reme
died. Housekeepers have little encouragement
to do their best, when a pound of grease, fit
only for the soap-maker, buys as much sugar
as a pound of good table butter.
Dairymen who produce a really superior
article are often surprised at the small returns
received from the distant market. Their
neighbors exult in two or three cents more
per lb. obtained for the same quality, and
sold by the same commission merchant=
there must be a mistake somewhere. The
mistake is at the dairyman's door. His
neighbor procured new firkins or tubs this
spring, has kept them neatly painted, with
his name plainly marked in full upon the cov
er. A grocer or hotel-keeper was attracted
by the promising look of the package, tried
it, found it good; and engaged it for the sea;
son—the brand was established, and will al
ways sell well while it keeps its reputation:
Our less fortunate friend made the old pail an
swer, marked it With a cross or notch which
7e would know, and sent it along. `The weath
er worn and rusty pail was overlooked by the
best customers ; it was set with the second
sorts, and sold for second prices, to the joy of
the purchaser, and the loss of the economical
dairyman. Three cents per pound on thirty
weight of butter would pay 'for a new pail
But the great drawback in the quality of
our butter is the want of elbow grease. It is
not sufficiently worked. It leaves the dairy
apparently sweet and fresh, and is so for the.
time, but the ladle or roller was used, the
buttermilk and sour milk soon become rancid,
and five or ten cents per pound loss is the
penalty. It would be thought a hard law
that inflicted a fine of that amount for every
pound of poorly worked butter, but the inex
orable laws of trade do impose just such
fine ; no excuses are received, no penalties re
mitted, and there is no appeal. But on the
other hand, good butter, nicely packed, and
carefully forwarded to honest dealers, have.:
riably receives a premium, which we wish all
our dairymen would compete for, and part of
which we will cheerfully pay.—Anicrican Ag
A LADY'S DEFENCE or THE PRACTICE or
WEARING VEILS.—Some paper recently found
fault with the practice of wearing veils—
averred that it was "mischievously prevalent"
this year, and objects to it because " they are
so terribly annoying and tantalizing to
tive young men." To this a lady writer an
swers—with much truth—as follows
" This is ono of the very best reasons that
could be given for wearing them. Veils save'
women from a vast amount of annoying im
pertinence. It requires no small degree of
resolution fur a sensitive young girl to pass
the corner of a street where a knot of these
susceptible young men are congregated, know= .
ing that all the curious eyes will be turned
upon her, and that her eyes, hair, walk, dress,
size of shoes and gloves, will be marks of their
close and impudent observation. Veils have
a special sanitary use during the spring
months, in the protection afforded from the
disagreeable influences of the sun and wind ;,
but if comfort did not call for them, we should
advocate their use until young men acquire
the first rules of politeness and good manners
in their street deportment."
THE CATTLE DISEASE IN NEW ENCLAND.--;
The wholesale slaughter among the cattle af
fected with the pleuro-pneumonia, still contin-:
ues in Massachusetts. The doctors say that
the disease spreads by contagion, and every
animal suspected of having nipped a mouthful
of grass from a field in which the infected cat
tie were known to be, is doomed immediate=
ly to the slaughter. Some of the farmers are
beginning to repel a ‘ t this sacrifice of their'
animals. They say the whole thing is a de
lusion, that an unnecessary excitement has'
deen created about the matter, and that the
slaughter of cattle is reckless and unwarrant- -
able, and hereafter this present delusiou will
be classed with witchcraft and other excite
ments, which have so often carried away the'
New England mind. Those who entertain
the latter opinion are probably not far from
the truth. As the Slaughtering Committee'
are ceaselessly asking for money, the question
arises whether their official operations are
not more profitable to themselves than to tho'
QUEEN VICTORIA'S BIRTII-DAY.—Thursday, ,
last was the 42d anniversary of the birth of
Queen Victoria, an event which was hand
somely celebrated by the British residents of
New York. Mr. Archibald, the English con
sul, had a large dinner party, all the British
vessels in port displayed their,llags, and the
Cunard steamer Persia, dressed in the flags'
of all nations, fired a royal salute of 21 guns.
The day was similarly observed in Boston.
Vir At a late term of the Scott county, Miss.,:
circuit court, a man named Mathew Jordon
was found guilty of betting a dime with n mi
nor, and sentenced to pay a fine of $3OO and'
be confined in the countyjail for three months.
lie was indicted for betting with a minor
knowing him to be such, and had he been con
victed on that he would have gone to the Pen.- -
itentiary for two years.
zirEs-President Pierce and lady are in
New York. The Ex-President has changed
his appearance a good deal by lettinghis beard
grow, and a very grisly crop it is. Mr. Pierce
smiles a little more than be was in the habit
of smiling when a tenant of the White House.
We Want Good Buttei;