fcf Anurifan wf Uoluntht. 'Wife \BRATTON. I ii PL. 37. |||teal. •?<;■“*•«*» cam* - : tu'.:'-$f h jtftvtae jfonlUUe beggar girl, v--.Vh ' -BcwiOW she thlngies in tho crowd, &<>• I- , i '. t/ia rich and proud, (&£■ • ~ j; • •Aod.beg.aloDg tho street. . *;■■■- ..ui r-. ' air, a penny eivo to rao, 1 1 ”JfMjßffopenny give,” cries uho, ..t”-AK“tet roe hurry homo,* ••' v. my mother sick In bed, ;. r.£:»£ air, for want.of broad— ' ■ d ponny-como. Oilr, In silken drcaa, •‘C(T r pity mjrdiatresa, m y parent dear— , *'mile ones haa aho to feed, :: f : { r.hj l Sty A nfcaho |a poor and weak Indeed, . r «#f norio to did and cheer.’? • maiden, rich and ftlr, u;v^ ;i T|TllfhiA»h tho children's starring cry, i . yAhd let my tnoibor Ilvo.'* 1 j* treat she begging up and down <• •• 11 swarming streets of that great town, wantssuppiied— i 'i f. >*» "baa did the pray, beseech, implore, ■ , ~’\AV death went in her dwelling door— her molherdlcd. tn ott, •-*■. T .• *,;< Sth* /O IhflfV.yc ftivored rich andgreal, '■ ■ ' Who move along In pomp and state, ■>'" ♦s'" 51 ' * Believe the need/poor; \ ‘Xj/j'i.-ri : Na*Bt:lei the widow droop and die, v 7 /for orphan ones for hunger cry, v ,v. *•- iw>y .'.While bounteous is your store. From the Boaton Poat. ■ ° ul ' DN ’ T-wop i' D woolen*! give much for a girl with a bonnet . c&tt fifty dollar* when Aral 11 waa new: ;A^j|KWiM > ' , apb r ta & large muff with a hairy tail on it, hang* down in front of it Juat a* it grew. dq’l give much for this lomalc— f.' Would You? - U«J r' - t:i 'J WoaMnH give much for a woman who prance*,. . .Promenading oil the thoroughfare* through; .Giviog tliank* to the cfcrfca, or clae amorous gtancci/ • ‘- ,l _'lSU4ugh to turn her ©yea alt aakew. ’ t give much for ilila female— i-;-. f i. • Would You? * n £ afterwards sent in by a lady YOU 1 much for a chan who it," Till bp’*.fuii every ceent of his legacy through, ■■■, VPbftM f|auwflng Chin has a huge goatee on it, '• '*T|UPb*m^vlown upon it Juat aa It grow. I fur this fellow— nuch for a diKp with a collar *' Tn»y»ttfcJeto stand up, almost over bis ear*. Vw wWU« WBlie kid gloves that cost over a dollar. tbfct belongs to some knight ol tho shears. X wgßkJttyitro much for this lollow— ■tLdi'.fiJif i* t rv"V .»• Ififcellimeotiflf. '» r r ■;> !t',v 5 - The .1 pqP/ctorial Dnwlng Room Companion.' [Wchanl’s Saturday Sight. > »T MRS. E. O. LOVBBINO. .*Vk«jk tetisahat we moot with people, who do not, v WMW^DWBa re, sympathize with the poor. They .OTOdbMywty contemplate (ho wretchedness of any qetug; tales of distress must touch their 'compassion. But too many, 1 fear, fe o nder9 l and and wa>mly commend the I may so speak, think the application of that theory tothu an * B of life. This error is not so much ofsolfishness or hardness of heart, as of such as business cares of life too foster In the most humane bosoms.— ■Tfa.fcilrf.iiTO 1 am about to write illustrates my . l OperOpJd Salurday evening in the month of Jan* of appeared in the midst of his family, with kindness and contentment. / of week was overhand be was *i ..rest* The stern brow of every-day holered that cheerful home, on a Sa- Kempton, in dressing-gown; ' not Mr. Kempton in the hablti- 9f tnejoountlng-room, nor did he, like cer tain, merchants I could name, look upon bis chiU 4rtn*s karoany.day-books and ledgers. •'.'Mr. KerhpldDsal down, then, in his comfortable Mttfilgtrdoih, with a group of cheerful faces about -hlqi, l f Theyooogest—u boy of twoyears—ho took tf¥w‘h|* llnee, Jfh’lle he questioned Maria, a fair touching her progress in those inlrl cilehranpheabr primary education, geography and ’gntmtdar ? !. l}he merchant had a kind word for hie \\ire, loo,aDd a playful sally for Aunt Edith, and abook,iuU,pf pictures for Jane, who was just be* Mr, Kempton really possessed hearts In the world. lODOcknswa man, residing in Albany, who «Ue4iaa little lor h(a family that, on one occasion, the second of-hls three children was absent from •bums aweek before he discovered that she took net bcraccustbmed place at table, nor her seat by (htttiraßldei Unlike this worthy member of sooia* tjr, Mr, ; -Kempton, immedialoly on entering the t)tUß'z«r|wt4« remarked tho absence of his eldest is Christopher V* ho asked, glancing - hajit gono to tho library for a book, 1 ’ replied cried tho morcltant, his eyes spark* jiM Wlili pleasure, for he loved that son. “I am nrfia more of books than of rude com ; jMny*AtjfqjMnis boon out of school only since New > titirsls for reading already.” Ml ft»i4»edi:wpd Mr. Kompton had taken up the /ttM «WBh«T'of-lho Family Magazine. There was tb*door, . Chrlelopher,’’said Mr. Kemp ought to havo a latch-key. Do you trust him with one!” he added oirfaU Wife. .'vmight;trust him with anything,” replied toVfood niolhei I ,' At that moment, a domestic en tered whh the Information, that, instead of Chris- at the door. >, ••Vyho isho, and what does ho wanl?”d6mand :*>H*#|fwnthat wants to speak with you a min- sir,” was tho reply, come lu.” iufjfefr . Beo you in the entry, sir. It’s pay 0 .” -; h'MtilWStefi’a brow darkened. Ho hated a thought nfadstncaa after bueinoss hours were over; Saturday night was he always >dlslb(dllfMftr,tha transactions of trade* Ho arose, however, without a word, and wont out, to send theunwwpmvaitilcor away. ‘ ; *AhtWdlU*agt^,^r° u Bbly-olad, able-bodied man, who had (he'aftMifcranco of an industrious laborer, ~tdokolf hie har, and bowed respectfully to Mr. Kempton* *r. •♦BoTcd*’ exclaimed Mr. Kemplon, much ear tpriswl.- 1 »•' <•1 beg your pardon, sir,” began the laborer, •Wfctlirvtrudlrigi but it'e a matter of necessity.” t interrupted Mr. Kempton, l * whit i™t ,rio y* y° u pl° a ßOi” replied Mr. TpMMrohant looked displeased. v-lj] “What do you cbme iome,fotl” he demanded severely.* • “Ourforeman pays the‘men; Why didn’t yon g 4 to himV* . , i; ,V j -••l,was aenl off with some goods, sir, ’ replied the laborer, in an humble lone, “and.beforelcould get back, the store was closed, and the foreman gone. ‘ 1 have been Working for. you only a week," added the man, “and it’s such a small matter that •1 hatfed to come to you; but, sir, 3 ’ in a trembling .voice, “I have a large family, and if 1 don’t have toy wages at the end of every week, we have but Utile to comfort ourselves with of a Sunday.” “That’s not my affair,” exclaimed Mr..Komp ton with impatience. “1 intend that all my meh should have their pay on Saturday night; if they' don’t get it, lam not to blame. 1 oan’t have poo. pfe running to ray house with tbeso matters. You must wait until Monday, Mr. Boyce, and X warn you to be more careful in future.” *. The man bowed stiffly, and went away without a word. Aa soon as thedoorolosedonMr. Boyce, the merchant passed his hand quickly across bis brow. . “I.might have given the fellow six or eight dol lars, as well as not,” thought he, “and perhaps he really needs it. • He looked earnest and honest.— But it is well l didn’t, after all. It won’t do to encourage such proceedings. He will be more careful next time. . The,cloud passed from the merchant’s brow, and the poor. laborer was forgotten, as Mr. Kempton entered his aitling-roora again, smiling kindly up* on’hia family, ' Christopher had not arrived. Some time after* wards* when Aunt Edith had retired with the chil dren* Mrs. Kempton expressed her concern for his absence, • ought to be back by this time,” observed the .merchant, 1 . . . ' At last; quick, light, merry footsteps wereheard in the street; and then, the door bell rung again, and Mr. Kem'pioh knew his son had arrived; ■ A rosy-cheeked-boy of fifteen, flushed with ex oUement, entered the.room with his coal buttoned closely under his-chin, and his .throat muffled by a tippet. He looked handsome, as he stood there, erect'before his admiring parents, his dark eye beaming with'generous pride aud kindly'enthu siasm. > i ; u O % I’ye had such an adventure!” he exclaimed. «m telljou about it, as soon as 1 can. catch, my breath.” . . .. ‘ V u Gq to the fire, child,”'said Mrs. Kempton, ♦‘you must be cold,” “Coldt •> 1 haven’t thought of that,” replied Christopher,, unbuttoning his coat, and taking a small volume out of hia bosom. . ' Would You ? “Well, what about your ad venlurel” asked Mr. .Kempton, , :; “dYlpu.reraember'the money you gave me for the Blelgh‘ride''nexlTueBdayl” “Yes, child/* ' Would Yout “lluve spent it,’’.cried Christopher, laughing. “Very .well; 1 told you you could do what you liked with it,” replied.'Mr. Kempton; interested. "So you thought, you should like something else better than a sleigh ridel” - didn’t cate much for the ride,” said the boy, thoughtfully, U 1 shall be jusl as weil off if I don’t go 1 suppose- .Hat i’ll tell you‘how I used'the money/*,,; • ‘ ~ v.-si.-.-. . “tJil'down', my,aon,andwe r wifilicar your,ad venture/* remarked, the merchant* ~f /= " Accordingly Christopher sat down ,and‘ related hie story. 1 : ‘ . “1 satv a poor follow In the street, 1 ’ he began, “and heard complaimnglo;ariolher man abouthis hard luck. “I have-not a morsel of meatfor my whole family, tomorrow,” sald.ho,and lyvassure he spoke in earnceu . “Il’atoo bad, 1 ' said the other one, “for an industViou?, hard-working man like you/ 1 ! thought it Was too bad; 100, Tf the poor fellow,had spoken the truth. Then I remembered that I had five dollars, which wouldn’tdb mtmuch good, if l;went riding, but which might mako a whole family happy/*, • . Thu merchanr and his wife exchanged glances full of pride and affcctidn. Proud, indeed, were they, at that moment, of that beloved son I ‘•So you gave the poor man your money**’ ob-' served,-.Mr. Keinptoo»ifn a half-reproving, half* Indulgent tone. ‘-It was very kind and noble in 1 you, Christopher, but you should you give, for the world is full of impostori,” “I know it, father. Dul 1 didn’t think it right that this poor man should be left to suffer because another man was an impostor; sol though; I would find out. the truth of the case, and then give him ioy money*.if he was not an imposier.” •*YoU were right, fny son,” said Mr, Keropton, approvingly. AS he epuUe, a o)oud darkened the merohani’e brow. ; Perhaps he remembered the poor man whom ho had-sent away with a reproof, half an hour before. "Dul what do you think I d!dl”’cried Kit, "i’ll tell you. 1 followed him—l watched him till he had got home.”. ; "There’s prudence for you!” exclaimed. Mr. Kempton to his wife, aside* "What a noble boyl’Vraurmered the fond mo ther. • She could scarcely see her son at that moment, through the tears which dimmed her eyes. . , "You followed the man home?” said the merch ant. "Yes, he lives in an old house down in Purchase street/ I was a little frightened at first* to find myself alone in such a dismal place; but I .was sure there was no harm in going there, so- I foil bold again.” "Dio you go int” "Yob. Two or three families live In the house, and the door wasn’t shat* so I walked in for all the world au if 1 was a rent-collooior or a police man. Then I was In a fix.” “Don’t use slang words,child,” said Mr. Kemp* ton. , , . 4i A perplexing predicament,” added the boy gravely. “I didn't know tho man's name, nor what part of the house he lived'in. But'asT haw people going up and downstairs, I thought I could so upend comedown again, aa well as any body, I round, though, that I had counted rny cnlcbens '—prematurely. The passages were 1 dork; and 1 stumbled on the first flight. That Was a lucky stumble, in the end; for a door opened at tho lop of the stairs, and a wmpap oamo out with a lamp . But 1 had got upon my feet, and eo she went back Into tho room again, leaving tho ,door open about so much,” said Christopher, measuring off a piece ofhla hand. “It was to light the passage forme, I suppose. But I didn’t go up any Causo wbyl” “Slang phrases, Christopher?” “Shaill expound my motions?” pursued the boy, smiling at tho amendment. “1 saw my man doubled up over a miserable little black stove; Ho had three or four children around him, and they ail looked hungry and cold. 1 was going to march right In and stick ray ‘V’ la his fist*—l moan place in hia hand my half oagto in paper currency,” “Thai’s bollerl" “Out then, thinks I to myself, .supposing tbb man fools insulted, and kicks mo down stairs?— Besides,! was sure 1 should feel so awkward, stepping op to him, and saying, ‘Hero, my good fellow, Is.a check for you—l mean, something to purchase edibles wliM 1 and 1 foil that I could not dp it. While I was hesitating, 1 hoard tho woman ask him ifhecould get no money, and say she had nothing to last the family over Sunday. “I am sorry," said ho, “but I can’t holp it; rtewlll hwe CARLISLE, PA-, THURSDAY, JUNE 5, 1851.' c' \ to get aTong with crusts until Monday.”. And then he looked sad, and the youngest children’be* gan to cry. 1 was still hesitating, when a young chap came up the stairs, and I asked him, “Who lives in that room!” “Poor Joe Boyce," said he. “Boybe!” exclaimed Mr. Kempion, starting. “Joo Boyce,” replied Christopher/ “Go bn! go on!” • “Upon that, I stumped down the stairs again,” pursued the boy, ; “Without giving the poor man your moneyl” cried. Mrs. Kempton. ' ; “Yes—! had on idea, mother. Sba if it was not a good'one. I ran to Jones’s as fast asl could go, and there 1 bought a goose and a turkey, and the biggest piece of beef Jones would let me have for (Ay money. I remembered the number of: the house in Purchase street; and 1 gave it to Jones’s man,-When I paid for the fodder—l should say provisions, and.said, ‘>Up one'flight—firsl door to your left* and don’t stnmblo as 1 did, and (ell Mr. Boyce these came from Mr. Kempton,-and don’t answer any questions.” “My. noble boy!” .exclaimed Mrs. Kempton, oatching Christopher in her arms; “Why did you say they oame.irom mel” asked the melchanl, with a severe brow. .. “Forgive file, father—but 1 was sure you would not be displeased,-whenyou knew all,” replied the boy, Mr. Kempton perceived by his son’s mannbr, that a portion of his story yet remained unloWU— Christopher -had not fully explained his motives for acting ib the manner he hadV, Suspecting that the affair was connected in some .Way with the in; considerate manner In which the boot laborer had been turned from his door on that 'evening, \he merchant felt interested to know more. ‘ . “You have kept back something, my son,” said ho. “I forgive you for using my name, if yod will confess the whole affair. It is not.noble to keepanything back.”. ' Thus urged, Kit continued: “To be frank,” said he, hi was coming home, and .had got to the corner eiit here, when 1 saw. Mr. Boyce come out of our house, and meet a man, who appeared to have been waiting for him out* side. As they passed me, I heard them talking, as 1 told you at first. But, Mr, Boyce said, “Mr. Kempton is a good man for aught,! know,arid one who k doeS as he agrees; but he is a hard and un feeling man for allihat.” And when I hear per sons say such things of you, dear'father,” contin ued Christopher, “1 always-want to; show them how wrongly they judge you. 'This is why,l, fol lowed him. I was eure.il was want that.made him speak so of you, and I thought you Would have relieved him if you had known how much ho needed only a few-dollars. So I said the provi sions -came from you; for it. is true that ho owes them to your kindness.” '“Howabl” 1 “Did you not give me the' money to uael” asked Christopher. • “Yes, my dear boy,” replied Mr. Kempton.— “But when I hsd given U to you, it was yours.— I am glad that you sent Mr. Boyce the provisions, but you should not have told him they came from me. 1 will see him bn Monday and cotrccl the, error. . I admire, your/eelinga and iiioiives:pvs.boy —and herd’ls another ‘V.’ as you call it, for the sleigh-ride onTucaday.” V*!*' ' “O, thaqk ' Mr. Kempton-walked to and. fro, in a.thought ful mood, for some minutes* then his brow cleared again, and he smiled on Christopher, who was beginning to fear that his father-was displeased. “My son,” said he, in a lone foil* of kindness and affection, “ you have taught mo a lesson, to night.” , > t '• “Yes/ChrietophcT, Mr. Boyce is’‘pne of* my workmen. He was not paid at thecounting-room, this.cvening, as he should have been, and be came to me for money,’ which I refused him, merely be cause 1 didn’t like to be troubled with business after business hours. I did nof consider, that 1 was acting uncharitably; and the lesson you -have taught me, is, this:, always to pause and consider the importance pf a poor.man’s claims, and the worthiness of tho individual, before turning him* coldly away.” 1 . , We. may hope Ibatjtlr.. Kempton never forgot that lesson, and that Christopher, encouroged'lo do good by such parents, will not Buffer his warm and generous heart to be chilled by the contact of the world. ' Ladies, you caged bird* of beautiful plumage, but ■icjdy looks j you pale pete of the parlor, vegetating in an unhealthy elude with a greenish, white com plexion, like.,that of ,a potato aproot in a dark, col. *sr—why don’t you go out in tho open air end warm eunehino, and add Jueiro toyoiit eyes, bloom to your cheeks, elasticity.to your steps,and vigor to .your frames?, Toko early morning exorcise—Jet loose your corset strings, and run up hill on a wager and down again for fun. Roam in tho fields, climb (he fences, leap (he ditches, wade the brook, 3 kpd'go home with an excellent appetite. Liberty thus ex orcised and enjoyed will render you hojllny, bloom ing and beautiful—as lovely as tho grace* and 'pro lific asDeverra. Tho buxom, bright-oydd, full WaeU od, bouncing lose—who can darn a stocking, mend trousers, make her own frocki, command a regiment of pots and kettles, feed the pigs, milk the cows, tod be a lady ,withal in company—is just the sort of girl for, mo or any other worthy young man to mar ry; but you, yo pining, lolling, screwed up wasp waisted, doll droned, putty faced, consumption mort gaged, music murdering, novel devouring daughters of fashion and idleness—you aro nu more fit for matrimony than a pullotls to look after a family of fourteen chickens. Tho truth is, my dear girls, you want, generally appaking, more liberty and lose fashionable restraint—more kitchen and Ices parlor —more exorcise and leas aofa—more pudding and leaa piano—more frankness and less mock modesty —more corned beef and leas corsets—more breakfast and lees bishop. Loosen yourselves a little; enjoy more liberty and lose restraint by fashion. Breathe the pure atmosphere of freedom, and become -some thing nesrly an lovely, and ;at : beautiful as the God of nature designed. Mr. Rcca, a wolf known street predoher In one of the eastern cilice, waa accosted by a would.bo w«g the other day* and questioned o> follows^ “Do yon believe whal the Bible says about tho prodigal pon end tho fatted calf?” “Certainly I do." “ Well, can you toll mo whether tho calf that was killed 'was a male 'or female calf?’* ,“,Yea t It waa a female calf.” “ How do you know that ?”. “ Because,” said Rocs, looking tho chap In the Ace, “ I ifeu the male is alive now.” A drunken; north countryman, returning, fVont a fair, foil asleep by (ho roadside, ivhero a pi; found him and began licking his mouth. Sawney roared out, ** WhoVkissin' mo noo? Yo ace Whal it la to ho woll Ukot among tbe losses 1” A Hit,'— ln .olden times tho mooting hoUßoe were filled vHth two one for each bo*.-** A minister at Newbury was interrupted one Sun day In his sermon by loud talking. He stopped short in his.dUcohrae, and remarked that he wish ed that the talking would cease In the gallery, di recting his eye at the aamo time to the woman’s Side, whereupon a venerable spinelor arose and said it was net In their gallery, but on the man’s •Idb.. “I’m glad of it; then,’’ replied thn parson, “for it will bo likely then to stop thaeponar-” . ‘ODR dobNTRT—MAY I T ALWAYS BK RIGHT—BDTE lallT OR WRONO , ODR COUNTRY 1 ’ To the Girls* DT DOW, JR. ... CHURCH SCANDAL* . That tall young fellow’s here to-day! 1 wonder whal’a bis name! His eyes are fixed upon our pew— ■Do look at Sally Dane;. Who.ls (hat lady dressed :in green } >lt can’t be Mrs. Leach! • There’s Mr. Jones with. Deacon Giles— *l worideHf he’ll preach 1 ' Lend ifio your fan; it is so warm, We both will sit at prayers; Mourning becomes (he widow Ames— How Mary’s bonnet.flares. Do look at Nanoy Sloper’a veilj Its full a breadth too wide; I.wonder if Susannah Ayres • . Appears to day a bride! Lord!-what a voice Jane Rice has got! .. Oh !-how„ that organ roars!/, I’m glad .we’ve left the singere’ seats— HoW- hard Miss Johnson snores. WliaVpgly shawls are those in front ? ; Did you observe! Ann Wild I ; Her new bonnet (rimmed with.black! . I guees she’s lost a child!. • I’oi half asleep—that Mr. Jones! , His sermons are so long: -This afternoon we’ll slay at home, Aqd practice, that new song. CHAUiVGTKn. . What life TS to the.body, or health'to the limbs— the telescope to (ho astronomer, or Iho oblsol (o ihjj BCutplor, that character’ is to an individual. -We might as well expect to bis able to fill: a bottomloal nlyai tmhope that, without a good oharaotcr, wo can be respected or esteemed. There is an innate prln. ciple in mstfrptacod there by the finger of his Crea tor, whicti obliges him, however degraded and fallen ho. may bo in the scale of moral existence, to Abhor that which U base and grovelling, and lightly, to os’, teem, and even to despise those whoso characters are debased.' Could wo read tha heart of man, this law of our nature would bo still moro evident; for why do we see that uneasy and fretful look overcast (he countenance of him who is ibout (o'commit noetic thing, contrary’ to the rcqulromcnlu of a virtuous life? No doubt hia.own better self is rising within him aud'chiding, perhaps cursing his folly; yet bound by the unyielding shackles oflnvolerslo hab it, ho as well attempt to silonoo Iho upbraid* logs of his aggravated conscience, as.lo desist from perpetrating his dark designs. Character, is the only genuine passport to credit und esteem;. Rogues and knaves, like iho wolf in iho fkblo, by assuming •a Delicious .exterior, may succeed foe a time in! do* coiving tho unwary and unsuspecting—yet their debased appetites and propensities wilt soon remove the roa.sk, ohd by disclosing them In their proper colors, will*,expose them to the odium they deserve. The valop cf a spotless character can haver bo too highly c£tHija(cd.> It forms iho only solid basis of happihdas.hpro pt hereafter, Possessed of it, our passage life-will bo happy and fortunate, unruiSed by Iho calumny of (ho inviduous slanderer; wa can drew the sweet waters of consolation from the Uhotiedgo of bhr'own innocence; 'without it U(*eiitela hsapmea » .harder, and. each auceosslvo monytuijXjyuLaxistenoo adds another to our misery; ouf pasTlifu wftl bo nko on empty cistofn, emitting no ofjcoHng ray (u brighten (ho gloomy prospects of Iho portentous future. - The fovo of character demands our consideration —ls an ennobling principle of our nature—disclaim ing, all connection with pride, it proposes to tlovato us beyond the ranks of surrounding creation. \Vo examine it fp alt its aspects; wo sift it to its utmost, and arc able ' to discover nothing that lessens the nature of man—but wo can see how beautifully It harmonizes‘.with the spirit of onr holy religion. The Grecian felt and owned its purity and Itssancli ly—lhc Roman'bowed Ih-Bolemn adoration at its shrine, and sacrificed upon its altars friends,, rela tions, and even, life itself. Tha tragical death of Lucrclia, andltho Kill moro modrnful end of Virgin ia, beggar au comment, exhibiting, in tho most powerful light,’ tho utter insufficiency of even the (ondcrcal tier of nature to dampen or extinguish that, indomitable iovo of moral purity which over characterized; that queen of nations. For It her poets sung, Hor philosophers toiled, her heroes bled. 'Twos this (hat lent an additional sweetness to ths honored narrift of Father, Brother, Friend. (alcd and modelled their intercourse with each other, counselled and advised in tho Senate chamber, arid swayed its powers In dictating terms of surrender to the vanquished foe, “Love of character was the Eiglo on -which Rome rose to glory.* 1 Nor 'are other nations wanting in, their estimation ofCharao ter. It is (ho boast of our own much iovod country —hor pride-in prosperity, hor refuge in adversity; and united with a well regulated liberty, it becomes (he foundation of her political perpetuity. Mrs. Partinotom’ii Last.— “ Cease, rude Bolus, blustering roller,” said . Mrs. Partington, as she leached out into tho storm to seouro a refractory shutter, and tho wind rushed la and extinguished her light and slammed the.door to,end fanned tho tiro in tho grate,, and rustled tho calico flounces upon (ho quilt, and peeped into the closet and under the bed, and contemptuously shook ’Mre. t Parting* ton’s night jacket as it hung airing ort a chair by tho Are, aqd flirted hqr cap border, op she looked out upon (ho night. U was a saucy gust. “How it blows 1" said sho, as she abut down t,lio window ; “1 hope heaved will keep tho poor sailors safe, Whb go down on tho tea in vessels; and the poor—God bless ’em—the poor indignant creatures (bat have none of the comforts of lifo. as wo have, poor creatures who aro forced to live in one room,and have a. bed in the very place where they > sleep—how 1 hope they may bo comfortable (hip blustering night.— Tint must bo tho' noxious elprm,'' continued she, “where tho sun crosses tho Penobscot.* 1 She donned her specke, and sat down to consult Dudley Leavitt about the fact, and sho found who was right; while tho wind howled around tho house most dismally. Education “ Down East.”— 'Tho following adver* tiaomenl in tho Bangor Jeffersonian,.apoaka well for eddyeation ,in “Holoton,** a (own down on the bor-1 dcr of Maine, celebrated as (horesidence of a dls i\ngb\»hcd pollylkloghn oh (wo; NoHeeffi—Teacher achate in UoJoloo bein oul or a p/ocoptor (Iho last haven ben dcschargcd for warnt ov inconipollvonoss,) No wun node appll without (ha hav (ho follorin qwaUifferha shuno, 100 whit:—Tha muss not bo agin tho modor eight uco of fiber dealers Naw we don’t warnt no. boddl witch belongs to noo chnrcho, aoein aa how (hat wood progerdia (bo minds ov iho didder: and jponn upp hoar dont bhjotfo noc slloh.thyngs, ho Must produce aattlsfooturro ovidonso that ho is against allAnnytlo aberllsliornast witch hov oflUn dostrold and dissolved owor gloras union. Ryten must bo tort at other hyar brsnchii, Pose skrlpl—lt is oekspeotod that the leooher will git his iioilh onshborod, in audor that there ma bee noo intcrropsliun ov (ho skule. Holoton, March 19, 1851, " Well, Sambo, how do you like your now place?” “Ob, burry well, maasa.” “ What did you have for breakfast this morning?” “Why ynU aeo . minis bllod free eggs for horeotf, and gib mo de brof.” ScoTOtfßD.—An examining committee about to (oat (be capacities of an Individual for teaching, put the following questions i '' “At wbat period did France produce her greatest general?” “At what period?” pausing and Scratching hia head, “at whal—ah J you've got me 1 there aura,” “Well, was U before or after Christ?" “Before, or after Christ f*«befdre or old horses, you’re got ms again, coitolnr* THE EDITOR—By One, The editor is the dupe of destiny. Hie lot.was knocked down 16 hlcn a bargain, arid It turns out to bo a take In. His land or promise Is a mountain •luffed with thorns. . His laurel wreath is a garland of nettles. : His-h'onora resolve themselves Into a cap. ilal hoax, his pleasures are beaky j)enallios, bis pride la the snuff of a handle, his power but volumes of smoke. Tho editor istho most ill-starred man alive. Ao, and he alone, a thousand pretouders about town notwithstanding, is Indeed the identical martyr, commonly talked of as tho most ili-used individual. Ho seems to govern opinion, and is, in reality, a via. Urn to'tlio opinion of others. Hu incurs more than nine-tenths of the risk and responsibility, and reaps less than one-lonth of tho reward and reputation.— The defects of his work aro liberally assigned to him, the merits are magnanimously itopuled to his cor* respondents. If a bad article appears, tho editor is unsparingly condemned; If a brilliant article bo in serted, anonymous carries off tho oulogium; The •editorial function is supposed to consist In substitu tions of u if it.be,” for tt is, and the insertion of the word however, here and there, to impede the march of fine' style.' Commas and colons aro tho only ! marks be.is reputed to make—his niche of famo is 1 merely, a parenthesis—ho is but a hole of admiration to genius—bis lifo is spent in ushering clover pdVfilo into deserved celebrity—ho sits as charioteer, outside; the vehicle In which prodigious talents are driven (o J immortality, if is his fortune to insert all his con-1 tribuilons In the temple of glory, and to exclude him-1 self fur want of apace. Ho always hopes to go in, btU expires, unblessed al laat. Ha bestows present present popularity on thousands without securing -posthpmbus ronpwn as his own share. His career ib this life is a tale of mystery to bo continued in pur. next.” Ho is only thought of when things go wrong Jn the journal. Curiosity then looks out the Corncr‘of i(s eyes, and with brows and lips parsed up,querulously 'ejaculates "who Is ho?” If by chaocci praise instead of censure should be modita. ted,'thp wrong man is immediately mentioned.- People ace only certain of (heir editor when they aro going to.bowhjde him. - Is thero & bright passage or two in an indifferent article, you may bo sure (hat they oro not indebted for chat polish to (ho editorial pen.' Is .there a dull.phrsse or harsh period in sbtuo favorite contribution 7 Ob! (ho editor has, altered ; i(» or neglected to revise the proof! But if the’edi tor is-abused for what ho inserts, ho Is twice abused for what he neglects. It is a curious feature in his dcstioy.'tNt if he strikes out bat a single line of an ; article, whether iu poetry or prose, that very lino Is infallibly the crowning boaptyoftho production.—lt is not ai little odd that when he declines & paper, that paper ia'suro.'lo be far-the best thing (ho author ever Wrote? Accepted articles may be bad—(ejected ones are,invariably gpod. It is admitted that judg- 1 menl ia llio first essential for an editorship, and ills at the sahio time Insisted an, Chat judgment Is exact ly-the'quallty which tho editor has not. An author is praised in a review, ho is grateful loan individual writer, whoso name ho has industriously inquired for—an author is condemned in a review, ho is un speakably disgusted with (he editor. Week after week, month after month, tho said editor succors (he oppressed, raises up the weak, applauds virtue, exalts talent; ho pons or promulgates the prsise of friends, of their books, pictures, acting, safely lamps and steam paddles, but from thp .catalogue of golden names his own is an eternal absentee. llqw to.behave at Fired* Tho moment you hear alarm v scream like a I pair of panthers. Run way except Iho right way*—for tile farthcatwoy aroundla'the'nearael way to Iho fire. lf;your happen to .run on, lop. of a wood pile, so much the better,you. oaft lb#rr.got a jjood view of tha neighborhood.. If a llfhi bfeeks.'out on your vicVv, break for it immediate]^—but bo aure you don't jump into a low window. Keep yelling all the time: and If you can't make night hideous enough yourself, kick oil the dogs you coma across, and set them yelling loo—''twill help amazingly.— A brace of cats dragged up stairs by (ho tall would be a “powerful atixilliary.” If you attempt (his however, youbad better koep/aneyo elate ward.— When you roach the scene of tho fire, do all you can to convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down ail the fences in the vicinity. If it bo a chimney on fire, throw saU down it, or if you cant do that throw Veil on a rot’s (ail, aftd make him run up, the effect will bo about the same. If both bo found impracti cable, a few. buckets of water judiciously applied, wilt answer almost ai well. Perhaps the best plan would yell. Should the stable bo threatened, carry out (he j cow-chains. mind (be horse—he'll be alive , and kicking, and if his legs don't do (heir duty, lot | him pay for Ihb roast. Ditto as to the hogs—let , them skve their own bacon or smoko for It. When tho roof begins to burn, gel the orow bar end pry sway the stone step, or If the stops be of wood, pro ouro ansxo an Chop them up. Next cut awoy tho wash boards in the basement-itory, and ifthat don’t ■top tbe flames, let the chair boarke on the flrsi floor ■hero a similar fate; Should the devouring element still pursue the even lentfrof Us way, you had belter ascend to the second-story. Fitch out the pitchers and tumble out tho tumblers. Yell all tbs time. If you And a baby abed, fling it into the second story window of tho house across the way, but let tho kitten carefully down in the work basket. Then draw out the bureau drawers and empty their con tents out of the back rtlftdoW, telling sume body to ups&l the slop barrel and rain water hogshead at the same time. Of course you will attend tothe mirror. Tho turihor it can be thrown (ho more pieces can bo made. If any body objects smith it over bis head. 1 Do not, under any olroomslanoo, droo (ho longs down from tho second story—the fall might break Its logs, and render (he poor thing ■ cripple for life—set it •(raddle of yoar shoulders, and carry It down care fully. Pile the bed clothes on the floor end show the spectators that you can “ beat the bugs’* at knocking a bedstead apart ond chopping up tho pieces. By the time you have attended to ell (hose things, the lire will certainly bo arrested, or the building ' burnt down. In either case your services will be no longer needed r and of course you need no further < direction. A Oku Fnou an Old Book, —lt hat been do quently and truly said, tlrs( If Christianity were compelled to floe from (he mansions of the groat, the academies of philosophers, the hallofleglaUlora, or the throngi of busy men, we should fiocTher last retreat with woman at the fireside, Her last audi ence Would tor the 'children gathering around the knees of a mother—lha last sacrifice, the prayer, escaping in silence from her lips, and hoard, per hape, only at (ho throne of God ? Secrecy has been well termed (he abul of all groat designs ; perhaps more has been effected by conceal ing our own Intention!, than by discovering those of our enemy, But greet men succeed In both. A Lesion in Asituiutio. —Toschor—suppose 1 Were to shoot at a tree with fiva birds on It, and kill three, how many would there be loft? John—Three, sir. T—Nof two would bo left, you’ Ignoramus. J—No (hern wouldn’t! (he three ehoi would be left and the other (wo would bejifuui awy, J ,Some Eastern girl le out In the newspapers, re* odntmending that etch State Id the UdUn tend thelv bdlleof beauty to thd WOrM’r Fair InLotideV, a* •fdclulbne of Afltertotn wonjßiH AT t 20 1) P E A tflf ij ft; J XHE *‘FIRE IN THB ltß A'tt or, DIU Jouei omoag ttie Glrli* Old Squire Parish woe ah hbspifablo pjd kbiit— ( Every Friday evening it was (bo delight of of the academy, and tho boys of (ho school* and col* lege, to go out to old £quiro Pariah's farm; about 1 six miles from town, and stroll In tbs wdbd»,'bVflft I Ip the creek, search the orchard and tho ban nestt, land turn every thing about tho promises upside | down. And old Squire Pariah would sit In htk’etifm* I noy corner, pipe in month; and tell them stories aboni the first .settlement of the country, and hpw,," 014 Hickory*/ whipped tho Indians—for the old BqpUie bad boon In Jackson's army—and cover let the boys off without at least ono story about the old Than, at (he Sqoiro delighted to call tho General. ... Qnp Saturday, sboert tho middle of tho tftofndort,' Bill Jones—a wild, h'arumsoaram younjf fellohvbf some sixteen winters—rodo up to the Sqdlrets doit and hailed tho house. His summons was ansvtared by that Mack young rascal, Josh, who (old Jones that the boys were gone squirrel hunting; “but’yVd belter believe, Msssa Bill," continued* Josh, M lhil tbo gals is carrying on high. Why, Madia Dill, you can hear 'em squealing clean up here.’* . . , Jones soon learned that tho girl* had gotte jta (belf; Usual bJthing place, which was at (ho foot oft high' precipice, and only approached on that side by la dob itary foot-paib, which was guarded by Dinah. On the other side of (ho crcok lay a broad sand bank, so that nono could approach it without being seen.— /Jones had bean to tho Squire's house so ofttntftrf he knew all his stories by heart, and It was alrnoi^ I Impossible to find tbo boys in tbo woods, Soho dot tormined to Imvo some fun out of (hc.girls. : / About a quarter of a mile up tho crock livedJQjid Aunt Judy, and (hero Janes and bis atlcridant, Josh, immediately proceeded. While Josh went lu the old woman, and for a fo'pcnco purchased thelartfeal gourd in hot possession, Jones slipped bohlud thd garden and throw off his clothes, than cutting off enough of the handle end of the gourd to admjt hie head, and making two holes for his eyes, he slipped it on his head and jumped Into tbo stream. Sdiddrf as the gourd reached the point above the - baU)fo£ . place, ll commenced Hosting towards the shots until within a few yards of tho bathers, when it drilled j against a limb which overhung the stream, and 1 cd. If Jones had looked through (ho loop holes; ((16 swears ho didn't) he would have seen a; sight Uul would have made tho gourd itself blush. On one rock were three or four swimmers, a|lf»r* nalely squatting down and rising up on tholr heels; and imitating tbo cry of the bullfrog, and when odd would say “ chug V* they would all plunge into thf water, frog fashion. At another plaoo they wer«i striving to duck each other, while a third party wajf leading by force into the wotor, a coy damsel, who* had bean too modest to undress before so many folkfti Bui Jones* gourd did not long remain ntfnoljced W tho water, and tho damsel who espied It, sailed ,up to It, seized It, and with alight resistance It came on*, and disclosed the curly head of Bill Jonpn! : ,M)ss Betty screamed and BUI Jones yelled I Miss Betty and the other bathers rushed up tho bank, and Johed • in his fright anti confusion, followed tharrt. Herd tbo girls turned oh him, tolled him, and* threw .him on his face, twino 1 ibf-y -0.-r» NO, 52.