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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. !