AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. poblishbd evert thuusdat morning.. By Jolm B. Bratton. r. »i.) . • ■ , i, . ' ,T BUMS StiDaommoN.—One Dollar and Fifty Cents, paid-in advance ; Ttfo Dollars If paid within tho year; arid Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid wlihln tho year. Thqse terms will bo rigid ly adhered to in every Instance. No subscription, discoatinued'untU all arrearages aro paid unless at the .option otthe Editor. , Ad ve ana sMfe rita—Accompanied by the Ciatr, and not. exceeding one square, will bo inserted Ihreo tlmes for one Dollar, and twenty-flvo cants for each additional Insertion. , Those .of a greater length in • Job'-Brinting—Such as Hand Bills, Posting Bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c.; &c., exe cuted with accuracy and fit the shortest notice: ‘ffortital. From the Knickerbocker magazine. CBKATIO.VS HEART. s ' ■ ' i'.. £&wl Wong »M Earth's grcoil hills, Thdsun is sotting slow ; Ground mb are the lengthening shades,, , Above, the purple bow ; t hear a.deep and murmuring sound, .Though all tho lillls are still; It swells.up through tho trembling air, t Tlio conscious hofiveri doth fill; Groat heart bfEiirth, throb on, throb on I . Each poise Is calm and deep, ftbat 1 may‘sink upon Iby breast, , In quiet, trustful.slccp. Thb stars Id shining train cotao ont Beyond tho depths of bine; Drightworlds In thb wide spaces crowd, And shut tho aching view 5 I gaze till sight lb soul is lost, Beyond this burning wall, Ton thousand rise, far, far withdrawn— Ten [thousand, yet not all 5 Each orb is throbing, strong and lone, Though of tho whole a part; And all forever throb as one Creation’s mighty Heart. 11l I hoar tho sound, a deep, low tone, From’ ervery heart of love, And from tho whole gives answer to Tho Oke that thrdba above \ A mighty anthem, rolling wide, And' deepening from afar, The throbbing of Creation’s Heart From every shining star} Through years and ages, centuries, Tho drops of time’s deep river, Flowing unchanged from sea to sea, Goes up to God forever! TUB BIBLE. Go fling tho gaudy robe aside, Unbind tho jewel from thy hair, And'casting thoughts of earth away, Ob I maiden bond thy heart In prayer, And turn thee lotho pago of truth, ‘ Then seek tho.gulding love of heaven, Counsels that well may guard thy youth, And teach thee love to mortals given. Let men with impious spirits dare The sacred word of Godto scorh, And scoffing hopes and comforts there, From all Its blessed precepts turn. Cut ne’er sbould woman, weak and frail, Dare cast her guiding chart aside; WhoVearthly hopes so often full, Where shall she torn on earth beside 1 Ohl when the heart Is sad and lone, And wearily tho spirit droops, ' ' And blessings perish one by one, And pass away our youthful hopes: fVhere should-the drooping spirit turn, Whcte wisdom may true knowledge learn, And ago know brighter hopes than youtJi ? MktllnmDiis. JIM BLANDER AW THE QUAKER. AN AM USING STOUT. There lived in a certain nclghorhood. not far distant from hero, a roys taring, rowdy bully named Jimmy Blander. Jim was ‘sum* in a fight—a kind of a pugilistic Napoleon. Many and bloody were the affairs ho had in his life time, and he invariably came off first bcat-njim, not only considered himself Invul nerable, but all the fighting characters in the surrounding country conceded it was no use fighting Jim, as ho was considered to be a pa tent threshing machine, and could not be im proved on. In Jim’s neighborhood had settled quite a number of Quakers. From some cause or other, Jim hat«l the ‘shad bellies.’ as he called them, with his entire heart ; he often de clared that to whip one of these inoffensive peo ple would bo the crowning glory of his life.— For years Jim wailed for a pretext. One of Jim*s chums overheard a ‘youngQuaker’ speak in disparaging terms of him. The report soon camo to Jim’s cars not a little magnified. Jim made desperate threats what ho was going to do with Nathan, the meek follower of Penn, on sight, besides the various bruises and contu sions he meant to inflict on Nathan’s body, in bis chase language, he meant to gouge out both his eyes, and chaw off both his cars. Nathan heard of Jim’s threats and very properly kept out of the way, hoping that time would mollify- his anger. It seems, however, that this much desired result did not take place. One day Nathan was out riding, and passing through a long lane, when about midway he capiodJim entering tho other end. Nathan might have turned and fied, but his flesh rebell ed at retreating. ‘I will pursue my way peaceably,’ said the Quaker ‘and I hope the better sense of the man of wrath will not permit him to molgaUnic,' or allow; him to do violence tojoy-pEFson.’ Nathan’s calculations as to the lamb like Dualities of his adversary, were doomed to bo isappointed. •Oh! oh!’ thought tho bully, as lie recog nized Nathan, “I have him at last. Now I’ll make roinco meat of shad-belly. _I will salt and pioklo him too!’ ‘Wilt thou please dismount from thy horse ?’ said Jim, seizing tho bridle of Nathan’s horse, and mimicking his stylo ; 'my heart yenrneth above all things to give thco tho biggest maul in# that ever a man received.’ ‘Friend James,’replied Nathan, ‘thou must 2? i T. 0 * 03^ • hut let mo go my way in peace. Thy better judgment will surely tell thco that tfiou cannot possibly bo bcncfitlcd by personal ly injuring mo.’ 'Get down in a moment,* thundered Jim; ‘get down, you canting, lying, mischief-making hypocrite. X’U dreg you down if you don’t dismount.! ‘Friend {James. I remonstrate, against thy language,’ replied Nathan. ‘My religion teaches' luo sincerity. I nm neither a liar, mischief* maker, nor a hypocrite; I desire to.pursue my way quietly, let mo pass on.’ •Got down,’ persisted Jim; ‘down with you —1 want to beat some of your religion out erf you—l must give you ft flogging before I jeavb you—l think by the timo I am through with you, you will pass for a tolerable honest man. I will teach you, in a short easy lesson, the im portance of minding your own business, and tho risk of slandering your neighbors.’ ‘I will not dismounts said Nathan, ‘loosen thy hold from tho bridle.’ . ‘You won’t won’t you ?’ said Jim: then hero goes V-and ho rhado a desperate lunge to collar the Quaker, . Nathan was on his feet in an instant, on tho opposite side of tho horse., .. The Quaker, although of much smaller pro portions than his persecutor, was nil sinew and muscle, and his well-knit form denoted both ac tivity and strength; His wrath was evidently enkindled. ‘Friend James,’ ho implored, ‘thy pertina- ql %%%" 'A llllf i> HI y BY JOHN B. BRATTON. VOL 41. clous persistence in persecuting me is exceed ingly annoying; thou roust desist, or peradven tyre. Irony so far forget myself as to do thee some bodily harm.’ ‘By snakes! said Jim coming towards Na than, ‘I believe there is fight enough in Broad brim to make the affair interesting. I wish some of the boys were here to sec tho fun— ‘Now,’continued Jim, ‘friend, Nathan, I am going to knock off the end of your nose—look out!' ■ Suiting the action to the word, Jim, after various pugilistic gyrations with his fist made a scientific blow nt the nnsal formation of our friend, but Tom Hyer could not more scientifi cally have warded it off. Jim was evidently dis concerted at the ill successof his first attempt —he saw ho had undertaken quite os much as he was likely to accomplish. James, however, straightened himself out, and approached Na- than more cautiously. Tho contest began again. Nathan stood his ground firmly, and skillfully warded off the shower of blows which James aimed at him. ‘Friend James,’said Nathan in the heat of contest,‘this is mere child’s piny. It grieves me that thou has forced me to resistance, hut I must defend myself from bodily harm—l see that there is but oneway of bringing this scan dalous and wicked affair to a close, and that is by my conquering thee; in order to do this, I will infiictaheavy blow between thy eyes, which will prostrate thee.’ Followingout this suggestion, Nathan struck Jim a tremendous blow on the forehead, which brought him senseless to tho ground. ‘Now,’ said Nathan, ‘I will teach thee a les son, and I hope it will bo a wholsomc lesson, too. I will scat myself a straddle of thy breast —I will place my knees upon thy arms, thus, so that thou cannot injure me when thou rc turnest to consciousness. I hope I may be the humble instrument of taming thy .fierce and warlike nature, and making a better and more peaceful man of thco.' Ah the Quaker concluded, Jim began to show some returning signs of life. The first impulse of Jim. when he fairly saw his position, was to turn Nathan oil. He struggled desperately, I but he was in a vice—his cflbrts were unavail ing. ‘Friend, thcc must keep still until I am done with thee,’ said Nathan. I believe I am an humble instrument, in tho hands of Providence, to chastise thee, and, I trust when I am done with thee, thou wilt' bca changed man. Friend James, dost thou not repent attacking mo?’ •No,*saul Jim, with an oath; ‘let mo up, and I’ll show you.’ •I will not let thee up, thou impiouswretch,’ replied Nathan. ‘Darestthouprofancthename of thy Maker ? I will check thy respiration for a moment.’ * Nathan, ns good twins word, clutched Jim by tho throat. Ho compressedhis grip—a gur gling sound could bo heard—Jim’s face became distorted—a tremor inn through his frame.— He was evidently undergoing ajiroccsa of stran gulation.' The Quaker, relaxed hia^hold, hut • sufficiently, as ho thought, lamed the perverse spirit of Jim. It took some moments for Jim to Inhale suffl. cient air to address tho Quaker. ’I knock under,’ said Jim; ‘enough! let me up!’ ‘Nay thou hast not got half enough,’ replied Nathan. ‘Thou art now undergoing a process of moral purification, and thou must bo con tcntcd’to remain where thou liesfc until I am done with thee. Thou just profaned the name of thy Maker, confess, dost thou repeat thy wickedness?’ ‘No, hanged If T do 1 * growled Jim. •Thou perverse man !’ replied Nathan, ‘in an imploring tone, say that thou repentest tby wickedness.’ ‘l’ll be hanged if T do !* said Jim. ‘Wilt thou not!’ replied Ihe Quaker: ‘must I use compulsory means ? I will compress thy wind pipe again, unless thou give mean answer in the affirmative—say, quick, art thou sor ry V ‘No—l—l—y-c-s,’ shrieked Jim. in a gur ! gling tone, ns the Quaker tightened his grip, •yes t am sorry.’ •Is thy sorrow, Godly sorrow?’enquired Na than. Jim rather demured giving an affirmative answer to the question, but a gentle squeeze admonished him that ho had better 3’ield. ‘Yes,* replied Jim, ‘my sorrow is a Godly sorrow. ’ ‘A godly sorrow lendeth to repcntcnce, 1 re plied Nathan ; ‘wcareprogrcssingflncly. Thou said hut just non* that 1 was a canting, lying, cowardly, mischief-making hypocrite. Thou wronged roc in assorting these things and slan dered rny persuasion. Dost thou recall these assertions ?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ replied Jim ; ‘now let me go.* *1 am not done with thee yet.* said Nathan •thou hast been a disturber of tho peace of this neighborhood lime out of mind—thy.hond has been raised against every man—thou aft a braw ler. Wilt thou promise me that in future you will lead a more peaceable life ; that thou wilt love thy neighbor ns thyself?’ ‘Yes,’answered Jim, hesitatingly, ‘all but the Quakers. 1 •Thou must make no exceptions. 1 replied Na than ; ‘I insist upon au affirmative answer.’ A struggle now ensued between the two, hut Jim had his match. •Thou must yield. James ; I insist on it,’ said Nathan, and graspul Jim by the throat. I will choke thee inlo submission ; thou must answer affirmatively : say, after me. I promise to love my neighbor as myself, including the Quakers.’ ‘I won’t promise that, I’ll be cursed if I do,’ replied Jim. ■I will choke thy respiration if thou don’t.— Wilt thou yield ?’ ‘No I won’t, I’ll be blasted if I do,’answered Jim. ‘Thee bad betor give in. I will choke thee again if thee does not; sec, my grip tightens,’ replied Nathan. And Nathan did compress his grip, and the choking process again went on. Jim’s face first became distorted, then purple; his tongue lolled out and his eyes protruded from their sockets—his body writhing like a dyingman’s. Nathan persisted in holding his grasp until Jim became entirely passive; lie then relaxed his hold. Jim was slow in recovering his speech and his senses, when ho begged, Nathan for mercy’s sake to release him. . Jim saw that he was powerless, and that the Quaker was resolute. lie felt it was no uso to persist In his stubhorncss. ' ‘I will give in; I’ll promise to lovo my neigh bar ns myself,’ ho replied. ‘lncluding the Quakers,’ insinuated Nathan. ‘Yes, including tho.Qunkcrs,’ replied Jim. •Thou mityest arise then, friend James; and I trust tho lesson thrtn hast learned to-day wifi make a more peaceable.citizen of.thco, and I hope a better man,’ answered Nathan. Poor-Jim was entirely humbled; ho left the field \yith his spirits completely cowed. Not long after this occurrence, tho story camo bruit ed about. Ho soon left tho scene of, his many triumphs, and his Into disastrousdcfcat.and emi grated to the west. Thu last I heard of him, lie was preparing to make another movo. Being pressed for his reasons why ho again emigrated, no said a colony of Quakers were about moving “(Km COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT BIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.’* intohis neighborhood. He was under obliga tions to love them, but he was of the opinion -that distance wouldlend strength to his attach ment.—New PorfciJpirit of the Times. Tho Facts of History. T The history of mankind displays a constant tendency to relapse into old errors, and adopt what is false and pernicious in the very face of truth and improvement. Life, after all, is but a circle: and though the mind of man has im mense grasp of faculties, when highly cultivated it is skill bound to that circle as if a magic wheel of fire held it there; and it is, indeed, a magic wheel of fire, forit is the wheel of passion. She was a wise woman, that Lady Montagus, who, when asked, after her return from her travels, what she had seen abroad, replied "Men and ■Women.” Old opinions are always difficult to eradicate when grounded in error. New ones readily formed, when glittering and gaudy, plausible and flattering to human Vanity. It was a long time before men thought of gaining fame and reward by doing good. Tho simple feeling of bencvolonco was the original motive and impulse of those who “went about doing good,” which mankind love to do when it costs nothing but action. Doing good continu ously will attract attention; and then philan thropy, like everything else becomes a tool in the bands of the Charlatan—a weapon ip those of the Demagogue—and a commodity'for gen eral speculation. It is a singular illustration of this fact, that the ultra movements in favor of slave emanci pation, have originated in countries that held millions of while slaves in their subterraneous mines, or hell hot furnaces, or steam cotton mills, or iron foundries, or other forms of eter nal labor, attended by cruel punishment or ag onizing privations, and a total destitution of in tellectual, moral, and religious culture. Such is tho country of Wilberforcc at this moment. They have originated with men, too, who made no effort to civilize tho white English child, who was os much a savage ns if born in Ul6 wilds of Congo or Guinea. Such children, and men and women, too, Wilberforcc knew to be swarming around him : but he heeded them not, though they counted -up to millions upon millions.— The factory system has since been what' they called ‘ameliorated,’ but is still n burning brand on British brows, and would bo a disgrace to the most savage province of Africa. This proves vanity to bo the motive and am bition the end. Else why not succor your own people, who are suffering, groaning and dying around you, for want of the necessary comforts of life ? Your sympathies ought to bo with them, not among distant strangers. But so it id. This beautiful passion of philnnthrophy is never,‘at home,’ Knock eternally at your own • doors for it, and the answer is the same—“not ■ at lio!ne”r~evcr the same, not at homo. , Qowpcr was tho great Wrd of freedom when the French revolution brokc.put. But' instead orht\Ur.g.trfi\cmancipari<nrCT , thirl7'tmllious'of civilized people, he poured tho hot lava of his wrath upon their heads, and raved like a mad man. At the same time, ho poured forth pas sionate invocations to England to strike tho chains from manacled Africa. : Poor Cowpcr! Me, too, tred daily over cav erns and mines, where millions of human beings rotted out life in ignoranccof everything—the victims af a system of avcrice, not tho blind children of accidental destiny : human beings reduced to the condition of spades, picks and axes, to fill tho pockets of pampered lords and upstart overseers, pay the national debt and grind down millions. England, 100, held in chains millions of the children of Ilindostan and Indian provinces.— Murder and robbery tracked her way. The rupee and the diamond were irresistablc mag nets to her frail cupidity. Let the slaves pay tribute, or ofT with their heads. At this mo ment England has more slaves in tho East than all other nations in all other parts of the world ! In this country ambition aspires to rule by an affectation of benevolence, and fakes as its guide the historical examples of craft preying jan credulity. The game is an old one, and so opposed by more powerful passions ns to have no nold on the minds of the people. It Is a par limemary question, not a popular one. Lenders may flourish on it—demagogues mouth it; but north of Mason and Dixon’s line, It never gets to (he ballot box, but under the open and well understood question of union or disunion. Wo want a branch of education more especially di rected to tho popular inclination of historical truth. Now. all is confusion, misrepresentation, distorlison and villaneous abridgment.—Penn sylvanian. THE CHE.IT jmiiVGS ESTATE. From developments recently’ made, and evi- dcnco lately obtained, there remains no doubt that tho heir of thin immense ostateof §40,009,- 000 is Hector Jennings, of Ohio, and measures ! arc being taken to substantiate bis claim, and putliimmpossession of the money. Ilisngcnts ( on both sines of (he Atlantic have liecn untiring ' in their efforts to obtain the requisite proof of his heirship. It appears that ’William Jennings, who died in 1798 intestate, leaving this property, was a bachelor, and the only child of Robert and Ann Jennings. He having neither brother or sister, no descendants of his father Robert could of course be found to claim or inherit his estate: consequently the agents of Hector resorted to the descendants of Robert’s brothers and sisters for tho heirs. They found, upon examination of the records, that John Jennings, a brother of Robert, was married to E. Fisher, in 1705; that among tho issue of that marriage was oqo Jonathan Jennings, who married Mary Gardin er in 1728; that their eldest child Jonathan, jr., married Ann Plume in 1754; their son William, hom in 1759 came to America in 1780, and settled in Carlisle, Cumberland County, Pa., where ho lost his first wlfb, and in 1801 he married Lucy Loop, tho only issue oi Hint union being Jessy Jennings, who died In 1845, and tho present heir, Hector Jennings, who now resides In Sandusky, Ohio, and with the chil dren of Jessy is the only Unownheir to tho largo fortune, Tno Courts of England, under Into parliamentary enactments are compelled to de cide and settle These claims within one year; consequently, it seems that this vast estate must pass loathe heirs within n few months, Unless some unforscen occurrence should transpire to prevent. John B. Bacon, of Penn Yan, N. Y. is the efficient agent on this side the water, to whoso indefatigable exertion tho heirs are indebted for, tho present favorable position of their claim.— It is‘said there aro other claimants in Virginia, who arc descendants from another brother of tho intestate’s father, but of this wo have no personal knowledge. It will ho seen from tho above statement that William the intestate was never married, and consequently tho claims of 1 the Corbins, Johnsons, Balls, and others, ■ through his wife vanish into air. .... Wo congrntulato Mr.fJcmxings upoahishopo of success, as ho is said to bo a very worthy ■ a'nd deserving man.— N. Y. Tribune, [T/**The curious woman would HUo to turn tho rainbow over, to see what there was on the other side. CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 17, 1854. WE AEE, GROWING OLD TOGETHER. nr n. i>. spencer. TTo aro growing o)A together, Thou deafest of tho dear; Tho morning of our llfo’is past. And the evening shades appear ; Sorao friends wo loved aro in their graves, And many aro estranged; But in sunshine and in shadow. Our hearts have never changed. We oro growing old together. The ivy and tho tree A fitting emblem is, dear, , Of tho love ’twixt you nod me; To bo worthy of each other In tho past was all our aim; And ’tls pleasant npw to know, dear, Our hearts are still the some. Wo aro growing old together— ~ Together may wo die—, Together may bur spirits soar To our home beyond the sky; For wo loved ds low can loVc; dear, When life’s flowery path's wo ranged; And though we’ve wandered long here, Our hearts have hover changed. THE MANIAC OIEL.' The editor of the American Republican, printed at West Chester, Pa.i speaking of a storv now being published, entitled *the Longest Night in. Life, says; It has brought vividly to our mind a thrilling incident which happens fo be within our own knowledge, and wo cannot forbear trying, in our poor way, to tell the talc. 'The intelligent and highly respectable gentleman to whom the occurrence happened, is now a resident of this borough, and in every particular the story is strictly true. 'V A number of years .since the .individual to whom we allude was a pupil at a'fichool In this county, boarding at a farm house .about a mile distant from the Academy'S Tho house wasonc of those built at different periods of time, and presented a long extending front to. the’ road-, I side. It was situated in tho gorge of a lonely 1 wood, and just below it ran a deep dark ravine, | which was tho haunted ground of the neighbor- j ; hood—for it is well known that every neighbor- 1 hood has its haunted ground. > • [ Tho sleeping apartments of the family were I in tho extreme end of the house, while that oc -1 cupicd by their boarder was tho furthest remov ed from them possible. One night he remained late at a lecture delivered to tho school, and by. the time lie arrived all tho family had retired, it being past the hourof 11 o’clock. He passed into tho house and immediately Went up to his chamber. The rejected light of the moon shone into tho room, and as he entered 'the doorway and turned towards the bed, thercistood at the. side of it, a figure dressed in whim, dimly ap parent to him through the moonlight. Ho was, as may well bo auMbsed, terror stricken. , Turning for a uvotnlr.llwurthe appa rition towards the window, to boo if it were not a fantastic creation, caused by the moonlight falling on some object in the apartment, lus eye pgain looked for the strange sight, but it was gone, without tho slightest perceptible noiso. - With his whole nervous system com pletely uns tranche however succeeded at length m convincing himself that he,had been deceiv ed, quietly undressed and laid down; but not to sleep, for there was too much agitation to do so. Ho lay in his wakeful state for about three quarters of an hour, when ho thought he felt the bed slowly raised beneath him. He again succeeded in persuading himself that he was de ceived, and attributed this to the eilects of the intense fear and consequent nervous excitement of the first strange appearance. After another tedious period of time,the same rising of tho bed was felt, and on this occasion ho half arose, leaned over and partially under tho bed, and listened with tho most intense ear nestness, but not the slightest noise, even of res piration, on any of the didcrcal occasions came to his ear. He again strove to dismiss the fear ful subject from his mind, and at length, by ex cess of weariness, fell into an qnua&y and dis turbed sleep, which must have lasted for some two hours. Uo wps aroused from this uneasy repose by something between a piercing shriek and a frenzied laugh, unearthly in its tone, breaking upon his ear in the dead silence of the night, and immediately at his side. The unusual and horrible character of the cry, with all tho preceding circumstances, ren ders it difficult if not impossible, to represent tho intense and agonizing fear which crept over the completely unmanned inmate of tho cham ber. Ten years and more have elapsed since 1 tho circumstance occurred, and yet, at this dis tant day, our friend always relates the incident with an excited lone of voice which indicates how dreadful were the realities that surrounded him. He sat up creel in tho bed. with every fibre of his flesh quivering with terror, and with straining eye and car, sought to solve the fear ful mystery. In tho midst of this thrilling and excited slate of feeling, there came a wilder repetition of tho mingled scream and laugh, and, says our informant, *it was such a cry os can never be efiaced from my memory.’ He instantly sprang from the bod to the Hour, and in a delerlum of] fear, dragged the beadstead from the corner of the room, and there behind the high head board, stood the apparition which had present ed itself to his astonished sight when ho first entered the room on that dreadful night. It was tho figure of a woman clothed in white, with long black hair hanging wildly about her person. It was a maniac girl from a neighboring house, who camo in the afternoon, during his absence, to spend the night, and had wandered l from tho room where the family supposed they I had secured her. When ho entered the room ■ she was standing as ho first described her posi -1 tion, npd while his eye wag turned for a mo ment towards tho window, she silently crept beneath tho bed. Wo hope tho recital of this story may not have effect to disturb the repose of our young or lady readers. If there aro any fear on . that subject, wo advise them, before locking their chambers at night, to look under tho bed, and into tho bandboxes and closets. — After such an examination they may retire with out tho slightest alarm. Romance of Life. The Baton Kongo Mvocafe brings to light tho following romantic change of fortune in ft life of a willow of thut burgt—Tours ago there lived in our city a family by name of———, conslNtlngof husband, wife, and several ohlldron. Tho bus* hand left homo ono day to go on distant Journey. He did not return at tho appointed time—years elapsed, and still no tidings came of tho absent husband and father. [Fourteen years passed away and the womani roamed again. Nor second . husband died, (and sho was again left In destitution and misery, and depended upon tho corporation for 8 ipport.— About a year slnco sho loft Baton I ougo for I,ako Providence, whoro she now re ildos. A few days since, tho brother of the husjandoamo to search her out, with the agreeable iutolll gonco that she was a rich widow, Iflor first husband was killed In Texas, and Is {ho lawful, heir of q property worth $130,000. Ky* Spanish proverb—Man is tow,; woman is fire ; the devil comes and blows. TIE SOUP-HOUSE PROCESSION. A favorite amusement of our friends, Bartho lomew, the Italian, .and Joe, tbo Monk, Consists in posting themselves on a corner near thosoup house in tho district in which they reside, and ridiculingthe procession ol misery whichmarches thither in tbo course of tho /OrenoOn.' They scorn to join tho wretched ranks, and regard with equal contempt the soup and broad distri buted at the fountain of charity. They boast that their business supplies them with more lux urious food, and Imagine that they can afford to laugh at those who are so utterly helpless os to bo unable to earn a living for themselves in a respectable.begging way. Let us stand along , side of those professional gentlemen. It is about eleven o’clock in tho day. Tho sky is clear, but the March wind is keen and furious. The Ital ian and the Monk aro warmly clad, at least, and, in consequence, tboy have not even a physical sympathy with the half-naked beings who issue from the alloys in tho neighborhood, and who quiver in every limb as the blast cuts them to the bone. First limps along a tall, thin woman, with a haggard countenance, full of scars and bruises—a face on which every wo seems to havo set its seal. Sbo wears a dirty straw bon net and a patched calico frock, and carries in her hand an old (in'kettle to contain tho soup. At her side, two little girls, barefooted mid without bonnets, walk with shivering steps, and they are crying with.tho cold, which seeks their very hearts. “Walk up, Sukey, or tho old man’ll thump you when you get homel” calls out Joo'tho Monk. “Get out, you soup-beggara I' Why don’t you earn your living in a decent way V* adds tbo Italian. Next follows afeeble old man,very weak,and totally blind. Ho fools his way with a cano. A rich subjcctfor the savogo Joe, who, having un- j dertaken to guide him to tho soup-house, sends ! him to wander doton tho wrong street. Thus were our amiable beggars amusing themselves in annoying tho ragged, bloated, and shivering wretches who were hastening to get a morsel of food, when Bartholomew called Joe’s attention to a woman who was seen going in tho direction of tho soup-house, carrying a pitcher, and who proved to bo Joe’s companion, Null. “Blast that hag! I’ll tench her a lesson,” ex claimed Joo, fiercely, and ho rah after the wo man ; but eho was in tho soup-houso before ho could'got near her. Ho waitod till she camo out. As soon ns she saw him, she turned very , palo and trembled. I “Ohl ho! said the savage, walking by her side. “So yon bavo.bcen to tho soup-house, 1 getting some soup for that old lazy-bones,Xuko, when 1 told you he was not to have a mouthful Ito cat for at least two .days. IVory well. I’ll I teach you how to mind mo, yon infernpl hag.” ! “Indeed! Joo, tho old man *ll die if ho don’t get food soon,” pleaded Nell. Yet she walked on with tho cursing Monk, afraid to try to run iwaft yet terrified at tho prospect of being bcat jen. •Bartholomew had disappeared. On reach ing tho miserable den, Jpo snatched tho pitcher from Nell’s hand, tbflow tho sodp Into Uio street, and dashed‘the pitcher, to pieties: again# tho! \^ f .' H^.t,hen I fe!ledfNaU to-lho floor with' a blow of bis ’fiat, and sho laid (hero in a slate of Insensibility. Nor did his rage stop hero. Ho cursed the old man, and pushed him down into tho cold, dark and damp collar, and there left him for tho night. Tho next day old Xuko was found dead at a corner of tho public streets, where his brutal son had led him to beg after that horrible nfght of cold nnd starvation. But Noll was abroad, beg ging for tho Honk, and that wretch was engaged I in a search for another agent, to tuko tho place of Ids murdered flithor. Yet, tho tide of clty- Ufo flowed on as if no scenes hud occurred.— Philadelphia North American. WILD ELEPIUm A person who lias ncusr seoua wild elephant, can lonn no idcaol his real charucior, either men tally or physically. Thu mmicldly and sleepy looking beast who, penned up In his cage ul a menagerie,receives a sixpence iu Mb trunk, and turns around with dUßculiy to deposit It in a box; whoso mental powers seem to bo concentrated in the idea of receiving buns tossed Into a gap ing mouth by children’s hands i this very beast may have come from a warlike etock. Ills siro may have been the terror of a district, a pitiless higli-wayitmn, whose soul thirsted for blood ; who, lying In wdU In some thick bush, would rush upon the unwary passer-by, and know no pleasure greater tbuu the act of crushing his victim to a shapeless mass beneath hisleot. I have even hoard people exclaim, upon hearing anecdotes of elephant hunting, » I’uur things!" Poor things, indeed 1 I should like to see the very person who thus expresses hia pity going with bis beat pace with a savage elephant alter him j give him a lawn to run upon if lie likes, and see thoclcphahl galningufoot Inoveryyard of the chase, lire' In his eyes, fury in his head long charge; and would not the tlyingguntlemnn who lately exclaimed “poorlhlngl” be thankful to the lucky bullet that would save him from destruction? Thoio aro no animals more misun derstood than elephants ; they are naturally sa vage, wary, and revengeful, displaying as groat courage when in their wild state us any animal known. The tact of their great natural sagacity 1 renders (hem more dangerous as lues. Even when tamed there are many tliul aro not sale lor a stranger to approach, and they arc then only kept in awtf by the sharp driving hook of the molmut. • * * • • • Elephants nro grcgralous, ond tho average number in u herd ia übuut eight, although they frequently form bodies of fitly and oven eighty in one troop. Kadi hurd consists of a very largo proportion of females, and they aro constantly mot without a single bull In thoir number. 1 have soon some small herds form ed exclusively ol hulls, but this is very rare.— Tho bull is much larger than tho female, and la generally more savage* Ills habits frequently induce him to prefer solitude to a gregarious life. Ho then becomes doubly vicious, ilc sel dom strays many miles from one locality, which ho haunts for many years. Ho becomes what la termed a “rogue.’* Ho then waylays tho na tives, and, In fact, becomes a scourge to tho neighborhood, attacking the inollensivo with out tho slightest provocation, carrying dostruc tlou into tho natives' paddy-llolds, and perfectly regardless of night Urea ortho usual precau tions for scaring wild beasts. Tho daring pluck of these “rogues” la only equalled by thoir ex treme cunning. Eudowod with that woudorftil power of scent peculiar to olopoants, ho travels In tho day.llmo dour a tho wind; thus nothing can follow upon his track without bis knowl edge. Ho winds his oneray, as tho cautious hunter advances nolslessly upon his track, and ho stands with cars thrown forward, tail erect, trunk thrown high in tho air, with its distended tip to tho spot from which ho winds tho silent but approaching danger. Perfectly motionless docs ho stand, lilco a statuo in ohony, tho very essence of attention, every nerve of sconfc and hearing strcaohed tolls cracking point; not a muscle moves, not a sound of a rustling branch against his rough sides j ho Is a mute flguro of wild and ilcrco eagerness. Meanwhile, tho wa ry tracker stoops to . tho ground, and with a practised oyo pierces tho tangled brushwood In search of his colloastal foot. Still farther and farther ho silently creeps forward, when sudden ly a crash hursts through tho Jungle \ tho mo ment has arrived for tho ambushed charge, and tho elephant Is upon him. —Makers Hijle amt Hound in Ceylon. (TT* A facetious boy anked ono of his play mates, whVaTiardwaro dealer was like ft boot maker] Tho latter* somewhat 1 puwlcd, gave it up.. ‘Why,’ said tho other, ‘because thcono sold tho nails, and tho other nailed tho souls.’ A't 52.01? PER ANNUM. NO, 10. WOMEN' AND MARRIAGE. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. I have speculated a great deal upon matrimo ny. I have seen young and beautiful women, the pride of any circles, married—as the world says—well! Some have moved into costly houses,and their friends have oil come and look cd'StrriiaTShe fbrniture and their splendid ar rangements for happiness, snd they have gone away arid committed them to their sunny hopes cheerfully and without fear. It is natural to be sanguine for the young, and at such times I am carried, away by similar feelings. I love to get unobserved into a comer, and watch tbo bride in her, white attire, and with her smiling face and her soft eyes moving before/ mo in their pride of life, weave a waking dream.of her future happiness, and persuade myself that it will be ’ true. 1 think how they will sit upon the lux urious sofa as the twilight falls, and build gay hopes, and murmur iu low tones,of the now for bidden tenderness; and how thrillingly the al lowed kiss, and the beautiful endearments of wedded life, will make even their parting joyous, and how gladly como back from the crowd and the empty mirth of the gay to each other’s quiet company. I picture to myself that young crea ture, who blushes even now at his hesitating ; caress, listening eagerly for his footsteps as the night steals on, and wishing that ho-would como; and when he enters at last, and, with an affection as undying as bis pulse, folds her to his bosom, I can feel the very tide that goes flowing through his heart, aba gaze with him on that graccftd form as she moves about him for the kind offices Of affection, soothing all his unquiet cares, and making him forget even him self in her young and unshadowing beauty. I go forward for years, and see her luxuriant hair put soberly away from her brow and hop' girlish graces ripen into dignity, and her bright loveliness chastened with the gentle meakness of maternal affection. Her husband looks on her pith a proud eye, and shows her the same fervent love and delicate attentions which first | won her, and fair children are growing about ! them, and they go on full of honor and untrou | bled years, and are remembered when they die \ I say I love to dream thus when I go to give ; tbo young bride joy. It is the natural tenden- Icy of feeling touched by loveliness, that fears ' nothing for itself; and if ever I yield to dark ! cned feelings, it is because the - light of the pic ture is changed. lam not fond of dwelling I upon such changes, and I will not minutely now. I allude to it only because X trust that its simple page will be 'road by some of ’the young and beautiful beings who daily move across, my path; and I would whisper to them as they glide by joyously and confidently, the secret of an unclouded future. , Tho picture J.havc.drawn above is riot pccu-1 liar. : It is the fancies of the bride; j an many, oh! many .an hour will she sit, with I her rich jewels lying loosely in her fingers and. dream stfch dreams ua these.” "Siio bclievca flicm too—and she goes on for a while undeceived.— The evening is hot too long while they talk of plans for happiness, and the quiet meal is still a pleasant and delightful novelty of mutual re liance and Attention. There conics soon, how- (ever, a time when personal topics become bear and wearisome, and slight,-attentions will' not, alone keep up , the social excitement. There arc Igtig intervals of silence, and detected symp toms of weariness ; and tjio husband, first, in his manhood, breaks in upon the hours they were wont to spend together. I cannot follow it circumstantially. 'There como long hours of unhappy restlessness : and terrible misgivings of each other’s worth and affection, till, oy and by. they can conceal their uneasiness no longer and pn out separately to seek relief, and lean upon the hollow world for the support which one who as their lover and friend, could not give them ! Heed this, ye who are winning by your inno cent beauty, the affection of high-minded and thinking beings. Remember that ho will give up the brother of his heart, with whom he has had even a fellowship of mind, the society of his contemporary runners in the rare of fume, who have held with him a stern companionship: and frequently in his passionate love, he will break away from the arena of his burning am bition, to come to listen to the “voice of the charmer.” It will bewilder him at first: but it will not long. And then, think you that an idle blandishment will change thonund that has been used for years, to an equal communion 7 Think you he will giro up for a weak dalliance the animating themes of men, and the search into the mysteries of knowledge? Oh, no, lady, behove mo, not J Trust not your influence to such fetters. Credit not the old fashioned absurdity, that woman’s is a secondary lot, ministering to the necessities of her lord and master. If your immortality ia as complete, and your gilt of mind as capable as ours, 1 would put no wisdom against God’s allotment. I would charge you to water the undying blood, and give it a licahhy culture, and open Us lea* ty to the sun, and then you may hope that, when your life is bound with another, you will go on equally, and in a fellowship that shall pervade every earthly interest. Wearing Apparel during tlio devolution. In those days men wore wigs surmounted by (broo-oornered or cocked hats, no higher than tho crown of tbo head. Their coats hiul stand ing collars, largo wido cuffs, and voluminous skirts, lined and stiffened with buckram. Those ot a baau had throo or tour largo plaits in (heir skirts, with an immense quantity of wadding to koop them smooth} cuO's extending to tho el bows. open bolowand Inclined down, with lead therein { and a capo worn low, so as readily to exposo tho closoly plaited neck stuck, of tine linen cambric, and the large silver stock bncklu nt tho back of tho nock. Their shirts had frills, hand ruffles, and finely plaited sleeves, but no collars. Gold and silver alcove buttons, set with stones or paste of various colors and kinds, adorned the wrists of all. TUctr breeches Itted closely, with silver, etono or paste buckles at (ho knee. Suspenders wero unknown ; and it was considered (ho test os well as the prido of a well . formed man when ho could keep his breeches above his hips and his stockings above his calves without bell or garter. They wore shoes or pumps, with silver buckles of various sizes and patterns. "When riding, hunting, &c., thoy wore long boots or leather leggins. Tho boys Were dressed like tho men, oven to tho shaved bead and powdered wig. Tho ladles all wore caps, stiff stays, hoops extending from six inches to two feet on each side, (causing afull-dresscd lady to enter a door sideways, like a crab,) high heeled shoes of black stuff, with white silk or thread stockings. In tho miry times ol •winter, thoy wore clogs or pattens. Their hpirwoa most elaborately arranged, being powdered, poma tumed, and drawn over a pod frequently throe or four Inches high. As soon ns wigs were a bandonod by tho men, the natural hair was par ticularly cherished, and It became customary to plait it, or wear it in a black silk bag or sack,, ndqrncd with a largo black rose. In time, ‘Bru tus beads’—which consisted In discarding pow der, porfumo, frizzle, sacks, queues, &c.-rcamo in vogue. .Those who first braved public opin ion by adopting this fashion, wore considered very courageous, and tho old men wore partic ularly obstinate lit thoir opposition to it. Death, 1 however, constantly lessoned their number, and i tho new pod 6 gradually become popular.—Acte York Sunday - BABOMSIM FOB i r: ■ : j 4 TEUE iilf p : DITEBEdmO‘felO^t*j J jf ■ A young Norfolk ‘ farmer, pn a lfmitcd .capital, foimd .two things-wra«i wanted to do justice to the largo fbrm Which «d ' rented Oh a: long a ,wife td; JttlJo the bonso at home, and' an additional thotwapd.- pounds to invest upon the laud. .Like a sags*': clous roan, bo conceived that the two mlghthS combined, andbegan to look out ibr o.cheerftu. loss with a dowry to the desired amount. Ac- . oidcnt threw him one day into (be company of tho parson of the ; be rode home, while returning from market* hi' t fell Into conversation. Encouraged by tbo dtl h vino ,thoyouth unburdenedhimselfOf his care* ;. and his plans and mentioned ..the design he had. [ formed ofm'arryingassoon os he could find ad agreeable IhSs with it moderate doWryi '» ,<l*ll tell you what/ said the parson; ‘l’ve got, three daughters, and very * nice girls they are, 1/ •. assure you. Suppose you come and dine with .tr ine next market day r and you will; meetthetUt , at tho table, and lf any of them shouldprove tbd . j ‘inevitable she’ you are In search of, I shall sol v be back-ward to do my, part ns far as f Can.* " ‘Agreed;* said tho youth; ‘ ‘l*l| come as * ns you’re alive, if you’ll say nothing About it to j j tho young hdles.’ - ‘That shall bo tbo bargain. ‘Qa Saturday ( nest, then, we shall see yoaot' dinner, at'flv©» J ‘' ’ And their roads diverging, the gantletnett’wp-i’.i arated. At tho appointed hour on the follwing Saturn day tho young, farmer, in handsome trim, de- t scendcd from.hisgalloway at tho parsbn’sdOori. - Dinner was served a few minutes after, and the - 1 young ladies, with their mother, gmcedthe tft*.V( h|o with their presence. All three*.fully josti* >• tied tho encomiums of their father; but the . youngest, a rosj'.fhced, roguish, checrfbl, lass,. 1 just escaped from her teens, alono made a-viv*.’ ’’ Id impression on tho young farmer., The; re* n' past progressed agreeably enough, and when It, - was ended, (ho Tadics withdrew, leaving’tho gentlemen to chat over their wine,. . -7 ‘Well,’ said the host, ‘what do you think of.. my girls 7’ 1 ‘I think them charming,’ said tho yonthi ‘but;. tho ydUngcst—you. call her Nelly—ls really t, most bewitching, and clever, too; andlf lew ' to have the honor of being allied to you, yott ' J must give mo her.’ • ‘That is against all rule,’ returned tho ‘to take the youngest .first; but of course I can not control your choice. What dowry dd yott * expect V ' .V. i * ‘My capital,’said the wooer,‘ls three thou-..,, sand pounds, and I want a thousand more- I —and'" I must have it.’ ) • ,* ‘I will giro you a floisand with the,eldest girl.’ ' r *No! tho charming Nolly and tbo thousand/ or I’m off.’ , • ~,t ‘That cannot bo; five hundred and Nelly, if yon like. Tho others are notlmlf so handsome,' and must havo a good fortune, or 1 shall never gel them off.’ ‘ • ■ ‘No, my resolution is fixed,’said;the youth, ‘and I shall not alter it.’ , . , ‘Nor I mine,* said the : parson, ‘ond’tho affair Is at an end; but wo will be good-fWondsnot*' withstanding.’ * ; ; . - The conversation which each person supposed . '• to bo strictly private,-now ■ fell into another ; channel; The ladies returned with tho toa-um, k and chatted unreservedly with tho farmer.— ■ - Evening came on and towards sunset, tho, girls haying strolled into tho garden, the youth rose ’ '• to toko his leave. Ho found his nag In the sto- i 'v ble, and having bado farewell to his host, took ~r his way through the shrubbery that led Into tho ‘ road. Ho was about alighting to opohtho’’ guto, when tho .rosy-faccd Nelly dartedlor ward to save him the trouble. As sho;, lifted tho latch, aho looked archly into his face and said-‘Can’t you'take my father’s money 7 1 '' i.«Ycsby Jovo, I wilUf you,wish it.’ .> ■ > • ‘Then como oyer to tho church to-mompf . morning, and tell hint so after service i f ftp# thp* speaker vanished Hke anclßu sprite ainongrthe ? greenery. ■ • . Musing, bn. tho > .provo rb,.whlch. Aays. ; 'lidVo cura lf ‘*tho ybung'farmer ra* 'slowjy home. . Ho did not fail—how could ho t—of attending [• at tho church next morning, and after sortnba f I declaring to tho parson his altered resolution.,' Ho married tho fair Nelly three months after* 1 wards, and she brought him in (ho-course of 1 | years a row of goodly sons,.than whom them, are few at the present hour wiser in their gen? r oration, or more worthy or more'wealthy, In tho ’ ‘ whole of broad England.— Chamber’* Journal. ■ ■ 1 A Valid Reason*. —Uncle Peter 8., who flourished n few years ago among the mountains ' of Vcrfnont, as an inveterate horse-dealer, was one day called upon by an amateur of. the' r “equine” in search of “something fast.” ;Tho> result is told as follows in the Northern (7a- . r ettr ■ ■ 1 •There,’ said Uncle P., pointing toon animal r: in a meadow below the house: ‘there, sir,- is a : more yonder who would trot her mile in two minutes and twenty seconds, were it not for one thing.' ‘lndeed ” cried Ins companion. ‘Yes,* continued Undo Peter; 'she is four years old this spring, is m good condition, looks , well, and is a first-rotc maro; and she con go ■ mile in 2:20, were it not for one thing!* ‘Well, what is it ?* was tho queny. - ‘That marc,’resumed the JocKy; ‘is in every respect a good piece of property. She has a heavy mane, switch tail, trots square and fidr, • and yet there is one thing why she can't go » 1 mile in 2.20.’ ‘ • ‘What in the Old Harry is it, thaiPycricd the amateur impatiently. •The distance ia too great for the time!’ was tho old wag’s reply. Tilt New Gudgeons, Tbo following dialogue, which actually took place some years since between an old lady, who bad much confidence in professionals, and a learned but eccentric clergyman,gocß to strength en a conviction ulrcndy strong in many minds, viz : that human nature is gullible: “Now, parson, ns you are a man of much learning, 1 want to ask you what became of the eleven days, when old stylo was altered to now?” “Well, well, madam, you know this world is hung on two great gudgeons—” “Indeed, air t well, what then ?” “IVell, it bad been turning round on tho two gudgeons a great while, and thoy got worn out' and it broke down.” “Do toll mo it it did ?” “Yes, warm. Veil, after the world broke down, oil tho people turned to and piit in now gudgeons, and sot It going again j and U took 'oin Just eleven days I” Thu old lady was abundantly satisfied, and would have given to tbo learned gentleman tho degree of bachelor of science, without farther examination. Thu flerry Laugli*. “Do not laugh so loud,” said an elderly lady to us, many years ago 5 “It Isn’t proper.” Well perhaps it isn’t in tho drawing room; but some times wc do Uko to hoar tv glad laugh ring out on the passing breeze. ‘ U exerts a good influence over ns, for’lt seems the natural overflowing of a pure and hap py heart. Anything in tho world can bo India-' ted better than a glad careless laugh. Tho most artful person could not counterfeit that' which just now floats through out room, in! gushes of sweetest music. “Han may smilo: and ho avllUant but It is vain for him to attempt an imitation of a gleeful laugh. Wo hear tho hollo chuckle of tho miser over his gains; tho, maniacal, tho malicious, tho triumphant laugh, but all those cOntiast bitterly with that which’' breaks from the fountains of Joy. . • ’ ■ Tho felon laughs in defiance, bnt it Is forced and unalnral { it does not sound Uko thsmur-’ nmr of rippling waters. Aftercare and Sorrow and suffering, it does not float out so lightly.—, ■ Years hence, 'lf wc ’can hear the* same glad laugh flowing front tho heart of tho little girl 1 who has Just loft us, wo shall thank God that her spirits retain the buoyancy of early lift. (£yA beautiful young lady says tho reason she carries a'parasol is, that tbo sun is of the masculine gender, and slid cannot withslandiU anient glances, ; ; ' t * (£7* A newspaper is the lift preserver that rescues those who would otherwise sink into oblivion, ICebp Cool. —To dothiscficctually—mount a straw hat, sit on a bellows, and suck icicle* till it rains. • -
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers