• AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. tDBIISUED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY jolin B. TEIIJIS. ’ , o,in Dollar and Fifty Cents, • Subscription- T '- DoI i nrs ii paid within tbo j>aid mad t\vo° Dollars and .Fifty Cents, if not S' 0 ?!'! "" l ! T , h 0 year. Tlieso terms will bdng-. L ft . ,d .rtl o™d toC ivery instance. No sub-' fcbm discontinued until ail arrearages are . • P unless at the option ol the bditoi. Advertisements— Accompanied by the cash, hnd not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for One Dollar, and hvonty-fivq cents tor each additional insertion. Those of agroat fer length in proportion. Job-Printing— Such ns Hand-bills, Posting bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &c., exe cuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice. poetical. • THE POET TO THE PAINTER. BY ALICE. CARY. iPalnterr paint me a sycamore, A spreading and snowy-limbed free, Making cool shelter for three, And like a green quilt at the door f Of the cabin near the tree, j Picture the grass for me, With a winding and dusly road before. Not far from the group of three. . And the silver sycamore tree. *Twill take your finest skill to d'raWj From that happy group of three, tinder the sycamore tree, .. ICho little girl in the hat of straw And the faded frock, for she Is is as fair as fair can bo. You have painted frock and bat complete ! Now the color of snow you must paint her feet llor cheeks and lips from a strawberry bed; •iFrom sunflower fringes her shining bead. Now, painter, paint (he hop-vino swing Close to the group of throe, And a bird with bright brown eyes and win] Chirping merrily, <iTwit twit, twit twit twee!” " That is all liio song ho makes, , And tho child to mocking laughter breaks Answering “ hero (ire wo, Father-and mother anil me !” 'Pretty darling, her world is small, .Father and mother and she are all. ■ Ah, paintcy, your hand is still! ■ You have made the group of.three -■ (Under file sycamore tree. But yon cannot make all the skill Of your colors say, “ twit twit twee !” Nor the answering; “ hero aro.wc,” I’ll be a poet, and paint'with words ■Talking children, and chirping birds. THE TWO BRIDES. BY Ri 11. STOBDABD. I saw two maids at the kirk, And both woic fair and sweet; One wiis in her bridal robe,. . One in.her winding-sheet. The choristers sang the hymns, The sacred rites wore read— And oh« for life to Life, And pno to Death, was wed! They went to their bridal bods In loveliness and bloom: One in a merry castle, One in a silent tomb. One to (lie world or sleep, Look’d in the arms of Love; And one to the. arms of Death, Passed to the heavens above. One to the morrow woke, 'ln a world of sin and pain ; But the other was happier.f'ar. And never woke again! The Tell-Tale Heart. Dr EDGAR A POE. Art is long and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stont and bravo, Still, like muffled drums, are beating * Funeral marches to the grave.— Longfellow. True!—nervous —very, very dreadfully ner vous I had been, and am: but. why will y°f> say that lam mad ? The disease had sharpen ed my senses:.not destroyed, not dulled them. AboVe all was-the sense of hcn'rmg acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken 1 and observe how heal Inly, how calmly. .1 pan tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea en tered iny brain; but, ohee conceived it haunt ed me day and night. Object there was hone. Passion there was none. I loved the old man lie had never: wronged me. He had never given ihe insult. For bis gold I had no desire.. I think it was his eye—yes, it was this ! Ho had the eve of a vulture —a pale bine.eye with a Aim over it. Whenever it felt upon me my blood ran coldd. and so, by degrees, very grad •trally—( made up my mind to take the life of the old’ man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. ‘ - . Now this is the point. Yon fancy me .niad. Madmen know nothing. But yon should have seen me; You should have seen how wisely I proceeded !, with what caution—with what foresight—with what dissimulation I went-to work ! I was never kinder to the old-man than during the whole week before t killed him.— ■And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch-of his door and opened it —oh, so gently ! And then, when I had made an opening, suffi cient for iny hcad.-I-firsi put in a dark lantern, all closed, so that no light shone nut. and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have . laughed to sec how cunningly I thrust it in. 1 moved it slowly—so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. . It look mean hour to place my whole head within the opining so far that I could see the old man as he lay upon his bed. Ha ! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room. I undid the lantern cautiously !- -for the hinges creaked. I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did, for seven'long nights—every night just-at midnight—but I found the eye always closed ; . and so it was impossible to do the work ; for it :was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when , the day broke, I went boldly into his chamber and courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed ■the night. So. you sec he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at 12, I looked in upon him while he slept. ~ ’ Upon the eight night I was more than usual- cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine.. Never, before that night, had I felt the ex.tcnt of my powers—of my sagacity.. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door little , by little, and the old tpan not to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled a. the Idea. And perhaps tile old man heard met for he moved in the bedsiiddenly. as if sttfrildd. Now you may think.that^ry.^ack— ,butno. • His room was black as pitch with the thick • darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he • conld not sec the opening of the-door, and I kept on pushing it steadily, steadily. I got my head in-and was about to open the lantern, when my thnmb'slippcd upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed omng out “who’s there?” I kept quite still and said nothing; for an BY JOHN B. BRATTON, ■ a a VOL. 44. hour I did not move a muscle, and in themean time I did not hear the old man lie down., lie was still sitting up in the bed listening, just as I have done night af cr night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall. -Presently I heard a slight groan and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or grief. Oh, no ! it- was the low, stilled sound that rises-from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a, night,’just at mid night, when all the world slept, it has swelled up from my own bosom, deepening With its dreadful coho the terrors that distracted mo.— I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt and pitied him. although I chuckled at.hcar.t. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he hnd turned in the bed. Ilis fears had been*ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. lie had been saying to himself, “It is"nothing but the wind in the; chimney ;it is only mouse crossing the flooror “ it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions, but he had found all in vain. Ail in vain, because deaih, in ap proaching the old .man.-bad stalked .with his black shadow before him and the shadow had now reached and enveloped Jhc victim. Aud it Was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel—ahhough lie neither saw nor heard me~to feel the pressure of my head within the room. .When I had waited a long time, very pa tiently. .-without hearing the old man lie down, I resolved to open a little, a very, very little crevice in the lantern. : So I opened it—you cannot'imagine how stcahhily, stealthily—un til at.length a single dim ray. like the thread of- th.e spider, shot from out of the crevice and fell upoji ibo. vulture eye. It was opeiij'widc, wide open, and T grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw'it with per-: feci distinctness—all a dull blue, wiih hideous, veil over it that chilled, the very marrow in my hones ; but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person, for T had directed the ray as, if,by instinct, precisely upon, the damned spot. ' - \ ■ And'now,—have I not told ■ you that what yon mistaken for madness is blit over acuteness of the seiiJtcSi— now. say, there came to my ears a Ibwi dU&jllpiok sound —much such a, sonnd.nS a watch makes when, enveloped in cotton, I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. ,It increas ed thy fury* as the beating of a drum stimu lates the soldier into courage. • . But even yet I refrained and kept still; I scarcely b'rcaihvd, I held the'lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the' heart increased. It grew quicker and louder, every instant. The old man’s JU-rror must have.,been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder qve£y moment! Do you mark rite well? I.liavptpld you that lam nervous—so I am. Amf how. at the dead hour of the night, ■and amid the'drcadful silence Pi that house,, so strange a noise that this excited me to uncon trollable wrath. Yet for some minutes longer, I refrained and kept still. But the beaiing grow.lp.uder.dp.qd.tr,,, ,Jjh9.pght.J,ljehearUnust burst!" '- - , '■ t Add now a siczcd me, (but the sound would bo heard by a neighbor. His last hour hod come I -With a loud yell I‘ threw open the lantern and leaped into The room. He shrieked— : 6nly once; In an instant I dragged him to the floor and palled the heavy bed oyer him. I then sat upon the bed and sniffed gaily to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me: it weuld not be heard thro’ the walls. At length it, ceased.— ’.The Old man was dead. I removed the bed and: examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone-, stone dead. I placed my hand uponlhc heart and held it there many minutes,. There was no pulsalioS. The old man was stone-dead. His eye would trouble me no more. If you still think me mad you will think so no longer when I deScri bed , the precaii i ions I 'took-for the concealment of the body. , The night waned, hut I worked hastily, but in silence.’ First of all I' dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head, arms and legs.— I’then took up three p.lanks'frbm the flooring of the chamber, and deposited nil-.between the scantliues. I then replaced the boards so clev erly, so cunningly,-that no human eye—hot even his—could have delected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out —no stum of any kind—ho blood spots, whatever. I had been too weary lor that. A tub had caught all —ha !ha ! When I had made an end of these labors it was four o’clock, still dark as midnight. As the bell sound the hour there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart: for what had I how to fear? There entered three then, who introduced them selves with perfect suavity as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neigh bor during the night.: suspicion of foul play had been aroused : information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises. I sniffed,-for what had I to fear. I bade the ’gentlemen'welcome. The shriek, I said, was my ’own, in a dream. The old. man I mention ed was absent m the country. . I took iny visi tors all over the house. I bade them search, search well. At length,! ledTlieiu to his cham ber. I.showed them his treasures, secure un disturbed.. In -.he enthusiasm of iny confidence I brought chairs into the room and desired them here to rest from iliefl-fn igues ; while I, in the wild audacity of tiiy perfect Triumph, placed my own seat upon the very sppt be neath which reposed the corpse of the victim. The officers were sqdsfied. My manner has convinced them, F was singularly at case.— Ihey sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of lamiliar things. But. ere long, 1 felt myself getting pale, and wished them gone-. My head ached and I (aucied a ringing in my ears,; hut still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: I miked more freely to get rid of the feeling : but it continued and gamed definiteness, until at length I found that the noise was not within.my ears. No doubt I now grew very pale, but I talked more fluently, and with a brightened voice. Yet the sound increased and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quids sound—much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath, and yet the offi- Cers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently, but the noise steadily increased I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key, and with violent gesticulations, but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone ? I paced the floor to arid fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of ihe men : but the noise steadily increased.— 0 God ! what could I do ? I foamed—l raved —I swore ! I swung the chair upon which I had sat, and granted it upon the boards, but the noise arose above all a'nd coutinnallym creased. It grew louder—loudct—louder!— And still the men chatted pleasantly and stnil od. Wits it possible .they heard noi ? Al mighty. Got! !—no !* no ! They heard—they suspected—they knew. They were making "a mockery pf my horror. This I thought, and | this I think. But anything better than this agony. Anything was more tolerable than this derision* I could dear those hypocritical smiles no longer. I felt fhat I must scream or die.— And now—-again—hark! louder! louder! louder! “Villains.” I shrieked, “ dissemble no more! 1 admit the deed; tear up the planks : here ! hero!—it is the beating of his hidious heart!” «• Another Romeo and Joliet Affair, Almost. VVe have the particulars of a late love affair, says the New 'Orleans Crescent, somewhat re- , seinbling, in. the outset, the Romeo and Juliet business mentioned by Billy Shakspearo. Two families in the Fourth District, it appears, had been luxuriating in,a feud for the last twelve years. But the juveniles, it further appears, had- refused to. hold bitter blood with each other on account of, the old folks.-and associated on the best of terms,.'often at the expense of severe lectures and severe punishments by their‘hard hearted parents.” ■ . , Lattcrlyr a son of oho family and a daughter of the other—he, quite young, but (‘gallant and and bpid,’.and,she ‘sweet sixteen’—came to Ihe conclusion that fate intended them to'.beone, and, strange as-it may seem, they respected flue more than they did their paienls. The.result was the old fashioned one—;,ni elopement. The lovers went to Natchez, and put up at the house of a friend of the young man. They had not been there long when,, almost at the same mo- - ment, their two lathers presented themselves, each in pursuit of his - child.. They had come; up on the same boat, but being ancient ene mies, had observed dignified distances, and did not seem to observe each other or come in, col lision, till they mot in the presence, of their 'Whilom .happy, but now/terribly, frightened' children. The young people were dumb with fright, and the fathers being in an explosive condition, got to abusing each other, and final! ly engaged iii a rough-and-tumble fight." The lovers instantly fled, leaving their daddies to fight it obt; but .before any serious damage had been done, other parties rushed in and ef feeted a separation. This singular situation of things brought some cool reflection to the aid of the parents, and, after receiving some advice and counsel from other parties, they suspended hostilities —talked the matter over-in a busi ness way—and finally agreed to let ilie children get married, each settling 88,000 upon his child. The thing being thus happily fixed, the whole crowd returned to the city .together,' aiid the lovers are noiy of course ineffably hap py and ail that. The singularity of this affair, iii its beginning aiid ending (ends us to believe that if old Montague and Cnpulet had settled their row, with'their fists just about the time things .were .codling Ip a crisis between their children, (ho preseiu generation would have been spared the horror of seeing Romeo and Juliet so repeatedly, and unfeelingly murdered on the stage. 1 The Seckcl Pear. The Socket,-is the best native pear kpown :it has a high, spicy honored (lavon- It bears its /Vuit in, .clusters at the’ends of'the, branches : it ripens frimi the first of September tp-the last ElosSiick,-'niTBl9, and the fruitaviis'pronbunq-- ed by the ftondpn Horticultural Society e.vcee didg in flavor the richest and best of their au tumn pears. The fruit is very small, except on rich land. The following account is given of the origin of this pear: “About eighty years ago, there was it well-known sportsman 1 and cattle dealer in Philadelphia who wfs familiari} - . known ns -Dutch Jacob.’.; Evcry season, early in the autumn, on retnrning'froin his shi.oting excursions, Dutch Jacob regaled his neighbors with pears of an unusually delicious flavor, the secret of whose place , of growth, however, he would never satisfy their cuiiosity by divul ging. At length the Holland Land Go,, own ing a considerable; tract south of the'city; dis posed of it in parcels,- and Dutch Jacob then secured the ground on which his favorite pear tree stood, q fine tract of land near the Dela ware. Not long afterwards it became the farm ot Mr, Seokel, who introduced this remarkable fruit to public notice, and it received his name-. Afterwards the property was added to the vast estate of the late Stephen Girard. .The. origi nal tree still exists (or did a few years ago) vig orous and fruitful. Specimens of its pears were quite lately exhibited at the annual show of the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society.— Country Gentleman, " ICr - Here we have a letter from Missouri, portraying the astonishment of the writer when he asked a lady to dance: “There was a grand frohc at old Squire Horn’s, to which all the beauty and chivalry for miles around had been invited. I was among.the happy number, and when the au spicious day arrived, arrayed in my long tailed blue coat, and-spotless pants, I made.my way to the festive scene Dancing had begun when I arrived. Accou'rcd as I was, I plunged in, and spoil was lusi in the thickest of. the fight As I extricaydniyst-Iffrom the mazes of the dance, and began to survey-the scene, I was suddenly sum ten io the’heart hy the sight of a lovely creature sitting' alone.'neglected-and forgotten.- Her eye was. full ol life and love, for lien in yJieanu-dTi pon her brow so radiantly that I was ready io worship Hfctr as a star whose purity mid distance make it (air. But I was drawn unresistingly to her side.. I did not wait io bo introduced. .With the license of the evening! I made my best bow, and half fearing that so splendid and intellectual a crea ture would not deign to ao;ept my propositi I ventured to say that it would make me very happy , if she would give me the honor of dan cing the next set with her. .Instantly those lustrous eyes shone, sweetly on mo, and her ru by lips opened to say. ‘Yes, sir-ee. and tliank you too : for I’ve sot and sol here till I've about took root!” [£7” Who can.accnunt for the grange ideas and still stranger expressions'ol little children ? One day a little blue eyed girl of about six summers, a daughter of one of our worthy oiti zens, weary o> play, came running into the house, and throwing herself into the arms of her mother, exclaimed : ■‘Hold me. ma," I feel so bad.” ••What’s the matter. Pussey ?” tenderly in quired theuliirmed and anxious parent "I don’t, knoty, only 1 feel very bad,” re plied the little cherub. . n “Docs your head ache ?” "v. "Oh, no, 1 feel just like a Black Republi can!'’ “And how does a Black Republican feel, my child?” ‘ . “ Just like he wanted to steal something. The man who thinks bis wife, Ids baby, bouse hia horse, his dog and . himself, severally une qualled, is almost sure to bo a good humored person, though liable to bo tedious at times. A young lady, fond of dancing, (ravels in the course of a single season,'about four hundred miles.. Yet ho lady would think of walking, that distance in six mouths* . I “OUR 00 UN Till'--MAY IT ALWAYS, RtGiTt*—BUT RIGHT OR WItCfNG, OUR COUNTRY. CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 10,1857. “ You don't mean so—you don’t really mean that Dora West is married again ?” cried Mrs. Mills, as she came down to the front gate, both hands uplifted in surprise and dismay at the fact which/I had just communicated to her.— “ I must Stty that I really had too good an opin ion of that woman: but there's no knowing what folks will do in this world; And it’s only two years since her husband met with that aw ful deiUh. How I pitied, her, and what a fuss she made at the lime, I really thought she never would get over it; butshe's (Jorie herself up for me. now.” 1 opened my, lips to speak, and then, on sec ond thought, I closed them-again. There. would .be no .rise in defending ,my dear friend, Dora West, to such a person, and yet, do not misunderstand me/ reader; Mi's. Mills was a kind-hearted, sort of woman, ind would have made almost any sacrifice for a,’friend or neigh bor who was in trouble; but Sjie was narrow minded, and. Of course, she ‘whs guilty of all that vast burden of petty sinh, and little un cliaritablenesses, which are thepdigenous fruit of this quality. ; . - [t So I,only replied. “Oh,-Mrs.‘Mills, you don’t understand Dora as I do; but ; l haven’t time to discuss the matter now. .’Hood morning.” And; walking slowly down that little grassy road, my thoughts went back to a night two, years ago, that had burned itself into my mem ory, ' ' ’ '. '• ,-.i It was evening,- in the early-.Ootober, and the rain was falling' slow arid languidly outside. — The day had been; a. janguid|>nc, too, with a kind of wistful, blue-gray sky, and a slight chill in the still air which waa’a far off whisper of The winter. : T... - Dora arid I sat Sewirig in thl). little back par lor that evening, by the roundrimihogany table,- and there was a.sort of rivalryjicpt up between our tongues' and otir finger|—l cannot, tell which was the nimbler.. -;i' . How pretty she looked that jniglit : she. the well beloved wife of five year?, with the smiles darting among the dimples b| her sweet lips, and the light of a glad heart .Beaming out from her bine eyes. r -?v “To think, Alice," site muilmurcd, “Harry's been gone a wcck.and I thought i( would seem an ago, that mormnghe mo good-by.— It would, too,-if you htpln’t .been with me— Hut he’ll bo hgjpe tn-rnorrowft Oh, how glad! shall he to see hinw” Ai that moment the bell rnpg, loud and sud den. ■ “Oh, dear! I hope nobody’s come to bore us to-night. We’re so cozy ahd happy togeth er.” ■■ ’ ■ “Here’s a dispatch for ypitj; Mrs. West,” — said a small boy, whom the servant girl ushered into the room.- • Dofa sprang up quickly. .'i “ It’s from Hurry,.! kuowV She brought, it ip the light and openedit with her eager fingers. Her oyeS-j|lhosc blue, beau ■ tifril eyes ran across the pages'.;'** Mjr God 1 my God !” Arid then Dora ', Vecst clasped.'her hands, and/faughed loud and;. wild. Oh, how that laugh'rings down now,, those two years, arid curdles the blobdiljn my veins, and fairly slops the beating of my.heart. , . ed, .“I cankmcnd i t ; but?it r struokimy head just now. .something. did amf froze it.' Noth ing has happened to Harry.,.has there? He’ll come liOmc lioirie to morrow and put his arms around me, and call me his dear little wife,, won’t he, Afice?” • . “ Yes, yes. ho will,'’ . L tried, to say : but I hardly think I succeeded, for my lips had grown dry and parched, and'my voice died away in my heart, where a terrible fear had come down. ■ . , But I drew Dora into my lap, laid her head on my shoulder, and then, bending down. I read the paper which she held tight in her .hands.. There were but a few Words; the great cri ses of life are generally. Acted and told briefly. There had .been a fearful collision on the rail way. somewhere between Kew York and Bos ton. Several passengers were killed. Among them was—yes, I looked; twice, bending down my eyes close 10 the paper; it was his name ! I hugged Dora tight to my-heart, I do not remember anything that .happened for the next five minutes. “ Ho will,come back, Alice ! Harry will come back ■?” These , were the first words that aroused me: Ddra wes smiling and .playing with my. hair. ; ■ ' Then the truth rushed over me, and I could neither move nor speak. : At that moment. Mr. Lee, a neighbor and friend of Harry’s, burst into the room. Has she heard it ?” he cried,’ and our faces answered him. ; “Dorn sprang toward. the gentleman. ■“ Oh, Mr. Lee !” she cried, “nothing has happened lo Harry, has there? You know lie always tho’t so miich of you. Do tell me he’s coining back tn-innrrovy!” and she staggered against him, and he caught her in his arms, and the (ears ran fjpwn the strong man’s face, fast as they ran down the face of a tircd litilc child. He laid her on the sofa, and slowly broke the truth over the darkened. mind of Dora West. — What a night that Was. God in His great mercy save me from siich another!«. After this. I thoudlit for many weeks that Don( would soon walk with her husband thro’ the fine rooms of the mansion preserved for them on high, hut God spared Her, and at last her life began to take up some of its: old symp toms and interests. T remember the first time she rode out. It was a bright day in (bo early spring, and Mr. Leo and I accompanied her. He and Harry had a'ways loved eaeh otherns brothers do.and it was not si range the young man was moved with much pity for the widow of.his friend. In the course of our ride, we came across a patch of early violets on’ the sunny side of a bank, near a small stream. “.Oh. how beautiful they are !” cried Dora, clapping her hands, with somcthing.of .her old animation: and then a Change came over her face. “ Harry loved violets, and don’t you re member, Alice, he used to twine them th my hair. Oh. to think now, ho will never see them miv more!" and amid her quick sobs, her head fank down on my shoulder. And I could only tell her there were fairer violets in the land to which Harry had gone. Mr. Lee did not speak, but I,saw the glance he bent down on her a moment, and I Knew that his heart was stirred with something more than nity for Dora’ West. She did not, I know, suspect this for some time, and thought it was on'y for Harry’s sake that ho called so often, showed her a thousand little nameless attentions, and was so thought ful of her happiness. Well, the troth came out at last: Dora was still in her youth, and she had one of those clinging, vino like natures that need something to lean upon : in short. love was, with her. a great, necessity ; she could noi walk thro life alone. , “ He says he will take Harry s place to mo. Shall I give it to him, Alice?” whispered Do ra- And I lifted up her face and looked at it. “ Yes, darling, this new lovo is sent of the “ Married Again.” God that called Harry to himself, arid left you only his memory.” . , So they wei'emarricd; and the uncharitable, the narrow-minded, and the envious talked as, God,help them, They always have arid will talk until Death comes and lays its cold hand on their lips, and hnshes ; them with its solemn “ be still” forever, and forever! Remarkable Marriages. Of the many Chinamen in New-York, not a few keep cigar stands upon the sidewalks. — Their neighbors in trade arc the jlilcsiari ap ple-woriien. Twenty-eight of these apple-wo men have gone the way of. matrimony with their elephant eyed, olive-skinned coternpora ries, and most ol them arc now.mothers incon sequence. The physiologists aver that the hu man being is improved as is the domestic branch of the quadrupedal animals by ‘‘cross ing.” If this be true—and we suspect it is— the natives of this country ought- to be remark able for physical strentgh and beauty--for surely there never was such a mixture of races in any part of the world. Representatives of nations have located and married here. A New-York paper tells of two Bedoitih. Arabs, part of an exhibiting troupe, that came to this country several ago, who married wives and are rearing up offspring in one of the Hudson River counties. Siam has its representatives here in the'famous twins, and in one of the up tpn’ri streets a wealthy native of Morocco dom iciliates with a Westchester county spouse.— The mixture of Dutch, Italian, French, Span ish; English, Irish, Danish, Swedish, &0., is perfectly bewildering; but the amalgation of the Irish and Chinese is more than'bewildcring, it begets a chaos of ideas from which no ray of intelligibility can be safely eliminated. Im* agirie a scion of this stock chatting gaily about “Josh”, in one moment, arid speaking of his father Ping Sing-Chi, and in the next whirling a shillelah at a primary election, and swearing that he goes in, tooth and nail, or rather body and breeches, for , the nomination of his moth er’s brother, • Patrich O'Dowd. Oh, what a country this is I Caught the Panic. A tall; lank, Jerusalem sort of a fellow, pret ty well under the influence of Mr. Alcohol, was observed swinging to a lump-post on Fifth st last. night. Hu was talking quite loudly to the aforesaid post, when a guardian'of the night ap proached him. “Comb, sir, you are making too much noise,’ said the 'watchman..; • “Noise ? whoso that said noise ?” askod'Htc. post holder, as ho skewed his head and endeav ored in vain to give the intruder a sober look. “It was mo,” replied the watchman, as ho ex posed his silvered numbers to lull view. “You ! and who ip the d 1 are you? II ’nint me that’s making all-the noise. No sir, It’s the Banks that’s making all the noise.-They are a hreakin’a crushin’ and a sraashin’ ol things to an incredible amount. Noise ?_ It’s the Bankers that arc making all the noise.— They afo a cussin’, a rippin’,-and a slavin’, all ’round. It’s the brokers that are making all the noise. They are a hollerin’, an’a yelpin’, and a screcchin’ like wild injuns, over the times, that worsens everybody but themselves.; Nu, ' “You are as,tight as a brick in a now wall, ”, said, thb olfUdor,'amused at file good '-nature Of/ the-Individual;, * ‘ | “Mo .tight? Who said lam tight ? No, sir, you are mistaken! It’s not mo that’s tight.. It is money that’s tight. Go down oh Third st., an’ they’ll tell you there that money, is tight, Read the newspapers, and you’ll find ont that it’s nioney that’s tight. Jt/c tight ? T have got nary a red, but Kanawha, and the d— —l could not get tight on that. No,, sir, I’m not tight.” . “Then you are dvhhk.” “Drunk ? : Stranger yet out of it again. The world’s drunk. The hull community is ast'ng gerin’.ronnd, buttin, their heads agin stone walls and a skinnin’ ol their noses on the curbstone of adversity. Yes, sir, we’re all drunk —that is everybody’s drunk hut me. I’m sober—sober ns a policojudge on a rainy day. I ain’t drunk; no, sir, stranger, I ain’t drunk.” “What are you making'such a fool of yourself for then'?” ‘•Fool ? Sir, I’nv no fool. I’m distressed, I have notched the contagion. I’m afflicted.” “Are you sick ?” “Exactly.” “What’s the matter with you ?”. “ I’ve got Ihe.panics,” “The wlnif . “The panics, sir; it’s agoing to carry off (his town, I tried to escape by hard .drink, but it’s no use, The panics have got me suio.” The watchman, more amused than ever, ten dered his sympathy, and, what was better, his aid’, to the panic stricken individual. IfT.yto course of’half an hour he had the pleasure of putting him into the door of his boarding house and pointing out to the best remedy—a soft bed and long slumber. — Cin. Times. How the ladies Dress in Kansas. A Kansas letter-writer, who recently came down the Missouri-on the steamer Oinahia, says “At Atchison, wo took on a young, belle, whose only attendant was a young Missouri blood. . The young Indy was apparently dressed in tho latest agony and style ol -fashion ; the chaste straw hat, tho innumbrablo flonnoes and wide-spreading hoops of her gay striped silk dress, set of her commanding figure very'grace fully.,, Her stature tall—as Byron says, I bate a ■dumpy woman. But the richest scene in rela tion tp this young belie was behind the curtain, and is to come yet. At. Leavenworth our fail one left us, and as.slio was standing on tho hank; casting a last,‘long, lingering look’.back, we were tempted to admire her delicately turned at, cles —who can resist a nicely laced ’gaiter or a peeping ancle?—when^.bohold! she, hadn’t any stockings on! unable to say what • the fashion is in Kansiis-whether it is fashionable (or ladies to go without hose or not, but certain I am that the finest dressed one whom I saw in the Territory didn’t use tho article. ' Honan) Hekesv.— Tho editor of the Sioux Fogle pronounces tho following about the abo riginal holies; Those who have read the Indi an talcs of Cooper, Simms, Bonnet; Sic.,’and have never seen an Indian squaw, doubtless im agine that among tho dusky tribes there aro hundreds of tall, graceful maidens, with regular features and pretty forms. Wo have recently visited different tribes of Indians, and scon many hundreds of females, and ns yet wo have not found one which' approaches to grace or beauty. As a thing they arc slovenly and lousy—Ht subjects for a soap factory. Wo venture tho assertion that tho author of tho “Last of tho Mohicans” or “Hiawatha” never saw an Indian girl. If there is such a thing as Minne-lia-ha, wo should ho pleased to see her; she would bo a fortune for a showman. Kr" I lay it down ns a fact, that if all men knew what they say one of another, there would not bo four friends in tho world. This appears by tlie quarrels which are sometimes caused by indiscreet report.— Pascal. 03?” The triumph of a woman lies not in thu admiration of her lover, but in the respect other husband ; and that is gained by constant cultivation of those qualities which she knows ho most values. AT 82,00 PER AIvNUM. ~ no. m. How to tell the age of ladies. Of course all our readers are aware to ask a Indy her age is'cquivalcnt t.o a direct declara tion of war. We have always looked upon it as such, still we have felt an irresistablc desire to know tlie ages Of some young ladies ; but bless their dear souls, wc would not ask them for the world. We have at length'corae across a method by which the sweet ones may bo made to. divulge the great secret, without know ing what they are about; and thus young gen tlemen can at once learn whether they arc pay ing their devoirs to seventeen or thirty. The following table will do it. _ Just hand thi£ ta ble to the lady and request her to tell yon in her age is contained. Add to- is at the top of the columns in found, and you have the great secret. Thus suppose her age to be seventeen. You will And the number seven Icon only in (wo columns, viz., the first and fifth, and the first figures at the head of these columns make sev enteen. Here is the magic table i 1 4 8 10 32 2 ‘3 5 . 9 17 33 5 0 0 10 . 18 34 7 .7 7 11 19 35, 9 10 12 12 • 20 30 11. 11 13 13 21 37 13 14 14 14 22 38 15 15 15 15 23 39 17 18 20 24 24 40 19 19 21 25 25 .41 21 22 22 20 20 42 23 23 23 27 27 43 25. 20 28 28 28 44 27 27 29. 29 29 45' 29 - 30 30 30 30 40 31 31 31 31 31 47 33 34 30 40 84 48 35 35 37 41 49 49 37 38 38 42 50 50 39 . 39 39 43 51 51 41 42 ■ 44 ' 4l ’ 52 52 43 ' "43 45 . 45 53 54 45 s 40 40 40 54 . 54 47. 47 47 47 55 • 55 • 49 -50 52 50 50 50 51 51 53 ’57 57 57 53 • 54 54 58 58- 58 55 55 55 59 .59 59 57 58 GO 00 50 ' GO 59 59 01 .01 01 , Cl 01 02 02 02 62 02 "OS. 03 03 03 03. 03 Coolness. Sam Stick toils a story about an overgrown ■ bulk of a Yankee boy who was sent to the wood pile by lua father one cold winter evening, fora “back log” for the kitchen lire. The youth went out, but instead of bringing in a good sub stantial log, only brought a thin little stick—or “brail” as the Kennsyivania Germans say. His father immediately gave him a good whipping, and sent him niter another; log. But the youth .having hia*dander roused,’..left the house, went ■to BlostouimdShipped omd vessel which made. . a7voj^ge'®^Vora!'yMjs%-i. ..I - .. In.the course ot time the youth camo back and started-homo on fdot." It was winter and Jdst such an evening as the onO on which ho left homo. - So, remembering his father’s order, the ymmg math picked up'a huge log, and stagger ing into the house, throw it down on the hearth before Ids astonished father and 'mother and quietly said: . . • “ Father, hero’s that back-log you sent mo lor.” ■ “Well! voutvebeen a darned long time about it!” . ' Wo were reminded of this story by the fol lowingfwhich wo find floateng about uncredit cd! A certain distinguished citizen ofMilwnukic, Wisconsin, who baa tilled the nigliest office in the Slate, was once in the employ- of a farmer in Western N. Y. Among oilier things it was his duty to “bring the'cows.” One evening l:o cows and boy “came up missing.” Some yrs. after, the farmer was passing down East Water Street, Milwaiikie, and saw the name of Ills cow-boy over the door of one of the largest hardware houses in the "West. He walked in* and found his, boy in the counting-room. Ho stared a moment at the trnahf, and (hen broke ouf with, “ Hallo, Hen, have you found them cows yet One can imagine w;hat followed— a mutual recognition. It is said tlio old farmer was ’pacified without a,breach of peace. History 0/ a Murderer. We aro infonned of some particulars of (he pre vious lifd, of George Stoval, who, yesterday morning murdered Mary Dufautl, under such circumstances of dreadful brutality. Some years since Stovall figured in Mississippi as a Baptist preacher and,.while in that garb ad dressed and married a widow of some property, who bad two sons grown, and a daughter just budding into womanhood. Soon after his mnr riage with the mother ho seduced the daughter! When fids horrid.fact became known,tlio young girls’ brother, unable to support the .degrada tion of her'disgrncej, blew his brains out. He committed suicide in a field near tlio house, having first hung His .Hat upon a cornstalk, that, attention miglit.be attracted to tile place where his body laid. The mother and daughter fled to Texas, where the other son. lived, and after some time Stovall followed them ; but his bad fame had preceded him, and the friends of his victims threatened him. with the (errors of Judge tynch. A man, too kind, loaned him a horse that he might save himself by flight . He did so, came to How Orleans, and here sold the horse and saddle which Was lent him. — Some time after arriving in New Orleans, Sto vall married a Mrs. Myers (wo believe that was the name,) at whom ho one nifeltt discharged a gun, it was ailedged with Intent to kill. A di vorce was obtained in consequehce. His hor rid act of yesterday Will probably close the black rocoid of his crimes, for Wo believe that there is even yet enough of law and justice in New Orleans to make it certain that such a tre mendous vidian shall not escape unhung.— N. O. True Delta. u . Tiil Journey of thousand hmmm beings sot forth together on their Journey. Al ter ton years, one third, nt'least have disappear ed. At the middle point of the common meas ure of life, but half ate still upon thb road.— Faster aup faster, as the ranks grow thinner, they that remained till now .become weary, and go down and rise no more. At three score and ten, a band of some four hundred yet sirugglo on. At ninety those have been reduced to.a handful of thirty trembling patriarchs. Year aiterycar they fall in diminishing number. One lingers perhaps, a lonely marvel, till the centu ry is over. Wo look again, and tiro work' of death is linished. Qy Pedagogue—“Well,sir, what does h-a-i-r spell?” Boy>“f‘Don’t know.” ■ „ Pedagogue—“ What have you got on your head 1” .1. •, , Boy guess its a ’skoeter bite, it items like thunder.” Toll mo with- whom thou gocst and X will tell Iheo what.thou doost., The Reindeer of the Polar Regions* ' How far tho migratory habits of this animal, may bo established in a more southern latitude on the coast of America, in their instinctive re sort to localities where pasturage may be more abundant, I shall not attempt to decide j but this I will say, that from the more distanUapds of thc.Polar«Sca, they do not migrate on.tho.ap proach ol winter, but remain their constant in habitants. I have remarked,,however, that tho season oi thaw sets in (May and Jnne) coeval with the calving of the docs, these generally re sort to the ravines and valleys bordefingon the coast, where the pasturage is so much more abundant. * t 0 , ' The requirements of the animal for the support of its young become urgent, obliging it to desert the higher, but more barren and stoney lands, fora locality where nature’s wants arc ,moro . plentifully supplied. . From period of entering this bay, until-the abandonment of the ship in the summer of 1853, wo killed one hundred and twelve. , - * . A few skins were preserved, and several of viscera, together with various sectional prepara tions of tho antlers in various stages .of growth, as illustrative of its rapidity, in the hope of elu cidating one of tho most surprising proce&sos of animal growth which bouriteous nature ena bles ua to contemplate, as evincing herworider ful reproductive powers. These animals vary in size according * > ago and to ago and ;other 1 circumstances. The largest got gave a ne.tt weight of two hundred and forty pounds, which yielded one hundred and sixty-four pound? of meatj and the smallest, shot, only thirty-two pounds ; the average weight, however, of fho entire number, was seventy pounds and • quarters.- The flesh wpen procured in flic Au tumn, is of the most delicious flavor and Quali ty, tender, juicy, light, and easy of digestion far surpassing the venison of this country—and covered with a good coaling of fat. , » It undergoes a. marked change, howcVcr, oft the Winter adva'nces,and in thcfollowihgSpring and Summer the animal becomes lean and poor, and the flesh dry and insipid, until the more abundant pasturage of the Summer again brings it Into good condition, which is always best in • October. They are generally shy ,and. timid, and very difficult to approach, and it is only when all means of escape are cutoff,dnd tub animal wounded, that the buck will evince signs of hostility to the hunter, or flielr great enemy*, fhewolf, by attempting to use their antlers in llieir defence. The calving season, as.fat* aa , my observation enables ine to judge, is In June;, prior to and coeval with which the bucks shed their ahtlers, which appear to bo again.entirely reproduced in the latter end of August ar.d ear ly in September. - »• . The color of the animal is, in Winter, puto white, with a patch of light brown on the back) but ih the summer it is extended, covering both back’aiul sides partially*;-tho remainder retain ing the pure w.hite of the Wilder. When much hunted they become exceedingly shy*, and it is only by* tho exercise of the. utmost strategic skill lliaf the hunter edn hope to get witlflit range* In first meeting, an instinctive curiosl* ty leads them unwarily to approach tho wily hunter, and thus become his prey. They* are, as it word, fascinated by, the hovel appear ance, of than'in the dreary, wilds, wliefe his form has never befoie been seen. From this circumstance I,infer that the success of a party is likely to I*6 greater by changing their hunting ground from time to time, rather than -by re maining stationary among animals rendered wild by his presence, as they do not not appear to make extensive wanderings from certain CilS. cumscridod localities. They generally grafce with their heads to the wind, and so habitual is their instinct that, after the prevalence of strong winds, wo generally hunted in the direction Whence they*had blown, with the greater ainty of. meeting them. On tho approach of Winter the fur of the Reindeer becomes very dense.. Sir John. Richardson informs us “.that the skin when dressed with the hair on it, is fto impervious to the cold, that, if clothed in a suit of. this material, and wrapped in a nmhtel of the same, a person may bivouac all night in.-tho* snow with safety during the intensity of an Arc-. tic Winter.”* 'Such admirable covering fpt the inhabitants of the Arctic regions Is, therefore* inestimable; and those skins arc universally, used for that purpose. lnbvnt'mg,\vo met with tho greatest degree offtucccss ih the first fCUI* months of the year, when the animal; tataed by bold and hunger, could bo more easily approach ed.—Dr. Armstrong’s Personal Narrative of /he Discovery of the N. W. Passage, A Candid Deacon. DeAco.v M. was an honest old codger, a kind, obliging neighbor, artd a good church-going Christian, believing .in tbo Presbyterian creed to.the fullest extent; but alackaday! this pillar of the-church was, at times, a little “shaky”— in fact, the deacon would, occasionally, got ex ceedingly mellow, and almost every Sunday at dinner he would indulge in his favorite cider brandy, to such an extent that it was with some little difficulty lie rcachetUiis pew, .which was in tlio broad aisle, near tlio' Jttilpft, and between the minister’s and the village ’squire’s. Qtio Sunday morning the parson told bis flock that he should preach.a sermon to Iheni in the after noon; touching 'many glaring sins that be griev ed to see so conspicuous among, them; and that lie hoped that they would listen attentively, and not flinch if he should happen to be severe; The afternoon came, and the house was full; everybody turned oht to hear their neighbors “dressed down” by tlio minister, Who, afterwell opening bis 'sermon,--commenced upon the Irabs . gressors in a load voice, with the question—- Where is (ho drunkard?”■ A solemn pause succeeded this'inquiry; when up rose Helicon M., with liis face radiant from copious draughts of Ids favorite drink at.lds noontide meal, and steadying himself as well ns he could by tbo pew-rail, looked up to tbo parson and replied, in a piping and tremulous voice—“ Hero I am.” Of course, a consternation amongst the congre gation was the result of the honest deacon’s to? spouse; however the parson went on with bis re marks as lie hartwritten them, commenting se verely mien the drunkard, and winding up by warning hint to forsake at onco such evil habits if lie would seek salvation mid flee (bo coming wrath; ’The deacon then made a bow and seat ed himself again. “ And now,” out spoko.tho preacher-man in ids loudest tones, “ where is the hypocrite I” A pause'—but no onoraspohd od; Eyes were turned upon lids and that man, but the most glances seemed directed, to the ’squire’s pew, and indeed tlio parson seemed to squint bard in-that direction. The deacon saw where the shaft was leveled, or whore it should be aimed, and rising once more, leaned over bis pcw-rnil to (be ’squire, whom lie tapped on tho shoulder, and thus addressed himColne, ’squire, Wliy don’t you get up; I did, when ho called on me.” Musk.— This well known scent is imported from China, Bengal ami Russia. It has a bit terish and somewhat acid taste', ahd in color re sembles dried blood. Tills scent is obtained from the musk deer, ami possesses a most pen etrating and diffusive odor, rather agreeable when feeble, but when concentrated it is decid edly offensive; so diffusive is its power that n few grains will scent a room for years, and ;it Hover seems to fade in strength. Tnjiquin musk is the most esteemed. Pod musk is tlio natiir ' al bag cotitnining the music, and each one Weighs ’ about six drachms, having in each about eight scruples’ of pure musk. It is generally more or less adulterated, but tlio adulterations are easi ly detected under the microscope or by analysts- Clip the Twigs of Sir.— Correct your little faults, and you will gain courage and will over come great ones. No man arrives at excellence but through sharp watching and constant curb ing of his faulty tendencies in the smallest mat ter. Washington and Franklin drew up rigid rules, and proceeded upon through system, in disciplining themselves, from early life, in their footsteps every young American should be proud to follow. Were less empty praise showered upon tboso fathers of the nation, and more ear nest.copies attempted of their giand lives, wo should behold a different risingginoration Horn llio present. . i£7“Everv young man should remember that the world will always honorindustry. Thu.vul gur and useless idler, whoso energies ot body and mind aio rusting for occupation, may look with Scorn upon the laborer engaged at Ilia toil) but his scorn is praise, Ids contempt honor. , KF'Ontward reformation of life can no more quicken or change the heart of the sinner dead, in trespasses and sins, than the putting a fine gaiment upon a corpse could raise it to life. !
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers