The globe. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1856-1877, June 06, 1860, Image 1
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Itiert AP,orett)J. WE - LO ES DEAD 1- VILLAGE AND CITY! BY JOllti A. 'WILLIS VILLAGE 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! -c$ cleft THE GIP SEY' S REVENGE; -OR,- 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 delightful stories." " 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 you." " No fear of that, Aunt Nellie, but as you are so sad, we will wait until some other eve ning." 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 ery. " 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 ing. "My father saw in a moment that no hu 4aan aid could avail .ber anything ; and it DEMI $1 50 WILLIAM LEWIS, VOL. XV. 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 woman. " 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 ery." " 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, \ • 1 k?: ) ' . '''' . .: . :: ::,,,,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 pillow. " 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 be separated!' " 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 lo receive . 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 as dead." " 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 speak ?" " 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 breaking heart." " 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 follows : " 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 of Erin. "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 be everywhere.. -PERSEVERE.- 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 laughing : 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 better." 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 your time." " 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 all." "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 say." " 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 am sure." 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 do." Her resolution is good; let us follow it.— 'I will' is the brave word that conquers all difficulties. 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 heaven. 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 couraging newspapers. 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, remarked : " 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." So?" " 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 ing man." " 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. Rtisrtilanents Nam 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 every week. 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 riculturist. NO. 50. 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 sensi 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' fanners. 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;