- , i ■;' : jfioltitt B. BmUori.
J’JV'ISI.y 1 ; TE.BM3; '
• ilioilat, UA Fifty CoUti},
V-S?SSSmS« i »** «■** If P*»Wttto the
ind T w Dollatffna Fifty Cent,. If not
twycw; tfhfcao tfitms will bo rig
fjnv <fSho're<l tSiQ97°^instance. Nosubscrip
-4!nillicbritlbuelunlU>U arrearage a are paid
ijJnot oxce'ediog bne square, will bo Inserted
fjru tlmoB for one Dollar, and twonty-flve cents
JSSShcb additional-insertion. Those of a great
i.math in proportion. : .■
* JoD^PnisTiwa—Such, as Hand-bills, Posting
iijili Pamphlets,,Blanks, Labels, &c., &c.,exe
olcdfWitb abcutary.and at tho shortest notice
ftofimil.
Come To ]rt© In Dreams.
PT OEO. ,D. pBENTICE.
Qomo Iti beautiful dreams, loro,
Oh I comolotrie oft,
tyhon the light Wing of sleep
On'ity bosom lies soil ;
t)h! ; come when the sen,
: id th(3-moon*s gentle light,
~ Beats ob the bar
Like! tho pnlso of tho night—
When the sky and tho wave
. Wear tlie lovelicat blue,
When tho dew’s on tho flower
the star’s, on tho dow.
iconic In boautjful.drqnms, love,
Oh'f,bo»De, and we’ll stray
Where tho wliQlo world iscrowned
\ With (Tie blossoms of May—
Vftiure each SOund'is os sweet
As thb coos of a dove.
And! the gales arc as soft
• As tho breathings of love j
Wnorc the beams hiss tho waves,
, w Afld;the;Waves kiss,tho beach,
And. our wflrm;ljps:may catch
Thu sweet lessons (hey teach.
Como in boaujlftil dreams love,
r . ! ; dhf cbWiej'hnd wo’lffly ■
i - Like two .winged spirits
. .nr Oflovo through tho sky;
- M WitU handclasped in build
• -Oh our dromMviags we’ll go
Where thcstarllght And moonlight
... Are blending (heir glow j
; And on brlghj.cjouds wo’H linger
i. Ofpurplo and gold,
■■■• Till love, angels envy
Tho bliss ihey.behold.
3sißttllnnmis.
From iht N. F. People’ 3 Organ.
li IT IS NOT HARD TO DIE.”
DT MRS. M. A. DENISON
•» Now, doctor,” Mid a sweet faced girl, look
iiig with confidence Into the kind liico tlmi had
bom over her often, “tell mo if there is any
certainty that 1 shall ever recover I 1 think
not t so you sue 1 am prepared for ill-tidings,
and 1 am continually tormenting myself with
the question. Will yon not bo candid with mo,
dear Dr. Ellis ?” . , ,
“While there Is life”—commenced the doc
tor, but tho frail young creature Interrupted
him, saying j , _ 4 .
««No, no, doctor, that won't do; I must hove
your professional opinion, and when 1 say that
my soul’s happiness .for the romnaant of this
lilej will bo affected by your decision, surely
you will grant mo (ho request.”
<fßut could you bear ■ ”
. . u Anything, doctor, but this suspense. lam
.‘willing- to bo told the exact state of my case;
lor yon soo, some days 1 feel so really well, that
*mr hope la unduly excited; and terrible pains
comas ideatb takes an awful ahapo,.and frightens,
.mo out of ruposo. But If I was certain”—she
: j,,0k0 with solemnity—“l would teach niy mind
‘to dwell upon It In such a way that ray foolish
fears would leaVo mo.”
. «My sweet girl,” said tho doctor, taking her
wasted hand, “ I will then grant this request.—
You,cannot certainly, recover, unless some ex*
f-traordih* r Xl ,rov Meucc occnrs. Your life may
be protracted aorao.montha yet, but not over a
year at the farthest, so It seems to mo.”
The pate cheek grow a shade paler, but the
smile faded n6t bn the gentle lips.
««Thank yon, doctor,” was her reply, “thank
you for .your trust and confidence in me. \ou
■hall see I will npt abuse them.”
The beautiful ’consumptive sat alone in her
largo easy chair some moments after the doctor
had gone. She gazed about her an luxuries
which wealth unbounded had procured for her
pleasure, 1 and her troubled eyes grow
“Thou I must die I” she said to herself, “and
oh, tilts tour, not of an hereafter, but of that
dread passing through tho valley which shadows
mv hours of suffering! Even my religion does
not dissipate that shrinking, shuddering fear.
Tho Impressions of my childhood will not wear
‘awavi but return with new lorcc.” And as sho
(Hus half whispered to herself, a lovely matron
hurrying to hot side, kissed tho fair
■“Ytoi are bettor to day, child,” she said in
! <onos of forced calmness; “nay, don’t shake
your head somiotimfully; indeed, If you know
how much • Improved yon appear,” and sho
drew a low scat towards tho young girl, and wit
: gazing In her eyes with tho holy love of malor
i nlty. . . ,
<« Mother,” said tho consumptive, as sho took
I the matron’s hand in her own, “ thoro Is some
thing 1 wont you to do lor mu.”
’. f« Whitt Is |t,‘ darling ? You know I would lay
d6>vn my ijfo tor you.” . , .
For an.lnstant tho pMo lips quivered; but
commanding horsolf, tho young girl said gently!
"I want you to talk to mo of death —oi ray
own death, tfhlch Is certain soon.”
'*• My Amy!” was all tho mother could articu
late j* tier voice scorned frozen by horror.
m Yes-mother I for listen a moment,'it will
make your poor child still moru willing to leave
oarth, and:tind heaven. II you will talk dallj
and cbcerfnlly of my passing away, If you will
■iurround (It? thought with cheerfulness, and
make tho just struggle seem pleasant to me,
this strange horror with which I regard It would
fado away and my mind bo drawn more wholly
to the bolter land. It may bo a sacrifice to you,
my mother; but I shall learn to look forward to
my doath-bed with calmness which I strive In
vain to'do now. Will you try to do this, moth
er t' Will you speak of It often ? Will you re
‘post ihO sweet words that dying saints have
’ spoken t Will you speak of tho smiles that ro
'■pond upon tholr faces, until I can think cheer
fully, and talk without reserve ol that change,
a Von as 1 should Ho down, and pul my garments
by* rdady to aUlromyaulf when 1 should awake
In tho (air morning?.. Will you toll those who
call to see mo.noror to shrink from speaking to
,mo_of death f ~WjNI ypu do tl la, my, mother!”
Tlio ’matron promised,,ami retired to her
chamber, to alied tears of anguish born of thU
roqudit. Sho', too/ had longiolt (hat hot child
muat did, but haa put afar on tho evil day. And
In the;itreng(h.ofGod oho ,>6rfortj)od hur duty.
Seven months had passed} and still gentle
Amy lived!,' ; The fatal crimson burnt Ua death
lire Into her cheek, arid hOr cyCS gToajnod with
the atfribflash of disease} but about her swoof
• Up* hovered a smllo;.sho had conquered the
fcac o( tho king of 1 terrors* and dwelt upon her
departure with almost okulting Joy, “ I know
(hero wore: glories In tho! bright world above,
that (ho Imagination cannot conceive of j yet i
have shuddered from Infancy at death* Tho
thought of dissolution, with its Icy chills and
quivering breathmadb mo cold-tomy heart, and
I strive to forgot jt butcqnnot. ■ Yet, slneo you}
since, my mother,, alnoo all who know mo have
hiadq It a familiar and a household yrord—cloth -
ad It In beautiful Images—U has'boebmo lost
terrible, tjll I’caq hold itiy hand to tilm who uti(.
looks tho spirit, and say, “ Death whore Is thy
etlngf** 1 ,
As sho spbko thus, a ray from tho sotting sun
hnagod a crown of glory upon her folr brow.
Her mother and friends at that moment entered.
Hush 1° said tho pastor, with uplifted hands}
ft nd they stood transfixed, With that last holy
BY JOHN B. BRATTON.
YOL 42.
smile ho had marked an instantaneous change';
and, as ho bent forward through tho lips, so
beautifully wreathed, there came no breath.
“ Well might she exclaim,•“ Death, where is
thy sting 7” said the pastor turning with tear
(lllod eyes, “never saw I the king of terrors in
so lovely a garb. How sweetly she sloops 1”
Aye! sweetly still, in tho grave yard upon the
hill side; and on the white shaft that bears her
name, some lovely hand has chiseled :
'< It is not hard to die I”
[Translated Jromthc Courier des Elas-Umt for
the JSrcwtng Post. J
AX AXECDOTE OF JENNY LIND.
After a dumb sojourn in Paris, Jenny Lind
has gone to give concerts in London. English
curs have no terror for her. Three weeks of si
lence have oppressed her ; for after all, she is a
woman, and, like all women she loves to talk ;
but she wjII contrive to indemnify herself for
it.
A very pleasant anecdote is related of the
journey of the nightingale, the scene of which
is laid in Calais—some say Boulogne—but it
matters little whether it bo Calais, Boulogne,
Havre, or Dieppe. Here is the story: #
Leaving Pans by rail, Jenny Lind arrives in
the evening at the sea-coast, and for the sake
of repose determines to pass the night there.—
Great artists take very good care of themselves,
and so the cantatricc will pass a comfortable
night, and not cross the straits until the next
morning. At Calais or Boulogne—her arrival
is announced. There are distinguished ama
teurs there, dilettante who will be delighted to
hear the Swedish Nightingale; but the Night
ingale is as dumb in the provinces as in Paris,
Jenny Lind visits with her displeasure the de
partments as well as the capitol, and has pla
ced all France under her interdict. Poor
France !
Among the provincial dilettants, arc some
who pride themselves upon their skill and bold
ness. Must they cross the straits to hear the
nightingale in London ? Or what avail arc
Ihdr nil and audacity, if they simply content
themselves with making a journey, which any
one can accomplish who has money and time
to spare ? What a delightful thing it would be
, to hear Jenny without paying a sons, or with-
I out leaving the town, and to cause her to break
j lr r obstinate resolution not to sing in France !
[ And what a triumph, could they succeed in
their undertaking 1 But what hope is there of
success ?
Scarcely had the nightingale been installed
in her apartments prepared for her when three
gentlemen make their appearance. They dis
regard the directions to admit no one, and en
ter by authority. Their severe deportment,
their mpjcstcriat air, and manners, cool and
self-possessed, denote persons charged with
business of importance. One of them address
ing the nightingale, whom he accosts without
any salutation* says, in a sharp and peremp
tory tone :
‘Give me your passport, Madame.* Jenny
Lind astonished but still faithful to her vow of
silence while on French soil, surrenders her
passport without a syllable. The gentleman
having examined-It with a carefulness indica
tive the most profound , distrust.remarks*
Svftfi mingled with irpny:
'Oil,, wo are aware that you liavc neglected
no precautions, and that you travel under an
assumed name.*,
•For whom do you lake me ?’ replies Jenny,
compelled at last to speak.
•Do not hope to deceive us. You sec that wc
are well informed. A very clever female im
postor who has been living in Pans for some
time past, where she has deceived numberless
dupes, having collected a considerable sum of
money, is endeavoring to reach England.’
•Well, and perhaps you think—
• That you arc the person—exactly so. Mad
ame ; your features,person and general appear
ance confonn exactly to the ucscriptions we
have received. Our instructions are positive.’
The nightingale protests loudly and indig-
nantly that she is Jenny Lind, but her angry
explanations arc mol by the most ironical in
credulity on the part of her visitors- The
spokesman of the party inquires if she can find
bail or establish her identity : but Jenny dues
not know a soul in the place.*
•Then, Madumo, wc must take you into cus-
tody for the present.’
At these words the protestations of the great
artist are redoubled in vigor, but are met by
the following answer :
•But, Mudatno there is a very simple way of
confounding or convincing us. You pretend to
be Jenny Lind—if you uro she, you have no
need of procuring bail or witnesses, for you
carry with you the distinguished proof of your
Identity. Nothing is easier than to prove that
you arc really tho great artist, a resplendent
genius, a wonderful singer. I am enough a
musician to decide tlial, and now gUc us the
proofs.’
Tho argument was unanswerable, and tho
Nightingale, in a dilcmna, hesitates before ac
cepting the alternative offered her.
•Ah. 1 was sure of it,’ replies the author of
proposition : ‘you are confounded. Put ofl
then this disguise, and cease to sully an illus
trious name. •
•Which is my own,.sir.’
•Very well madame ; but your protestations
are of no avail if you arc unable to give us the
proofs which wo require. It remains for us
onlvrto execute our orders.’
•\Vell,’ exclaims the Nightingale, vanquish
ed and resigned,‘if it must bo so, listen and
judge yourselves.’
Then, after a moment’s pause to collect hcr-
self, animated by tho certainty of tho effect
which site is going to produce, and of the tr»-
utnph which awaits her. she commences tho
cavatina from “Nonna.” Her voice so pure,
so melodious, so powerful, displays all its for*
incr richness; the threo gentlemen aro in a
slate of ccslaoy and delight.
‘Bravo! admirable! sublime!’ they exclaim
os the last note is uttered. ‘Admirable! sub*
liino!* ia repeated from tho adjoining apart
ment, tho door of which opening, discovers sev
eral other persons applauding vehemently. At
the sight of these new hearers, Jenny discovers
tho device practised to entrap her.
•You must pardon us tins artifice,’ exclaim
ed the culprits, 'and also tho discomfort wc
have occasioned you, and tho restraint under
which you have been placcdk However cnor
mbus may have been'our error, we have not
courage to' regret it, since it has been tho
source of so much pleasure to us. Our excuse
must rest in your renown, and our desire to
listen to you; No one Is more competent than
yourself to detcot tho vagaries of musical fkna
tioismn You aro generous—you are charita
ble—bo appeased, then, with the reflection that
you have sung for a charitable object. Each of
us pays a hundred IVaiikd for tho inestimable
happiness that ho has‘oiijoyod; wo are ton,and
tho whole will make a purse of a thousand
francs, which wo shall to tho poor in
your name., , . '
The culprits pleaded their cause so well and
eloquently that they wore forgiven. Besides
what .would have been the uso of being angry I
Tho evil was irremediable and; the cantatrico
could nut recall her notes. In spite of her se
verity toward tho French public, Jcnhy 1 Lirid
is a woman of spirit, amiable and warm heart-
“OUR COUNTRY —MAY IT ALWAYS DE RIGIIT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY
cd, and sho pardonded them. And this is the
way in whicn tho amateurs of a provincial town
hove succeeded in getting the start of Paris find
have heard Jenny Lind sing.
Friendship, Love and Truth.
Friendship is found in honest hearts,
Where love may bo unknown ;
True love is found in purer hearts,
Where virtue reigns alone.
Friendship is joined with truth and love—
Friendship is pure and true,
•Blast with a radiance (Vom above,
- It bears a heavenly hue.
Pure love, tho angles’ blest delight,
Pure and unsullied, too:
II honor makes (he feature bright,
Such love is pure and true.
But love is oft an empty sound,
The haughty fair one's pride,
The name is seldom to be found
When woes or ills betide.
Truth lends to Heaven, to God alone,
Whcio angels join in praise
To Him wlm aiteth on the throne,
Whoso reign is endless days.
Truth purer than the pearly gem,
Which decks a monarch’s crown,
Its pure, its honest diadem,
Its emblem all will own.
Were Friendship, Love and Truth combined,
'Twould make a heaven arise,
With Immortality ontwinod,
Mount upward to the Skies.
TDE SOLDIER’S BERDRN.
AS AFFECTING BTORT.
During our tedious passage to the North, I •
remarked, among the steerage passengers, a ,
man who seemed to keep himself apart from
the rest. Ho wore the unform of the Foot Ar- ‘
tillery, and sported a Corporal’s stripes. In ■
the course of the afternoon I stepped before the ■
funnel, and. entering into conversation with, ,
him. learned that he had been an invalid and
sent home from Canada, had passed the board *
at London, obtained 1 pension of a shilling a I
day. and was returning to a border village,
where he had been bom, to ascertain whether
any of a family were living, from whom he had
been separated for 19 years. He casually ad
mitted that during this long interval he had
held no communication with his relations; and
1 set him down accordingly ns some wild scape
grace who had stolen away from home, whose
happiness his follies hod compromised too of
ten. He showed me his discharge: his charac
ter was excellent—but it only went to prove
how much men’s conduct will depend upon the
circumstances under which they act. lie bad
been 19 years a soldier—a man “under author
ity”—obedient to another’s will—subservient
to strict discipline, was scarcely a free agency
for himself, and yet a contented and happy
man. He returned home bis own master, and
older by twenty years. Alas! ft was a'fatal
freo agency for him* for time had not brought
wisdom*. Thesleward told
while Ida means nlloufcdUi'nadmi&sea h’pds-'
Sflge bad bn the ufccccdmg evening
come on bound when not a shilling remained to
waste in drunken dissipation. I desired the
poor roue should be supplied with some little
comforts during the voyage—and when lauded
at Berwick, gave him a trifling sum to assist
him to reach his native village, where he bad
obtained vague intelligence that some aged
members of the family might still be found.
A few evenings afterwards, I was sitting in
the parlor of onu of the many little inns I visit
ed while rambling on the banks of tho Tweed,
when the waitress informed that a “soger was
speckin’ after the Colonel.” Ho was directed
to attend the presence. and my fellow voyager
the Artillery man, entered the chamber, and
made his military salaam.
“I thought you were at Jedburg.”
••I went there, sir, but there had not been
any of my family for many years residing In
the place. I met an old packer on tho road.
; and he tells me there arc some persons in this
village of my name. I came hero to make in
■ quirics, and hearing that your honor was in
tbe hous»* I made bold to ask for you.”
L “Have you walked over?”
’ “Yea, sir.”
“ ’Tis a long walk. Go down and get
some supper before you commence inquir-
The soldier bowed and left the room, and
presently the host entered to give mo some di
rections for a rout among the Cheviots, which
[ had contemplated to lake the following day.
1 mentioned the soldier’s errant.
“Sure enough,” returned the host, “there
nro auld docent couple of the name hero.—
What is the sogers name? 1 ’
“William,” I replied; for by that name hla
discharge and pension were filled up.
“I’ll slip across the street to the old folks,”
said Bonilaco, “and ask them a few ques-
Lions.”
The episode of humble life that followed was
afterwards thus described bv my host.
Uo found the ancient people seated at the fire,
the old man rending a chapter in his Bible, as
was his custom always before he and his aged
partner retired for the night to rest.
Thu landlord explained the object of the
soldier's visit, and enquired if any of her
children answered the description of the wan
derer.
“It is our Jack!" exclaimed tho old woman,
passionately; “and the pure ne’er do. wtel has
come to close his poor mother’s eyes.”
“No.” said the landlord, “tho man’s name
is Wolly.”
“Then he’s na our bairn,” returned the old
man with a heavy Sigh*
“Wecl, Wccl—tils will be done!” said his
helpmate, turning her blue and faded eyes to
heaven: “I thought the prayer I sooften made
wud bo granted, and Jock wud come hamoand
get my blessin’ ere I died.”
“He has! ho has!” exclaimed a broken voice
and the soldier, who had (bltowcd the host un
perceived, and listened at tho cottage door,
rushed into the room and dropped kneeling at
his mother’s feet. For a moment she fixed her
eyes with a glassy stare upon tho wanderer. —
tier hand was laid upon his hold—her lips
parted as if to pronounce tho promised bless
ing—but no Mound issued, and sho slowly
leaned forward on the bosom of the long lost
prodigal, who olasped her in his anus.
“Mithcr! blither! speak and bless me!"
Alas! the power of speech was gone forever!
Joy, like grief, is often fatal to a worn-out
frame.
The spirit had calmly passed away—the pa
rent had lived to see and bless her , lost son,
and expire in tho anna of one, who, with all
his faults, appeared to have been her earthly
favorite. —Eighth Period .
ln a certain court of iustiooin Vermont,
a very stupid deputy sheriff, or oricr, fna or*
dered to call tho defendant, or the oauso would
proceed ex parte . Npt understanding tho moan
ing of the words tx parte, ho upset his own
disli, by aoylng that it would proceed the next
fair </ai/.
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 24,1856,
iDvicfc rort theming.
Seldom have I seen any adticc for tho young
that gave me so much 'satisfaction as the fol
lowing. Ljeannot tell tty young readers who
wrote it;but a$ it is good, I hope they will read
it carefully and try to remember all it says to
them:
There Is some things which you must not do
if you wish to be good scholars. You must
not spend your leisure hours-in idle conduct. —
You must not waslc.tho long and fruittul even
ing in noisy, vulgar plays in the streets, with
the profane, the dissolute, thd reckless, calling
to strangers, aud annoying peaceable citizens.
You must not bo ashamed _lo be polite. A
coarse, gross, rude, addreSA rprer expresses a
delicate, thoughtful, well regulated mind. You
must not be afraid, to do right*. Boys are oft
en tempted to show their COufSgc by ridiculing
merit. They sometimes think it means to be
afraid of offending -their,parents, or their teach
er, or God himself. . Remember that the true
spirit consists in following the dictates of a no
ble nature: and he is the rcaPtfsward who can
be shamed out of his principles. I
Never make light of a serious subject, nor
trifle with the misfortunes of ft fellow creature. |
Never take pleasure in inflicting pain.
You must not find yoiir b«l pleasures away
from your own homes. I afraid of
a boy who begins to be uneasy at home. When
the presents of your parents-and sisters puts a
restraint upon you, and you feel shy of them,
, be sure that all is not right* r ;
| An uncorrupted and unporfcrlcd child is no
j where so happy as at home... Never sutler your-
Iself to los®, never allow anybody to taint in
| your bosbm the fond ftnd'kindly aflectlons that
1 grow up and shed their odofltfaround the fami
ly fireside. ‘ -'
, You must not imagine; that you and your
teacher have dillcrcnt interests. Ho labors for
you, he lives for you. His interest is for your
welfare. His honor is in- your progress, his
happiness is in your . bigMA~good. If you
could disturb his plans And binder his success,
you would triumph in your pwn defeat.
You must not tempt wrong. It
is enough to lose advantages;for one’s self; to
fail of the great ends of 'edudfttion. To be the
occasion of misleading nnd Jnjunng another—
to set about corrupting on innocent mind—to
lure a guileless, confiding child from the path
of purity—to estrange an affectionate nature
from the love of truth the sacred endear
ments of home is adecp.'dtHpguilt, anda ma
lignant influence. To all of you let me say, be
punctual, if a scholar is latetho whole school is
disturbed: bis own progrcsfrlsintcrrupted; the
order of the day is interfered with: and what
is worst of all, a habit of punctuality is not
I formed—a habit essential tb the success and
I happiness of life.
“A little too late',” is a motto to be insorib
upon the tombstone of ftalfj.pf iho unfortun
ates in the business of more than
half who fail of the happiness of the future.
.Take pains ip comply exictly with the regu
lations of the school.. Confide in the teacher,
respect the opinions bo has deliberately formed
—suffer him to rule.wUhi^lhc. sphere of his
duty, ;Be ngt in haste to auvancc. - Cultivate
carefully the ground sure you
uport-%-j
.thing pnill you master it. ■ 'i'hcn.'and not (ill j
then, you may *afcly ndytfft*. V
Don’t whisper. One ; thoughtless boy, one
careless girl, by. this one nuschbvious habit, I
disturbs the whole.school. Learn to study j
without buzzing; to tbiplt without moving
the lips. It is easy after A little practice. In
deed, to be able to be stilU-js almost a virtue,
it is so necessary to order. Certainly it is one
of the graces.— Forester.
Shocking Affair.
We don’t know when WO have been more
shocked than in perusing the following. It oc
curred in St. Lawrence county, N. Y.. ami is
given on the authority “of ft gentleman of un
doubted veracity
A young man addicted to-intemperate bob
itss during one of his jier'odical ‘sprees,’ took a
notion to pay a visit to Ilia ‘sweetheart.’ On
the evening alluded to, the young Indy and a
female associate were the only occupants of the
bouse where she resided.
About ten o'clock in the evening, the young
man arrived at the house, gonsidcntbly worse
from the use of • bcvcragcs-T ills strange man
ner in approaching the door, excited the sus
picion of the young ladies, v who supposed (he
nous? was attacked by' robtiers. 'lie knocked
at the door, and demanded admission.; but his
voice not being recognized ffoih tilt; thickness
of bis tongue, the Indies refused to comply
with his demand.
Determined to force no entrance, ho com
menced ft series of assaults upqn the barred
and bolted door by kicking ana pounding.—
Alter a number of desperate kicks, the pnnnel
of the door gave wav, and the leg of the be
sieger went thro 1 tlie ancrature, and was in
stantly seized by one of the ladies, and firmly
held, while the other, armed with ft saw, com
menced the work of amputation!
The grasp was llnnly maintained, and the
sow vigorously plied, until the leg was com-.
plotcly severed from l be body !
With the loss of bis leg, the intoxicated
wretch fell upon his back, and, in that condi
tion, lay the remainder of the night. In the
meantime the ladies were frightened almost to
death. With the dawn of morning, the reve
lation was made that one of the ladies had par
ticipated in the amputation of the leg of her
lover !
The wretched man was fllill alive. Ilis
friends were immcdi*ttlyjfeh*(orrand ho was
convcyfcd to his homo, whore, with proper treat
ment, ho gradually and miraculously recovered
and is now alive and well. *
“Wo hardly credited,” says the editor of
the Journal from which wo quote, “the latter
part of the story,” and contended that the
man must have bled to death on the spot, in
sisting, indeed, that it could not bo otherwise.
But wo,were mistaken— tlnrlcg was a wooden
one.
Funeral Sermon.
Parson B . a rather coccntrio charac
ter. was called upon to preach tho luncnvl’
of a hard ease, named RaiiftrwWch-ho did, in
tho following unique stylo:
"My beloved brethren and sisters, if our be
loved brother Rann would a wonted somebody
to come here and-tell lies about him. and make
him out a-hotter man than bo wak.ho wouldn t
have clioso mo to preach his funeral.
“No, my brethren, he wanted to bo held up
as a "burning and shining light, n to warn you
from tho error of your ways. Uo kept horses
and ho runM them, ho kept chickens and bo
fou’t 'em. Our dear departed brother had
many warnins, brethren- The Ural warning
wos when ho broke his leg. but still ho wont
on in the error Of his ways- Xho second
warning was when his son feto hung himself
in jail, and tho last, ami greatest Wftrnm of all
was when ho died himself !*
Tho preacher enlarged on theso topics, until
bo sank Rann so low that his hearers began
to doubt whether ho tyould ever succeed In
getting him up again, and. as is usual in ‘fu
nerals, land him safo in Abraham s bosom.- -
This WAS tho object of the second port of his
'■ I jA.
• ’ -Mr' iP Jl /! J|% iJl' Jviv J|/ Jv ♦
sermon, which he started off thus
4, My brethren, there’ll be great memclea,
great mcracles in heaven. And the first mcra
cle will bo, that many you expect to find there
you won’t see there. The people that go
round with long faces roakin’ long praj-ers,
won’t bo there; and the second meracle will be
that many you don’t expect to find there—as
perhaps some won’t expect to find our dear de
parted brother Rann—you’ll see there: and the
last and greatest meracle will bo, to find your
selves there.”
What Family Government Is,
It is not to watch children with a suspicious
cyo; to frown at their merry out-bursts of in
nocent hilarity: to suppi-ess their joyous laugh
ter, and to mold them into melancholy little
models of octogenarian gravity.
And when they, have been in fault.it is not
to punish them simply an account of the per
sonal injury that you have chanced to sutler in
consequence of their fault; while disobedience,
unattended by inconvenience to yourself, pass
es without rebuke.
Nor is it to overwhelm the little culprit with
a Hood of angry words, to stun him with a
deafening noise; to-call him by hard names,
which do not express his misdeeds; to load
him with epithets, which would be extrava
gant if applied to a fault of ten-fold enormity:
or to declare with passionate vehemence that
he is the worst child in the village and is des
tined to the gallows.
But it is to watch anxiously for the first ris
ing sin, and to repress it; to counteract the I
earliest workings of selfishness, to teach an im- 1
phclt and unquestioning obedience to the will,
of the parent, os the best preparation for a fu-1
ture allegiance to the requirements of a civil
magistrate, and to the laws of Heaven. j
It is to punish a fault, because it is a fault; i
because it is sinful, and contrary to the com-;
mands of God. without relcrencc as to whether i
it may or may uol have been productive of mi- I
mediate injury to the parent. 1
It is to reprove with calmness and compos-,
nro, and not with angry irritation: in a few (
words, filly chosen, and not with a torrent of
abuse; to punish ns often as you threaten, and 1
threaten only when you intend and can remem
ber to perform; to say what you mean, and in
fallibly to do as you say.
It is to govern your family as in the sight of
Him who gave you your liberty: who will re
ward your strict fidelity with such blessings as
be has bestowed on Abraham, or punish your
neglect.
Having Enemies.
A man that has a sou! worth a sixpence I
must expect to have enemies. It is utterly im- j
possible for the best of men to please the whole
world, and the sooner this is understood, and a 1
position taken in view of the fact, the belter. —
Even when pretended friends arc fawning upon
you, seeking to gain something through your
influence or your means, it is well to under
stand whether they are not your worst enemies.
I There is such a small sprinkling of disinterest
ed friendship in our present competitive slate of
society, that there is very little danger in mis
taking a true friend when you really look sharp
jibout you.'Suchan individual pomes not wiyi
roifd‘autt~bfbfont'firo/^n>H£.t>f o rtk>d (6 yon,'
nor with a maaic of dissimulation upon his
brow—but with a candid demeanor, plain deal
ing and few or no professions. Unlike the “art
ful dodger,” who is your seeming friend to ac
commodate his own selfish purposes, the hon
est man is charry of his compliments, and
would “not flatter Neptune for his trident, nor
Jovo for his-power to thunder.” Hois readier
to grant you favors than to receive them, and
bestow grociously bis smiles.
Men must aspect enemies just in the propor
tion that they arc thriving. “Envy, hatred,
and malice, and all uncharilablencss,” are,
weeds of rank growth in the soil of the present 1
times. There arc enough of mean souls at eve-1
ry step taken in the path of life who would like !
to prevent your success ; and they hale you as
long as you prosper: if for no other reason,
simply because they arc not excelling you in
your labor and your prosperity. It were of
little use to heed them or their efforts : the sure
I and best way to triumph is to live down their
I petty slanders and calumnies. Such enemies
I arc cowards, and they hale you because they
fear you.
The true motto for men is, to do right and
let the consequences take care of themselves
It is all sheer vanity to strive to accommodate
yourself at every point to tho whims and no
tions of some other persons, and try to square
your ideas to please this or that sect nr party
On tho score of mere personal gain alone, you
must inevitably be the loser; and once losing
sight of your integrity and independence you
become Inc slave of petty tyrants and make for
yourself burdens heavy to be borne.
Do right—though you have enemies. Von
cannot escape them by doing wrong. And it
is little gain to barter away your honor and in
tegrity, and divest yourself of moral courage,
to gain what ? Nothing. Better abide by the
truth—frown down all opposition, and rejoice
in the feeling which must inspire a free ami in
dependent man.
Amcriron Humor
In a Icctu eon this Rubied, lately, a New 1
Englander, whoso name we have forgotten,gave
the following illustration ;
•* As the usual occupants of the bar room.at
Andover, were silting about the fire in the ev
ening—each with his cigar and gloss of suspi
cious looking liquor m his hand —there entered
a farmer from the ‘North Parish.’ with the air '
of a man who had much on his mind to com- I
municato. -Ye'd ought to n’ben over to tha
‘North Parish’this morin’,” said he, •there
was a little the wust fire, I guess, that thev’vo
had for twenty years in Essex county. Pet
lingoU's now barn’s burnt down flattcr’n Jeru
salem. Pcttmgell, ho was oft’ down to New
bnryport with a load o’ hay—and they came a
white owl and lit there on the end o’ the barn.
Well, that air wild Irish Paddy he’s had over
l) lcru —j don’t see no use o’ havin’ no sech
good for notin’ shout remind—ho went and got
oat PettlngeU’s 010 king’s arm to shoot him—
jest to please the children—jcUl foolishness .
Well, they expect some o’ the waddiu' went up
Into Uio.barn window, cut’ the hay—enny
how’n ’bout half *n hour the barn bust out all ,
in a light blaze—burnt up mor’n twenty ton o j
English hay. and much as sixteen or seventeen
: cows, and three o’ Pcttingell’s horses—they
didn’t got out but jest one old critter, and no
alnt good for nothin’ —burnt the rest on cm all
up clean. Pcltingell, ho got homo rile In the
middle on’t—they aint no Insurance, and ho s
moat crazy ’bout it—he’s ben a taken on wnss
than over I see —I’ve ben up there a try in to
cheer him up, but ho feels drrfllo bad, I tell
you. ’ When this circumstantial narrative was
concluded, there was a general silence—the re
sult probably of sympathy for Mr. Pcttingcll,
and of speculation, perhaps, upon the singular-1
Ity of the accident which had led to his loss,
Ailcr the lapse of several minutes, howcvcr.tho
pause was broken by a dull, frosty-faced old
follow, who had been staring intently at the
ooals over since the speaker had llnishcd. look
ing up with an, ah yet, unsatisllod expression
of face, lie fnquircd.-**»“frclf, did they k\H the
otr/»”
AT S2.OU I»ER ANNUM,
NO. 33
TUB EXECUTION OF ANDRE.
The following account of Andre’s cxoculiort,
is one of the most minute and interesting that
we have ever read. It was furnished to Mr.
William G. Hacselbarth, of Rockdale county,
the history of which he is engaged in writing.
It was taken down from the lips uf a soldier In
Col. Jeduthan Baldwin’s regiment, a part of
which was stationed a short distance from
where poor Andre sudered :
‘•Oneofourmen.who.se name was Arm
strong. being one of the oldest and best work
men at his trade in the regiment, was selected
Urmak'c his coffin, which he did, and painted
it black, as was the custom at that period
'll this time Andre was confined in what
was called the Old Dutch Church—a small .
stone building with only one door and closely A Bath in tub Black Sba.—l proposed d
guarded by six sentinels. bath, for Ihe sake of experiment, but Francois
I “When the hour appointed for his execution endeavored to dissuade us. Ho had tried it;
arrived, which was 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Q,ul nothing could be more disagreeable ; WO’
a guard of three hundred men were paraded at risked getting a fever, and, there were four
the place of his confinement. A kind of pro- hours of dangerous travel yet before UB. But
cession was formed by the guard in single file by ibis time we were half Uridressed, and -Won
■on each side of the road, fit front were a large " vre floating m the bituminous waves. Thp
number of American officers of high rank on bench was fine gravel, and shelved gradually
horseback. These were followed by a wagon |down. 1 kept my turban on my hebd, and was
containing Andre's coffin, then a large number (careful 10 avoid touching the water with tty
of officers oil foot, with Andre in their midst. I bice. The sen was moderately warm and grate
“ The procession wound slowly up a moder- j fully soft and soothing to the Skin. It‘wiS
alcly rising ground about n quarter of a mile ! ■■‘'possible to sink : and L‘Vcn when swimming
to the west. On the lop was a field without the body rase half out of the water. I should
any enclosure ; and on this was a very high- »t possible to dive for a short atsUtacfc,
gallows, made by setting up two poles or crot- but should prefer that some one else would try
chets. and laying a pole on the top. the experiment.
“The wagon that contained the coffin was With a log of wood for a pillow, one might
drawn directly under the gallows. In a short s b*cp as on one of the patent mattresses. The
lime Andre stepped into the hind end of the taste °f the water Is salt and pungent, and
wagon, then on his coffin, took ofl his hat. and ' “rings the tongue like saltpetre. Wd Wertd
laid it down : then placed his hands upon his bilged to dress in haste, without evtn wiping
hips, and walked very uprightly back and , ol1 ‘ the detestable liauid; yet I experienced a
forth as far as the length of the wagon would verv little of that discomfort which most trav
permi l. at the same lime casting Ins eyes up to tilers have remarked. Where the skin -had
the pole over his head and the whole scenery J been previously bruised, there was a slight
by which he was surrounded. j smarting sensation, and my body felt damtny
“He was dressed in a complete British uni- glutinous but the bath was rather refresh
fonn. His coat was of the brightest scarlet. t mg than othc< wise. —Bayard Toy lor s Travels,
faced and trimmed with the most beautiful 1
green. His under clothes, vest and breeches '
were bright bn O'; he had a long and beautiful
head of hair, which, agreeably lo thu fashion,
1 was wound with a black ribbon ami hung down
, his back.
I “Not many minutes alter he took his stand
I upon the coffin, the executioner stepped into
I the wagon with a halter In his hand, on one
, end of which was what the soldiers in those
. days called “a hangman's knot.” which ho at
tempted to put around the neck of Andre ; but
1 by a sudden movement of his hand tins was
prevented. 1
| ‘‘Andre now took off the handkerchief from
Ibis neck, unpinned his stiii' collar, and delib
erately took the cord of the halter, put it over |
his head, and placed the knot directly under,
his right oar, and drew it very snugly to his
neck. He then took from his coat pocket a
handkerchief, and lied it before his eyes, This
done, the officer, who commanded spoke m ra
ther a loud voice and said ■
"Ifis arms must be tied.”
I’Andra at* onco polled,down the bOndker
•chicf which bo bad Just tied over In's eyes, and
' drew from his pocket n second ono,-which ho
gave to the executioner, and then replaced his
handkerchief.
■•llia arms at this time* were just tied above
the elbow, and behind ihc back.
■•The rope was then made fast to the pole
over-head. The wagon was suddenly drawn
from under the gallows, whicti together with
the length of the rope, gave him most a tre
mendoiis swing back and forth ; but in a few
moments he hung entirely still.
“Ihiring the whole transaction ho seemed ns
little daunted as John Rogers when he was
about to be burnt at (he stake, although his
countenance was rather pale.
■•He remained hanging from twenty to thir
ty minutes,and during that tune the chambers
of death were never stiller than the multitude
by whom he was surrounded. Orders were
given to cut the rope and take him down with
out letting him fall T**is was done, and his
body carefully laid on the ground
•‘Shortly after the guard was withdrawn and
the spectators were permitted to come forward
to vn w the corpse ; but the crowd was so great
that t was some lime before I could gel an op
portunity. When I was able to do this his
coat, vest, and breeches had been taken ofl,
ami his body laid in the coflln covered by some
underclothes. The lop of the codin was not
put on.
“I viewed the corpse more carefully than I
had ever done that of any other human being
before. His head was very much on the side,
in consequence of the manner in which the hal
ter had drawn upon his neck. Ills face ap
peared to be greatly .swollen and very black.re
semblmg a high degree of mortification. It
was a most shocking sight to behold.
“There were, at this lime standing at the
foot of the coflln, two young men of uncommon
short stature. Their dress was extremely gau
dy One of them had the clothes just taken
1 from Andie hanging on his arm. I look par
ticular pains to lenrn who they were, and was
| informed that they were his servants sent up
from New York to take care of Ins dollies—
but what other business I dal not feani.
“I now tnrmil to takes view of the execu
tioner. who wits stiff standing by one of the
posts of the gallows. I walked near enough
to In in to have laid my hand on his shoulder,
I mid looked him diierlly in the face. He ap
peared to Ik* a Iron t twenty-five years of age:
(us beard of some two weeks growth : ond Ins
whole face covered « ith what appeared to me
to have been taken from the outside of a grea
sy pot. A moru frightful creature I never be
held. His whole countenance bespoke him to
ho a fit instrument for the business be had
been doing.
“I remained uj>on the ground until scarcely
twenty persons were left : but the coflln was
still beside the grave, which had previously
been dug.
“I returned to my lent with my mind deeply
imbued with the shocking scene which I hud
been called to witness.”
A Waooish Chaplain.— The Fnlnnount Vir
ginian sft,va (ho Uov. Henry Clay Doan, tho
present Chaplain to tho United Status Senate,
wns somo years ago ft resident of Northwestern
Virginia. While preaching, one dtty, at a|
church situated a Tew miles from Fairmount, he
was annoyed by tho Inattention of his congro.
gallon, qn nmnitustod in turning their Itunds to
soo everybody who came in. “Brethren,” said
lie, “it is very ditllcuU to preach, when thus in
terrupted. Now, do yon listen to mo, and I
will tell you tho namu of every man as ho enters
tho church.” Of course (his remark attracted
universal attention. Presently some one enter
ed. “Brother William Satterlluld I” called out
Itho preacher, while that “ brother” was aston
ished beyond measure, and endeavored In vain
to guosa what was tho matter. Another per*™
camo In. “Brother Joseph Mlllorl”bawh-d tho
preacher, with a like result t and so, ’
In othor cum. Altai » ivhllo H>«
I worn nltmced nt honrllig tho ,irro«h. r <■ » ' 1
ilc loud voice—« A litllo old iii«ii ""H " blu “
! ml™ nd .Vhlta I,ld on I Don’l know "Ho Ho 1.1
I Von may look for yourselves.
New Business. 1
We beard a pretty good one the Other day,
which we think merits a wider Oirtulation than
it has got. The story runs, that seme Kriti
est-faced Hoosier, (rent into a fKnCy store io
Cincinnati, in hunt of a situation. The pro
prietor, or head clerk, was sitting irtbiscoant
mg-room, with his feet coaifortably erdbked tip
on a table, and contemplating human llfo thro*
the softening influence of cigar smoke. Our
Hoosier friend addressed him modestly OS fol
lows:
‘Do you want to hire a hand about your es
tablishment, sir?”
The clerk looked up indifferently, but seeing
his customer, concluded to have some fun out
of him, so ho answered very briskly, at the
same time pulling out a largo and costly hand
kerchief and blowing his nose in it:
‘Yes, sir; what sort of a situation do you
want?’
‘Well,’ said the Hoosier,'l’m not particular;
I’m out of work, and almost anything’ll do me
for a while.’
‘Yes, well, I can give you a situation if ll
will suit you.’
•What is it? What’s to bo done, and what
do you give?’ inquired the Other.
• VVell,’ was the answer, ‘I front hands to
chaw rags into paper, and if you arc willing tb
set in, you can begin at once.’
‘Good as wheat!' exclaimed the Hoosier;
‘hand over the roga.*
‘Here, take this handkerchief,and comroeudb
with that.’
Hoosier saw the sell and quietly putting the
handkerchief into his pocket, remarked as hb
turned to go out;
'When I get it chaired, strnngef, PH fttch
it back I .'
Jonathan's Hunting Expedition.— “ Did
you ever hear of the scrape I and uncle Zeikel
hod ducking on’t on the Connecticut Hrcr ?”
naked Jonathan Timbcrlocs. while amusing his
old Dutch hostess, who had agreed to entertain
him in consideration of a bran new milk pan.
•No. I never did—do tell it.’
•Well, you must know that I and uncloZckc
took it into our heads to go a gunning artOr
ducks, in father’s skiff: so in wo got and scull*
od down the river : a proper sight of ducks
Hew backward and forward,l tell ye, and bitne
by a few of them lit down on the marsh and
went to feeding on muacds. 1 catchcd Up my
pnwder-hum to prime, and it slipped right out
of my hand and sunk to the bottom of the rtT“
Ur. The water was amazingly clear, and I
could sec it on the bottom. Now. I couldn’t
swim a jot. so I bcz to unde Zekc, you're a
pretty clever fellow— just let me take your
powder horn to prime ; and don't you think
the stingy critter wouldn’t. Well, sez I,you’re
a pretty good direr, and if you’ll divo and, get
if, IU girfryou » pfrmia'.
•I thought he’d leave his powder bom. but
he didn’t, but stuck it in Ins pocket, find down
he wcht: and there he staid.
Here the old lady opened fief Cj'cs with Won
der. and* pause of some time ensued, when
Jonathan added—
'I looked down, and what do you think tho
critter was doing ?*
exclaimed the old woman, I donl
know.’
‘There he was. a sitting right on the bot
tom of the river, pourin’out of uiy bbrh' in’ttf
his’n !’
A Romantic Incidbst —A soldier who was
present at the capturft of Sebastopol, relates, in
a letter to his friends, the following romantic
story
“A party of men. belonging to dioercnt regi
ments. More pnlroling from house to house* in
search of plunder. In one of the housed thty
mine across a beautiful young female, about
semi teen or eighteen years of age. Of coursfc,
some ignoi ancc was shown amongst the party*
who commenced to drag her about, and would
have mod violence to her. had not a yoarlg
man threatened to blow the first man’s brainfl
out that laid a finger on her, whereupon tht>
voting woman Hew in this man, end clung tO
him fur protection. She followed him all the
wav bark to the camp, when coming in sight
of Ins camp he beckoned her to return—but no,
she would not leave him. Whether she bad
fallen in love with him at first sight I don’t
know, but she came to camp with him. As
soon as he got there lie was confined for being
absent when the regiment wna under arms.—
She followed him to the guard lent, and cried
after him. The colonel of his regiment, seeing
the affection she bore him. released him. ana
sent them both to (Jen. Harris, where an inter
preter was got. and r)k related the whole affair
l« them, ft turned out that she was a gener
ala daughter, with some thousands. She was
beautifully attired, and carried a gold watch,
and won- a set of bracelets of immense value.
The voting man is about to be married (6 her.
.Site will not leave him upon any account what
fitr, and if lie is not a lucky dog, I don't know
nhuis”
A Fasiiionaulk Ciiuncii in Nbw Yotik.—lf
• -Fanny Fern’* did not write tho following, wo
do not know who did :
“You enter the church poarcb. The portly
sexton, with his thumbs in the onn holes oflits
vest, meets you ait tho door. lie glanoct at
yon; your hat and coal are new, so hft gfacl
ouhlv escorts you to an eligible scat in the
broad aisle. Closely behind you fallows *
poor, meek, plainly-clad seamstress, deprived,
from her tread mil) round, to think, one day in
seven, of the Immortal! The sexton is Strpck
with sudden blindness! Sho stypds embar
rassed one moment: then, as the truth dawnS
upon her, retraces her steps, and, with serin*
son blush, recrosscs the threshold which she
has profaned richer pkbean feet. Hark to
the organ. It is a strain from Norroa .slightly
Sabhathizcd. Now the worshippers ono after
another glide in-—silks rallft—plumes wave--
satin glistens-—diamonds glitter—nnd scores of
I $4O handkerchiefs shako out their pcrfbnlM
I odors. What nn absurdity to preach the Ooa*
pel of tho lowly Nasarino to such a set. 1 Th«
clergyman knows belter than to do so.
■ values his fut salory and handsome nareonage
• 100 Highly. 80, will. « velvet Irau), wafts
[ nil n round Hie .tan oomniandinails-jd«CM the
5 downiest pillow under the dying prolhfcale,«
1 Hcnil-nmi Usher* Win. with sciwplno hymning,
: into the tipper-ten 2 leaven.
Onini.vAi. Kno.Pß.—lf » child elionldsvr,!-
low. by Occident, nny.liing poisonous, n go«l
emetic may he obtained from tho rust oi old
iron. Perhaps |t would be safer to cram down
the infant's throat “ft wise Wtw” or ft rusty
proverb.
£7” Tho reputation of many men depend OW
tho number of their friends.