AMERICAN VOLUNTEER.
iWuSAEDXtKUT THUBBDAT MOUSING
jTolun B. Bratton.
TERMS,.
.Sobbowptios Ono Dollar and E'lfly Cents,
bttd in advance j Two DolWrs if paid within Iho
t ca — an 4 Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not
pfrla within the year. These terms will bo rig
' jdly adhered, toin every instance. Nosubscrip
tion discontinued until air arrearages ore paid
unlcrsaat the option of the Editor.
.AbYßaTissuEMs— -Accompanied by the cash,
apdnoi exceeding one square, will bo inserted
throb .times for ono Dollar, and twenty-five cents
fireach additional insertion, Those of a great
er length in proportion.
, Jon-PxuxriNa—rSnch as Hand-bills, Posting,
bills,‘Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &c., cxe
bated with aceurary and at the shortest notico.
ftoetiral
cniLDnuoD’s home.
BY FINLEY JOHNSON,
The world has pleasure’s rich and rare,
• Beneath God’s lofty dome j
But there arc none which can compare
i With childhood’s happy homo.
- Wo envy not the rich or great,
-Nor ot our lot roplno {
. For joys which childhood brings to us,
Are Listing and divine.
we may from the cup of fume,
Drink an inspiring draught;
we may from ambition's streams.
Its earthly pleasures quaff:
Vet will thcmicinory of our youth,
Wherever wo may roam,
(Still cling to us, and wall us back
To happy childhood's home.
Then as years flymen lime’s swift wings,
Oj let not bo forgot
f Tho bliss secure, which wo enjoyed
In childhood’s humble lot.
And 'Whether ’t Is our fate to rest,
' Or onward still to roam,
May memory often bring to us,
Our childhood's happy homo.
WHAT IS A VEAB;
What Is ft year J *Tis but a wave
On Life’s dirk rolling stream,
Which is so quickly gone that wo
Account it hut u dream.
’Tia but a single earnest throb
Of Time’s old iron heart,
Which tireless is, and strong as when
ft first with life did start.
What is a year ? *Ti« but a turn
Of.Tlmc’s old brazen wheel;
Or but a page upon the book
Which Time must shortly seal.
’Tls but a step upon the road
Which we must travel o’er ;
A lew more steps and we shall walk
Life's weary road no more.
What Is a year 1 ’Tis but a breath
From Time's old nostrils blown,
As rushing onward o’er the earth,
We hear his weary moan.
’Tis Hko tho bubble on the wave,
Or dew upon tho lawn—
As transient ns (lie mitjt of morn
Duucath tho Summer’s sun.
What is a year? ’Tls but a type
' Of Lite’s oft changing scene—
Youth’s happy morn comes gaily on,
With hills and valleys green;
/ Next Summer's prime succeeds the Spring,
,V Then Autumn with a tear,
Then comes old Winter—death and all
: ;y. Must find a level here.
3stisrfllniifoiijEi.
THE DARK HOUR
BT BBV. n. IUftUKQS WBI.D.
A woman, still id tho blomn of youth, sat
alone in an humble apartment. Atone. —and
yet not alone; for. although there were none
with whom she could exchange a thought, the
basket-cradle at her foot sheltered a little being,
which made Mary Irwine feel that, whatever
the world might think. stUI she was not alone.
Nor was she cotnparuonless: what mother Is?
To the stranger ami the indifferent, the infant
may seem, if not a cypher, a trouble, and-a
Wearisome charge. But she whose own blood
flows in its veins, never forgets, and never
wearies.
We have said Mary was still in the bloom of
youth. Rut the bloom was sadly faded. Can-,
(mitering, want, had blanched the roses on her
cheeks. A few days before, you might have
dcacerncd feverish anxiety there ; but now. nil
that had passed- The expression of her face
was thoughtful: but still u spake rest. She
had drank of tiic cup of bitterness toils very
drees ; but Ho who hears the sorrowful sighing
of tl he wretched. had comforted her. The crisis
.-;4„ had pasted, and she felt that natural composure
• steals on the soul, when nil is done, and
is Buffered.—the rest with which Heaven
the patient and the dutiful.
story was not a remarkable one : if by
-CRnarkable wo mean to sav unusual. Thenp
. Acfcrancc of the house indicated something of
li; for wo imagine there is always a nignifi
calico in the aspect of a dwelling which one of
•it* late inmates has just left, to go to the 'nar
row house.’ Mary’s hasbaml had been consign
ed to the grave. The neighbors and friends
who had aided in the melancholy bustle of the
last office, had returned to their homes, and
Mary eat with her bade in the silent room.
! • The husband whom she had buried out of
•her. sight was her choice, —her wilful choice,
made in spite of the remonstrances, the objec
tions, and Ihcforehodmgsofherrclntives. For
a, short lime after her union, it seemed as if his
life and prosperity were to prove her triumph
ant answer to their objections. All was sun
ny» cheerful, promising. And the very friends
.. who had warned and expostulated with her,
£ were willing to believe that they had been
i- wrong, and Mary right : und that affection
|b had not unerringly pointed out to her cxccllcn-
B. cics of character which they had not perceived.
BK As if willing to atone for past enmity by worm
SLfriendship, they crowded advantages and fncil
nHUies upon him, and liberally opened the way to
For a time, all succeeded that he un
'yWptook, and no young man in the city seemed
certainly assured of competence than lie.
how happy she was ! We con par
' ' "S" cr 2' lrot period of exultation, for she bit*
Buflcred for it.
IT?™- mcn cannot prosperity: and Hen
-sL”)v*no Was one of these. Give them dis
' to V >cct ' a . ncl unpropilious circmn
—?mKat> antl l *‘cy hew their way
pn ?i° ? n<l rcsolllto perseverance
t f obB !* clw - Hut let the sun
,:»h«»,on them, thcn pndo soon finds outrage
• ; -?%^t er i anCC / i n< u t lV !lp resol ution degenerates
'~!fi?£. P ' ji o1 * a cd - They take pleas
.W b-bontcmning good advice, and w 11 do
wrong, and against their own convio
; tWtt;-to roark their independence.
1 iHemY Irwino took early occasion to retaliate
• wife’s friends, for what ho affected to
rtgroits their unwarrantable opposition. ■Ho
accused them, while they wero/m no small de.
XT«e f lh« authors of his prosperity, as being
‘drVjrrito him by It; and intimated that selfish
,' octa was the origin of their tardy friendship,
it had been of their former enrol-
Lv‘> Mwy was a true wife. She Raw the injus
c.^ybeopflicr husband, but declined to acknowl
even to herself. At length, the cool
]•■'s xeflß became more and more chilling,until it re
suited In irreparable cslrnngment between Ir
* Wihd aiid the friends of his wife. Ho gloried in
' what ho considered a complete, and endeavor
•fctf to persuade himself, was a righteous re
venge. Ho made his former opponents suitors
BY JOHN B. BRATTON.
VOL 41.
for his friendship, and proudly spurned them.
Such won Aii impression.
Theirs was that they had overlooked the dis
agreeable character of their favorite’s husband,
and striven to befriend him; but that, true to
his natural low instincts, ho had refused.—
Neither party was entirely right.
When the breech became final, Mary Irw-inc
descried father and mother, and kindred, for
her husband, and identified herself with him,
so far as lingering first affections would per
mit. But. if her heart yearned over the
dear first friends of her youth, she never sutler
cd her conduct to betray what she accounted
a weakness: but clung to her husband with o
madness of aflcction, which deserved a butter
return than she received.
Henry Irwine, os we hove said, could not
bear prosperity. A secret reason, hardly ac
knowledged to himself, why he disliked his
wife’s connections, was because they perceived
Ids dangers, and ventured to warn bun. Ilia
sensitive pride took captions alarm, and lie glo
ried in mocking reproof, by persisting in in
discretion.
The end of such a course is easily prophesi
ed. He fell among tln'cvea; and for wounds of
friends exchanged the selfish flattery of knaves.
Plucked of money, and bankrupt in credit and
chat actor, he awaked at last to And himself a
ruined man, with a meek, uncomplaining wife
dependent on him, and feeling twice as keenly
ns he did. all his ruin and degradation. The
temptation which has ruined many, came in to
complete his destruction. He sought oblivion i
of his degradation in the wine cup, and there i
lost the last redeeming trace or hope of man- j
hood. It is a fearful fall, when tho appetites i
trimnyh.andlhe reason is dethroned: when the
man wakes only to misery, and rushes back to !
inebriation again, in tho rain hope to forget *
himself. .
A lower depth still remained; and Henry Ir- 1
wine found even that. Ilia jaundiced thoughts ■
dared to suspect her who, for lore of him. had !
surrendered fnends, home, happiness, hope.— |
Because she did not. and'could not. rail against ’
her own, as he did; because she was meek, anß ■
quiet, and uncomplaining, he quarrelled with j
her alhfi. He charged that she haled him, and *
regretted that her fate was coupled with his.— I
The Inst she could not deny: the first he saw
in his own heart, and judged that it must hs in ;
hers also. It is their own fancied concealed 1
reflection in the good that the wicked hale.
And he dared moreover, to accuse his wife [
ns the cause of all his misfortunes. He said he I
triumphed in them ! Can we wonder that she I
would not say she did not? It might have been 1
that she thought such a charge 100 wickedly
prc]>ostcrous to answer; or. it might have been
that she was wearied into hatc-at last, and no 1 ,
displeased to find that there was one mode in
which she could inflict pain on one who had
heaped so many wrongg on her. Mary was
drawing mar her dark hour.
There is in most, if not in all careers, a mo
ment—the crisis of a life:—an hour upon which
all the future hangs. The crisis came to Mary
Irwmc.
Her house, derobed of many comforts, was
not yet quite desolate. She clung, whilo a
glimmer of hopo remained, (o her faith
in She . believed •• that
who knew him did not know his degradation.
She thought that she had concealed It from
many—and. fond simpleton ! imagined that
men did not soedhrough the hollowness of her
smile, when she spoke of her husband.
It was night, and late. There were voices,
and a rude knock at the door. She opened it,
and her own brother entered, proceeding the
policeman, in whose custody he had found the
inebriate husband.
She looked, and comprehended all. They
laid the senseless man on the sofa: and the
strangers left the house.
•I’m on your bonnet. Mary. 1 said he broth
;t. ‘and come home with me.’
Mary east an eye on the wreck of her love
and hope. Ixmthmg thoughts rose within
her: she made one step ns if to comply; for es
cape was now first in her thoughts, and she
felt that she had borne all that hniflan nature
cnpld endure. Tiic child, disturbed in its
sleep, recalled her to the thought, how hopeless
was escape; the babe smiled, and in ths smile
she saw the sunshine of other days. Bowing
over the cradle, she sobbed out of her heart all
its stern resolves.
■Como !’ said her brother.
•But—my child !’
• Wowill send for it,’ said her brother; but
perceiving a strange look, almost indignant,
■through her tears.‘We will take it with us,’
he said. But the first careless expression turn
ed the scale. She made no answer until, after
wailing a moment in silence, her brother said,
and now more sharply,
‘Come I'
‘Wait til! to-morrow.’
‘Now. or never!'
She made no reply: hut bending over her in
fant. soothed il again to sleep. She wavered
thought, parleyed; and was roused, at last,
from a half dream by the noise of a closing
door. She rose suddenly, and gazed wildly
about her. Her brother had gone,—her darn
hour bail passed for the temptation was with
drawn. Hid she do right f Hark the sequel,
and then answer.
Henry Trwinc awoke to consciousness in a
burning fever. It was not mere.y that which
invariably follows debauch.nor was it that ter
rific delirium consentient upon long indulgence
in intoxication: for his fall had been rapid,and
the lime of his error short. But disappoint
ment, excess, and exposure, had made Inm, in
n short space, a perfect wreck. He obeyed her
guidance like a child, and she conducted him
to Ins bed, and then despatched the following
note to an old friend :
•Mary Irwino hopes that, among all the
friends of her better days, there is one left who
will cmnu to her in her extremity, with no im
possible demands, and that she snail llnd that
one friend in Dr. Ralph.’ w
The physician, n benevolent old gentleman,
woswith her even before her messenger return
ed. Ho listened kindly: and if a thought of
incredulity arose in his mind, ho concealed it,
and followed tho wife, with kind words, as an
equal, and not as a patron, to tho bed-sido of
her husband. For a moment, ho stood regard
ing tho sad picture; then, gently taking the
debauchee's hand, proceeded mechanically to
count his pulse.
‘Oh, Doctor V cried tho sufferer, turning a
way, 'this is tho cruelty of kindness I 1 A sus
picion occurred to, and a dark shadow came
over hlu face. 'No !’ ho shouted in a husky
voice, 'lt la tho keenness of insult!’ Ho rose
to spring forward-—but his face bccaroo deadly
l )a |f' Ho sank exhausted and powerless.
ina doctor sighed and turned away. Ho
sat down -again and penciled a pcrscription,
and sajd,*l will cnlUgain.’
‘Will you, Indeed/ said Mary, her face
brightonm* up. *'
‘ l ’° or It ! « 8 . a1 5 tho 0111 B<m«™an. ‘You
nro pleased to find that I admit that something
ads him beside intoxication. ■ Strange-strange
—but very natural,' and ho hurrieifout.
Henry lay somo hours, weak but conscience.
Faithfully, but painfully did his wife attend
upon him; for, while the necessity of attention,
and the promptings of her heart called her to
his a>do, she grieved to sec that the sight of her
face disturbed him—disturbed him almost to
distraction. And who can*wonder?
It was a long, long day. And day passed
into evening, and evening into midnight, be
fore the care of her husband and her child saf
fered ber to rest. Exhausted nature claimed
her due, and Mary dreamed. She was back in
the joy of other years—yet over that joy'there
seemed a sadness. People were decrying him
to her, and she was zealously defending him—
as she had often done. And while she dream
ed she thought his pleasant voice spake in her
car, ‘Mary!* Again it spake, and now she
sprang up and went to his bed-side.
•Can you forgive me?’
•Forgive you, dearest/’ She did not know
whether she was asleep or awake—whether he
spake in fact and deed ,or whether the voice was
a drcam-voice. So, for want of further words,
she placed her cheek to his.
‘God bless you, Mary I Now T can rest. 1
He fell asleep. But the shock his health had
received was not to be retrieved so easily as by
] one night’s rest. On the morrow ho was both
I belter and worse—better, for there was less
! fever—worse, for there was less strength.
| And so wore day after day. Wo need not
| relate how.%ith sure progress, but slow, death
, mastered his victim: for Henry Invine's days
1 were numbered. And wo need not describe
bojv tho young wife hovered over his couch,
and his weary life was closed in forgiveness
and peace. Brothers and friends she lacked
none now : for He who calls us hence by death
has surrounded its approach with circumstan
ces which remove enmities and disarm hale.—,
He passed away quietly, and his last illness
left a gentle memory of him in men’s hearts.
There was a sound of wheels at the door.—
•Now, daughter,’ said her mother, as she en
tered, ‘we have come for you, as we promised.
Como home again to our hearth and hearts.—■
Forget that you wore ever away.’
Mary silently pointed to her child. Her
mother could make no reply, and Mary said :
•With this memorial of Aim. mother, (and
may God spare it for my memorial when lam
gone.) I cannot forget that I have been away.-
And, O ! how grateful am I, that once away I
stayed until now; that I remained here to sec
all reconciled on earth; to note the evidence in
a mtek and quiet, a repentant and rcsifjncd
spirit, that nil is forgiven in heaven I When
this dear shild shall live to ask of his father,
now. mother. lean speak of tho peaceful close
[ of liis brief day, but I need not of its dreadful
; storms.’
And Mary Trwine bade adieu to the house
in which she had met and conquered her Da.uk
Hunt.
Rtslomlion of the Jews to Jmlcn,
There arc strange things passing around us.
One might almost conclude that we were all
most romantic dreamers, or that life was all
one oriental fable. In this busy and scheming
lime, there arc few projects of more novelty of
grandeur or design than the restoration of-the
scattered which the
and.'Judas.
have illustrated; in whose tombs repose- tho
a/?boe of Isrcal; and over which there floats
like flooding light, tho of the
poetic inspiration of the wading‘Jeremiah, the
lofty Isaiah, the sublime and thoughtful David,
flic luxurious and imaginative Solomon. The
grand project, if we be not mistaken, originat
ed with a London banker, and seems to attract
no small share of attention. It contemplates
contingencies of the grandest and mosvintcrcst
ing nature, and which if viewed aright, must
be deeply important to European nations. The
’ dissolution and conquest of the Ottoman Em-
its annexation to Russia, and tho down
fall of the Asiatic governments immediately ad
joining. arc nil parts of the mighty drama of
nations, which is to close with the restoration
of Israel. Some years ago circumstances made
It extremely probable that the Ottoman cm
i pi re would be annihilated by Russian power,
and all Europe rang ns with an alarm noil.—
Every nation stood warily, ready to hurl a
fierce defiance at tho Russian autocrat, should
his ambitious projects have succeeded. For.
in that case a struggle for national existence
appeared inevitable. Tho war ended and tho
panic ceased. But tho same state of things
will again exist should tho Ottoman empire dis
solve itself. The Russian vulture would seize
upon lias his prey; the balance of power
would be broken in Europe, and the burning
tenements of Constantinople would be as bale
ful as the signal-torch calling the nations to
one of the fiercest and most awful struggles,
that ever stained the earth with blood and des
olated empires. But the subject is too grand;
100 extended for us to pursue onr theme far
ther. Suffice it to say independent of the aw
ful incidents which it contemplates as the ante
cedents to its coinplction.it is a sublime at
tempt to restore tho faded glories and power of
a nation, which has long since passed away as
n dream, of which tho remembrance alone re
mains to the earth.
N r.wsr Arras.—Judge Lnngstrcct, whoso
views on all subjects are sensible, practical, and
worth treasuring up, thus sets forth the value of
a newspaper :
"Small Is the sum that Is required to patron-
Izo a newspaper, and most amply remunerated
Is the patron. 1 care not how humble and un
pretending the gazette which ho takes; U la next
to impossible to fill a sheet flfiy-two. times a
year without putting Into ft something that la
worth _tho subscription price. Every parent
whose'son is off from him at school should bo
supplied with a paper. I well remember what
a differoecc (hero was between those of my
schoolmates who had not access to newspapers.
Other tilings being equal, the first wore always
decidedly superior to the last in dobato and com
position at least. The reason Is plain; they had
command of mors facts. Youth will pornso a
newspaper with delight when they nil) read
nothing else.”
Fhmalr Heroism. —‘One day,’ nays Masse
na, being at Buzonghen, I perceived a young
soldier, belonging to tho Light Artillery, whoso
horse had just been wounded by a lance. Tho
young man, who appeared quite a child, de
fended himself most desperately, os several
bodies of tho enemy lying around could testify.
I immediately despatched an officer with some
mcn to his assistance, but they arrived too
late. Although this action had taken place on
tho borders of tho wood, and in front of tho
bridge, this artillery man had alone withstood
tho attack of tho small troop of Cossacks and
Bavarians whom tho officers and men t had de
spatched put to flight. His body was covered
with wounds, inflicted by shots, lances and
swords. There were at least thirty. And do
you know, Madame, what tho young man was?
said Massena. 'I do not,* replied Madame Vas*
scy. She was MadatnoOsma ■, the Turkish
heroine, and daughter of one of the most re
markable Turkish generals.
Tho editor of a cotcmporary is so thin
that only ono of his political opponents can
blackguard him at tho same time. They draw
lots for chances to get at him I
“OUR COUNTRY—STAY IT BE RIGHT —RUT RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY."
ILE, PA., THURSDAY, MARCO 15,1855
CARLO
The Miser onJ Ws Bag of Gold,
Ilawoja Tacoob was accustomed to sit by
his money bag, wishing that some great spirit
would endow it With the marvellous qualities of
Fortnnatusourfiql' Ortc night the voice of the
bulbul was echoing louder than ever through the
desolate old tlaattu and the miser’s heart trem
bled with anxiety and feafN, Some how or other,
he had a presentiment that-'all was not right—
that some unseenbvil hung suspended over his
head in the air* the bird !’ quoth the
raiser. ‘HerhataruT song drags silly people
forth from their, houses, even at this late hour,
till darkness and terror connected with this
neighborhood anf.(*at being overcome. ‘Drat
the bird 1* ' •
‘Aye, ay 1 that you say?’ growled
a deep unmclodioua Toied^close to the startled
miser’s car. • -■
•Drat tho bird L Why that bird is our sov
ereign lady, the Qilecn 6f tho Forest.*
The trembling Old man could scarcely grasp
for breath/ as. . enriching lightly with both
hands his favorite Vftg of gold, he looked fear
fully over hia showders, and saw a face nnd
hcad, without anypddy, floating in the middle
of the room, with’lmpair of dreadfully ghastly
looking eyes staring at him full in the face.
‘That’s my gnld/quoth the head, with a
terrible oath, !f ; ■
Now’aUhopgb ibo miser was re dy to faint
away with frignt, ,t{te baro idca of relinquishing
his darllhg treasure,, brought him to his senses
again; so ho stoutlK^ en * that any one but
himself had the ghost of a title to a farthing’s
worth of what he possessed.
‘But I do.' said th*c head. 'I lay claim to all
the gold in the world; and to prove to you
that I am correct, 111 bet you that there are
fifty millions of millions of doubloons in that
sack, and a - hundred million times as many
more.' ’ if,:
•I’ll take that bet/ was tbc miser's reply, ns
his heart lept for again, so confident was ho
of success.’
Well it took hipi ft long time to count before
ho could count to ‘within fifty doubloons of
what ho know the sack ought to contain —new
ho only wanted only five—now one.
and still tho sack wns as brim-full of doub
loons ns ever. >
‘There is some chtytting bore,’ quoth the mi
ser.
‘I won't count any more.’
‘Vou dare stop atiq'sec what I’ll do to you,*
was tho orgic’s terrific reply.
And so the wretched miser went on counting
and counting, andnt-ver came to the bottom of
the sack,'though heaven only knows how many
years; whom tho last crumbling ruins of his
tenement fell in came to graze their cat
tle in tho neighborhood,; but shephers could
never be induced to'flbrtain there over night,
because they said thC noise of people counting
money and letting 0(un8 drop and tingle again
on the old stones, WM really too awfifl. to listen
to, especially if the q|yht proved tq : bc particu
larly dark and storm*.
lltoji -Stilt!
, *Ao longer a exclaimed an aged pa
triarch, «h! you mlajvkq me if any think ,agc
lias blotted out my Imvrt. Though silverbairfl
fait over a.brow all wjWiklcd, and' alohcck^oU
bcauty'm tho maid<nffl blush, the soft tinfc : of
flowers, the singing of birds, and, above all,
the silvery laugh of a child. I love the star
like meadows where the butler cups grow, with
almost the same enthusiasm ns when, with my
ringlets flying loose in tho wind, and my cap
in hand, years ago, I chased tbc pninled but
terfly. I love you aged dame. Look at her.—
Her face is careworn, but it has ever held a
smile for me. Often have I shared the bitter
cup of sorrow with her—and so shared it seem
ed almost sweet. Years of sickness have sto
len the freshness of her life, but, like tho fadfd
rose, tbc perfume of her love is richer than
when in the full bloom of youth and maturity.
Together we hate placed huda in the pale,
folded hands of the dead : together wept over
little graves. Through storm and sunshine wo
hare clung together, and now she sits with her
knitting, her cap quaintly frilled, the old styled
kerchief crossed white- and prim above the
heart that has beat so long and truiv for mo.
the dim blue eye that shrinking!.? fronts the
glad clay : the sunlight throwing her a parting
farewell, kisses her brow and leaves upon its
faint tracery of wrinkles angelic radtanco. I
see. though no one else can. the bright glad
young face that won mo first, shine-through
those withered features, and the glowing love
of forty years thrills my heart till the tears
come.
Say not again T can no logger bo a lover.—
Though this form be bowed, God has implant
ed eternal love within. Let the car be deaf,
(he eye blind, the hands palsied, the limbs
withered, the brain clouded, yet the heart, the
true heart, may hold such wealth of love, that
all the power of death and the victorious grave
shall not be able to put out the quenchless
flame.
Did You Evkii? —Did you ever attempt to
pass quickly around a comer close to the buil
ding in n busy street, without finding yourself
suddenly in the arms of one of the opposite sex?
Did you ever walk behind an old man with his
cane stuck up under his arm, without his
stopping suddenly, running the end of it into
your right eye, seriously damaging that mem*
her? Did you ever ask the prettiest girl in the
room to dance with you, without bcinp told
that she was engaged for every set ? Did you
ever wonder into a place where you wero par
ticularly anxious not to bo known, without
meeting some blundering fellow who bawled
out at the topof Ins voice,‘How are you,Jones?'
Did you ever accept an invitation to go to
church with a friend who owns ‘half a scat’
without finding it jammed full with the friends
of the other proprietor ? Did you ever buy ft
with Inc last cent of change about you,
without seeing Smith, who gave you one yes
terday, walking up and greeting you with a
smile, just as you were making the selection ?
A.Smart Dou.—A friend of ours has a dog,
which used to be very smart. Ho says :
•There wasn’t anything in old Kcntuck that
could begin with him, 'ccptonco. One day wo
started a bar, a regular snorter. lie put
straight off, and the dog ( after him, an' I
brought up in the war, Ihcy were soon out
of slgnt. but I followed on for a mile or so.and
camo out at last on a clearing, where there was
a log hut, an’ a feller sotting down an* smok
ing his pipe as comfortable oa possible.
‘Did you see anything of a dog an’ a bar
going by hero 1* sez I to the fellow.
‘Yes, I did,’ sez ho.
•Wat, how was it V sez I.
‘Wal,’ soz ho, taking lus pipe out, an’ draw
ing his coat sleeve across his face, ‘it was about
nip on' tug, tho' I think the dog had a lectio
tho advantage.*
‘How was that?* sez I.
‘Wal, ho was a trifle ahead!’
ttT" A writer in tho Kansas Herald of Free
dom declares that there underlies, at the depth
of twenty to. fifty feet, a vast stratum of mag
nesia, being tho distinguishing geological for
mation of that territory.
iWiitef.
THE BUND PUEACHEE.
A wonderful instance of zeal in the accumu
lation of knowledge, and of the successful cul
tivation of memory, is that of the blind clergy
man, so pleasantly described in the following
passage, which is copied from a late English
writer:
"In my rambles last summer, on the borders
of Wales, I found myself one morning alone on
the banks tff the beautiful river Wye, without
a servant or a guide. I tyd to ford the river at
a place where according tqjtho instructions giv
en me at the nearest hamlet, if I diverged ever
so little from the marks wfiich the rippling of
the current made as it passed over a ledge of
rocks, I should sink twice the depth of myself
and horse. While I stood hestitating on the
margin, viewing attentively the course of the
ford, n per son passed me on the canter, and the
next instant I saw him plunge into the river;
presuming on his acquaintance with the pas
sago, I immediately and closely followed his
steps. As soon as wo had gained the opposite
bank, I accosted him with thanks for the bene*
fit of his guidance; but wbat was my astonish
ment, when, bursting into a hearty, laugh, he
observed that my confidence would have been
less had I known that I had been following a
bl»nd guide! The wanner of the man, as well
as the fact, attracted my curiosity. To my
expressions of surprise at his venturing tocross
therivcrnlone.be answered, that he and the
horse that bo rode had done the same thing
every Sunday morning for the last five years, I
but that, in reality, tins was not the most peril-1
ous part of his weekly peregrination, as I should
bo convinced, if my way led over the mountain ;
before us. My journey had no object but
pleasure ; I therefore resolved to attach myself j
to my extraordinary companion, and soon
learned in our chat, as we wound up the steep
mountain’s side, that he was a clergyman :
and of that class which is the disgrace of our
ecclesiastical establishment—l mean the coun
try curates, who exist upon the liberal stipend
of thirty, twenty, aud sometimes fifteen pounds j
a year! This gentleman, aged sixty, had i
about thirty years before, been engaged in the j
curacy to which ho was now travelling, and ,
though it was at the distance of eight long 1
Welsh miles from the place of his residence,!
sneh was the respect of his /lock towords him.
that, at the commence of his calamity, rather
than part with him, they sent regularly, every
Sunday morning, a deputation to guide their
old pastor oi>his way. The road, besides cross
ing the river we had just passed, led over a
°raggy mountain, on whose top innumerable
and uncertain bogs were constantly forming,
but which, nevertheless, by the instinct of bis
Welsh pony, this blind man has actually cross
ed alone for the last five years, having so long
dismissed the assistance of guides.
While our talk beguiled the way, we insensi
bly arrived within sight of his village church,
which was seated in a deep and narrow vale.—
As I looked down upon it, the bright verdure
of tho meadows, winch were hero and there
chequered with patches of yellow com; the
moving herd of cattlo ; the rich foliage of the
groves of oak, hanging irregularly overits sides,
tho white houses of the which
sprinkled every corner of this peaceful retreat;
semblcd in their best atliro ; round their place
of worship j all this gay scene, rushing at once
on the view, struck my senses and imagination
more forcibly than I can express.
Ah we entered the church-yard, the respect
ful, 'How do you do?’ of the young, the near
ly shakes of the old. and the familiar gambols
of the children, showed how their old pastor
reigned in the hacarts of all. After some re
freshment at the marcst house, we went to tho
church, where my veteran priest read the pray,
er, psalms, and chapters of the day. and then I
preached & sermon, in a manner that could j
nave made no one advert to hta loss of sight.— .
At dinner, which it seems that four of the most I
substantial farmers of the vale provided in turn. I
ho related the progress of his increased powers 1
of memory. For the first year, he attempted [
only the prayers and sermons, the best reader
of tho parish making it a pride to officiate for
him in the psalmS and chapters : he next un
dertook the labor of learning these by heart,
and, at present, by continual repetition, there
is not a psalm or chapter, of the more than
two hundred appointed for tho Sunday service,
that ho is not perfect it. He told me, also,
that having in liia little school two sons of his
own intended for the University, ho has. by
hearing them continually, committed the great-1
er part of Homer and Virgil to memory.’ j
NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS.
rUOM THE DIART OF AM IDLES
Strolling about Baris one day last summer,
with my friend Dr. At , a sudden, dark tom.
peat-cloud drove us lulu a “ passage” near the
Boulevards—a sort of a glass-roofed bazaar.—
This soon became densely crowded with all sorts
of folks, seeking shelter (bore, like ourselves,
from a severe and pelting shower of rain, ac
companied by sharp flashes of lightning and
heavy thunder. The crowd accumulated at both
ends of this passage—women and priests and'
soldiers and blouses, all crowded together.—*
Thunder and lightning in such severity are un
usual In Pans, and I noticed that much alarm
existed in the crowd. The priests lost no time
in resorting to their little black-covered books,
and commenced a rapid reading, In a sort of
hurried, low mutter, and alternately crossing
themselves. The women wrung their hands, ami
many of them fell on tholr knees, exclaiming,
at every flash of lightning, “Mon Dieul ” Pro.
sently there came a very severe flush, giving
everything around a sort of yellowish and lurid
coloring, and followed almost Instantaneously
by a very loud metallic ringing, French-sound
ing thunder, such as I never hoard at homoj it
almost alarmed mo, (used as I had boon to thun
der.) I thought the urched glass roof was com
ing down upon us, for with this thunder came
a smashing fid! of raiu and hall. Everybody
seemed instinctively to shrink down; but (tie
llmtulor-clap had scarcely censed to reverberate,
when, from a group of soldiers near the entrance,
came an almost simultaneous shout of 11 vive r
Empereur /”
That was tho laU of that thunder-storm. Tho
alarm ceased with It, and In lobm than ton min
utes tho sun was shining, and tho crowd diaper,
abdj and wo in our turn, continued our rambio
about tho gay streets, hearing occasionally some
hurried remarks and comments on tho extraor-
dinary severity of “A* Eclair” et La Tounerre,”
and the cheering and timoly cry of Vivi ’/
Empereur f n There was nothing in that cry at
tho tlmo which gave mo an idea of impious to
merit/1 it was a sort of national impulse—it
was tho uppermost thought, as in battle, when
danger seemed most Imminent, to cheer up and
make tho bent of It— go ahtad, Vive ‘I Empe
reur/” 1 don’t know why tho memorandum
was made which I And I did make In my diary,
when this little national peculiarity, that
I was reminded of something like it 1 once wit
nessed at homo. Upon reflecting, I don’t think
it exactly accords; but ns It struck mo at tho
tlmo, and, like Captain Cuttle, « I made a note
on’t,” I will Just mention It. It occurred dur
ing tho hottest point of tho contest between Go
noral Jackson and Mr. Diddle In tho Dank war.
I was In trade then \ a cargo of brandy and wine
was being lauded In front of Us on tho wharf,
AT 82,00 PER AKKCM.
NO. 40.
nnd the Custom House gaugers and markers
were all busy, and a circle, ns usual, of antir
temperance loafers, each with n sly sucker In
Ins pocket, were gathering there, and watching
a chance at (ho open bangs. Before tbo day
closed, a regular d rukon fight commenced among
them, and the police Interposed, making many
captives. After quiet was restored, and the
wharf being cleared of (ho cargo* a poor miser-:
able creature was found stowed away out of sight
between some casks, to all apgearancedead; his
sucker lay near him, a marked'and sure evidence
for a coroner’s inqnost to safely reach a verdict.
A cart was procured to take the body away to a
place more convenient for a coronor’s jury to
act 5 but the cart had made but a short progress
with the body over the paving stones, when signs
of life were discovered—the cart was stopped,
the old sucker raised up his head, nnd staring
around, seemed to feel that ho had but a moment
left to give evidence of his identity ot any rate,
and then let come what might] ho knew nobody,
and nobody seemed to know him; but a about of
laughter IVom tho hy-sfandcra followed his first
and ready exclamation s “Hurrah for Jackson,
and down with tho bank!” Itwas “ tho nation
al cry” of that day; since then, the “ Maine Ll
quor Law” has made progress, and tho old
suckers are less in fashion.—Home Journal.
THE BOUNTY LINDAHL.
The following is the bountydtod bill which
passed the House of Roprcsentaßßason Wed,
nesday. It la not the Senate bUI
tato therefore, offered by Mr. Kichai£jon, of
Illinois, differing, however, in sQverpjßajFticu
lars. It has also passed (he Senate :* v . ~
Be it enacted by the Senate and Tlduso of B e.
preaentatives of the United States of America
in Congress assembled, That each of the survi
ving commissioned and non-commissioned offi
cers, musicians, and privates, whether of regn
lirs, volunteers, rangers, or militia, who were
regularly mustered inlo the service of the Uni
ted States, and every officer, commissioned and
non-commissiefbed, seaman, ordinary seaman,
marine, clerk, tuidiltindsman in the navy, in any
of the wars in which this country has been en
gaged since seventeen hundred and ninety, and
each of the survivors of the militia; or volun
teers, or Stale troops of any State or Torriloiy,
! called into military service, and regularly tnus
, tered therein, and whose services have been
1 paid by the United States, shall he entitled to
I receive a certificate or warrant from the Uepart
i ment of tho Interior for one hundred and sixty
acres of land; and where any of those who have
been so mustered info service and paid shall
i have received a certificate or warrant, ho shall
bo entitled to a ccrtiflcote or warrant fur such
quantify of land as will make, in the whole, with
what he may have heretofore received, onolmn
dred and sixty acres to each such person having
served as aforesaid: Provided, The person so
having been in service shall not receive said
land warrant if It shall appear by the muster rolls
of his regiment or corps that he deserted, or was
dishonorably*discharged from service.
Provided, further, that the benefits of this
section shall be held totfktend to wagon-masters
and teamsters who may htlvo been employed,
under the direction ol competent authority in
time of war, in tho transportation ol military
stores and supplies.
Section 2. And bo it further enacted, That In
case of the death of any person, who, if living,
would bo entitled to a certificate or warrant as
j under this act, leaving a widow, or, If
I no widow, n minor child Of eWUr3hi SUvll-Wl*
I (low, or, if no widow, such minor child or chR-
rsctivfa or
warrant for fKo same quantity orhimllbaf sncb
dcconsod person would bo entitled to receive
under the provisions of this net If now'living!
Provided, That a subsequent marriage simltnot
impair the right of any such widow to such war
rant if she bo a widow n( the time of making her
application; And provided, further, That ihoso
ahull bo considered manors who aro so ut the
time this act shall tak<£efTect.
Section 8. further enacted. That
in no case such certificate or warrant
be issued for any service less than fourteen days,
except where tho person shall Regally have been
engaged in battle, and unless claim
ing such certificate or warrant ahull establish his
or her right thereto by recorded evidence of
said service.
Section 4. And be it further enacted, That*
said certificates or warrants may be assigned,
transferred, and located by the warrantees, (heir
assignees, or their helrs-at.lnw, according to
thu provisions of existing laws regulating tho
assignment, transfer, and locution of bounty land
qurmnts.
Section 5. And be itfurtlfor enacted, That no
warrant issued under the provision* of Una act
shall bo Ideated on any public lands, except such
os shall lit thatinio bo subject to sale at either
the minimum or loner graduated prices.
Section 0. And bo it further enacted, That
the registers and receivers ot the several land
offices shall bo severally authorized to charge
and receive for (heir services in locating all
warrants under the provisions oi this act the
same compensation or per cenlage to which
they are entitled by law for sales of the public
lands, for cash, at the rate of one dollar and
twenty-Ovo cents per acre. The said compen
sation to Ito paid by the assignees or holders el
such warrants.
Section 7. And lie it further enacted, That
the provisions of this act, and all the bounty
land laws heretofore passed by Congress, shall
bo extended to Indians, in tho sameroanner and
to the same extent as if the said Indians had
been while men.
Section 8. And bo it further enacted, That
tho officers and soldiers ol the revolutionary
war, or their widows or minor children, shall be
entitled to the benefits of this act.
Section 0. And bo it Airthor enacted, Thai
the benefits of this act shall be applied to and
embrace those who served ns volunteers at tho
invasion of Plntlsburg, In September, eighteen
hundred and fourteen i also at the hatt/o of
King’s mountain, in the revolutionary war j ond
tho baffle of Nlcknjaek agatnsf the confederated
savages of tho South.
Section 10. And bo it further enacted. That
tho provisions of this act shall apply to tho chap
lains who served with tho army in the several
wars of the country.
Section 11. And bo it further enacted, That
tho provisions of this net bo'-applicd to flotilla,
men and to those who served as volunteers tt
tho attack on Lewiatown, in Delaware, by tho
Rritiah fleet, in tho war of oightoon hundred and
twelve—fifteen.
Novel Marriages.—Tho Highland News, of
the Bth inst.. relates, that a lad of 19 ami a lass
of 15, eloped from Highland county last week,
and tnado their way by railroad to Cincinnati,
where they were married, and returned next
day. We hope the anxious friends of thesoju
vcnilcs will tone good care of them.
Tn the Lawrcuccburg Express, of the 7lh
Inst., we find the following singular-notice:
Married. —On Thursday, Jan. 30th, by
Rev. Mr. Collard, Rev. James 11. Brooking to
to Miss Sallie Craig, all of Boono county, Ky.
Tho above couple were really married in tho
Ohio river, opposite Rising Sun, on a mie of
floating ice t Surely that was taking a cold
start in matrimonial life.
O’ ‘Stop your crying,* said an enraged fa
ther to Uia Son, who had kept up an intolera
ble ‘yell 1 for tho last llvfc minutes: ‘atop,l say
do you hcarl* again repeated tho father, after
a few minutes, the boy still crying: ‘You don*t
suppose I can choke off in a minute do you I*
chimed in tho hopeful urchin.
A Millionaire. —Tho editor of tho New
Orleans Picayune calculates that ho is bitten
by two millions of mosquitoes every night.
nn^
.Tie MruWmmt! ..
, ThoPcrandthe Press, blcsa r d aHiartfti
dorobMea '"‘ fA
To soften the heart and cnKgHca filth '
For that to the tacfiSßted of - -
gave birth. . -v ;
And this sent them forthto tbe OtW&'<a‘'
thoeafth; *''•
Their battlea'for troth vrbro triompnttt; j
. indeed, ~ * . j:-,. {i-! •-}
And th* rod of the tyrant was snajtpwl...
. like a reed,. ... ' “ ‘
They were made to exalt os, to teach o#* ■ ■
to bless,
Those invincible brothers—the Pen and
the Press. . ,
{£?* Procrastination is the thief of. tapta. • ; .■
Wc take no, note of time, llf.
loss. ' ' , ‘V/;..,'-
J2?”Man wants bat, little, nor tbit UtUtt
long. •
Ky* ’Xia moral gnndcur makes the toatfAf -
man. . . i :.i
$y Death loves a shining mark, ft tight! r
blow. ’ • •
Never let yonr tongue go befonr yoaf
thoughts.
[£7“ Men may live fools, bat fools they ’catUv*
nqttlie. ‘ -
By-AH men think all men mortal* bdi'
themselves. - r • -
XT’ All; all on earth is shadows, all beyond
is substance. • i- •
XT” Judgment is a throne of prudbaft, tnd ’
silence is its sanctury.
XT* When is a man thinner than ft shingle?
When he’s a shaving.
XT’ There arc 750 paper mills in actual Opera*
(ion in the United States.
and a half yards make a perch;:
how many will make a cal flshl
XT* Tho Detroit (Michigan) .inquirer, iljBf.
"It has snowed for twcQty-twuJStiCCCB»TO
days.”
XT* The shock of an earthquake was feJt ih *
some parts of Maine, on tho morning of toft
19ihult.
Qy* There is more paper consumed Itt tho
'United Slates thkn in England and rrahcetJOiA
bined.
XT” The amount of Wool grown in the tT.
States is about 60,000,000 of pounds annual*
XT* To make hens Jay perpetually—hit them
on the head with a club. We giro this hint W
farmers gratis.
XT/" 11 docs not necessarily follow that whoti
a man is the lion of a party, that ab should
make a beast of himself.
XT" Bacon says, men will wrangle, write,
fight, die,—in fact do any thing but live foe
religion! There Is philosophy id this.
XT' Bcnnct, of tho New York Herald, hM
brought suit against Greeley, of the -Tribtm*
for libel, and lays damages at $50,000.
XT' Prescott has Completed, after a ten yehM*
labor, his history of the reign of Philip th*
Second. It will bo published in three volume*.
XT Many a loot haspttssed for SclcvCTman,
because he nas knotvn how to bold bis tbuguo !
and many a clever man has passed for ft fool,
because he has not known how to make US* of
XT’ ‘Did you know, 1 said a cunninfe "tanke*
to a Jew, ‘lhttt they hang Jews and lackassca
together in Portland 1’ ‘lndeed! then It ift
well that you and I arc not there,* retorted tho
Jew. ' 1
living in the small village
name of John Swan, not at all related, and all
with wooden legs, although not one has been
in the arm/ or navy.
[Cy* A tree, it would seem,- is tho thirstiest
of nature’s productions. It has been asetf*
Uined by experiment that one weighing I,ooo'
lbs. will absorb eighty-four pints of water ini
the twenty-four hours.
OTy' An old author quaintly remarks—Avoid
arguments with ladies. In spinning yamS
among silks and satins, a man is sure ttf bb
worsted and twisted. And when amanjsfrOrft*
cd and twisted, ho may consider himself wdttßo
up.
v [fy- Tho farm of eight hundred acres *witti
the, buildings thereon, known os Daniel
atcr’a homestead, in Franklin. N. H., was .sold
on Thursday last, for 915,000. Rufus L. Jfaj'v
of Boston, was the purchaser.
Cy” The increase of population in CalllonuA
during the year 1854, is estimated at 60,000;
overland to an equal numbor by sea. lowa,
during the past year, has received over 100,000
addition to her population, and Mincsot*, 60r
000.
By*‘We have a span of horses,* S*!d
economic the other day, ‘on our farm, thatnjf*
port themselves without any cost*
how is that V exclaimed a listener. 4 Wby t
yon see.’ remarked the questioned, ‘(moll asaw
horsy, the other a clothes’•horse.”
(£7* A crowd were looking at tho body of a
rjinn killed on a railroad, when a fat and ptonv
remarked : ‘ln tho midst of life we’
acqin dot (death)!’ ’An Irishman, standing
by,\nswcml, ‘Bo jnbere, you may wdl say
that,, for ho owoa mo two dollars !*
JC7* Louis Napoleon is collecting his unde’s
letters ami writings. It is said that twenty
volumes will hardly contain all the MSS, ofibe’
Emncror Napoleon. Many letters, &C., writ*
fen ny tho Emperor, are in a text hardly legi
ble—it is only with tho greatest difficulty tfatffr
the exact words arc made out.
By* *The signs of tho tiroes are qminbwuf
opens an excited editor, in his leader-.
world is turning over very fast. Wfcdota
sprouts out of sap heads, like toadstools (tank
a manure-heap. Wo shall soon see wonta*.
Won’t it be a glorious time when all the girt*
wear breeches, and go a-courtiog. Jolly iriU
be that joyous day.
(£7“ The richest endowments of the mind art.i
temperance, prudence, and fortitude, -frit*
deuce Is an universal virtue which enter! into
the composition of all the rest; and white !he
b not, fortitude losses its name andTxatuTe.
A man of virtue is an honor to hisfcowpu
try, a glory to humanity, a satisfaction -to
self, and a benefactor to tho whole woVld..: '.B*
is rich without oppression, or dUbopepty, char
itable without ostentation, courteous without
deceit, and brave without vice.
Tho greater the difficulty the more the
glory in surmounting it. Skilful pilots gain
their reputation Rom storms and tempests.
t£7' A wise mop stands firm in all extremi
ties, and bears the lot of his humanity with a
divine temper. ; 1
ICT' It is almost as criminal to hear a wpf
thy man traduced without attempting hii'Jus
tification,as to be author of tho calumny agumk 1
him : it is, in fact, a sort of misprison of trea
son ogainst society. . . r/
(C 7“ Nothing sets so wide a mark bettaenV
vulgar and a noble soul, as the respect'abd mV* ‘
crcntial love of womankind. A man who U
always sneering at women, is generally either
a coarse profligate, or coarse bigot.
I£7* A hotter advertises, that VWatUon tho
Mind” is of great importance, but what** oa
the head, is of greater.