A me rua ii lUiliiiititr Bf JOHNB BRATTON. VOIi. 38. poetical. From the Ohio Slate Journal. TUB EDITOR’S SONG. BV TIIOHU WnEELKR. tfom morn till with oil bunnight. Wo work with the "Scissors andquiut" No cloud* over rise to darken our shies, , Out they yiejdto our resolute will, uur, cause is just, and work we mustj ■ For wo labor to herald abroad, As best wo con, tho duties of m&ur To ills fellow,aad his God. 'Thus day after day we toil awny. And wo buttle for truth aud fur right, And we cheerfully throw tho kindly glow And tho radiance blond and bright,. . t)f Joy and lovo, liko tho peace above, ' • O'er tho wastes of ou r desolate earth. And wo silently sow whero our heralds go Tho gems of tho purest worth. With fervent aenl for our country's weal . .Ae lonlineta true we tland, To aound the alarm when oyght of harm • E’er frowns on the peace of our land; ■ Ami Hko patriots true wo, over strew • With the magic might of the Pen-, Tim words that thrill with poaco and good will iho hearts dnd the minds of men. Wa search the earth In quest of truth, i And wo glean from every shore. With anxious care some treasures rare. Or gem of useful lure, ■And we seek to tlmi within the mind Its pearls of richest Worth, , . Ami from the soul whe/o the passions roll ■ We bring Its treasures forth.' Then these varied hoards the world affords ' By our magic art wo bind, Ami silently chain the thoughts of the brain And thn workings of the mind— ' ' Ami wo hid them fly mi their mission high, To scatter their germs of.good,' Audjbin ail hands in |ho tender bands Of a common brotherhood. ’Tie thus we 1011, nor ever recoil From our noble work of love, ‘ ‘ And thus pursue with ardor new Our mission from above— And with light hearts as we act our parts, rile song we cherily trill With voices free shall ever bo— • God speed the ‘“Scissors and Quilll" JWtiaccUjnreomj. THE HUNTER’S WIFE, A TALE OF BORDER LIFE. Tom Coorsa was a fine specimen of the North American Irapper. Slightly, but powerfully niude, with a hardy, weather-beaten, yel handsome face, strong, indefatigable, and a crack shot, bo was.ad mirably adapted for a hunter’s life* For many years he knew not what it waa to have a home, but lived like the beasts ho hunted—wandering from one part of the country to another in pursuit of game. All who know Tom were much surprised whoa ho camo, with a pretty, young wife, to settle within three miles of a planter's farm. Many pitied the poor young creature, who would have to load such a solitary life; while others said “If the was fool enough to marry him, it was her own lookout.*' . For nearly four months Tom remained at homo, and employed hit time making thu old house they had fixed on for their residence more comfortable. Ho cleared and tilled a email spot offend around it, and Siiaan began to hope that for her sake ho would seU tie down quietly as a squatter. But these visions of Itappfneee.were soon dispelled, for as soon as this work was finished, ho recommenced his old erratic inodes of life, and was often absent for weeks to* gelhor, leaving his wifu 1 alone hut not unprotected, for lince his marriage old Nero, a favorite hound, was always left at homo oa her guardian.- lie was a noble dog—a cross between the old Scottish deer hound and tho bloodhound, and would “hunt an Indian as well as a deer or bear, which Tom said, *' was a proof tho logins was a sort o* wuimint or why should tho hruto beast take to hunt ’em nul'ral like—him that took no notice of white men 7” Ono clear, cold morning, about two years after fhoir marriage, Susan was awakened by. a loud crash, immediately succeeded by Nero’s deep buy ing. She recollected that she had shut him in the house the night before. Supposing that ho had winded some solitary wolf or'bosr prowling about the hut,and effected hie ecdupo, she took liltfo notice of the circumstance ,< bat a few moments afterward cams a shrill, wild cry, which made her blood run cold. To spring from her bed, throw on her clothes, and rush from the hut, was the work of a minute. She no longer doubted what the hound was in pur. suit.of. Fearful thoughts shot through her head; she called wildly on Nero, and to her joy ho came dashing through the thick underwood. As tho dog draw nearer, she saw -Unit he galloped heavily, and carried in his mouth some large dark creature. Her brain reeled, ond she felt a cold and sickly shudder dart through her limbs, hut Susan was a hunter's daughter, and all her life had boon accustomed to witness scenes of danger and horror, and in this school had learned to subdue the natural timidity of her character. With a powerful effort she recovered herself just as Nero dropped at her feat a little Indian child, apparently between three end four years old. She bent down over him, but there was no sound or motion; she placed her hand upon his little naked chest; the heart within hod ceased to boat—he was dead! vTho deep marks of the dog’s fangs were visible on the neck, but the body was untorn. Old Nero stood with his largo bright oyea fixed on the face of his mistress, Tawing on her, as if ho expected to be praised for what ho hod done, and seemed (o wonder why she looked so terrified. Out Susan spurned him from her, and. the fierce animal who would have pulled down an Indian as he would a deer, crouched humbly at tho young woman’s feet. Susan carried lha young body gently in her arms to the hut, and laid it on her own bod. (lor drat lm pulse was to seize a loaded rifle that hung over tho fireplace and shoot the hound j’and yet she felt she could not do it, for in tho lono life she led, tho faith* ful animal seemed like a dear ond valued friend, who loved and watched over her, as if aware of tho precious charge entrusted to him. She thought also of what her husbdnd would say, when, on his return, he should find his old companion dead. 8u; son had never soon Tom roused. To her ho bad ever shown nothing but kindness; Vet she feared as well as loved him, for there was a fire in those dark eyci which told of deep, wild passion hidden in his breast, and she know (hat the.lives of a whole tribe of Indians would be light in tho balance against (hat ofhis favorite hound. ■ Having securely fastened up Nero, Susan, with a heavy heart, proceeded to examine tho ground around tbs hut. In aaveral places she observed the Impres sion of a small mocoasonod foot, but not a child’s. The traoks were deeply marked, unlike tho usual light, elastic tread of an Indian. From this circum stance Busan easily inferred (hat (he woman had been carrying hot child when attacked by the dog. There was nothing to show why she had come so near tho hut; must probably the hopes of some pet ty plunder had boon tho inducement. Susan did not dare to wander far from homo, foaring a band of Idiins might be in tho neighborhood. She returned sorrowfully to the hut, and employed herself in blocking up tho window, or rather the hole whoro the window had boon, for (he powerftil hound had, in his leap, dashed out the entire frame, and sh&t< terod it to pieces. When this was finished, Susan dug a grave, and In it laid tho little Indian boy. She made it eloso to (ho hat, for she could not boar that wolves should devour those delicate limbs, and the knew that there it would be safe. Tho next day Tom returned, lie had been very unsuccessful, and Intended sotting out again In a few days, in a different direction. . , , “Susan,” he said, when ho heard her pad story. “ I wish you’d tool tho child wliocr the dog killed him. The squaw’s high sartin to come back a •cekla* for the body, ana ’(is a pity she should b« disappointed. Besides, thelnginiwill behlghsar lin to put it down, to us; whereas, if so be as they’d found (ho.body ’pen.the spot, may be they’d under stand as’twos an . Accident like,'for they’re unklm mon cunning .warmints,though they' «int got sense like Christians.”,: “Why do you think the poor woman came here?” said Quean. “ I never know an.lndion squaw to come so. near tho hut before.” • . She fancied she saw, a dark shadow, flit across her husband's brow. Ho made.no.reply, and on her repeating the question said angrily, “ How should I know 7 ’Tie as well to ask for a boar’s reasons as an login’s.”' , ; \ . / • Tom only stayed homo long enough to mend the broken window and plant a email apot of Indian corn, and then again sot: out,telling SuAm not td expect him again in Ices than a month. “If that equaw cornea this way agin he said, “as may be eho will, jist put put any broken viotu'ali.youVe'got'. for the poor critter; though may bo eho won’t come, lor they .logins bo tmkimmon skoary.” Susan won. dered at his taking an.interest in the woman, and often thought of that dark look she had noticed, and of Tom’s unwillingness to speak on (he subject, Slip never knew that on his last hunting expedition,- when hiding some skins which he intended to fetch an his return, he had observed an Indian watching him, and shot him with os little mercy as ho would have shown a wolf. ■On Tom’s return to the spot the body was gone, and in tho soft damp soil was tho mark of an Indian squaw’s foot, and by its side a liulo child’s; Ho wild very sorry then for the deed no had done f he thought of tho grief of the poor widow, and how it would be possible for her to livo untilslio could reach her tribe, who were far distant, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains; and now to fed thal through his moans, too, she had lost her child, pul thoughts into hla mind that had never found a place there before. Ho thought that one Ged had formed the red man as well as the while— of the souls of tho many Indians hurried Into eler* mly by his nnerring rifle; and ,lhoy, perhaps, were more fitted .or their “happy hunting grounds” than ho for tho white man’s heaven. In this slate of mind every word his wife had Said to him seemed iko a reproach, and ho was glad again to bo alone in the forest, with his rifle and'his hounds,' The afternoon of the third day after Tom’s depar ture, as Susan was silling nl work, she heard some thing scratching and whining at the door. Nero, who was by her side, evinced no signs of danger, but ran to tho door, showing his while teeth, os was his custom when pleased; Susan unbarred it, when to . her astonishment, the two deerhounds her hus. band had taken with him walked Into the hut, look* Ing wosry and soiled. At first she thought Tom might have killed a deer not far from, home, and had brought her a fresh supply of venison; but no one was there. Stic rushed , from the -hut, and soon, breathless and terrified, reached the squatters cabin. John Wilton and his Oirfee sons wore just returning fiom (ho clearing; whin Banff'rin into Ihcir com. tollable kitchen; her long, black hair streaming on her shoulders, and her wild and bloodshot cyea gave her the appearance of a ,maniac. In a foW uncon nected words she explained to them tho cause of her terror, and implored them to set off immediately In ; Ma [ c, ‘ of h«r husband. 1 It was In vain that they 1 told her of the uselessness of going at that time—of the impossibility of following a (rail fn tho dark. I She said sho.would go heraelftsho foltsuro of find, j |inghim; and at last they wore obliged to use force 1 to prevent her leaving the house. -J The next morning at daybreak, Wilton and his two sons wero mounted and ready to act out, intend* Ing to taka Nero with them ; but nothing could iu* duce him todeavo Ms mistress; he resisted panfrety for some time, until ono of (he young men attempted to pasSraropo around his neck, to drag him away j then .his, forbearance vanished; ho sprang on his i tormentor, throw him down, and he would have strangled him had not Susan boon present. Finding it impossible to malto.Ncro accompany them, they left without him, but had not proceeded many miles before he and his mistress were besido them. They bogged Susan to return, told her of the hardships she must endure, and of. llio incunveqionco ,sho would bo thorn. It was of no avail; she.had but one answer: “ I am a hunter’s daughter and a hun ter’* wife.” She told.them that knowing how useful Nero would.be to them in their soatch, she bad so orally taken a horse and followed them. Tho party rodo Aral to Tom .Cooper’s hut, and there having dismounted, and leading their horses through the; forest, followed the trail, as only men long accustomed to savage life can do,. At night they laid on the ground, covered with (heir thick beaf'Slkin cloak*; for Susan only they heaped tip n hod of dried leaves, but sho refused to occupy il, saying that it was her duly to bear the same hard ships they did. Ever since their departure she hud shown no sign Of sorrow. Although slight and del* Ic-ilely formed, sho never appeared' fatigued; her whole soul wos absorbed in onu longing desire to find her husband's body; from tho first she had abandoned the hope ofovor seeing him again In life. The desire supported her through everything.- Early tho next morning they worn again on tho trail. About noon, ns they wore crossing a small brook,-tho.hound suddenly dashed away from them’, and . was lost In tho thicket. A( first they fancied they might have crossed the track ofa deer or wnif; but a long, mournful howl soon told tho sad truth, for not far from tho brook lay (he faithful dog, uu (he dead body of his master, which was plcrtod to tho heart by an Indian arrow. Tho murderer had. apparently i'ecn afraid to ap proach on account of tho dogs, for the body was left as it had fallen—not oven tho rifle was gone. No sign of Indians could be discovered save ono small footprint, which was instantly pronounced to °r » Susan showed no grief at tho sight of the body; she maintained the same forced calmness, and seemed comforted that II was found. Old Wilton stayed with her to remove all that now remained of her darling husband, and his two sdns again sot ont on tho trull, which soon led them into tho open prairie, whore it wua cosily traced through the thick grass. They continued riding nil that afternoon, and tho next morning by day.break wore again on the track, which they followed lu tho bank of a wide but shallow stream. .There they saw tho remains of a fire. One of tho brothers thrust his hand among the ashes, which wore still , warm.— 1 hoy crossed tho river and in tho soft sand on the opposite bank, saw again the print of a mocoasonod rouslep. Here (hey wire at a loss,, for, the rank prairie grass had boon consumed by ono of (hose loartoi fires so common on (ho prairies, end in Us ® rcw sweet herbage, where even an in d .h. r“f -lr«oo.,, They wore on Iho point of obondonlne, tho purouil, wherrßioli •rd, tho younger brother, celled the ntlontlun of the olhen to Nero, who hod of hie own accord, left his mietroeo to oooomptny them, ee if bo now under etood whet they wero oboul. Tho hound woo trot, ting to and fro with hlo no.o to tho ground! oe if endeavoring to pick out a cold scent; Edward laughed at his brother, and pointsd to (ho (rook ofa door that had come to drink at the river. At last he agreed to follow Nero, who Was now cantering slowly across the prairie. His pace gradually In creased until on a spot where the grass grew more luxuriant than elsewhere, Nero threw up his note, gave a deep bay ond started also furious a pace, that although well mounted (hoy had great difficulty In hooping up with him. He soon brought thorn to tho borders of another forest, where, finding it im possible to tike their horses farther, they tethered them to a tree, and sot off again on foot. They lost , sight of the bound, but still from time to. (imp heard , his loud baying far away. At lost they fancied It sounded nearer, instead of becoming loss distinct; ond of this they were soon convinced. They still went ou in lha direction whence (lie sound proceeded, until they saw Nero silting with his fore paw*; against tho trunk of a tree, no longer mouthing. likV i a well (rained hound, but yelling like a fury. They, looked up in (he true, but eould see nothing, until at last Edward espied a largo hollow about half way I up the trunk. «I was right, you see,” said he. j “After nil, its nothing but* bear; but we may as ' ‘.PUR COUNTRY—MAY I T ALWAYS RE RIGHT—BUT I GUT OR WRONG ,OUR COUNTRY** CARLISLE, PA-, THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1851. well shoot tho brute that has given us so much trouble. '^' : They- set'to work immediately with their axes (o fell the-tree; It began to totter,when r dark object,, they, could not tell what In the.dim twilight, crawled from Its place of.concealment to the extremity of ,a and from thence sprang dtilo. the next tree. Snatching up.their rifles, they. bothered together; wiion, to their astonishment, instead of a bear; a young Indian squaw, with a wild yell fell to the ground.. They ran to the spot where'she lay'mo*, (ionicss, and carried her to the bordcrs<of thb wood whore they had that morning dismounted. Riohard lifted hot. an his^horse, and springing himself into tho -saddle carried .the almost lifeless body before him. The poor creature never spoke. Several times they slopped, thinking she was dead j her pulse only told tho spirit had not flown; from Us earthly tone* menl,. .When they readied the river which had been crossed by .them before, they washed the wounds, and sprinkled water on her face. This appeared to-revive her; and when Riohard again lifted befiu his arms.to. place her on his horse; ho fancied be hoard her mutter in Iroquois one word— "revenged!” If was a strange sight, to seo these powerful nien tending so carefully tho being they bad a few hours before sought to slay, and endeavor' ing to staunch tho blood that flowed.from wounds which they had made! Yet so it was. It would have appeared to them a sin to leave the Indian woman to die; yet they felt no remorse at having inflicted the wound, and doubtless would have been bettor pleased had it been mortal; but they would not have murdered a wounded enemy, oven an In. dian warrior, still leas a squaw. The party continued their journey until midnight, when they stopped to rcsttheirjaded horses. Having wrapped (he squaw ’in their bear-shins, they lay down themselves with no covering save tho clothes they wore.. They were in no want of provisions, as not knowing when (hey might return, they-lmd taken a good supply of bread and dried venison, not wish* ing to lose any. precious time in seeking food while on tho. trail. Tho brandy still remaining in their flasks they preserved for (lie use of their captive. The evening of the. following day they reached the lrtrppor*s hut, whore they wore not a Hula surprised to find Susan! She told them that although John Wilton had begged her to live with them, she could nut boar to leave tftq spot where everything reminded her of one; to think of whom was now her only con* eolation, and that while she had Nero, slid feared nothing. They needed not to tell their mournful talo—Susan already understood it but too clearly.— She bogged‘them to leave .the Indian woman with her. " You have ho oho,’.’ she said, "to lend and watch her as I can do'; besides; it is not right that 1 should lay suoh a burden on-you.**- Although un willing to impose on hcrlho patafnl-laßlCof-nurßing her husbandy murderess, . they copld, ;npt bufallow that ehb was right; and sceing>!hpw* earnestly she desired It, at last consented to leave the Indian wo man with her. . W : • . , i For many long weeks Sasun nursed tier charge as i tenderly as if she had been her sister. Al first she , Uy almost motionless, and rarely spoke; then sho grew delirious, and raved wildly. Susan fortunately could npt understand what she said, but often turned shuddcringly away - when the Indian woma n would strive to raise from her bed; and move her arms as If* drawing a bow, pryell Wildly, and cower in terror benooth the clothes, re-enacting in her delirium the fearful scenes through which she had-passed. By dcgrofca reason' returned ; ahetgkftduaUy gni boiler, but seemed restless and unhappy tfrtd could not boar the sight of Nero. , The returning rea son sho had shown-wap to shd&UftiKrrqr *-Jien. ho unw •oeldentiltjr fblloired -fiii cnlalrcßt.lnto trie room' whore sho lay. Ons'mornrng Susan missed her, she searched around the hut,.but sho was gone, without having taken farewell of her kind benefactress. A few years after Susan Cooper (no longerpretty Susan," for time and grief had done their work) hoard lute one night a hurried knock, which was re. peated several limes more loudly than before. Slid called to ask whu it was at that late hour of the night. A few hurried words in Iroquois were the reply, and Susan congratulated ‘herself on having spoken before unbarring the door. Hut on listeninir again* she distinctly hoard the same voice soy* " Quick— quick!" and recognized it as (he'lndian woman’s whom she had nursed. 1 The door was instantly opened, when the squaw rushed into the lial, seized Susan by the arm, and made signs to her to come away. She was 100 much excited.to remember then the few, words of English she had picked op when living with tho white woman; Expressing list moan, ing by gestures with a clearness peculiar to (ho In* dians, sho dragged rather than led Susan from the hut. Thoy hud just reached the edge of the forest when the wild yells of the Indians sounded in their ears. Having gone with Susan a little way into tho forest horguide left her. For nearly, four hours she lay there half (load with cold and terror, not daring to move from her place of concealment.. She saw the flames of the dwelling where so.many lonely hours had been passed rising among the tress, and heard the shrill •• whoops" of the retiring Indians. Nero, who was lying by her side, : suddenly rose and gave a low growl. Silently a dark figure came gliding among tho trees directly to the snot where she lay. Sho gave herself up .for lost $ but it wqs tho Indian woman who came to her, and dropped at her foot a bag of money, tho remains of her lato husband *« savings. Tim grateful creature knew where ft was kept; and while the Indians Wcfo-bulled examining tho rifles and other objects more interesting to them, had carried it off. unobserved. Waving her arm around to shot*, that ‘all was not quiet, she pointed in the direction of Wilton’s house and was again lost among the trees. y‘- oay was just breaking when Susan reached.the squatter’s cabin. Having hoard the sad story, Wilton 1 and two of his sons started immediately for the spot. 1 Nothing was to bo soon save a heap of ashes. The 1 party- had apparently consisted of only three or four Indians; bat a powerful tribe being in the neighbor. 1 hood they saw that it would be too hazardous to 1 follow them. From this time Susan lived with the 1 Wiltons. Sho was a doughtcr lo the old man.and a 1 sister to his sons, who often said: "That, os fur as they wore concerned, the Indians hid never dono a kindlier action than burning down Susan Cooper’s hut."—Chambers’ Edinburg Journal. Good Advice notthrown Awav.—Two friends, ralhor famous for (heir convivial qualities, acci dentally meeting one day, the following conversa tion took place between them— 1 “Dill you ought to eut your, expensive acquaintances, and save your money.*' “I must, I will,” we* the nuswer, “I have been a free horse long enough.** Several days transpired, during which Dill omits his calls upon Jack, and when by oh.nnce'ho hahponed to meet him, he set his nose straight ahead, without a recognition or a blink.' Upon this, Jack, one day, hailed 1)1)1 with, "Halloo Bill!-—what ails you that you don't speak to mol” “Oh, nothing,” replied fill), ”1 was only following your advice.* 1 First Love.— Scarce one person out of twenty marries his first love, and scarce one of twenty of the Remainder has cause to rejoice at having done so. What we love In those early days is general ly rather a fanciful creation of our own than a real ity. We build statues of snow, and weep when they molt.— '.Sir Walter Scotti “1 would not live always V* sung a chorister, one Sunday. A, burly son of Neptunes, who had dropped intp the ohuroh, to see what was going on, bawled out—“ You couldn’t do It if you would I** 1 • 1 ' “Mother, 1 said a square built urchin, about five years old, “why dont my (eaohor make me moni* Apt sometimes t I can ifok every boy in my class Tjulono.” J J Only that man li destined (6 lend others, who has flrst practised what ho requires of tlioin—-who has given manifest proofs of obsdieneo. and humility— who to prudence joins simplicity, to severity mildness. THE DEAF WIVES. •The Incident we ore about to relate occurred some years since, in tho Granite State, and as we abide beyond striking distance of thd parties and their im* .•Jl^lalo^friends; we .shall jiq a little more free in our description of the circumstances (hail wo otherwise should be. ‘ . Nathaniel 321 a, or " Undo Nat," as ho was genor ally*: called, was the corpulent rubicund and jolly old landlord of the best hotel in the flourishing vlllogo of*Dover, at the head of the Piscataqua, and was ex* oessWcly fond of a bit of fan withal. He was also iha;pwni?r of a largo farm In New Durham, about twenty miles distant, tho overseer of which was one Caleb Riokor, or " Boss Kale,”'as termed by tho nu merous hands under his control, and sufficiently waggish for all practical purposes of fun and frolic. Calof), like a wise, prudent man, had a wife; and so had j" Uncle Nat,” who was,accustomed to visit his farm every month or, two, to seo how matters went On. jQn the occasion of one of these visits, the fbl. lowing dialogue occurred belwccn Uncio Nat and Mirfress Ricker. •,* , MViiy to (ell you the truth, Mrs. .Ricker,” said Unde Not, "I bavoboen thinking about it, for some lime, but then she is so-very deaf as to render con versation with her extremely difficult—in fact, it requires the greatest effort to make her hoar anything thaftfs said to her; and she Is consequently very reluctant to minglo in the society of strangers.**, "\Vo will try to make her hear; enough to get klonVl said Mrs. Ricker, . . ’ "If you think so, and will risk it,** said Undo Nat, she vball accompany .mo on my next visit to tho farm ;’* and' this being agreed on, Undo Nat left for the field, to acquaint Boss Kale with what had passed, and. with the plan of future operations, touching the visit of his wife. It, was finally settled between the tote&ed toaga that.lho fact that Ihoir wives could both hoar as well as anybody, should bo kept a profound secret, until disclosed by & personal interview.ofthe ladies them* eelvey. The next lime Uncle Nat was about to " visit the farm,” ho suggested to his wife that a ride in the country would bo ofscrvicc to her; that Mrs. .Ricker, whq'had never seen her, was very anxious to receive her; and proposed tHat she should ac company him on. that occasion. > She readily consent ed, ajid. they were soon on their journey.' -They had not,; however, proceeded far, when Undo Nat ob served to her that ho was sorry to inform her that MfsTTllobor was extremely deaf, and she would bo under the necessity of elevating her volcu. to the highest pilch, in order to converse with her. Mrs, Elr J’cgrctlod the misfortune, however, she thought tbal| she bad a pretty strong voice, and would bo make her friend hear her. few hours after, Undo Nat and his lady drove op tb the door of his country mansion, and Boas Ricksr, who had been previously informed 'of the lime qf Undo'Nat’s intended .arrival, was- already in waiting to hdp enjoy the fun that was to como of a meeting of the Douf Wives! Mrs, Ricker,'not ox poctjfig them at the time, happened to be engaged with her domestic duties in the kUcfieif) but, observ ing her visitor through' the': window, she flew to the gias* to adjust hor cap and put herself in the best trim to receive them, tha'l the .moment would allow, tn Iho meantime, Doss ICalo had-Ushered Uncle Not and bis lady-into the parlor, by way ofthe front door; soon after which, Mrs. R. appeared in tho'presence of her guests. "."fori, Ricker. I will- make you acquainted with Mrs.|Gtn,” roared Undo Nat, In & voice of thunder. *‘ l|nw do you Mrs. Ricker withi hos nwojjnh olqaq to th^car^pfiihp "Vorj well, I tlmnk you," replied Mn! fi. in a' lone of corresponding elevation. “ |low*dW.you Jtmvo your family 7” continued Mrs. R., In a volcs nullc up to llio pitch of her first effort. " AH vor.y : werij-Pthink you—how's your family 7” returned which culled into requisi* lion ell fier Jung*. In Nat and Rosa Knlo who were power of endurance, had qiiieilyiB(olfr'dnl»j»i;lno r door, and remained under the window l ‘ljft^^irig r^fo'- / 'lhe i boisterous conversation of their* clovQlpd;l^l^i^f^th - some time, when Mra. R, in iho 44m0' t |u|gorHJpe Itoy she had served from (ho firet.lnaMmtoafeiThef lady guest: •• Whut qtf. you hallooing al mo for—l a'nldoan’»_ •'A*nl ‘ yol( > . - .liidc‘dd»V’ t l paid Mrs. E., ‘‘but pray whut areyotj:h*Boolng to mo for—l’m sure I'm not’ deaf?" . “ Each,^fagT/ r gradually down to her ordinary key, when.o/ bur's^of'laughter from Uncle Nat and Boss Kalo,attqe- ; w(pdow, revealed the whole (rick, and even tfio.lafilos wore compelled to join In the mcrrimept thoyhad afforded tho outsider* by the ludlcrourqhijracjer of their Interview. , A-Deplorable Case, A Western papcr*relatcs the following,'winch we hope may bo'a warning 'to such In our Country as persist in tho course pursued by their Western ezem. "Tho man that don't take his County paper was in town yesterday, ’Ho brought his whole family in a two horso wagon. Ho still believed that Gon. Tuy. lor .was President, and wanted to know if the" Kum scliQlkiana " had taken Cuba, end ifso,u>Aers they had taken it. Ho had sold his corn for lwcnty*five cents, tho price being thirty-onoj but upon going to deposits his money, they (old him it ,was mostly countcrloit. The only-herd money he had was some three cent pieces, and those some sharper had " run on hhn" for half dimes! Ills old lady smoked a * cob pipe," and would not believe that anything else could,be used. One of the boys went to a black.' smith shop to be measured far. a pair of shoos, and another mistook the market house for a cliuroh.— After hanging his hal on a mdut hook, he piously took s seat on a butcher’s stall and listened loan auctioneer, whom ho look to be a preacher. He left before "mootin' was out," and had no great opinion of llie*'surminl." "Odd ol the girls took.a lot of"seed onions" to' the post office to trade them fur a letter. She had a baby, which she carried m a "sugar trough,"stop ping at limes to rook it on the side walk. When it cried, she stuffed its mouth with an old stocking, and sang " Barbara Allen." The oldest boy hs4 sold two M coon skins" and was on a " bust." When fast seen, he had' dulled for a glass of" soda and water,"! and stood soaking gingerbread making wry faces.! The shop keeper, mistaking hie meaning, hud given I hfirt'.a mixture of euf soda and water,.and it lasted strongly of soap. Dot he'd hearn tell,of sods and water, and was bound to give it a fair trial, “puko or'no puke.', * Soino "(own follow,” came In and balled fbr lemonade with a “fly in it,” whereupon our M soaped ” friend turned Ills back and quietly wiped several flies into Ills drink. , “We approached the old gentleman and tried to get Mm to *• subscribe,” but ho would not listen to It. Ho wap opposed to " Internal Improvements.” and he thought ” lamin' wits a wicked invention, and oul. terwalsn nothin’ but wanity and wexatlon. Nona of his family ever learned to read, but one boy, and ho leached school awhile, and then wont to studying *• dlwlnity.** A Scene in Court.— I “Mr. Smiths you said once that you officiated in the pulpit—do you mean by that that you preached 1” “No, sir; I. held the light for the man whatdld.” “Ah J— The court understood you dlflbfenily— They.supposed that the discourse came from you.** “No, sir; I only throw’d a Mule light on ».'* “No levity, Mr. Smith; Orlor, wipeyournose, and call the next witness.” Another.— During the examination of a witness as to the locality .of (he stake In a house, tho ooun sal usked hlm t “which wny did the stairs run!”— Tho witness, who by tho by Is a noted wag, re plied, “that ono wny limy ran tip stalls, but ilmi the, other way they run down Blairs.” The lenrn. ed counsel winked boiheyesj and then took alook at the celling* Beauty 111 Bleu* BY MBB. H. A.' DENNISON. "l oan toll when a woman’s face Is beautiful,” said a: friend to us the other day," but 1 don’t know what you call a handsome man." : , i We. might, have referred hjnj to the popaltr ro manoes ofthe present day fora - description of manly beauty; but having little sympathy, for those perfect beings, expansive brows of snowy whiteness, bine black, or gray eyes, finely, chiselled features, rich wavy curls, and all the minutia of fancied perfection, we simply said wo believdd there was no particular standard of beauty recognized among the ladies with reference to his sex, and we think that In so saying we are correct. " t do not like a pretty man - Witb pretty Hpi and pretty walk,' With hands that prettily sport a fan. And delicate lips that prettily talk.” Tho frank, open countenance, cheerful with the light of a sunshiny disposition ; the thoughtful, pla cid brow or low lips, firm when In thought, yet flex ible arid smiling liv conversation, the goodness of a refined nalurevilluminating every lineament—give us these in preference to all your set, fine faces.— Arid even the, irregular features of what Ore called decidedly plain men, we have seed glow with an ex pression absolutely beautiful os some all pervading theme of interest lighted up; tho face, so that (ho crooked nose, even the heavy shapeless forehead, and (ho dull eyes, have caught a reflection of the inner loveliness, the beauty of thd soul. Then, gentlemen, remember, U does not need the a »r and face of on Adonis to please and interest us ladies. Only let (is read upon tho counlcnonce the stamp of a cultivated mind, or the quick lighting up of tho eye, as some generous impulse prompts to an act of kindness; jet us behold you at once dignified and- courteous, gentle and refined to all alike, even to the erring, delicate in your attentions (especially to us ladies,) -unbending in your will only when in the absolute right, gentlemanly in your address, and neat in person; and we all wilt (those whose opinion of any value of course) pronounce you handsome without a dissenting voice. * ■ Remember that the qualities of the heart and ac tions ofthe life stamp the features with an ineflaeable mark either with goodness or vileness, and cultivate those affections and habits which will write upon the. tablets of your countenance that which no one reading cm but loveond admire. A Happy 01 an. He is a most lively, good humored and pleasant man who bearsthellls of life as if they were bless ings, and seems to lake the rough and smooth with an equal countenance., This sort of unbended philosophy is the best gift that nature can bestow on her children; it lightens the burden of care and turns every fable and ghastly hue of memory, to bright and splendid colors. ..There is no one I.en joy so much as Ido him;.a cap and bells is a crown to him; a tune upon the flageolet is a con cert; If the sun shines, he sports himself In its beams; if the storm comes, skips gaily , along, and when he is wet to the akin; It only serves him to ; make out a pleasant story, while, he is drying him self at the fire. If you are . dull after dinner, he will get him up, and rehearse Haifa dozen scenes out of a* play and do it well, and. be as pleased with bis performance as'you can be. With all those companionable talents, he is neither forward, noisy or impertinent; but on. the contrary, very conversable and .possesses .as .pleasant a kind. Qf Industry* Every young man should* remember that the, world always has and always will honor Industry. Tha vulgar and useless Idler whose energies of mind and .body are rusting for the want of exercise, the mistaken being who pursues amusements as relief to his enervated muscles* or engages in ex ercises that produce no useful end* may lobk with scorn on the laborer engaged at his toil; but his scorn is praise; his contempt is an honor. Honest industry will secure the respect of the wise and good among men, and yield the rich fruit of an easy conscience and give that hearty self-respect which is above all price. Toll on, then, young men and young women. De diligent In business. Improve the heart and the mind* and you will find “the well spring of enjoyment in your own souls,’* and eeoure tho confidence and respect of all those whose respect ia worth an effort to obtain. The American Races* Among all things which astonish (he stranger in he United Stales, the most astonishing, perhaps, it ho power of absorption of the American character. Suppose a sklhu) chemist throwing five or'six differ* ent ingredients Into his crucible, mingling and crush, ing them with a view to the extraction of oho homage* neous essence,'and yon have the image of (he moist and intellectual chemistry which continually, acts upon this country. What we call the American people is but an agglomeration ofomigranls of Varj. ous regions and races. The first came from Eng* land; others have come from Germany, Ireland 1 , France, the mountains ofSwitzerland, (lie shores of the Daltlo-ln short, from all the countries of Europe. At first (his agglomeration was effected slowly, by small detachments. Now it annually consists of whole armies of artisans and tillers of the soil, and of thousands upon thousands of families.. All these foreigners naturally lake with them to the United States tholr particular predilections, their national habits, doubtless also their prejudices. At first.the character of the American displeases them, and they are disagreeably surprised by his habits. They re. solve to keep aloof from him, to live apart with their own countrymen, to preserve, upon that distant con* tlnent, the manners of theit native land, and in their mother longue they energetically protest that they never will become Americans. Vain is the project! useless* the protestation! The American atmosphere envelopes them, and by Us constant action weakens, their recollections, dissolves their prejudices, dcoom. j poses (heir primatlve elements, Little by Iftlle, by insensible modifications, they change their views and mode of living, adopt the usages and languages of (he Americans, and by being absorbed in (he American nation, aa ore streamlets from the Valleys fn the great rivers (hat bear them onward to the I ocean, How mony n're (he honest Gormans, who, I otter'cursing the rudeness of American manners, and bitterly regretting their good.kipdly Germany, | have come at last to stick (heir hat, Yankee fashion, on the back part of their head, and to stiffen (hem. solves, like the Yankee, in a coat buttoned up to (he ' chin, to disdain .all the rules of European courtesy, 1 and. to use no other language but the consecrated 1 dialect of business.—Letters on America byMarmier, . “Gentlemen of the jury,” said a western law yer, “I don’t mdan to insinuate that this man fa a covetous person, but I will bet five to one, that If you would bait a steel trap with a new three cent piece and place it Within six inches from his mouth you would catch hia soul.. I yrouldn’t.for a moment insinuate that he will steal, but may it please the court gentlemen of the jury, I would’nt trust him In a room with red hot millstones, and the Angel Gabriel to watoh them.” “Jeoms, my lad, keep away from the gals. Yen you see one coming, dodge. Jest such a critter as that voung un cleanin’ the door step on t’other side of the street, fooled your poor old dad, Jimmy. If it. hadn’t been for her, you and yer dad might ha* been In Oallfornoy huntin’ dlrauns, my son.” An Irishman working on the, Union Canal, last week walked Into the canal, and coming across a large water turtle, with head and legs extended, retreated undef great excitement, hallooing to his companions that ha had ” fokrid’ a box full of snakes.” AT I2OOPEEAHNDM.) ' \." A PAINFrt 6A»E. \ ’ Jin account of a recent trial Qt the Qld jldiley iri London, Lord Chief Tindal 'presiding, George Hammond, & portrait painter,' was pla ced at the bar, to be tried on an indictment,’found against him by-the grand jury for wilful with malice aforethought, of George Baldwin,a rope*danoer and a mounie-bank. The prUo£*r was a man .of middle height, but slender form. ' His eyes were blue and mild. His whole being gave evidence of subdued sadness and melancholy re-' signation. He was forty-one years of agb, had &' soft voice, and his appearance -and manner borb testimony lo his being a mao of distinguished edu cation, in spite of the poverty of his dress*. On being called on to plead, the prisoneradm& ted that he did kill Baldwin, and he deplofetf th£ act, adding, however, that, onhiaaotUcmaeohstUhlk he did not believe himself guilty. Therenpbhr % jury was empannelied to try the prisoner. * The indictment was then read to the jury, and tho of killing being admitted, the government rested their case, and the prisoner was called open' fpr his defence. : ] The prisoner then addressed himself to and jury, m “My lord,” said he, “my justification is <o be found in a recltal.of the facts.. ■ Three years ago, I lost a daughter, then four years of age, memorial left of ray beloved wife, whom it hat} pleased God to recall to Himself. 1 lost her; but I did not see her die, as I had seen hermotherdiol She disappeared*—she was stolen from file. ■ She was a charming obild, and bat for her Ihad nobo* dy in the vyorld to. love me. Gentlemen,: what I have suffered cannot be described—you cannot comprehend it* 1 have expended in advertising and fruitless searches everything 1 possessed—fur* nitaro, pictures, even to my clothes. All ha'te been sold. 'For three years, and mi foot, t bate sought for. my: child in all the cities and all the villages in the three kingdoms. As .soon fIS -by palming portraits I had succeeded in gainings little money, I returned to London to recommence my advertisements in the newspapers. AtTepgtti, on Friday, the 14th of April last, I orossed tho Sraiihfield cattle market. In the centre :cf (hd market a troupe of mountebanks were performing their feats. Among them a child was turning on'. Us head, its legs in the air, and its head supported by a halberd. A ray from the soul of itß;mother must at that moment have penetrated my me to have recognised my child in that condition:' It was my poor child. Her mother would perhaps have precipitated herself .towards her, and locked herself in her arms. As forme, a veil passed aver my eyes. .1-threw myself.upon the chief of (ho rope-dancers. I knew, not how it was: I, habitu ally gentle, even to weakness, eeized lam by his clothes—l raised him high in the aityihen dashed him to the ground—then again. He Afterwards I repented what. 1 bed done.At .the moment I regretted that I was only able to kiilbutf one.**,, Lord Chief Justice Tindal.—“These .ere not Christian sentiments. How can you expect'the court and jury to look with favor on your defence,* or God to pardon you, if you cannot forgive ?” ' Prisoner.—"l know, my lord,whatwill'fae your judgment, and that of the jury, but God hue al ready pardoned mej'l feel it in my heart- 1 You! koo'y/iot—-I Jrnenr 00l than —the wtiola extent o£- Ifio eylrthat'man had done mo. When comeconT-*' passionate people brought roe my daughter lit my 1 prison she was no longer my child; she woe no longer pure and angelio as formerly) she was cor- 1 ropled, body and soul—her manner, her language,’ infamous, like those of the people with whom she' had been living. She did not recognise me, and- Ino longer recognised her myself. Do yon com prehend now? That man had robbed ms Of tie” love and soul of my child. And I—l bare killed him but once.” , ■ Foreman—“My lord, wo have agreed imohn verdict.” Chief Justice—“l understand you, gentlemen;! but the law must take its course. I mustsum up the case, and then yon will retire to deliberate.”*' The chief justice having summed up'the side',-' the. jury retired, and in an instant after returned 1 into the court with a verdict, "Not guilty.’l! On the discharge of Hammond, the Sheriff was obliged to surround him with an escort. The crowd of women and men was immense.., Thai women vvero determined to carry him off in'i tri umph. The Crowd followed him all the way to 1 his lodgings with deafening shouts and huxtaal 7 : / A California Widow. Some rather, queer inoidenld—,saye the New Or-' leans Delta—have occurred in the world malriraot' nial, as well ae In the political, since the acquis], tlon of California. The immenso'flight of snln,, calculable number of married men to the its# Ophir, and the length of tints embraced In such 1 an expedition, as well ss In the pursuit of the glit-i taring iraasures, has left a great number of inter* eating iadiep In a condition of lonely dreariness, qufie pitiable to contemplate. Some few, rumor, we regret to say, will whisper, have not exercitbd the patience of Penelope, who kept spinning at hag distaff whilst old Ulysses was fighting before Troy,, o i buffeting with old Neptune for nine long yearn. It is apprehended that soma explanation will have to be given, and perhaps the “conafstoral” or soma' of our green bags may be Increased when the ma. rital tide shall flow baok from the Pacific. These 1, things, however, may all pass away; matters may be mended and smoothed over, and the world may wag along as ever. But it is wall to be guarded! and exaot as to dates, as may be seen from tfaefeK lowing incidents in real life: An elderly lady and gentleman wSfa riding a few days ago in on omnibus. Opposite to thSm sat a pleasant looking young lady, wilts fine, no hie, chubby, crowing bully of a boy i a her lens— Conversation rose between the parlies, A steam • er from Ohagrea had Just arrived, and the godd. looking lady, with the chubby juvsnlle. wlalfed td know the news,, remarking that her bnaband ha<P been away fifteen months that day, and she Was. very anxious to hear from him/ And then Shi good-looking lady proceeded to indulge in a lonw and pathetic dissertation on the discomforts and' annoyances of: wives when husbands go off stay so long froar.iheir homes. ■ “True, madam,;’ remarked the elderly genii*) man, who had never known the pride and pliasurw of paternity; “but then thr.l fine‘little felliwmuM be a great comfort to you,” chunking at the Sim.’ lime the Jolly little fellow under tCehii. whh‘ crowed, and swelled, and stared at the old gentle^' , Kge, S L:'d”am , V’ rkttbly you^mmb" “Three months!” replied the elderly"jadyl three raonihs I” I thought V m , said your (mab.nl hod been away fifteen months I” “ f ■ pSMSsSSg! •‘Porao.hert.-rof Huffman," traM a ieniramSk loJwJTu rcl , ,r sre,r * of while Bllt/ntf lW *n?i lnnT h * r l a 00,n I’« n y Worn assembled “Un you knoW who I am 1" . 'v’ii • VV«»»M think : : ■/ -i o •Hritaa ■ ‘‘Who am,l ihen, |oi mfrhaar V, , . , ‘You are ihe mao that kUaed alder Mary (eat night, in th« parlor." Mary fainted. IW !'i-n 1 : <;<■ t :yM i #«] I '<! .> vo. NO. 11.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers