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%Ural.
WHAT WE All. THINK.
That ago was older once than now,
. In spite of locks untimely shod.
Or silvered o’er the youthful brow ;
That babes make love, and children wed,
That sunshine had a heavenly glow
Which faded with those “ good old days,”
When winters came with deeper snow.
And autumns with a softer haze.
7 ' -
That mother, sister, wife or child—
The “best of women” each has known.
Were schoolboys over half so wild ?
How young the grandpapas have grown,
Tli.it but for this our souls wore frob.
And but for that our lives were blest.
That in some season yet to bo,
. Our cares will leave ns lime to rest.
TVhena’r wo groan with acho or pain,
Some, common ailment of the race,
Though doctors think the matter plain,
• That ours.is a “peculiar case.” .
That when like babes with fingers burned,
. We count one bitter maxim more,’
Our lesson all the world has learned,
And men are wiser than before, .
That when wo sob o’er fancied woes.
The ang"ols hovering oyer head
Count every pitying drop that flows,
And love us for the tears wo shed.
That when wo stand with tearless eye,
And turn the beggar from our door,
They still'approve us when wo sigh—■
c>‘ Ah, had I but one thousand morel”
That weakness smoothed the path of.sin
In half the slips our youth has known ;
And whatsoe’er its blame has been,
. That Mercy flowers on faults o’orgrown,
Though temples crowd the crumbled brink,
O’erhauging truth's eternal How,
Their tablets hold with what-we think —
, Their echoes dumb to what we know.
That one questioned text we road.
All doubt beyond, all feat; above,;
IN or Crackling pile nor cursing creed
Cah burn or blot it': God is Love I
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
Summer moonbeams 'softly playihg,
Light the woods of Castle Keep;
And there;! saw a maiden straying,
’ Where the darkest shadows creep.
She is listening—meekly, purely,
To the wooer at her side;
J Tis the “old, old story,” surely,
. Running on like time and time.'
Maiden fair, oh I have a care;
Vows are many—truth is rare. ,
Ho is courtly, she is simple i
Lordly doublet speaks his lot j
She is wearing hood and wimple—
His the castle; her's the cot. .
Sweeter tar she deems his whisper
Than file night bird’s dulcet trill;
She is smiling—ho beguiling— ■
•Tis the “old, old story” still.
Maiden fair, ohMiayea.care ;
Vows arC many—truth is rare.
Theautumn sun is quickly going
' Behind the wpods of Castle Keep; ;
Tile air is chill—tho night wind blowing,
And there ! see a maiden weep. ■
Her cheek is white—her brow is aching—
The “old, old story” sad and brief;
Of heart betrayed, and left, nigh breaking,
In mute despair and lonely grief.
Maidens fair, oh 1 hare a care ;
. Vows are many—truth is rare.
iffiimllanmifl.
WAsiiiNinun farewell to ms army.
DECEMBEIi 4, 1783.
Can tyrants hut by tyrants conquered bo
And freedom find no champion and ho child
Shell as Columbia saw arise, when she
Sprang forth a Pallas, armed and undoflled?
Or.mnst such minds bo nourished in the wild
Deep in the upturned forests ’midst tho roar
<3t cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled
On infant Washington ? Has earth no more
Such seed within her breast, or Europe no such
shore ? „ ■ [Bybon.
Tho revolution was.over. The eight years’
■Conflict had "ceased, and warriors were now t 6
separate forever, turning their weapons into
ploughshares, and their camps into workshops,
The spectacle, though a sublime and glorious
one, was yet attended with soi'ro.Vful feelings—
foi’, alas! in the remains of that gallant atmy
ot patriot soldiers, now about to disband with
out pay,' without support, stalked poverty, want
and disease—tho country had not tho means to
be grateful. . '
The details of the condition of many of the.
officers and soldiers at that period, according to
history and oral tradition, were melancholy in
the extiemo. Possessing no means of patrimo
nial inheritance to fall back, upon—thrown out
of oven the perilous support of tho soldier at
tho commencement of winter, and hardly tit tor
any other duty than that of the camp—their sit
uation can ns \yell bo imagined as described.
A single instance as a sample of .tho situation
of many of the officers; as related of tho conduct
of Baron Steuben, may dpt bo amiss. When
the main body of the army was disbanded at
Newburgh, and the veteran soldierswore bid
ding a parting farewell to each other, Lieut. Col.
Cochran, an aged soldier of tho Now Hampshire
lino, remarked with, tears' in his eyes, as ho
shook hands with tho Baron : .
“ For myself, I could stand it; but my wife
-and daughters are in the garret of that wretched
-tavern, and X . have no means, of-removing
■them.”
“ Como, come,” said the Baron, “don’t give
tray thus, X will pay my respects to Mrs. Coch
ran and her daughters. 1 ’
When the good, old soldier loft them, their
countenances were warm with gratitude, for he
left them all ho had.
In one of the Rhode Island regiments were
several companies of black troops, who had
served throughout.the whole war, and their bra
very and, discipline were unsurpassed. The
Baron observed one of these wounded negroes
on the wharf, at Newburgh, apparontly-ln groat
distress.
“ What’s the matter, brother soldier?”
“ Why, Master Baron, I want a dollar to get
home with, now the.Congross has no further use
for me-” ' '
The Baron was absent a few moments, and
returned with a silver dollar which ho had bor
rowed.'
“ There is all I could get—take it.”
The negro received it with Joy, hailed a'sloop
which was passing down the river toNow York,
and as ho reached the deck, took off his hat, and
said— . . :
“ God bless Master Baron.”
These are cnly single illustrations of the con
dition of the army, at the close of the ,war. In.
deed, Washington had this in view at the close
of his farewell address to the army at Rock Hilt,
in November, 1783.
“And being now to conclude these, his last
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BY JOHN B. BRATTON.
VOL. 44.
public orders, to lake his iiltimate leave in a
short time of the military character, and to bid
a final adieu to the armies ho has long hnd the
honor to command, ho can only again offer, in
their behalf, his commendations to their coun
try, and his prayer to the God of armies.
“May ample justice bo done them hero, and
may the choicest of heaven’s tavors both hero
and hereafter attend those who, under divine
auspices, have secured innumerable blessings
for others. •_
“ With these wishes, and this benediction,
the commander-in-chief is about to retire from
service. The curtain of separation will soon bo
drawn, and. the military scene to, him will bo
closed forever-1”
The closing of this “ military scene,” I am
about to relate. ' .
New York had been occupied by Washington
on the 25th of November. A few days after he
notified the President of Congress, which, body
was then in session at Annapolis, in Maryland,
that as the war was now closed, ho should con
sider it his duty to proceed thence, and surren
der to that body the commission which ho had
received from them more than seven vears bo
fore. * . ■
The morning of the ,4th of December, 1783,
was a sad and heavy one to the remnant of the
American army in the city of New York. The
noon of that day was to witness the farewell of
Washington—ho was to bid adieu to*his military
comrades forever. The officers who. had been
with him in the solemn council, the privates who
had fought and charged in the “ heavy fight 55
under his orders,, were to hear his commands no
longer—the manly form ijmd dignified counte
nance of the «great captain,-”.wpre henceforth
to livo only in their memories.
As the hour of noon approached, the whole
garrison; at the request pt Washington himself,
was. put in motion, and inarched down Broad
street to Francis tavern, his head quarters, ye
wished to take leave of .private soldiers alike
with the officers, and bid them all adieu. His
favorite light infantry were drawn up in the line
facing inwards through Pearl street, to the foot
of White Hall, where a was in readiness
to convey him to. Paulus Hook.
* Within the diningroom of the tavern were
assembled the . general and field officers to take
their farewell. , ,
Assembled there worp Knox, Green, Steuben,
Gates, Clinton; and others who had served with
him faithfqlly and.truly in the “tented field,”
but alas!- where were .others who bad entered
the.war with him, seven years before t Their
hones crqin bled in the soil from Canada to Geor
gia.. Montgomery had .yielded up his life at
Quebec,- Wooster at Danbury, Wbodhull was
barbarously murdered whilst a prisoner, at the
battle of Long Island, Mercer fell mortally
wounded'at Princeton, the brave and .chivalric
Laurens, after displayingtho mostlicrdiccour
ago intho trenches.at Tovktown, died in a trif
ling skirmish in South Carolina, and bravo but
eccentric Lee was no longer lining, and Putnam,,
like a .helpless child, was stretched upon the
bed of sickness. Indeed the battle-field and ,
time had thinned the ranks which had entered \
with him in the conflict.'
Washington entered the room—the hour,'of
separation-had come. As he raised his eye,
and-glanccd on the faces of those assembled, a
tear coursed down his- check, and tils voice was
tremulous as -he saluted-' them.' *. -Nor was ho
*
“ Albeit unused to the melting mood,”
stood round him,'whoso lipiifted -hand-to. cover
their brows, fold that the tear which they in vain
•attempted to conceal, bespoke the anguish they
could not hide.
After a moment’s'conversation, .Washington
called for a glass of. wine. It was ‘brought him.
Turning to his officers, he thus addressed them:
"With a heart full of lovo and gratitude, I now
take my final leave of you. I most devotedly
wish your latter days may be as happy and pros
perous, as your former ones were glorious and,
honorable.” He then raised the glass to his
lips, drank, and added: “I cannot come to each
of yon to take my leave, but shall bo obliged to
you if each of you take mo by the hand.”
Gen. Knox, who stood nearest, burst info
tears, and advanced—incapable of utterance.—
Washington grasped him by the hand and em
braced him. The officers came up successively
and took an affectionate leave. No words were
spoken, hut all was the “Silent eloquence of
fears.”' What were mere words at such a scene?
Nothing. It was the'feeling of the heart—thril.
ling, though unspoken.
When the last of the officers had embraced
him, Washington had left the room, followed by
his comrades, and passed through ;tlie lines of
light infantry. His stop was slow and measured
—his head uncovered, and tears flowing thick
and;that as ho looked from side to side at the
veterans to whom ho now bid adieu forever.—
Shortly an event occurred more touching than:
all the rest. A gigantic soldier, who had stood
by his side at Trenton, stepped forth from the
ranks, and extended his hand.
“ Farewell, my beloved General, farewell 1”
Washington grasped his hand in convulsive
emotion, in bdth his. All discipline was nowat
an end, tho officers could not 1 restrain tlic men,
as they rusliod forward to fake Washington by
the hapd, and the sobs and fears of tho soldiers
told how deeply engraven,upon their affections
was the love of their commander. •’■
At length, Washington reached the barge of
White Hall, and entered it. At tho first stroke
of the oar, ho rose, and turning to the compan
ions of his glory, by waving his hat, bade them
a silent adieu ;* their answer was' only in-to.'U's ;
officers and men, with glistening eyes, .watched
the receding boat till the form of their noble
commander was lost in tho distance.
Contrast tho farewell’of Washington to his
army at White Hall, 1783, and the adieu of
Napoleoh to his army at Pontairibloau, iii 1814!
The one had .accomplished every wish of l.is
heart; his noble exertions bad achieved tho in
dependence of his country, and he longed to
retire to the bosom of his home—his ambition
was satisfied. Ho fought for no crown or scep
tre but (or equality and the mutual happiness
of his follow beings. No taint of tyranny, no
breath ol slander, no whisper, of duplicity, mar
red the (air proportions of his public or private
life—but ’
u Ho was a.man, take him for all irj all,
Wo no’or shall look upon hla hko again'.,”
soldier was.tho disciple of
selfish ambition. Ho raised theiroft weapon of
war to crush only that he.mfglit rule. • What to
him were the.crics.of the widows.and orphans ?
He passed to a throne by making the dead bo
dies of their protectors his stepping stones—
Ambition, self, were tho gods of his idolatry,
and to themito sacrificed helaoomhs of his (el.
low men, for the personal glory. " Enthusiasm
points with fearful wonder to tho name of Napo
leon, whilst justice, benevolence, freedom, and
all concomitants, which constitutes tho true
happiness of man,' shod- almost a divino halo
round tho name and character of Washington.
Trouble, the Heart’s Test.
The river bottom cannot bo tested hs long ns
it is covered by the stream. It may be of
sand, of it may be of rich alluvial deposit, but
what it is of, cannot be known, until its watery
raiment is swept away. So the heart covered
with prosperity, may or may not be in n right
state, but whether it is. cannot be told, until
some distress comes. When the hand of the
Almighty, however, cleaves the flood so as to
let his flying hosts pass, and thus opens the
witter in a seam to its bottom, we can tell what
our foundation is. The Lord then says to thp
heart that he has out-into the very -quick.——
•‘ Dost thou love me?” Then fllqnocnn the
true answer come, “ Thou knowest all things.
Thou knowest that I love thee."
Love in a Printing Office,
X once heard an old jour, remark, that a
printing office was no plnce for love making,
and I have since experienced the truth of the
observation—being now perfectly convinced the
flower of love can nevar bloom in the’ midst of
type stands and printing ink.
It was my fortune to sojourn for a few days
in the city of B . Directly opposite the of
fice was a pretty white cottage,with a.rosebush
clambering round, the casement, and I was not
long in making the discovery that the aforesaid
cottage with rosc-ahaded window, contained a
fair female—a flower whose beauty far Out
shone the roses that clustered round the win
dow. She was,a little, bluecyed saucy look
ing creature of sixteen summers, and was the
belle of the city. Her name was Laura, sweet,
poetic Laura— h
*1 have a poetic passion for the name of Lau-
PO *
It was a beautiful summer morning, and .1
had raised the window to admit the cool breeze
from the flower decked fields, and it was not
long before I perceived the cottage window was
hoisted also, and that sweet little Laura was
seated near it, busily-engaged with her needle.
I worked but little , that morhing. My eyes
were constantly wandering towards.the cottage
window, where little sat, and all sorts of
fantastic notions whirled through ,my fancy
lighted brain, and J began to think that 1 felt
a slight touch of what poets call love, sliding in
at the corner of my heart,,
A few days parsed away and chance made me
acquainted with Laura. Heavens!' she was a
sweet creature—she Jiad a form that would.have
shamed the famous Venus de Medici—a cheek
that, put-blushed the richest peach, and a lip
that would have tempted a bee from his hive on
a. frosty morning. -I thought, as I on
her in mute admiration, that l.had -never seen
so fair a creature.. She seemed the embodiment
of all that is lovely and .bewitching.
WelL time passed, on, and once Laura ex
pressed a-desire to visit the printing office.—
Gad, thought I, what a chahcel I’ll do it.there
—yes, there, in the midst of the implements of.
my art—the press and rollers—the ink arid.the
stands, and the boxes of A B C’s. ! I took an
opportunity to snatch her lilly white hand; and
-shedrew it back, knocking a stick full of mat
lerinto pi!
*1 must have a kiss fof that, ray pretty one;’
I said, and at it I went. X managed to twist
my arm round her waist, and in struggling to
free herself she upset a galley ofeditorial.a long
article on the Kansas question. Nothing daun
ted, I made at her again. This time I was
more successful, for I obtained a kiss. By Ju
piter it was a sweet one, and the little witch
bore it like a martyr—she never screamed once;
but as I raised my lips, she lifted her delicate
little; hand and gave me a box on the ear that
made me see more stars than * was ever .viewed
by llershel through his' big .telescope.' Some
what nettled, and my> cheek smarting, with
pain. I again seized her waist and said^—
‘Well, if you. don’t like it, just take bac£ the
kiss.*
She made a desperate struggle,-and as she
jerked herself from my arms, her foot struck
the lye b,upket v and .oyer.,it went! .Anothergal
ley of editorial was Sprinkled over the floor,and
ih her efforts- to reach the door, her foot slipped
I and she fell, and in her effort to sustain herself, 1
her hand—her liily while hand—the same little
hand that had come- over, my face —bh, horri
ble!—was stuck up to the'elbow in the ink
keg. Shade of Franklin, what ri change came
over the beauty of that hand ! She slowly drew
it from the keg, dripping with ink, and asked
me what use I made of that tar. : I began to be
seriously alarmed, and apologised in the best
manner I could, ahd to my surprise she seemed
more pleased than angry—but there, was a
.‘lurking devil in henoyo’ that told me there was
mischief afloat. As I stood surveying theblack
coveringof her band, scarcely able to suppress
a laugh at its strange metamorphosis, she rais-:
ed it quickly, on high, and .brouight it down
•ker slap’ on my cheek ! Before I could recover
from my surprise, the same, little handhad
again left its-imprint on my other cheek. ■
‘Why, Laura,’ I exclaimed, ‘v\’hat are you
doing?’. , ‘ 1 - - ■ -, •
•I think you told me j’ou rolled ink on the
face of the form,’ she replied with a laugh, arid
again her hand lit upon my face—taking rae.o
broad slap in the middle of my countenance,
arid most wofullybcdaubingmy eyes. With a
light step and a merry’peal of laughter she
‘skipped through the door. : She turned’ back
when-beyond njy reach, and,with her rogueish
face peering, through the door-way, shouted
back—
*1 say, Jakey, what kind of a rollcrdoes my
band make?’
‘Oh,’ said I, ‘you take too much ink-’.
‘Ha! Ha!’ shojaughed, ‘well, good-bye,Jak-.
cy, that’s myTmpression! ha !ha !’, ■.
I went to the glass and surveyed myself for
a moment, and verily I. believe.' I could have
passed for a guinea negro, without the slightest
difficulty.
‘And so,’ thinks I to .myself,,‘this is love ii
a printing office. The devil take such love!”
Tfiehext morning when the foreman-Came to
the office, I ‘rather calculate' ho found things a
little topsey-turvey. However, that made no
odds to me—lor I had ‘mizzled’long before
daylight.,
I bore the marks of that scene for many a
day, and now whenever I see a,lady entering a
printing office, ,1 think of Laura, and keep my
eye on the ink keg—and though she were as
beautiful as, Hebe, I would not touch her with
a ton-foot pole! . .
Talk about loVe in a boudoir—love in a bow
er—love on aspring seated sofa —love by moon
light, lamplight, starlight; Or any other light;
and I am with you heart and hand ! but I pray
you by the ghost of Faust never to talk of love
in a Printing Office!
, Tjie Sand in Egyi'T.— The sand has played a
preservative part in Egypt, and lias saved for
iulnre investigators riiucli that would otherwise
have,disappeared. Miss Martinoau says in her
Eastern Life: “if I wero’tfj have'the choice
of a'fairy gift, it ■should ho like none of the
nuiny things I fixed upon-in, my childhood, in
. readiness for such occasions: It would bo for
a groat winnowing fan, such ns would, without
injury to human eyes andlungs, blow away the
sand which buries the monuments of Egypt.—
What a scone would bo laid open to them. One
statno and sarcopagus, brought from Memphis,
was bjiried one hundred and thirty feet below
the mound surface. Who knows but that the
greater part of old Memphis, and of other groat
cities, lies almost unharmed under the sand!—,
Who can say what armies of sphinxes, whaf sen
tinels of colossi might start up on the banks of
the river, or come forth from the hill-sides of
the interior, when the clouds of sand have boon
wafted away ? 55 All will be discovered in good
time; wo are not yet ready for itj it is desira
ble we should bo further advanced in ourpower
of interpretation before thesand bo wholly blown
away. But, in truth, it will heed a.high wind to
do it, begin when it may.' ■'
.CT" Two couples were married in New Bal
timore, Michigan. last week, under peculiar
cirpumstapces. • , Twin sisters married twin
, brothers, and the parties were each fourteen
years old, and tlieir wedding day was the anni
versary of the birthday of the brides- '.
“OCR. COUNT JIT —MAY IT ALWAYS BB BIGHT—BUT RIGHT OB WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.,’’
‘ CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 15, 1858.
‘Monrin’Squire,? down-caster, giving
a nod arid a wink to Lyman & Towle, as those
gentlemen stood in their Store one morning,‘up
and dressed’ for business.'
‘How are you; sir?! -said, the merchant.
‘Pooty well, considering the stale of things
in general. I say, yeon sell skins here, don’t
yeou?’ ' • ■
‘We do, occasionallywas the .response.'
‘Wal, so I calkulated; buy fox-skins tew, I
reckon?’ . i '
‘Sotnetihjes.' Whv; KhVe you got some for
sale?” ’ ■’ Vi' 1
‘Some. Yes, I guess rhate one; it’s some
tew. I tell yeou.’ ;
‘Let’s loot at it,’ said one, of the merchants.
The owner of the skin tugged at the capa
cious pocket of his. old- yellow overcoat for- a
few minutes, and but came a pretty good-sized
bang-up of a'verierabie reynard.
“There it; is—a perfect beWty it is tew.—.
Ain’t it.’ • ,- ■ ; ’ , ■
‘Seen liner ones;’said Towle;
‘Praps you have, arid praps'ycou haint; but
I dew think it’a-arale beauty,) slick arid shiny
as a bran new hat.' j
‘When did you get this skin V said the mer
chant. V ;
‘When did I get it 1 Why, when I killed the
darned crittery of course. ’ V
‘Yes, we know, but was it in the fall or sum
mer, or when ?” ;
‘Ol ycs: well, I reckon it waren’t far from
the fourth of July, alny way, for I’d just clean
ed out my old shodtin’ piece for p’radeon the
glorious anniversary, and along' comes the, old
critter, and Ijust gave him a rip in the gizzard
that settled his hash; mighty sudden, I tell
ycou. ’ ' „ ' ' '
‘Fox skins,’ said the merchant, ’ arc not very
gbod when taken in hofwcather : the fur and
skin is very thin, arid notfH for much in sum
mer,’ . ■ ■ '
‘Wall, neow, I reckon Since ! come io think
it over,’twant hot weather when I shot the
critter; no. I’ll be darned if lit was ; made a
'thunderin’ niistake-’boutdihdt’.ifor ’twas nigh
on to Christmas—was, by golly, for I and Seth
Peurkins wor goin ! on a frolic. I remember it
like a.bbofc,' cdld as sixty, snowin' awful—was
by ginger.’- ’’’ : -
‘ Well,’ says the merchant, ‘.was the fox very
fat V . :
‘Pat ! 0, Molly, warn’tit fat ! Never did see
suoh.a fat fellow in a)l b’rirri days. ’ Why.
ycou, the fat'came clean the fellow’s
hide, run down his legs, till ,the very airth was
greasy,'whar the darned vnrmit crawled along.
Did, by Peurkins.’ ■,, * ' ,
‘Too fat, then,,we-gucs, to:.bo good,’ said
Towle. Fat skins, sir, are riot-so good as those
taken from an animal not inorC than ordinarily-
fat.’ • ■■ '■ : .
• ‘Well, guess.it warn’t aii, darned fat .wither,
come to think abeout it. another fox our
Siah shot last fall; tbiri'jVarh’t so danied fat,
not overly I guess fi/ffas rather lean,
kind p'lean, tre-tncn-jous lean i poor bid var
mint was about .to die of starvation ; never did
see such a darned', etarnal, starved, lean, lank,
famished critteribn 1 1 1 e air l li beTore i ’
yery_poou.:eh,J’-«a
;“Yeiy;poor ?: ,rguess,it was; so mighty poor
timtdie old prittery bones,Stuck clean eought.
almost through.hlssldri .-' hadn’t killed it just
when I did, ‘fwqnld.have didd'afore it got ten
r.qds further along.. Fact, by golly. ; ’
'.?Ab! well,’ said the merchant, wo see that
skin-is poor,’the fur is thin and loose,aniwould
not suit us.’
, ‘Wuntsuit yon? Now, look atore yeou,’
says the Yankee, folding up, his versatile skin,
‘I don’t kind o’like such dealin’as that, no
heow, and I’ll be darned to darnation, ef yeou
ketch me tradin for , skins with yeou agin,
there ain’t'no lumber in the State of Maine.’
And the holder of the skin vamoosed. ’
Concert pf the Feathered Creation.
,First, the robin, and not the lark, as has
begn generally imagined,.as soon as twilight
has drawn the imperceptible line between night
and day, begins his lonely song. How sweetly
does, this harmonize with, tho soft dawning of
the day Ho goes on till the twinkling sun
beams begin to tell, him his notes no longer ac
cord with; the scene. Up starts the lark ; and
With him a great variety of sprightly songsters,
whose lively notes are in perfect accordance
with the gaiety of the morning. The genera!
warbling continues, with now and then an in
terruption, for reasons before aesigned, by the
transient croak of the raven, the screaming of
the jay, .and the swift, or the pert chattering of
thedaw. The nightingale, unwearied by the
Vocal !exertions of the night,: withdraws’not
proudly by ; day from his inferiors in song, but,
joins them in the general'harmoiiy. The thrush
is wisely placed on the summit of some lofty
tree,.thathis joud and piercing notes,may, be
softened by', distance they reach the
ear; while, the mellow black birds,seek the infe
rior branches. Should tho sun, having been
eclipsed with- a cloud, shine , forth with fresh
effulgence, how frequently we see the goldfinch
perch on some blossom bough, and hear his
song poured forth in' strains peculiarly energetic,
much more sonorously and lively now than at
other times ; while (heisun, full shining on his
beautiful plumes, displayshis golden wings and
crimson. chest to charming advantagor The
notes of the. cuckoo blend with this cheering
concert in a perfectly pleasing manner, and for
h short time are highly grateful to the car; but
sweet as-this singular song is, it would tiro by
its uniformity, were it not given in so transient
a manner. At length the evening advances.the
performers gradually retire, and the concert
snftly . dies .away. The sun is seen no more.'
The robin again sets up his twil'ght song, till
the still more serene hour of,night sends him to
the bower to rest; and now to close the scene
in full and perfect harmony, no sooner is the
voice of tho robin hushed, and night again
spreads a gloom over the, horizon, than the owl
sends forth his slow and solemn tones. They
are more than plaintive, and less than melan
choly, and tend to inspire the imagination with
a train of contemplation well adopted to tho se
rious hour.
i A Youso Lady Shot iJV her £oveu.—On
Saturday week,a young woman, named Harriet
Soidlcr, was shot at Theresa, I)o.dge county,
Wisconsin, by her lover, a young man, named
Kobert Schmidt. The young woman was about
twenty years of ago. Tho parties wero ‘engaged
to bo married, and Schmidt had come over from,
St. Paul, Van‘Boren county, Michigan, to fulfil
the ■ ehgagement, but tho parents of tho young
lady objected, in consequence of which it was
arranged between tho lovers IhatSehraidt should
.flrst shoot her and then "himself.- Ho, executed
his design, so far ns tho yoiing-.lady was con
cerned, but failed to shoot himself .on account
of the loss of tho cap of his gun.
After failing in,this, ho ran arid jumped into
the river, with tho intention to. drown himself,
but was rescued. He is now arrested and awaits
a trial. ' The charge, which was flno shot, enter
ed the loft breast of the young lady and inflicted
a horrible wound,,of which she expired Sunday
morning. She had her senses, up to the last,
and charged her parents witli being responsible
for the awful deed, and acquitted her lover of
allblamei ■ ■■' .
TOE YANKEE FOX SKIM.
=au
1 ,• et . t 1: ,, t . .
View of tlic Sixteenth Congress.
The Congress was that of 1820 —21, the first
under the second administration of Mr Monroe,
■himself the last of the Revolutionary Presidents,
and in the last term of his public life. Both
the Senate and .the House were impressive and
venerable, from the presence of many survivors
of the first generation, and brilliant with the
apparition of the young luminaries of the sec
ond,generation, then just appearing above the
political horizon, soon to light up the whole po
litical firmament with the splendors of their
genius', and to continue shining in it like fixed
stars, :until gathered, in the fulness of lime, to
rest with their fathers. To name some, would
bo to wrong others, equally worthy, less brill
iant. To name all who shone in this firmament
would be to repeat, almost the whole list of
the members of the two Houses,- for, cither
brilliant or useful talent pervaded the whole
list—even the plainest members” respectable
for the honesty of their votes, and close alien:
tion to the business of the House..
! entered the Senate at that tirric.and felt
myself to bo among masters whoso scholar I
must long remain before I could become a teach
er—whose example I must emulate.'without
tha hope of successful imitation. ’Thera they
were, day in and day out, at their places,punc
tual to every'duty, ripe in wisdom, rich in
knowledge, .mbdestltyirtuous, decorous, defer
ential, and upon the public good
There I made ray;. nrsFacquaintancp with the
federal gentleinerioP the old school, and while
differitj* from them bn systems of policy, soon
came.to appreciate their high personal charac
ter, to adnrifq.their finished to recog-,
nizo their solid .palrtqlj’sin.daccbrdiog* to their
views of goycrrime'rtty) r fcrid' to 1 feel grateful to
them as the principal founders of par. govern
ment ; and in all this. I.only divided senti
ments ..with the old republicans, all living on
terms of personal kindness with their political
adversaries, and with perfect respect for each
other’s motives, and opinions. ’’
They are all gone—their bodies buried in the
earth, their works buried under rubbish, and
their names beginning to fade from the rnerriory
of man—arid.l,.(who stood so far behind them
in their great day that praise frprii tnC would
have'Seemed impertinence,) I have become, in
some sort, their historiographer and introducer
to .the. world, I abridge the Debates ol Con
gress ! those debates in which their wisdom,
virtue, modesty,; patriotism lie buried. I res
urrect the whole!. put them in scene again 'bn
the jiving 'stage,'.every ,ono with the bcst of .his
works in: his hand ; a labor of love and pride to
me, of justice to.them, and. I hope, of utility to
many generations. Such were tlie two Ilduses
of Congress which re-cnacted the Florida Terri
torial Bill, in 1821; which had been first enact
ed (by predecessors not less ijhi’stribus) in the
Orleans Territorial Bill of 1804, and approved
by. Mr. Monroe's cabinet—a cabinet unsurpass
ed by anyone before it or since: John Quincy
Adariis, Secretary of the Slate; William'H. :
Crawlord. Secretary of Ihe Treasury ; John C.
Calhoun, Secretary, of War; -.Smith Thompson,
Secretary of the Navy; Return; Jonathan Meigs,
Postriiastcr General; William Wert, Attorney
General.— Benton's Abridgment of the Debates
icj louii iVapolcoii,
The. important incidents in the life of the
Emperor of the French, which have resulted in
several failures to destroy his life, have again
awakened the public to a discussion of his re
markable and singularly fortunate career. ’The
following sketch of his life may therefore be of
interest at this lime: Louis "Napoleon Bona
parte, son of Louis Bonaparte and Queen llor
tcnse.and nephew ofNapoleon,was born in 1808,
After the deteaf. of Napoleon, Louis and his fa
mily were banished to Switzerland, which re
, publiogave him,a citizenship, and permitted hks
Services in the,army. The ascenlion of Louis
Phillipe did not better his condition, his appli
cation for a place in the army being rejected.
In, 1830, having in consequence of the death of
Napqjeon’s only son, the Due de Eeichstadi
(king of Rome) and his own brothers, became
the legal heir of the Imperial family,heuiade an
attempt to create a revolution in his favor. For
this ho was banished to the United States, but
shortly after returned to Switzerland, where the
French government sent an army to arrest him,
He fled to England. In another attempt nt in
surrection in,1840, he was taken prisoner, tried
for high treason, and sentenced to perpetual
imprisonment, froth which he escaped six yrs.
after, and' fled to England, where he lived a
most profligate life until the Paris revolulion of
1848, when ho was elected representative inTho
National Assembly, and of,erwards President
of the French Republic, which.office ho filled
until; having secured the reins of power by a
brilliant coup d'etat, he imprisoned his enemies,
subjugated all opposition, and caused his elec- '
tiou as President for ten years, with more power
than a king. This position ho occupied until
1853, when lire empire was re-established, and '
he was declared Emperor, with the title of Na- •
pdeon 111.” !
Growth of Celery,
“ Celery is n marsh plant and requires a great
deal of moisture. It succeeds remarkably well,
on black nicadow, mud or peal-soil, but I have
grown.it with equal excellence on sandy loam,,
but it must be liberally supplied with water.
To insure early and strong and evenly growing
plants, the seed should be soaked in warm wa
ter, and placed in a warm place, to preserve its
temperature! the water to be renewed as often
as fermentation threatens, until the seed shows
signs of germination. The seed, is very hard
to start, and it is often many days before the
germ will show itself, a minute' ~speck like the
point of a cambric needle. The trenches should
be 12.inchcs in depth, 12 inches broad at bottom,
and 18 inches wideaffop. The manure should
be well rotted and perfectly decomposed, so' that
there is none of the latent heat of fermentation
that forms flic nursery to insects. Green, tin
fermented manure will rust, celery inevitable
and invariably; and no nostrum',, not even salt,
which .is a necessary constituent of the plant,
will preserve it; no more than will medicine
make a healthy man of him, who is subjected lo
tiie influence of poison.. The ground remedy is
salt, common salt. StrcvV it upon the manure
in the'trenches, and spade it in the week before
you set your plants': use it liberally in your
after culture strewed on the earth upon cither
side of the plants ; stir Hie soil often, for riipid
growth and consequent crispness, tenderness
and absence of woody libre, is tjio secret, of
Choice celery. After setting your plants, jay
a few pieces of loth across your treriUics, arid
•place boards upon ilium to afford shade during
the heat of the day, removing them ntJiiglit.—
t know of no morejrUiiable inununfmriganlen
in general application, than salt. Strew it UjiSTr
your garden in early Spring until it covcrslike
a fall of-snow, and you will thereby destroy
myriads of worms, curculios, &0., &c., and
much enrich the soil. Neither asparagus nor
celery of a healthy growth or correct llavor can
be gro.wn without salt.” ’
CL/" Immense amounts of freight arc coming
cast over the principal railroad lines. The
western rivers are in the best possible condition
lorsleamboat navigation. , ;
I
~ .. Gardening for the ladies.
We wish (o say .a lew words, this month to
ol, r / re ? rlors about gardening. As wo have
looked into your houses the past Winter, we
have noticed yoar attempts to make home
cheerful by cultivating a • few .house plants.-
Sorngjaf -yotajjad -the skill and good fortune to
Tnake a (Inc sholv ; others havb succeeded but
indifterently. Tnb verbenas would dry up, or
damp off. The geraniums would drop their
yellow leaves and look scrawny : the roses were
covered with insects and . would not bloom.—
You had almost begun to .lose faith in .garden
ing. But we will say nothing more at present
on that point. Spring'is now opening, and you
will undoubtedly succeed better in out door op
erations. Light, air, moisture and tempera
ture are better regulated by nature than w.ecan
manage them. -
Our little sermon to you. now, is suggested
by the sight of the early bulbs just peeping up'
in the warm border on the south side of our
dwelling. ' The snow drop and crocus are be
ginning to show their blossom buds ; and daft'.
odils, hyacinths, and tulips are coining up,
ready to flower in their turn.' And yet, not far
away are snow banks.. Why should not this
sheltered spot bo as is, one of onr family pets ?
Here Spring shows herself first, and hero Au
tumn lingers latest. We therefore advise you
to seek out a warm corner like this, under a
high, tight fence, or a wail, or. the protected
side of your house, and make a bed there for
early bulbs. In this neighborhood, alsq.it
might'be (veil to put a few'early shrubs, such,
as Mezerccn, Japan Quince, Flowering Alm
ond ; and theso might be.planted now.- It is
too late, however, to set but bulbs for Spring
flowering; but now, while your mind is upon
it, secure the spot for planting in the Fall. —
Such a spot ns this is an excellent one, also, for
setting out late flowering plants, which would
be injured by the frosts of. Autumn, if growing
in the open garden. Last Fall, wc had Chinese
Chrysanthemums flowering in bur border, after
nearly every other plant in other situations had
been killed by the cold.
Now is the time, also, to prepare for improve
ments in your grounds at large. Have you a
front yard ? Trim up those blacks, prune out
the dead branches of those rose-bushes, and tie
up the remainder to neat stakes. Persuade
husband or brother to hoe out the weeds irom
the walks, and to dig up all. thistles and foul
stuffs from the grass-plat. A little pure grass
seed and white clover scattered over the ground
will do no harm, especially if a light dressing of
old composit is added, and.the whole is raked
off smooth and. neat. Of course, you want
some flowers in your front yard. But w’e could
not advise you to set herbaceous perennials
there, or to sow annuals. The latter are a long
while coining, into bloom, and the former lifter
they’have,flowered,’begin to die down and. tq
look shabby. Set this kind of flowers in a gar
den by ..themselves, a little aside from your
front lawn. But prepare a border by the side
of your walks, in front of: the house, for such
plants.as bloom all the season, and whose foli
age is always fresh. Or. in place of a formal
border, out but circular beds (or those of any
fanciful shape,) in; the grass near the walks,
and lill theiu, with I be. plants , lost,mentioned;—
Of theseVflie best are Verbenas; petunias’, 'scar- ‘
lel geraniums; helitropes, lan tanas, pyrethruni,
itq; Any or all of these can be got at low
rates’, of (be florists in your neighborhood.-a
Their perpetual bloom will repay well all their
Ton can exercise ranch'skill and taste in
arranging coiors. Bine contrasts finely with
white: srtuige with purple :’ white with pink,
scarlet, &e., &a. But why should wc attempt :
to teach ladics anything about the arrangement
of colors! They will, however. let us . advise
them to keep the grass of the lawn shaven ,
■smooth all summer, in order,to get the full beau- |
ty of this style of gardening. I
(From the St. Louis Christian Advocate.)
Boys read the following ; rend it closely and
then think. Some of you are commencing a
very bad practice; one that is injurious to
health and is oilensive to decency. Read the
following, and learn a more excellent way.—
Ed. Advocate. ■ ■
“ There is nothing I despise so much as to
see a boy with a' cigar in his mouth. ”
Thus remarked one of the wealthy.and most
respected business men of St. Louis, standing
at the door of the post office as a boy walked
along the puffing a cigar. Sympa
thizing somewhat with the gentleman, I fell in
to the following reflection:
I amagined that, in the courso of events, tins
boy might be induced to apply at the gentle
man’s counting .fount for employment. The
merchant’s remembrance of this act ofyouthful
dissipation would probably not be to the bene
fit of the applicant. The merchant would be
likely to judge unfavorably of the young man’s
character as to temperance and sobriety, and
would think himself justified in doubting the
independence and stamina of one who, evident
ly for no better reason than because others do,
and probably because he thought it would give
him a manly air, had contracted an unnnatural
and ofiensive habit of smoking in' boyhood.—
The very act would seem to argue mental of
tmoral- deficiency, and perhaps both. Little
tilings are sometimes attended with great re
sults. The merchant, like the majority of well
bred people, is oxc cdmgly annoyed with, the
smell of cigar smoke. He despises the practice
of smoking, especially among youths, and can
not help noticing the boy who exhibits it, or
thinking, in such a case, what the mental and
moral manifestation is. With tbe boy the act
was a trifle ; to the man it was an exhibition
which told him something of a youth of whom
he knew nothing before, and that something
was to his discredit. ■ .
How different would have been the result i
the fust not of this boy noticed by tbc mer
chant had been one that ns plainly spoke of in
tcg’rrly and good sense ns the act of smoking
did of weakness and frivolity of character. The
man would bavo marked that boy; and if it
should ever come in bis way lo render him a
service, no testimonial would be needed lo se
cure his favor.' ' •
I would fain-impress upon the young the
great importance.'of.forniing good habits. One
may forsake his boyhood’s errors when he be
comes a man • but the probability is that in
stead qf being forsaken they will only be ag
gravated, and take on a rigidity which is like
second nature to the individual as he advances
in manhood. Knowing this, people jdnge of
young men by what they knew of them when
boys, unless a subsequent acquaintance gives
them better ground for formation of an opinion.
CAftEWI, Cook.—‘'Bring in the oysters I
‘toWyou to open, "said the head of a household,
growing impatient'. “There they arc,” replied
the Irish cook, proudly. “It took me a long
time to clean them, but I have done it at last,
and thrown all the nasty insides into the
street.”
■ C'y' - A floor Yankee, on being asked the na
ture of his distress, replied—“ That he had five
outs and one in— lo wit. oh/ of money(irid out
of clothes: out at the. heels and out at the Iocs:
Old Of credit and in debt." 1
y
AT $2,00-PER ANNUM
; NO. 44.
Smoking Boys.
True Braverr.
In the long and terrible story of the Indian
Mutiny, there arc episodes of individual heror.
ism and daring, which wili.be' remembered'for;
many a year to come.
A small band of Englishmen, with their wives
and children, exposed, to the most. imminent
peril by an overwhelming force, contrived to
hold.their own. to withstand (heir dhscrupir- ’
lons enemies, and maintain' British supremacy
in India. The English in India have done their
only with unexampled bravery. Peace,and Or?/
tier arc being rapidly restorcd. The horrors of
the revolt are passing away like some hideous
dream. But the dream leaves a dreadful."to*'
mcmbrancc behind it; and though the scene is
Bright again, and the prospect encouraging,
the memory of what has been, cannot, and
ought not, to be effaced from the mind. 1 . •
Among the instances of daring which marked
the recent struggle, there arc a few of a more
interesting character than that which is presen- '
ted in the following. ’ It is just one of those
stories that would- win .attention of listeners
round a Christinas lire, a story that fairly il
lustrates the pluck of the soldiers.’ '■■■•’ / ;
It was one of the engag6memcn(a before;-
Cawnporcjjhat the incident occurred. ■ Therou
had been much hard lighting. A mere handful 1 !
of -brave fellows had faced an overwhelming
! u "J v '' c r of the Sepoys. The Sepoy s, of course; ’
nan behaved m their .usual way; hiding behind i
I banks, Und -hedges, and stones, anywhere.foe ,
f shelter, and doing ail the murderous work they
I could without much risk- to themselves and of ■
I fOurse. : when drivcn from their diKnces, ttffd
brough t dace to face with the wall ’of iron that ’
came steadily onwnrtl/brialUng with bayonets,
they flea. But thoro still rcroaAncd opporluni*
ties lor fiendish cruelty ;-, and by and by life ‘
mutinous troops would come back again m tot',
ture the wounded or plunder the dead.
During the engagement,.a man ~bf the 04lil
had his leg shalter.d by a round shoe.’’? There
he lay in agony on the ground, quite ariabtelff )
move, and fully conscious of his own dartger.—- 7
But danger was a thing of which ho hade-nd.
fear, and’ he could still khont if. ho saw. the ras- 1
cals flying, even through his hurrah diedaway i
in a groan. Presently, however, he observed - tt.'i
company of troopers emerge from the thick ,
the'fight, and come galloping towards hira.wr:.
They were Sepoys, and tho wounded man re?
solved to sell his life dearly. If he.must die, 1
he would not die alone, lie stretched; ou t his
hand and seized' his rifle, aiid as one one of tho
most ill looking of the villains poised his lance; i
shot him right through the head, and sent him •
rolling on the sand-
At the report of the rifle and tho fall of their
companion, the troopers drew rein: and while
they hesitated another shot struck a second .of
their number, and served,him the same as tho
first. The bounded hero saw. his advantage; '
he loaded again, and shot a third.’ On this the ,
troopers wheeled and fled even foster titan they,
had come, leaving a wounded man mastcrof the
field. • ■. ....’’l '' ■
The incident is equally charactoristid of the
cool courage of the man and the timidity and : «
irresolution b( the Sepoys.
. It is satisfactory to know that the poor fel
low' who had so gallantly' defended himself re
covered, and. though he has lost-a limbi has-’
won a reputation of which any soldier might be e
proud. ■ -
A Good Me.
A Washington letter writer tells tha follow- •
ing capital story :• ’ ....
“ A verdant gentleman from pneof the.bucpl- ;
io districts of the country, of the name of.
Greene—spelled with an e—oame to’ hand a few :
days since, and put up at a fashionable hotel. ’
lie had been imprudent enough in’the : cars: to
repeat the opinion of his pastor •■home” that,
Washington w r as a thankless and-graceless.
place, wherein merit such as his (Greene’s) was ’
too often suffered to. pine away unrecognized. ’
Next morning, early, certain-wags went to tbo
bar, and, depositing two new half dollars,’gave,
orders to sind up cocktails every ten minutes to
number forty eleven until the amount should be
. expended. Greene was waked from drearhs of
homc at 5 mmutes past seven, a, at.; by A, boy'
with the connection referred 1 to; which Greene’
imbibed; At fifteen minutes past camoanbth-:
er boy and another ‘appendage’—the latter of
which Greenealso.'took. ’ At.twcaty-flve miii-.
otes past came another, and’at twenty-flye nffin r ‘
utes to, the dose was repeated. He made in'orie
ment of them all. At fifteen minutes / foiny.
made a rush for the stair-case. ’ .
‘llls- (drapery) - . ...
Streaming like a meteor on the troubl’d air’
and called over the balustrade: ‘ Hold omhere,
hold on !—does the’President, think I can con
trol all the votes of my State ?” . - , - ,
A Finely Elaborated Thought;
Consider the growth of opinion in one man's
mind ; how crudely the opinion is formed a first
in thought; how ho is oflecled by discussion
, with friends, by conlroversey with sincere op
, pononts, by some remote analogy in present
. life, or in the past history : how strange to say;
when his mind has apparently been disengaged
from the subject, he finds, all of a sudden, great
growth or change of opinion has been going bn
in him, so that it seems as if he had been think
ing While ho had been sleeping. ,’.Then, if the
mind of his manis a deep fertile soil, how all
the beautiful influence of literature, of natural
scenery, of science and of art, cniargeand mod
ify the growing opinion, but a cause, how this
thought is modified by remarks from his feU
lows, which were not meant to influence him—
those remarks which tell so much upon most of
ns, because the moral we draw from all is our
own. —Spanish Conquest.
The Poetic Orient.
; It must be owned by every one, that the Hast
is. in a striking degree, move ' poetic—that is,
more gorgeous, sensitive, passionate, subtle mid
mysterious—than the West. It is to us what
wine is to water, the peacock to the hen, thb
palm to’the pine, the orange to the apple, -* ■ ■>•
Eastward roll the orbs of heaven.
Westward tend the thoughts of their; ,
Let the poet, nature driven, . , -
Wander Eastward now and then ;
For who would appreciate the poem must
travel in the poet’s land, and on every such ex
cursion tho'lyrio heart will fine! itself at homo
in that region, for it is native there. Humani
ty was cradled in the nest of dawn, and a secret
current in our souls still turns- and -flowers, to
wards mankind's natal star, standing above
Eden, over the biith-spot of Adam. Who so
would plunge into the primal front of poesy,
and bathe his soul in the very elixir of immor
tal freedom, must not turn his face after, the spn
in, the circling course of industrial empire;
But crowd-the canvas on his liark.
And sail to meet the morning.■ .' !
Suggestion to Toting Jlcn.
In the course of my travels, I have seen many
,a promising and fine young man gradually led
to dissipation; gambling, and ruin, merely by
the want of means to make a solitary hpur pass
pleasantly. I earnestly advise any youth \yho
quits that abode of purity, peace and delight,
his paternal home, to acquire a taste for read-
ing and writin g. At every place where ho may
reside long; let him study to make his apart
ments as attractive and Cbmfortable as possi
ble : for he will (ind a little extraordinary ex
pense, so bestowed at the beginning, fobe econ
omy at the end ; let him read Iho books .in the
language of the place In which he lives,-and,
above all, let him never retire without wriiing
at least a page of original comments on what
ho has seen, read and heard in the day. This
habit will teach him to observe and discrimi
nate ; fora limn ceases to read with a distillery
and wandering mind, which is utter waste of
time, when ho knows that an account of all the
information which ho has gained .mustbe ’writ
ten at night.— Clayton's Sketches on Biography.
o=Tt is in vain to stick your linger in water
and after pulling it but. look; for the hole. .
(C7"Beauliful,—The weather,