El mmmjojmnm. jPUBTOBEP BVEBY IIiunSDAY MOKMINq BY John Jl. Brat toil. HI = SiiiSOßlPTioN.—Ono Dollar and Fifty Cents, nfttd in advance ; Two Dollars it paid within tho vear- and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not • baid’within the year. Those terms will bo rig idly adhered, to, in every instance. No sub scription discontinued Until all arrearages ate paid unless at the option of the Editor. < * AovKansEHENTS— Acftompanied by the cash, and not exceeding one square, will bo inserted throe times for One Dollar,.and twentyrflve cents tor,each additional insertion. Those of agroat ter length in proportion. ’ . I 'Jon-PniNTiso—Such as Hand-bills, Posting bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &0., oxe- I cutedwith accuracy and at tho shortest notice. EVENINGS; AT HOME. BY KITTY. KING, When the sad and dreamy twilight Deepens into sterner night, And the playful shadowy moonlight Maketh all things fair and bright, Then abroad ’fls sweet to wander Mfeitth the heavens’ gilded dome : But the,heart is bitter; fonder, ’Mid the joys of happy home. Jin the warm, bright summer season, W'hentho dewy evening air, > ■Stealing gently through the casement. Panning from the brow each care, ’Then,, beside the window sitting, Visions bright before' me loom: And I wait a loved one coming To share the bliss of joyous homo. When the chilling blast of winter . Moaneth through ,each crevice near, And the gathering.tfempcst madly Rushes on with sound so dear;' .Then, upon the bright fire gazing, .Think I of tho.poor who roam. And I listen for the tread of Ono I love to welcome homo; ■O, - these happy evening hours, . Oft wo.’d fain prolong their stay ; But they, swiftly passing onward. Heed us not, but fly away, , So may we live,' that when oiir moments One by one have lightly flown, ' Tvo may pass a long, bright evening In .tins .angels’ happy home. BEAUTIFUL SENTIMENT, There’s many a gem unpolished, And many a-star unknown — Many. a bright, bud perished, Neglected and alone. When had a word booh.spoken, - , . Ip lukindly, gentle tone, T&e bud had bloomed unbroken, The gem ha'd graced a throne! Then, 01 scorn hot tho lowly,' Nor do them any wrong. Best tllbii ci ush an impulse holy. Or blight a soul of song I MmMmm, THE DOVE OP THE BfORM. ST DOBA M’NEItLE Gently and quietly the night folded its wings over'a pleasant home among the Green Moun Jhdns, where a happy circle were gathered around a blazing lire, of maple wood. It was one of .those old fashioned homesteads of which every one has a bright.idea ; tall trees bent over , it as It to shelter the young hearts that beat hap peacefully even as the sung to theta through the long stiki. days, <l^it l the f 4|t(le .pib^ntjA|ne|Sr4;fh‘;tHe:l^ • 4 at adiatance* ■ the : brfcad, ever-. frcen "thickly covered with .show,' fto&ytjdte not £h.e-people who* spend id ;plea ripre the loveliest season God gives usVfor little could toramus efuontwhen./J ftult and waving grain was ripening for them fo gather. . . It was the farmer’s “season for flitting now; Vie harvest moon had long since waned, and left rich stores In ,b*arn and granary. T.her • italwart to leave at home, who knew right was -needful—am} the pa rents had^i^eo i t r c?d. < to leaVo the little band riocenco, -trusted. , Trained as they had been to brave all storm Arid danger, caring little for either, the hardy children had enjoyed the independence of being jjrit **Co take .care of themselves,” as James ; Graham expressed it, and now they Were re ‘ counting all the homo duties they had faithfully performed, for. :the absent .ones were expected that night, arid each little heart, beat hap- , pily in the consciousness of having done rigid. ;! <c Well,” said James, “I guess father don’t i expect to And all the corn husked when lie gets i librae.” , ‘ J -" No,.noi‘fh’o ok* ailed boarded so nicely, s: fl'aid Richard. . , J “ ; *Vhat have you got to toll father, Annie ?” •said-James to a little gentle creature, who look ed like a little White morning-glory with blue ©yes. - . . shall toll bow-good we’ve all been, and ho\V I Helped yoti feed the lamb every day.” <* Ye'd*!! tell hint \Vo’vo been good, too, won’t job;, cousin Marion ?” asked Richard, for the roguish boy began to remember certain instances of his teasing and fun. which ho thought might hot.sound very Wellfn,the account.. .A gay and. brilliant'girl was cousin Mat*ion, ’ who had escaped from the dull restraint of the city; lor a .little while, to enjoy the freedom"sne' loved; Oh, it was strange how she could leave a sphere of gaiety and fashion, where she was the brightest start, to sit bn that old stone hearth |n the tanner’s kitchen, and crack butternuts or help pare apples till her little bands looked •black enough j but she did love it, and dearly they all loved her; she was so gifted and so . kind, so. winning to all; and then, qs James said, j§h’e was a first rate hand at making candy and popping corn. - But Marion Wotvellowns not genteel—indeed Bho wan’tl , She had rather play the romping games of the country girls, coast with James Graham of a: moonlight night, than dance the bewitching polka in Jier splendid, city homo— and why should, alio not f—,for. the shadows op bid bending troes.wero on the frozen lake; aVidh the mbon shines brighter there than gasliglii' does Jn a crowded room on beauty which God' did not make. Perhaps, Marion laid holier thoughts than those-or* mere' enjoyment, every night she had gathered the children around her, and with them repeated a prayer, so earn est in its few simple words, that their ydhng eyes closed fervently as they knelt, and all her mirth and gaity was for a few moments forgot, ten. " Now, as she s£t on a rudo, low sent, with An nie’s sweet, faco resting in her lap, the glowing fire-light lit up her faco with tho truest gladness as aho answered Richard : ’ “ Yes, ooz, you have been good almost all tho time, and,— “ Whllo she was thus speaking, the whole group B‘«rtle4..by a low, distinct rapping ft the jyipdow pane, and there with its whim breast pressed close against the-glass, was a trombHng dove, pocking the JVost covered window” as if ho.plead for shelter from the driving storm _ A Mho children ran eagerly to the door, and Biohurd laid tho ,dovo gently and pnrofnii * Marion’s hand. The ffloSeri^ 4p shone far out into tho Ibnoly road. dlm?v 7 ' snowing two (jgures all wreathed with ihliTng spow. It was unusual In that lonely place to stiwssas «»; j that^,lr ’ frozpn doTe to the .ha(l rescued it. As it nestled close in Mpnpn s bosoip, there was a glearp if), terms. poetical. American it BY JOHN B. BKATTON, YOL. 44. (its opening eyes that seemed almost human—an .earnest that told of quiet gratitude and content. They smotbed the ruffled white plumes carosa _ ingiy, talking all the while to “Dovio,”as if it know their meaning. They scarcely heeded the entrance of Richard till ho said “ Those folks were beggars, and wanted wo should keep them over night, but I told them as father always docs, that- every town took care qf its own poor, and if they had, staid at homo they needn’t suffer.” , .' “ Who wore they’? how did they look 7 where did they come from 7” inquired all at once. “ Oh, they looked bad enough. There was an old man.and girl, not so big as Marion,' and . they came from some place down, below that I never heard of before. . The old codger said lie I' was going to see his brother up North j but I I .guess ho made tip that story.” “ Why, Dicfc;ididn’t think you’d turn off an old man and a shivering girl, in such a night as this;” and as Joseph spoke he went to the win dow, adding, 7 ! don’t" think father and mother will como, it storms so i if they are on the way they will put up somewhere.” “ The old man’s breath smelt of nun,” an swered Richard, “and if he can buy that lie can buy a lodging. I did pity the girl, to be' sure, for when X told him that (ho tavern was two miles off, she said, <Oh, dear, that seems a great ways. .But, then, father says it is only.encou raging folks to drink if you do any thing for thorn when they wander, about so.” Richard did, indeed, repeat an ,oft heard sen tiruent of his father’s when ho said tins; for though a worthy man in,‘many, respects, Mr.' Graham one of those who remembered (ho poor only as far as'tho sufferers are good and virtuous and struggling hard to support them selves. , But the holier teachings of his wife, had gfren to the children other , and better feelings, and Richard conscience smote' him when Annie - quietly -sflid, “ mother wouldn’t have sent him . away-, if the man did dnhlc rum.” ' ■ promised iusA story, cousin Marion,” Richard, glad to turn-frorii a painful sub ject; ‘‘tell us one of eld times, Hikethosebcst;” “Tell abepit war,” said James. “About In dians,” said Fred. “ About when yon was a little .girl, like me,” said Annie. “ Tell us something you never told us before,” said ! o> quiet boy in-the corner. ■ If the gifted Marion had one power Inpcrfec non, it was the highly valued but rare gift of telling stories. There was a low .seat in the Kitchen, which they called a “settle;” it an swered the place of a wood-box and sofa in the winter- evenings, and being, painted, bright, red and varnished, .it looked like a good-natured laughing face in front of tho (ire. On this the ciiikiren, used to sit for hoUrs aiid listen to ecu sin Marion’s enchanting stories, which were us ually thrilling realities of History dressed in her own glowing thoughts,- Sometimes she re cited an old fairy tale? or Some wild legend of early times; but to-night the white-plumed.dove lay lovingly by her ;breast, as it uttered thoSb moaning sounds, which nothing on earth equals in plaintive sadness.. Marion’s heart beat time to tho mournful notes, for there were noble feelings striving against her woman’s fearfui uoss j thoughts of tho poor sufferers in that wild storm, of their peril, and, it migiit be; of their death. She arose resolutely and said, “I am going to. And those beggars ;” and as’sho spoke. She began to wrap a shttwl nround hei, while her .lovely, face, glowed Wltb eouiageona foeliiig.‘-,, A‘‘-Rpn,fl;g;ort’ {•Jou'H'Pe snotrlv’ • ■ . ; • f< God will take caro of too, Annie,” siio nn-i sWercd; laying the blue-eyed dpvo in the child’s WP •< you shall not goQilbhe, Cousin Marion;” said Rickard, whose bitter feelings were allawa kened by a little reflection. “PJI carry the lan tern,said James 5 for,.rough boy as he,was, he knew how to admire heroic resolution, and knew the peril of such an errand. While they are hastily wrapping coats nns cloaks around them, wo will follow the beggard on their lowlyp^lh. • •. ■ . • ■ * ■ • •'* “That house looked some iiko-our own hoine, didn’t it,.pa I” said, tho pale,'sad-hearted girl, as she looked back on tho lighted , house where shelter had heOn refused them. «0h! how X wish We word back where we used to live,” she added, (is the ojd man walked on silently. ‘.‘■iron, have forgotten, haven’t you, that the old place don’t belong to us now,” ho answered harshly; “ don’t Worry about it, for wo can’t help it now 1 .” “ I know, it,” sti'd said, sadly, “ wo have no homo anywhere;” Oh! how mournfully those simple words were spoken, bearing tho tale of 'll young heart crushed,and blighted, of 3 T q.nng hopes chilled forever. It touched oven the heart of the- hardened father, and ho-drew his ' motherless child close to his side, nummirin 1 “jfoor dove! poor Isabel!” Ay, .the beggar girl bore Hie proud naiue, and sho had graced it in happier, days: when her father was an honor :cd and trusted man; when the noblest vessel :‘on the broad fakes was his own; before rum had rufned a God-like intellect, and wasted'a prince ly fortune. , ’ It was r dark now in those forsaken hearts, even ias on God’s earth, arid their path wtis lost.— Faster and faster came down the .blinded snow, and tn their utter desolation tho wanderers at last 'sat down, unablo to proceed, and weary" with exertion. . And now the nogloofcd Isabel lay folded' in the igjsom of thd father whoso fal len fortrines she.had so devotedly shared,'and hot fears fell from his eyes-onhoi'palo face. “ Isabel, darling, can yon -forgive mo that 1 have deprived you Of ioveand home, and every thing on earth 7 can 3 T ou forgive me for being a , drunkard 7”, , . . » “Oh, father! do not talk of those tilings'' now; I am happy in dying with you, dead 1 fa- 1 father.” i Shadotty phantoms gathered: dimly round the -•fopentipg man, pointing far back to a lost hohie. ami character; to a grave oi a broken hearted ; *p the fast closing eye-lids of his gen itlu, (iajjyiiter. Broken words of agony and con 'ttw I the hollow difgo that the V#' sbnt » ,|l<J fi>Hier knew it by. J mS, : y 1' vn tm u touched hers, and 3 that ho saw not the closing rtfeif hcht°hWrt 01. ° yo o i . Bo mftny a ' mir 3’ day "Eut had cheered him since poverty and drunkenness had driven him opt to b'eg for daily : bread s .they wbre clear and'blub ns'the waters of their own; beloved lake, and they ever looked kindly on him. Now they were closed;-the eyes oMho wenry,s|ilrit were opened, and she saw such white-winged angels ns had often float ed dimly through her dreams, and sun-bright flowers and gushing ftWntaihsi- nnd dwellings of wondrous beauty wore bp loro her. There they are perishing. Though Isabel has earnestly longed id die, and as she revives a little from, the death-lethargy, she nestles closer to her father’s bosom,Jiko an innocent dove, and feels itvis'sad to lay down a young life boro in a dreary tenipost, so (ar from all of life and sym pathy ; ; and once she gazes round and sees the wild Storm-clouds parting slowing, and one star tremblmg in its distant homo. NO, ’tis not a star, ’tis a light, and there are sounding foot steps and cheerful voices. ,Ttid- father roiised himself at her hurried wjjr^a ? but they were too nearly exhausted (o ho'lp. Marion heard a faint cry, as of ,ono;'rier|e»hiijg; it was just like tho moaning of ft.dovo^ -SV&ero, Richard, this way with tho lantern!” laimed, as sHe bounded over tho snow kS«w* r 1 w wondfljtow lay* They saw a fw ! / aCO bendin E a..dfelt Marioft-seeaiod sud fluSnfvrn'*•s, rSmsjißW'io. restore andttlie K&diaipve they satvjtheir, wijd. cousin in the i^w-^reathedS^-^ me bolero them. She poured warm cordials on the colorless lips of tho old man, while James took the light ilgure of Isabel in his arms and wrapped her in his own coat. She smiled faint ly in gratitude, and entreated him to go to her father, but ho was already standing by his pre preserver, anxiously‘inquiring for his daughter. And now the whole party heard tho sound of approaching sleigh-bells, and Richard joyfully exclaimed: “ ’Tis lather and mother !” Though startled to see so strange a group by the road-side, the parents soon understood all,' and the old man was comfortably placed in a sleigh, while the rest followed in a track home ward. Jatudswould not give bp his, rescued charge; and, leaning on his strong arm, with Cousin Marion’s ever-joyons words of hope in her ear, Isabel felt like one waking to a now life. It -was late on that eventful night When the blazing lire went out on the hearth, and all were asleep. In vain they sought for the rescued dove ; it had flown none know whither, or little ,Annie had litllen asleep while the others were away. Morning brought new blooin to Isabel, bntnot so to her father. A few days he lingered, ahd, thoso who watched te.nderly by tho dying, saw tho flashing forth of a glorions'intellect oven in decay. When the next Sabbath sun was set ting, the sun of his life went down also, not. in the clouds and darkness, but surrounded by a blaze of holy light; even that hope and trust in Heaven. And what became of the orphan, Isabel 7 They took tho sweet bird to their own nest, and she became a gentle sister for the little Annie, a loved daughter to her protectors; and when five bright summers had flown gently by, she became the wife of James Graham; Neverwas bridal graced, by a fairer guest than the light-hearted and lovely Marion; and though tho white doVo never returned to nestle in her bosom again, she always called Isabel, in the language of her own heart-romance—The DoVe or the Siobm. IIOW JI.II CALLIN COME MIGUTT ONTO GET- TIM LICKED. The Southern correspondent who sends the following Shall always have a r joyous greeting when he conies with such a capital story as this: Dear Drawer hay? just returned from riding the circuit with-riiy. friend, Johir Law less, as capital a fellow as any of the young sters at this bar ,* knows the country, 100 ; has electioneered all over it; and is “ hail fellow’* with every mim, woman and child in the dis trict. ■ Y.Ve were approaching the celebrated city-of Roseville, consisting of a court-house and one other building which blended in . itself , the va ried dignities of the store, post-office, and hotel, kept'by one Mn.JalDes; Carlihe,.or, as he was commonly called by the people of the section, “Jim Carlin;” Justice ot the Peace, Hemberof the Legislature, etc.,; a tall, stalwart fel)pwV with frame like a stone wall,'red ba|r, a squint;, a fist like: a sledgehammer/and tlio pride,and bully of . the country; To uso, his own words, “ he could outrun, outwork and al-! So.o^d r mk;a n y.other human emitter atop of: difty hb'd-durned ef'J don’t lick any bodv'a*J£oS 4 np.toit.’/;-. f ; '-.f. ; I had myself jogged on,;, the sun was setting, we had- talked ..each other .down, and were mentally calculating the chances of a stray, fed-from some unfori»inate : client, Vvhen suddenly he straightened himself up and shout ed : , '■ , ...... “ Hellp, Jonco!. Why, how are you old fel low ?” I looked and beheld a specimen of the genius ‘Cracker,’ who joyed in the altitude of five Peer four; he had sandy hair, oj'es and complexion were of one color : lie, had more legs than body, and more stomach than either, and he was clad in homespun, and bfogans of hide. ■ Such was ‘donee.’ ■ . . ' ■ ‘‘How arc you, gen-td-meu !’ he said in tones that no spelling can give the faintest idea of ; ‘ why; liow are you, Squire. Coin’ to Rosevil’ I s’pose, to tend Court. 1 Wal kin you give a feller a lift ?’ ‘ Oh, yes: jump up behind.’. ..lie needed no second invitation ; but, having snugly enscqnscd'himself in the place design'at ed. a brisk conversation speedily-ensiled on the price of eggs, butter aiid poultry, the prospect; ofweather, the chances of the ‘crop’ and other such delightful and entertaining . topics.—■ •You’ll be g’wino to slay at dim Cfillin’a to night ? Wal, a’ter supper dim'll start a ravin and’ a tarin' around as usu al, talking' 'bout his filin’ and how, ho can lick- creation. Qeii til-iiien, dim kin out brag and'out lie any njan I ever seed; but you jest ask him 'bout that ar file hofdutxlown in Granby's Lane, and you'll see how.quick he’ll drap his tail.” “ How douce, did he get ihrashed ?” “ Wa1,.1 dunno.what you called thnished, biit old Mr. Tow'niy, who cum up when the file was a’mbst lout out, told me that dim had got the durndest licking that he .ever seed a human git. dim kep his bed for ten days after It, an' when he riz his face wor of as many colors as my old’oman's quilt. I’ll be Uodrotted. cf it Wunf t 7 - . : ■ ; Tell us all about it Joncd.” But this donee positively refused to' do. If we wanted to hear it, he declared we must get it.out of .dim himself. -‘ We was lawyers, and ef we couldn’t draw him out, he waa’n't worth nothing: He wanted to hev it tooi add durned if lib would’nt be thar.’ , '. “ There Was a pretty full attendance of tha bar thm night, aiid dim was in his glpry. : ; After suppbr, when We were all seated around the ample hearth, dim", as donee had prophe-’ cied. did commence, like Othelfo, to speak of his ‘battles, bravely, hardly fought,’ he went a ravin and tarin’ to his heart’s content, and there was no end to the victories he had gained; Wo listened in reverential silence, until, a pause in the narration. Lawless asked him'if he had ever been whipped ? “No,sirce! Thar ain’t the man livin'ns kin do it, neither,” ‘‘Never. Jim 1 Now think —if you were in tho witness box, would you swear you never were whipped ?” ■ . ■ “ VVal, I never Imve,been', but I come migh ty onto it once—l did. V !’ ST '™ sit I : Tell us Jim.”. _ * r. al * J I] you all about it; but dod rot y skm.ef I don t lick the fust man as pokes fun at me about it ; now see ef I.don’t.” - i , courso we assured him that none of us Z*rl,h VeTtry 80 dangerous an experiment, and ,were.thereupon eniightenedT''as loathe biroum stances, which transpired when “ Jim Callin come so nigh onto gettin licked.” ‘‘Km eny one of you - gentlemen favor rae with a gar? I’m obliged-to you. Mr. Briefless. Wal, the way of it war this. Last -August, a year ago, I hitched npiiny mar’ to go over to Mr. Elliott 6 He’d promised me some new fashioned turnip seed he had, which he said would bring powerful big turnips. - ’Twos one of the all firedest hottest afternoons you ever seed : durped ef I don’t think ’twould mel ted the horns off n a.billy goat ~ VVal. the sun war prettoler’bly high, and I wos driving slow kinder, through Granby’s Lane, the shady side,' when her cum a feller up front of pe, in a buggy, too, an’he, too,, war on the shady side of ihetane. I dru'y.on, calo'latin’ he would “OUR COUNTRY —MAY I® ALWAYS BE RIOM—BUT MOB® OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY"” CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, MAY 20; 1858. tiirn put; but he driiv’on.jtoo, toll the horses’ noses fetched, and then wb-stopped and looked at each other like. . Ho was ft little wiry feller, made up suthin’ like Mr. Briefless iliar.au' didn’t look like he had- any dire in him no mdrn’ri u flea. ‘So we looked ftt i each other a spell longer ..and then I sez, si-z I. ,*• Cum, arn’t you.gwino.id turn out! , ‘‘ You be durned ! sez benight away, “Turn out Yourself, i’mo.n the right side of the road, and-I’ll ,be drotted ef I'll go onto the gunny side for sech as you 1” \ • i • T We’ll soon see ’bout that, Old boss!’’ sez I, and then we both on-us jumped out onto the road. ■' “ I walked up to his boss, and had tuk hold of the bridle-rein io ; turn hitn but, when he lot drive, and hit mo the most (renienjousest.lick right hero under the eye you'ever beam tell on. I never had anything.to hurt fine so powerful bad sons daddy; used to- lick Yne—After that, soon as he had hit ho.pitched into me, an’ we had the most orfullest ilie.lrite time in that ar lane, as ever were fotit. • We must a font for a hour an’a haf, an’ the ground about than looked like it had.beeh. a.’stomping ground for cattle.the lasbsix. months-; ’twas powerful tore up, I fell you. At last I foiind myself layin’ flat o’ ray back in the ditch- oh one side of the lane, ah’ the feller atop .o’ the. Ho had Ins knees od both my. arms, nu’:J .couldn't stir a peg. I had, his thum’ in myjiubutli, but I was ’fraid to chaw it. for. ev'ry-time I tried it begin me sich tromenjous licks ’lortg-side my head as made me see more star’s than Over war in heav en. , He had the devil in his eyes big as a mee ting-house, and ev’ry time.hc hit,me he'd holler, out, ‘.‘Ain’t ycr got enuff yii"? ’ Wal, I tell you that riled me, but ’twas a base; I calo'lat ed ’{war no use to lie’thar aad‘ be beat to doth, an I war jest g’wine to squalj-when who should ride up but old Mr.Townly—yon know old Mr. Townly as plants on the f iver?—wal, inui and his overseer, and that son o’ his’ri, Ca leb. - Old Mr. Townly rid! uh’and he see, sez he— .-' • “ Hello here,.boys,? ■■whal’athe flic about ?” “V7al, I ,coiild’nt /ans.vycr,’ for the felier’a thumb in my month, and liQ'wouhln't aliswcr, but kept on a lipkinit into me.' So Caleb and the overseer they pitched in hfid dragged us out O’ the ditch, and parted of us.v The fellow then started for his buggy, alopking at me and a ej’ein of me all the time, and wraping up his thurn’ in a.silk' hahk'clfgff. "’Tf ffeh he got in his buggy he riz up an’ gathered liis reins, and- he sez tome, sez he. “ Now, you, old .red headed, gimlet-eyed, snaggle tooth .son pf. jackass'—them war his words by golly—“ I recoin you won’t go, spilin about the country fora file again in a hurry. Clar the way thar and find let .me pass, of I 11, give you particular fits ?” “-Wal, the sun had. Sot by this time, and all. the road warshady. SO L tliaught I’d run off an’ let him slide. 1 He travelled, but as he pass ed me he sleived himself fo'mid.in his buggy an.’ grinned at me, an’dura uiqef.ho did'ni keep art gririin' at mo tell ho war clqaii.qut o.’ site. Here a short pause ensued; .broken by cigar puffs. l . ' ~■■ . ; I tell you what, gents,’’.lesnraeadim i'ljiat -Arfriloyvscum us ,nigh-Jdid.o^;ki,n -meiasiiiiny otber>mkq;in.<3edfgy; Kid; dbj&ot ef-hodidu’t. -Xietls liquor:! 1 * ‘ ■ : -i Thera \m‘csomo of .us ’tfc'u and'thero'.whd [ thought that Jim could havoused : father sfrori feur language than • that •; hd;oirm jrtg/i opto being licked.;’’but as: none of iis could boast the prowess of the little wiry -man of Qrahby’s' Lane, we said 'nothing, swallowed the earn juice, andl travelled oft to bed. ■ X would, however, as a friend, give you a par ting bit of advice:, If you should chance io go to the city of Roseville, you had better say noth ing about Granby’s_Lane.” ; JSdfpif’s 'Magazine/ ! ADDISON AND CRINOLINE. In some of the papers contributed by Addi son, we find remarks concerning a fashion in ladies’dress which show that the fair of that day were as much disposed to indulge in undue expansion as 'they are atpi'eseUt. . His quiet Irony is more effective than ' the.caricatures-of modern satirists.- We make a few extracts froth his account of the proceedings of the court “of -judicatureoh. the petticoat. “I gave; orders to bring in the criminal.— Word was brought that she had endeavored twice or thrice to come in. but could hot do it by reason of her petticoat, Which was too large I.'for the entrance of iuy house though Idiad or dered both the.folding doors to Be thrown open' for jts reception. Upon this.Xissnvd. au order forthwith ‘That the criminal should be stripped of her incumbrance till she becameJUtle enough to enter my house.’ . I,had before given directions for an engine of several legs that could contract or open- ifself like an umbrella, in order to place the petticoat Upon' it, by which means! might take ; a leis urely survey of it. as it should appear in its pro per dimensions. This was all done accordingly; and forthwith, upblt the ..closing of the engine, the petticoat was brought into court. I then directed the machine to be set upon the table, and.dilnled in such a manner as to show the garment in its utmost circumference,; but .my great hall was too narrow for the experiment, for, before it was half unfurled, it described so immoderate a'circle,, that the lower phrt.bf it brushed upon hiy face as ! sat in my chair of judicature. : I then inquired for the person .who belonged tp:tho petticoat; and to my great-surprise ayas directed to a very beautiful damsel, \vilh so' pretty .a face qnd 1 shape, that I.bid her come Oufot the crowd, and seated her upon a' little stool at my left hand. 'My pretty maid,’said I, ‘do you own yourself to have beenthe in hub-: itan't of that garment before us?’ Tire-girl I found had good sense,, and told me with a smile that notwithstanding it was her own petticoat, she should be very glad to see an example made of it: and-that she .wore it for no other reason but that she had a mind to look as-big and burly ns other persons of her quality ; that she had kept out of it as long as she could, and till she began to appear little in the eyes of her ac quaintance; that if she had laid it aside, peo ple would think that she was not made like other women. I always give great allowance to softer sex upon account of the fashion, and therefore was not displeased with the defence of pretty crimi nal. ' I then ordered the garment to be drawn tip by a pulley, to the top of tny great hall, and afterwards to be spread open by. the engine it was placed upon, in such a manner that it formed a very splendid and a triple canopy • over our heads,and covered the whole court of judi cature with a kind of ■silken rotunda : its form not unlike'-the cupalo of St. Paul’s and I'onter ed upon the whole cause with.great satisfaction as I sat under the shadow of it. Then followed,the arguments pf the counsel for 1h« petticoat; which, in brief, were—-first, the advantage its size .was to the silk arid wool ■ eh rrianufactory ; secondly, to the rope makers, owing to the quantity of cord required; third ly, to the greenland trade, there" being an im mense depiand for the whalebhhe, &c. ' These arguments would ' hava' wrought very: much upon toe, oB>t J told- .tho ! .copnp.any, had I -g-' • ■ . u It I k J|i|' W ’^> I not considered the additional expense such fash ; ions would bring upon fathers and husbands ; and therefore by no means to be thought of till some years after a peace. I ’further urged that it would bo a prejudice to the ladies themselves, who could never expect to have any money in the pocket, if they laid out so much for the petticoat. . - .-For these and sundry other reasons I pro nounced the petticoat n forfeiture ; but to show that I did not make that judgment for. filthy lucre, I ordered it to be folded up, and sent if. as a present to h widow gentlewoman who has five daughters, desiring she would make each of them a petticoat out of it and send me back the remainder, which I design to cut into stomach ers, caps, facings of my coat sleeves, and other garnitures suitable to my eye and quality.” This critic concludes with staling that he is a fficndto all proper ornaments of the fair, and would have them bestow upon themselves all tlie additional--beauties art cari supply them with, which do not . interfere with, disguise, or pervert those of nature. “Quirk to Eat, Quick, to Work.” It is an oldsaw which used often to bo urged upon boys, particularly in the country, till many came to consider it as much o,f a duty to gobble down their dinners in the least number of minutes possible, as to be ’‘spry 11 when sent on an errand Whether the saying was import ed, or originated at home,-we cannot say .with certainty, but we suspect it to be wholly a Yankee invention. -However that may be, a worse maxim never was tirged upon children; They arc too quick in eating, naturally, and propensity is one which should be restrained rather than encouraged. An attentive observer of our habits in-this respect—it he-werea for eigner—would naturally ask pf what use are teeth to these people' ; they do not even attempt to masticate their food with them : two grinds and a swallow, with a dose of water every min ute or two to keep the road open, constitutes their whole process of eatings—no wonder that ■dyspepsia is such *a common complaint with them. Turkeys swallow corn whole—also gravel stones,but they never get dyspeptic.- Human’s swallow small junks of meat whole, and in lime \ —d only a question of time —they bpeak down 'umjer the process. Turkeys-have- no grinders, and need none. Nature has made provision in ; their maws for the digestion of whatever instinct prompts them-to swallow, without- its being pulverised beforehand ; but nature has made no such provision, and if he will not use his grinders; his digestive organs must sufler,..; An- English, physician, treating this subject, says:- “Nature has provided man with teeth for'the i purpose of mastication, and the food he takes into his mouth—meat especially—should be thoroughly pulverised by his-grinders before it is swallowed. While that process is going on, the saliva! glands exude their secretion, which mixes with the food and prepares it so that it the_.p>d.df duller dr other {iqajd-— arid passed into the sto mach ready for the Scdond process or digestion; therefore no liquid-shoidd'be (akin- till after t/ie I ealin'g ts fmishcil. By forcing down food half masticated,-with the aid of liquids, an improp er mass—and generally too much, also--is pressed upon the 'digestive organs, requiring more-gastric juice than they are able to fur nish., The effort to accomplish the .task thus recklessly forced upon these organs, weakens their poWer from day, eliding at last in dyspep sia, sour stomach, debility, &c., while a proper attention to the rule ind'eated- above, presents the food to them in such-a manner, and hi such quantity, that they are always able to perform their functions with facility, whereby the whole system-is -hot only.kept in healthy condition, but is-consiniitly improved and developed as nature intended it. to bo.” There may be nothing new in.this to most of our readers, bu t if only one can be induced to change his habit of eating—miscalled so in most follow the advice of 'our English writer, our object will bo partly- gained. ; IVhal shall I eat ? is a question often ashed. The same author says the railes of diet are sim ple. Any nourishing food, in proper quanti ties, properly epoked, properly masticated, and .taken off at regular intervals. But, lest; this answer should be deemed too general, heampli-, fics q little. “The flesh of young animals is less nutritous than that of thesame animats full grown, Fatty substances are generally to be avoided ; also hard salted meats. Spices and condiments are worse than useless. Uot bread contains gases which are hurtful, and it should never be eaten. Fine bread is not so good as coarse. Ripe fruits, foreign or domestic, may be used freely—cither raw or cooked. Cold food is always better than hot: it comes in contact with the natural heat of the stomach, and is negative to it —therefore the process of digestion commences immediately, and is soon completed. Meat is never required but. once a day. One hearty meql a day is enough ; let the others be light. -.Drink-enough to satisfy thirst, but not on Qugh to make a soup in your stom ach, and impede digestion. Some other-rules the worthy Englishman lays down, of things to be avoided, giving- sound i reasons -therefore, which we have no room for now. Indeed the foregoing-are sufficient, if adhered to, combined with a good share of exercise-and a reasonable amount of recreation, to develop a sound body, fit for the residence of a soiind mind ; and with- out such a developement the mind must ever be cramped—never can bo equal or' well balan ced never able to pass onwardand upward with untiring energy—growing wiser, stronger, bet ter, with every passing day. Burr’s Presence of Mind. Col. T. B. Troupe, says: “When in Louis ville, Ey., some years since,-! had the pleasure —a pleasure I shall never forget, of meeting Judge Rowan, One of the most remarkable men of his day.- In the conversation of an evening, the Judge, among other reminiscences of early tithes, alluded to the arrest of Aaron Dtirr.’and his arrival la Louisville, in ohargoof thn United States authorities. Burr, for the time being, occupied the then fashionable hole! of the day, and was constantlysurrounded by a crowd of visitors, drawn together by sympathy or cu riosity. Among the persons present were Judge Rowan and Clay. As night drew on. the crowd outside the hotel, composed of the wild, patriotic s sons of the west, became violent in their denunciations of Burr, and so warm did this clamor become that many persons thoqght that'Burr would be seized by the people and summarily dealt with. In thd midst of the ex citement: almost every person immediately abou t Burr beearaomqre or lessanxious for his safety, when Henry .Clay , then in the beginning o( his brillianfcweer. with A politeness that ho alone could assume, stepped up to Mr. Burr, and said : ‘Sir. depend upon it. wo, your friends present; will.defend you,’ Burr, hardly half the stature of Mr. Clay, instantly assumed an air of dignity that rivalled that , of ‘Harry of the West!’ His. brilliant .eye flashed fire, and stepping-back; ho replied,; ''l‘have never in my life; sir. Wen placed.under apy. ’circumstances I where ! could not defend myself.’ ” lord Byron’s fcrrifclo Secret, The unhappy character of Lord Byron inky perhaps be traced to the secret of his terrible deformity, (he extent of which was never sus pected even by his nearest friends, andwhich is now revealed to the world for the first lime hy his friend, Mr. -Trelawny. 'fjio little vanity which was one of the illustrious poet’s saddest weaknesses, made’this a source of continual ir ritation during his life,-and at in’s death he ex acted from his. confidential servant a solemn promise that no one should sec his body, in or der that the secret should descend with him to the grave,. How the dying injunction of the noble poet was defeated is told by the Alhen irum; . . Air. Trelawny was not with Byron at Jlisso tonghi when he died; but he arrives while his friqnd lies dead in the house. By stratagem, he sends the trusty Fletcher out of the room in which his dead master lies—that Fletcher whom the dying poet has commanded on no account whatsoever to.allow his body to - be uncovered after death—and, we grieve to say it, Air. Tre lawny, contrary to the poet's wish, uncovers lus friend's feet. What does he find ? “ I asked Fletcher to bring me a glass of wa ter. On leaving the room, to confirm or re move my doubts as to the cause of his lame ness, I uncovered the Pilgrim’s feet, and was answered—the great mystery was solvtd. ‘ Both his feet were clubbed, and his legs withered' to * the knee—the form and features of an Apollo, I with the feet of a sylvan satyr. This was a cuisc, chaining a proud and soaring spirit like his to the dull earth. It was generally thought tins halting gait originated in some defect of the right foot or ancle—the right foot was tire I most distorted, and it had been worse'in-his boyhood by vain efforts to. set it right. His shoes were peculiar—very high heeled, with the soles uncommonly thick .on the inside, and pared,thjn on.the outside—the toes were stuffed with cotton-wool, andjjis trowsers were strapp ed down so as to cover his feet. The peculiari ty of his gait was now accounted, for; he enter ed a room with a sort; of a run, as if he could not stop, then planted his best leg vyell for ward, throwing back his body to keep his bal ance. In early life, whilst his frame was light and elastic, with the aid of a stick he might have tottered along a mile or two; but after he had waxed heavier, he seldom attempted to walk more than a few hundred yards, without leaning against the first wall, bank, rack; or tree at hand, never sitting on the ground, as it w;ould have been difficult for him to get up again. In company of strangers, occasionally, ho would make desperate efforts to conceal his infirmity, but the hectic flush oh hitUkce. hls swelling veins; and quivering nerves him; and he Suffered for many days after such exertions.” , ; A Tale of Terror, The following rather marvellous story is told ;by one of the Vienna journals: • ; “As a farmer of Orsihovi; near that city,was, returning from market, he* slopped at . a road side public house, and imprudently showed the I mkccppr a largo sum of . money which fie ’Aad’ received. In the night'the innkeeper-armed with a poinard, stole into the fanner’s chamber and prepared to stab him; but the farmer, who, from the man's manner at supper, con ceived suspicion of 'foul play, had thrown him self, fully dressed on the bed without going to sleep, and being a' powerful man ho wrested • the poinard from the other; and using it 1 agamst, laid, him dead at his feet, A few mo ?ments afier, he heard some stones thrown-at ‘ the window, and a voice which hcrccognized as ‘ that of the innkeeper’s son,said: “The crave Is 1 ready!” , ' ", '£ liis proved to bim that the father and stm had planned his murder, and to avoid detection, ■ had intended burying the dead body at Once. Ho thereupon Wrapped the dead body in ashed and let it down from the window; he then ran to the gendarnieTie and stated wfutt had occur red; Three gendarmes immediately accompa nied, him to the house,'and found the young man busily engaged in shovelling earth into-a grave., ‘What are you: burying ?’ said they. •Only a horse, which has just died I’ ‘ You are, mistaken, answered one of them, jumping into the grave and raising the corpse. ‘Look !’ and he held np a lantern to the face of the deceased. ‘Good God!’ cried the young man, thunder struck, ‘it is my father!’ He Was then arrest ed and at once confessed all. fashion. “There is no great loss without soiftfe Small gain,’’says the adage, and so, we believe that everything unpleasant has its bimefits also. It is “the fashion,” just now, to rail against fash ton. Husbands and faihers are continually sending up serio-comic complaints’ against the tyranny of the fickle divinity, and makin"- alarming estimates’oh dry goods and millinery bills—editors mak6 use of their.cplumns to giye fashion official - “fics,” andaltogether, she stems to us,tin abused individual. We contend,then that fashion is a very good thing, and taking a bold stand, are prepared to prove it. In the first place, it is as absurd that wo should al ways Wear the same styles qt garments, as that we should eat the same food, or drink the same beverages. The -eye loves variety-— Sameness palls upon the taste, and if wo acknowledge that beauty ,means anything at all, Wc ac knowledge the necessity‘of having fashions. But the strongest argument in their lavor, is the immense Variety of employment they give rise to—the immense number of mouths which they fill with daily bread. * There are 'hundreds of persons who deserve li livihg just as well a 8 any of ns, and who are occupied solely* in designing new patterns for goods, jewelry, garments, em broidery, etc., etc. Slop the fashions, and you stop the salaries of all these persons. It is un doubtedly- true, that nobody’s salvation ever depended upon the cut of a coat or the form of a waistband, but it is a grave mistake to think that the absolute necessities of life are the only things worth working for, and too much cant has been talked about •humility’ and ‘plainess’ in all things. Such humility is, after all, only another species of vanity. J Suck to some one Puksuit.—There cannot be a greater error than to be frequently chang ing ones business. If any man will look arouud and notice who has got rich and who *hose ho started in life whh, he will find that the successful have generally stuck to some onpmursuit. Two lawyers. Tor example, begin to practice at the same time. One devotes his whole mind to his profession, lays in slowly a stock of legal learning, and waits patiently, it' may be for years, till he gains an opportunity to show his superiority. The other, -firing of such slow, work, dashes into politics. Generally, at the end of twenty years the latter will hot bewprlh a penny, while the former will have a handsome I practice, and count his tens of thousands in bank slock or mortgages. Two clerks attain a majority simultaneous ly. One remains with his former employers, or at least in thasame line pf trade, at flrgt cu a small salary, then" on a larger, until finally. AT $2,00 PEE ANNUM. NO. 49. ' Kendall writes to (he Picayune; from Neitr'- Branfeis, Texas, about some tallhail' they hays had in (hat quarter: * i Since March set in we have ha&seycral cbpf*: ous showers, and one hail storm which beat ey. j cry thing In that lino I have ever witnessed. Why, the ball came down in chunks as fe.n* ' your fist, and many persons, caught In midst of it, were terribly frightened ‘aqd. ! baitl\K hurt. . I have fcvfen heard that young colts and .calves were in some instances killed bplright. Some of the hail stones are said to have weighed: l a pound .and a half, and the windows pn the> Windward side.of Some of the houses in ,N«w Braunfels look as though they had been expfys* ed to the thickest of a three days’ revolution in ; Paris. According to Shakespeare, Lear tfctla. caught in a tolerable severe tempest; • the pldi King could not have withstood the u pelting of Such a pitiless storm’* as ours for a: single .'mo* menb - Ihe only people benefited bv ihe show*. • er of ice were the glaziers; they have had theft* hands full of Work. ‘ \ A Dogma.—Serjeant, Wilde, whose dictatori al manner of arguing,a point of law. Is. well [ Known, was once engaged-in rather a.'cufioVs' case, where plaintiff and defendant - wpfe 'pba sessed; one of a male and (he other bi* h /etridla' dog, of a very rare species, to Order 10-pfe* servo the breed, it.wns agreed by the. parties l that the progeny of.thcse two animals'should he, divided equally between them ; but subsequent.-, ly the owner of the female dog refused to' give’ the otjicr his share of the litter of puppies which had been produced. Sergeant, thin - Mr.V Vwlde, who was . for the. defence,. tHuddereqT forth several limes, in the course of his speech', *'l lay U down as, an axiom.” ■At lest, thh counsel on the other side, watching IJis' oppor-i tunity, leaned over, as-e Wilde in his most :im*/ peratiyo tone, had repea[cc 1I lay it.down,as, an axiom ’ —and whispered, to him, in a voice, loud enough to be heard by thu bench andbar,* •' Pray lay it down as a dog ina the iiext time;”' The joke told—a suppressed laugh ran through the court. Wilde, for the first time in his life; lost his self possession, and' consequently his danse. ... . Ducgged TOO Much.— Or. o'. W. Holmes,' belter known as the funny than, in his recent* valedictory address to the medical graduates of Harvard University gives them the foliowinff good advice: ‘ ■ ,rf> "With regard to the adfhinteltnng of .drags as a part of your medical treatment, the goltteil rule is, be sparine. Many remedies you give would make a well person so ill that ho would send for you al once if he.had taken one of yoii'r doses accidentally. It is not'quitc fair to;giyS such things to_ a sick man, unless it.is clear that they will do more good than the very con siderable harm you know they will cause. Bfl very gracious with children especially. I have seen old men shiver at the recollection of rhu barb and jalap of infancy. You may depend upon it that, half the success of Homeopathy is due to the sweet peace it has brought into the nursery. Between the gurgling down of loath some mixtures and the sacraline delinquents of a minute globule, what tender mother could for a momeut hesitate ?” SsLP-BESPKCr,—Keep up a good opinion of yourself— not a vain one, but a good solid re spect, which shall stimulate you to'higher purer thoughts, words and actions. The map who relies upon his own respect, will never bo mean, for though nobody else knows of Jtr.hS himself will, and that should bo enough to, dj> ter him from’petty deeds. ; , Would yon like mo to give you a shil ling l‘ asked a littlo boy of a gentleman on the street. ‘To bo sure I would,” was the,reply. ‘Very well, fhon,’ said the boy, ‘dounioblhera as yon Would others should do unto you;* - "-* wealth nor birth, but mind only, should be.the aristocracy ol a frog people. D3T No dust affects the ayes like cold dnatb and no glasses like brandy glasses. . r ;if ho i§ meritorious, he is taken irtto partObri • ship. ThoothV:llVJ'ka;it bencath trim 4b fill a'subordinate position, now'that he has" become a man, and accordingly starts in sompothcc business on bis own account, .or undertakes’fop a,new firmin the old.Jirtp ,of.trade, ,Where does heentl ? , Often in insolvency; rare in rich cs., To this every merohantepn- ■- ; A young man is bred. a, ..pieohanio,- lie-aff . quires a distaste for his trade, however, thinks it,is a tedious way to get .ahead; and'seta oat for the West or California. But,in most l ca - ses, the same restless, discontented, and specu lativo spirit, which carried him, awhy at first, renders continued application at any one tirao' irksome .to him ; .and so he goes wandering about the wor!d„a sort of semi-bmlizediArab/' really a vagrant in. Character, ‘and sure to dio insolvent. , Mcautimc his fclkitv - apprrotipo, T . who has stayed at home, practicing economy, and working_steadily;at. his trade; hasgrown comfortable in his circumstances, and is even, jlechaps a citizen of mar’e. . , There arc jnert of ability, in'cVcSy Walk of life, who arc notorious for never getting Slobg. .Usually, it is because th6y never stick ttf Any One business. Just- when they.haVb mastered one pursuit, and are on the.point of .making money, they change it for another, wlii'oh they do not understand; and, in a little while, what tittle they are Worth is lost ■forever." Weknonr scores of sdoh persons. Co wiicre yoU wili, you will generally find that tho.uitn wlib havo-' failed in life are those who never ■ stuck to one-, thing long.— Journal of Progress- . .. . Kentucky Jnstirt. The trial of; Hardesty , for. tile bhootiag'bf Grubb occupied three days of-, last week at • Burlington,-Boone co., Ky. ' .-V ' , , It will be remembered that a sister of Hor- ’ desty w# 3 seduced by Grubb, and that Hordes- ? ty told the seducer that lie would give him sis ; months bftwceli Carrying the girl and being Killed, xho six months expired, and, Grubb 1 not having married the girl r Hardesty, met him, ?nd op sightshot him. The evidence shbWca' that Grubb was armed also in expectation of ' the.attack, but was shot in the act of drawing his weapon. The trial was ended lust Thurs aP l (:1 , * le verdict of the jury was, hot guilty. . The following is the substance of thejudgihent ' pronounced by Judge Nutall upon the verdict 1 of not guilty by thejury.in behalfof Hardesty: Judgment op tub Court.—Siiv-Yqu havh been indicted by a grand jury of your country J upbn a most henious charge. You have put yourself upon your country and' your ,God Tor I. deliverance. You have had a fair and iiiiplir tial trial before them, and they have both 1 pro-, nounced you not guilty, and so say I. It inky ■ [ not be proper for me to express my opinion,yetff • nevertheless, I-will do it. Young maq ! had,! been wronged ns you have been, I would have spent every dollar I had on earth, and at! that ' 1 could have begged and borrowed, ani fheii r stajwed upon the tracks of the villian, but I' womp have imbrued my liands in his bfootlv Go hence without delay. You arc. Acquitted I ’ ' A Crazy Monarch.- : ' The London correspondent of the New York ' Tribune says: 1 : “The King of Prussia has become stark mad; . Ilo.occasionally beliefs that he is a private fiOj- ■ dicr, who has just received his commission as ensign, but lias since lost the parchment, and , therefore he anxiously seeks in nil the Kidded . ‘ corners of the palace and nooks qf the garden; He dislikes to be watched by his aid-do-camri; • ’ .whom bo believes to be his commanding bffldek- Though his.mental aberration is hopeless, Jthd ■ question of the Regency remains unset tlcd.'as: the Queen prevents any step in this direction, and the ministers do their best to delay it; still • more, well aware that the first measure of the . Regent would be to turn them out of office- ' The question becomes still more complicated.by' the fact that the English Courtwish lor tha kfit ' dication of the Prince of Prussia, and. that tbd ' Queen’s young son-in-law, Prince Predcnc.inw; ■ try his hand at governing a country. Some Haiti ’ ---,,.,,M._,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers