IUCAN VOIXNTKKK. luWbVKUT TUUnSDAY MOENINQ DY Jotan B- Biatton. TERMS. Ono Dollar and Fifty Cents, 'loanpii* Two Dollars if paid within tho Two Dollars and Fifty, Cents, if not 'in the year. Those terms will bo rig ,rod to in. every .instance. No sub 'dlsoontiniiod until all arrearages are is at the option of tho Editor, ns ements —Accompanied by the cash, ■xceo'ding ono square, will bo inserted os for One Dollar, and twenty-five cents idditional'insertion. Those of agreat in proportion; intino— Such as Hand-bills, Posting iphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &0., oxe - accuracy and at the shortest notice. 46ottirat. THINGS TO CHERISH, is that look with love on thoo, . brighten with thy smile, mutely bid thee hope again . If thou nrt sad a while i - 1 The eyes that, when no ; .words are breathed hjjgffi’ Gaze fondlyinto thine— . Sffesi... Oh, cherish them, ore they, grow dim; £'*“ll ’■ ; They may not always shine ! ..The faithful hearts aroundthee, That glow with love and ‘youth, gp’f;.; TTlin't time and care ne’er yet have scared. Nor ravished of their-truth; . The heart whose beatings wo have hoard When throbbing near our own— I; ‘Oh, cherish them! those beatings hushed; Earth’s dearest tones are gone. . i’ .‘The days when there are hearts and eyes s*st, That throb, and beam for thee ; The few fleet hours when life doth seem |||£. Bright as a summer sea j Ktt The thrilling moments' when to speak gw . ’• The llill heart’s Joy is vain— ■fc,, Oh. cherish them! once gone, alas! K.They ne’er return again ! THE’ ACTIONS OP THE JUST. I walked the fields at morning prime; The grass was ripe for mowing; The sky-lark sang ids matin oliime, And all the world was glowing. I wander’d forth at noon, —alas. On earth’s maternal bosom ; The scythe had left the withering grass, j-r- Arid stretched the faded blossom. Once more at eve abroad I stray’d, Through lonely hay-fields musing, , While every breeze that round me play’d. The perlumo was diffusing. ' And, 80 t' lo ““Ctiona of the just,” Mfiiif:' • When memory has enshrined them, ; Breathe upward from decay and dust, y]* Arid leave sweet scent behind them. - . ■ ffitmllan'MmH. THE BROWN SILK DRESS. ItY MRS. PHELPS. B&f. “ Why, Eliza! what a strange choice Tor a |&v ''"•wedding dress! your other dresses are in Very Kf good style and you have plenty of them, cbn- S|‘ sidcring the changes of fashion—but a brown IIH silk to be married in ! what a fancy in a girl of |||; eighteen!" * |£; ; . ..<•’Tis true, my aunt, that my choice may Rk feel somewhat sombre, but you know very well K that lam about to become the wile of a poor K. mechanic, who depends bn his daily labor for support.. As the'wife of such it map I must H necessarily limit tny expenditures 8H stances; and I have thought it better to pur- BB‘ cllaresorriethirig which would be useful for some jffi, tithe, tharf to consult my appearance as a splcn-. K did bride for,one as I BSpr ptri to see no strangers. <Sk P There is somelhing in- that. There is my Bf -Ataria’s wedding dress. She will never Wear it again lii the world. She bad a white satin, with a lace dress overa 11. Oh, she did look R; beautiful! I do admire to see a handsome H bride.” p “ Yes, it is very well for those who can af- R ford it. ’ But it would, be quite absurd for me ||' ; to purchase an expensive dress for a few cve- B; nin"S, when, by the expenditure of half the I money, I can purchase, that which will be more K-'-. surviceahlo for some years. But cqme put on E : yotrf bonnet and step over to our new house.— P It is ail furnished, at least all that is finished ; H?. I.value it more biglily than I should if it was K- not, so near to my mother’s. ® “ There. William has left this .small parlor, K u,is sitting room, and three cliambers, to finish K at his leisure, when he is out of employmcm. — |H gee how everything is arranged—so handy for PI my work." ' . . '.' “You don’t s«y you are going to do your If V-' own work ?” “ Certainly .Ido. There is only one appren- 1 s ir 'flee, and I should think strange if I could not v ;; ; %(j it with ease.” > My Ireart what strange fancies you have to . tie sure, ft is well enough if you Can bring your , , mind to it, but the folks do differently now-a days. There is my Maria; she has moved into J, an elegant house, all furnished from top to bot- Itoirt. She’keeps a great girl to do the work, anil a little one to wait and tend. Oh, things do'go on beautifully I promise you.” .. “ Her husband is a young lavfycr, fs he riot ? is he Wealthy “Oh he is very well' off. Ho does not get mnch practice yet. but I dare say he will'in time. He has a thousand dollars at interest, besides Maria never would have married a me lt chanic—their hands get so hard and blpck, and P their complexions, get brown. I worildnft wish K : tb hurt your feelings, but I don’t think for M pride’s sake, for the sake of the family, you I’.'.;;-’ might have made a different choice.”' & Oh, aunt—excuse-my laughing—l have yet . to learn that a man’s honest occupation wheth ,er it produces hard hands, or soft, white hands. whether it gives the check a brown or pale hue, Si is any disparagement to him. Tou must get t. . acquainted with William and hear him con i' verse., You will not think of his. hard hands, and his animated intelligent countenance will . drive his bronzed skin out of your head. . But come, you don’t.say anything about my furni ture—and you must see my nice closets.” 1. '“ Oh your furniture is well- enough. The ; ;; lessyou have the less you will have to take care •ui' of, you know.” ; “ Yes, we could not get much furniture. I I; insisted upon Williairi taking the money which tny grandfather left me to pay oil a few hund red dollars which ho owed for this place, in or der to make us begin even in the world. Wo jjS&'' have both such a horror of dgbt that wc arc do lly; termined never to incur any if we can help it.— I®. See what a nice press for bed clothes this "is." |||| “Why, what a quantity of bed and tabic in. linen! it is really nice to. You have riiore than S my Maria has I declare?” - “ Yes, I always wont an abundance of such ISIS firings. This drawer is filled with toewls—this is for my.ironing sheets' and blankets, and this IpPv °l oso *' contains nay tin and wooden ware.” I declare, Eliza, you are a strange, thought child. I roust tell you one thing about Ma- that made us have a good hearty laugh.— HpiiTho Monday Morning after she was married, ||||||lhe girl came to ask her where , the • tubs wenv fejjißnd don’t you, think tho child had actually for ''^Pfelten t 0 bl, y • trib, a clothes line of pins !-r - She said it never popped into her head. But . Ta! it wasn’t strange—she had never been used : ' fo anything of the kind.” , “ I believe, aunt, I have shown you all, now. Wo will go if you please. hope you will not let my brown dress or William’s brown bands P' frighten you away this evening?” jfe “Oh, no,-but I must make the stage for Ma- Wc r * a ’ s eritly in the morning, you must allow mo IT to rctjro early-” ----!` . .. . .:.., .....,.,.. .. ..............,... ••• . . • . .. .„.tr...:,_.: a, ... : ..._ . BY JOHN :B. BRATTON; VOL. 45, “What fellows these Yankees are for com bining elegance and usefulness,” said a South ern gentleman to himself, as he stood on the pi azza of the hotel in the town of ;—“Sir,” said he, addressing himself to a venerable look ing man near him, “can you tell me who re sides in that elegant cottage where the grounds ate laid out with so much taste ?” ■ “OhT that is Squire Bill Thorndike’s You must be a stranger in these parts not to know him?" . “I am, sir, since he seems such a prominent member of society, I should like to know some thing of his history.” ' “Oh 1 there is nothing remarkable in it,at all sir. His father was a man of great learning, but he nearly run through a fortune in trying to. live in style. He,died'and left three boys. Their mother, who went from this place, was a woman of strong sense. She sold all the prop erty, paid 00 all the debts, and had enough left to buy that little house to the left. It has two rooms, and there is a garden attached lo it. Here she put her boys out to trades. One to a mason, one to a wheclright, a’nd this Bill to a carpenter. Bill staid, however. ■ He married the widow Perry’s daughter. She was as smart as a steel trap. She was aright good schollar, and she made an excellent wife. They have got along wonderfully. Everybody wondered how it. was. He did not makg better wages than other men, but somehow the money, in creased. It was no mystery to.me, though, for I watched them pretty sharp.” “You never saw no display of finery, such as laces, and flounces, and furbelows ;. yon never saw him, before be kept a horse, riding much for pleasure. No, they both pulled one way, and took their pleasure in being sober,industri ous and useful, and now they reap their reward in. being universally respected. -Why there ain’t a man that has so much money to lend as 'Squire Thorndike, and he is never hard and screwing as some are. He has taken the two children of one Lawyer Willis to bring up, and he does as well by them as he does by hisotyn. Lawyer Willis’ wife was a kind of a cousin to Squire Thorndike’s wife. She was a dashy,- showy gal. You’d have thought the richest folks upon earth were married when, they had the knot tied. Poor fellow, he had a hard time, notwithstanding, t 6 support his lady : wifein style. He took to drink, and died. I have heard say that she turned up her' nose at her cousin's match, but she little thought that her boys would be glad to go that same cousin- for a home, while she would be! glad lo take up with the little house that Squire Thorndike’s mother.lived in. , . - ' ' . “Ah, sir,” continued the old man, “this is: a changing world ; but, (o my mind, if people would bo more prudent and -industrious, and give up hankering after things beyond their means, there would be more real good done in the world and fewer changes.” , FIRST LOVE. “Am I your only and lirst love?” asked a bright-eyed girl, ah she reclined her classically moulded brow uppn the shoulder pt her lover. ■ “No, Lelia', you are riot my only, not my first; I have loved another. .Longyearabtfqre I saw you I loved another, arid Iloye-tbat other* still.” * “Love that other still, arid better than me! Paul, why do you tell me that ?” asked she, raising her dark blue eyes, and gazing stead fasiiy into those of her lover, half in sorrow, while her jewelled fingers tightened convulsive ly upon Iris arm. “You love her still, then ?” “I love her still.” “And belter than you do me?” “Not better, but as well.” “And will love her still ?” “Until death, and even beyond death 'over her last resting place earli est flowers, and bedew the sacred spot with the purest tears that love ever shed.” “Handsomer than I,Ts she not ?” “Her eyes are ns black as night and her hair in gloasy blackncss outvies the wing of the raven. She has’nt your sweet blue eyes, nor your soft brown hair ; yet, Oh! Lelia, her eyes have been the sweetest, to me, that over looked the Took of eternal love.” • •Paul, why do you wish' to break my herirt? Why have you taught me to love you so wildly, and blindly, and then, in the inidst of my hap piness. tell mo that there is an impassible bar rier between ,us ? This night, Paul, we must part forever. I would not have believed, this, had another told me!” and her eyes grew dim with tears. , “ “Be not 100 rash, Lelia—hear roe on the end; you love me too dearly to part with me thus. Think you that yott could not share my heart with one that I so dearly love ?” i “Never, Paul—never!” “You Shall, Lelia, and must! Listen for a moment, while I tell you of my first love, and l am sure you will be willing to share with her then.” “I will listen, Paul, but wifi not love; I rriusl hailo all or none. lam selfish in that respect, and who that loves as I do is not? Forget me, Paul, or forget her forever. “Forget her,-Lelia? Never! I would not lose one jot of her pure affection for the fairest face that ever bloomed ; no, not for the girdle of Venus, or the love of a second Helen !” “Then, Paul, you ore tost to me forever; tVo mrist-paft. Farewell to every jjream of a bright er future. I love yon too, well, arid I am too proud to share your love with aught created. Oh, Paul, j'ou have wrpnged me.deeply !”.and her exquisitely chiselled lips curled with indig nant sorrow. “Stop, Uclia, or you will deeply Wfong trio also. I met this loved one, as I said before, long years ago, in one of the sweetest and sun niest vales of our broad Illinois; wandered with her, hand in hand, for years, beside the spark ling waters of my childhood’s hotne. First by her smile of exquisito sweetness, she loved me with unutterable fondness: and never have I dpnbtcd—my~ trust in her has ever been stead fast and fearless—never has her eye looked' coldly upon me, and never Will it; till the death angel shall dim them for the long sleep. Oft in the still hours of night have I been awakened, as if by the sleep of God’s wing, and beheld that face, those eyes gazing upon mo with all the beatic tenderness of a guardian angel over a repentant prodigal: and a kiss would fall upon my brow more soothing than the dews of hea ven. The same gentle hand has led me along life’s flowery way, and beside its unruffled waters; and if ever my arm was raised to do a deed of wrong, or my heart steeled to conceive it-, that gentle ministory voice came whispering- in my ear and stayed the one midway, and drew the iron from the other. And I do remember, in my manhood’s riper years, when deep sorrow fell upon my soul, and I would fain have drank oblivion from the ..wine cup’s fiery brim, that same dark eyed woman came, and bade mo, in the name of God,.to shun, the fatal snare; and twining her arms around my neck, while her eyes beamed with love’s deep inspiration, she poured oil upon the troubled waters; told purcr.hopes and higher aims, and. in ray car whispered a golden word that has outlived'*!!]! sorrow. 4 “Lelia, would you know. the name of my first love ? ’Tis my mother.” “Oh, Paul, I’ll forgive you, arid will share your love, Indeed I will." “I knew you would, Lelia. Second lovcis as dear ns the first.” #* ■ * In an article on this subject ip the N, York Evening Post, after giving its theory of the cause, thus alludes to some of the freakish ef fects of lightning: It is commonly thoilght that there- js more danger from lightning in the country. than in cities, W statistics would seem to show agrea-' ter number of accidents from lightning in cities' than localities of corresponding size in the coun try. About fifteen years since, in a storm of two hours’ duration, lightning struck in thirty different places in this city and suburbs. It is probable that ripwards of fifty persona are annually killed by lightning in the United Slates, and-it may be truly said that in tnost cases these deaths are the result Of rashness Or carelessness on the part of the victims. A great many persons aye killed by taking refuge from the rain under the trees in open fields.. * Their presence renders the tree more liable io be struck because the human body is a bettor conductor than the tree, and it. is therefore safer to get wet than to run the risk consequent upon taking shelter inti, thunder storm. ’ , In buildings, the safest position is a horizon tal one in the midst of a room, and care, should be taken that the body be not placed between two good conductors, such as, for example.a mirror in one room, arid a stove-funnel in the room beneath; because lightning in passing through a building selects the btst, conductors, rind occasions destruction on its way from one conductor to another. Some years siricc a per son was killed while standing in front of a mir ror,by a discharge of lightning, which passed across the quick silver coating ,pf the glass, thence down his body to the floor, and, through that to a stovefunnej iriimediately beneath. Mr. Hatch.-of Poughkeepsie, was killed while seated in a chair on the piazza of his house with his head leaning back against the bell-knob. Per sons have been killed while standing at a. door or window during a thunder storm. A man was killed in West Newton, Mass., a few years since.„while sitting between a boiler inside of a building, And a lightning rod upon the .outside, the discharge leaving the rod rind passing thro’ his body on its wriy through. Ihd. building. It is proper to add, that the lightning rod was in sulated by glass fastenings, and that there is no doubt of the efficacy of lightning rods when, they are eonslruct'ednnd applied on proper sci entific principles. ;; Protecting buildings from lightning however,' is something liko prcaoribing fbr a sick person—the success of the prescrip tion in either caso.depending, under Providence on a degree of knowledge, skill and experience possessed.by. no physician. Every circumstance has ita law, and every age itsv distinctive character. The. “ world's graft scene 1 ’ is a spectacle of rapid charigts.rr jSlbe age toAlrr'EiirKe- is gone. So Is 'theagpof oratory. ,Wc have fallen on-evil times, ad.mr as eloquence is concerned, \Vo have noirgreat orators either at the bar or in the Senate.' We have, indeed clever speakers, but oratory as it ■ , . “ —r- in that elder time, , Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime !” is almost, wholly unknown among us. The age commercial and utilitarian, and its influence is extended through all ranks of life. The pro fession of law, which both in ancient and mod ern times has produced very eminent orators, is becoming less arid less a liberal art, and more and more a business pursuit. So far ns the mere interests of the community arp, concerned this may be very well. But the fact is obvious and undeniable, that the bar is no longer the theatre of great eloquence. It is orit of fashion ’ there,, as well as in Congress and our State leg;' islriturcs. In this respect, however, England can boast no better condition of things than exists in our own'country.. She has not a single great ora tor. No one appears to claim the mantle of the mighty Chatham, nor to emulate the renown of Fox and Pitt. Disraeli is a man of exceeding cleverness, but has neither the largo mind nor thelargo heart whence flow the living streams of eloquence. His sharp, racy _ discourse may win applause, and plant thorns in the breast of an adversary, but does not overwhelm, nor warm, nor melt his hearers. Earl Derby is a dashing, impulsive speaker, with a cultivated, pointed elocution, but he never rises, and is probably incapable to rise, into the higher strains ol eloquence. Mr. Gladstone is a man of trained mind, extensive large experience. These advantages constitute him a very able debtatcr. At tho same time he is a pleasing speaker, but nature has denied him the higher gift of oratory. Lord Palmerston has wit and jokes,- and his Jocularity excites laughter both in himself and others ; but laugh ter is not-eloquence. The truth is, great.orators do not appear in ordinary times. It is only when mighty inter ests arc at stake; when the passions of men are aroused by the storm of revolution, political or religious; when high thoughts and glowing feel ings, and heroic resolves are iri the ascendant— it is only at such times that the great orator comes upon the seence. The French revolu tion is-illustrated by its Mirabeau and its Dan ton : tho American by its Patrick Henry and its John Adams. The critical periods of En glish history are tho periods of Ms most eminent orators. Great events seem-necessary to arouse into action great natures'; to inflame and-in spire them. Indeed, when such events do not occur, alter a long interval, and the religious principle is not active, mankind are in danger of sinking into the grossest materialism; They will be apt to look only to' the acquisition of wealth, and abandon themselves to physical en joyment. as the highest good in life. He hail rim TifEßE.— Tho following squib was “perpetrated” in one of trie schools in Phila delphia county; it is too good to be lost: It seems that a few hours exemption from mischief,' had greatly enlarged the bump' of “ treachery” In the ripper stories of some of the young-ideas, and they took and smeared the ba lustrades from top to bottom with mud, and when the master came in, ho very naturally laid his hand on'it whcq. ho mounted the stairs. He was soon aware, of the mishap, and said nothing about'lt.till the'scholars had bqoiV called ip and taken their seats,when he acquaintedtheiriwith the fact, and said he would give any one five dollars to tell who had a hand in It.- Up jump ed a little red-haired ut-chin, ,who said : “ Thir, you soth you’ll give any one five dol larth who’ll toll you who had a hand Iri it 1” “ Tea.” “ Now, thir, you’ll not whip mo, will you?” “No.” « Well, thir, y—; now, you won’t whip ?” “You young scairip I’ll lick you if you don’t Loll pretty soon.” “ Thir, you—. Oh, I don’t) liko to.” ■ “ Go'Dnj or Fll akin you alivol” TYell, thir, you had a hand in it.” , Tho master gave in and forked over. ** OUR-COUNTRY—MAT IT BE RIGHT —BUT RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.” ■ ' ■ ‘ /V; -V . ' f' Theory of Thunder Storms. Decline- of Oratory. CARLISLE, FA*, THURSDAY, Mt 29, 1858. I4NKBE' SARIMAB&.- BV SAMBiI BLOCUM, OF GO3LIN RUN. l’m sitting on tho style, Mary, Sittlng'onWe stylo', But the bnlldugiu the. front yard ' Keeps Carting all the while; Why don’t j*bu tell your pa, Mary, Or John,if'ho’saboutt To ask youftg'Sarnmy Slocum in. And malfa thoxiogglt cout. Now on the fence, Mnfy, Beforothbs|utclron door,. But tho pesky ugly bull dog . Barks lOndpr than before f And I thought! saw a shadow, Mary, A shadow-sStemnd tall, . All-arms audldgs, like Kenben Brown, Against wall. If that is Rftn&h-s shadow, Mary, • If that is'iK«nbon’s shade, ’Twill back on me, . I’m verymirich afraid; • Qh, why this cruel treatment. Why keep tnojh suspense, ■ Why don’t you mnko tho dog git cout. And lefane off tho fence. I’ve gotOvkoo’W and calf, Mary, The calf is throeweeks old, . A score of pretty sheep, too, ■ •*’’ As ever;fed In fold; And daddy,foldimb yesterday, When DapliTethad h colt, He’d let me batb. it, certain sure— Ain’t that Robb Brpwn a dolt ? And mammy?s®iitling stockings now ' To buy a cbt^o'web. One half the sheets Ore to bo mine, And halhfdrialster Dob; And mammy s«s whichever one FlrstbringsSpartner, hum, Shall hnve'the«bmpken blossom quilt— Say, you come ? .." ■ . Geo whillikehst-yon’d ought to sec The rooster ,and tho-hen, That Uncle Eoleg,Shackleford Sent me by,cousin Ben. I guess as hehfakcs the folks around Whonhogiasouttocrow: If he was here'.tp. hlow his horn, He’d bring out I know. But, Mary, if yob won’t liave mb,, And will have Jdr.Brown, I guess as how there’s other gals That’s iu town i But one fhingyou had ought to know Before I tnrAmy back, That is that EfOdeiice Pattingale Gin your Iteubjtroicnthasack. : « Night!»» “ Good Nighty Pdpa l’’—These arc the words whose’nmsxo, not'left our ears since tho gloaming, and .now- it' is midnight. “ Good night, darling I ' Gpd 'biess yon; yon will linyo pleasant-dreams, thoughl toss in fever, haunt ed dxy the,demons harass mo through tb<s day. Good .night!’’- e The clock on the' mantle' struck twelve, arid no sound was heard in the house save the tegular breathing of those little lungs in, the noxt'room, heard through the door ajariK- Vfjp. huc;£iw,/iddSd'.onr. l anns, and' > sat-ga2nl tfia.'’la2y tire, evlillo the whole panorama of a life passed before us, with ■fts'mnny'-goortnfghfa.” - It is li groat tiring to bo rich, bat it..is a rich thing to have a good memory—provided .that memory hears no un pleasant fruit,'bitterto-.tho taste: and onr mem ory carries ns back to many a pleasant scone— to tho little arm chair by the fireside; to, the trundlp bed at tho foot of ike bed j to the lawn in front of tho house, aqd tho orchard behind it; to the hutter cups, add tho new clover, and tho chickens and the swallows, and tho birds’ nest, and the, strawberries, and the many things that attract tho wondering eyes ot childhood, to say no.tiling, o( the mysteries ol the starry skies, and the weird gloom of tho moaning forest, — Bnt, then, there were the “ good nights,” and file little prayer, and the downy bed, on which slumber 101 l as lightly "as a snow flake, only warmer, and such dreams, as only visit perfect innocence! She‘household “Good night I” Somebody, in whoso brain its rich music still lingers,’has - written this : ; t. Good night I” .'A loud clear voice from tho stairs said that It was Tommy., “ Good night I” murmurs a little something from the trundle bed —a fittfe something that wo,call Jenny, that fills a iarge.placo in the centre of tjyo pretty lit tle hearts. “ Good night I”, lisps a little fellow in a plaid ruffled dress, who was named Willie about sis years ago. , _ . ■« Now I lay mo down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If X should die before I wake”— and the small bundle in the ftundlo-bed lias dropped off to sleep, but the broken prayer may •go up sooner than raany*long petitions that set out a great while before it. • . And so it. was “ good night” all around the homestead; and. very sweet music it made, too, in the' twilight, and very pleasant melody it makes now, as wo think of it; for it was not yesterday nor the day before, buf,, a long time ago—so long that Tommy is Thomas Somebody, Esq., and lias forgotten that ho ever was a boy, and word what the bravest and richest of ns can never wear but once, if wo try—the first pair of boots; " - And so it was “good night” alt around the house; and the children had gone through the ivory gate, always loft a little ajar foj {(tom— through into the land of dreams. And then the lover’s “Good night,” and the parting kiss I 1 They areWprodigal of the hours as the spendthrift of jiii-esin, and the minutes depart in golden showers, and fall in dying sparks at their feet. “ Good night.” Who Should Speak First. Ladies frequently complain that gentlemen pass them in the street, unnoticed, when in fact the fault arises from their own breacli of polite ness.- It is their duty to do tho amiable first; for it is a privilege’which ladles enjoy of choo. sing their own associates or acquaintances. Ho gentleman likes to risklhb “cut” in the street by a lady, through a premature salute. Too many ladies, it would seem, don’t know tho rule of politeness. Meeting ladies in tho street, whom one has casually met in company, they seldom''bow unless he bows first; and When a gentleman ever departs from the rule of good breeding, except occasionally, by way of expe riment, his acquaintances do. not multiply, but he stands, probably, charged with rudeness. -A lady must be civil to a gentleman in whose com pany shb may casually be placed; but a gentle man. is not, .upon this; to presume upon an ac quaintanceship the first time ho afterwards meets her in the street; If it bo her will, she gives some token of recognition, when the gentleman may bow; but otherwise lie must pass on and consider himself a stranger. No lady need hosi tato to bow to a gentleman 5 for no will prompt fy and politely answer, oVon if he has forgotten bis fair sal'uter. Mo one but a brute can d° otherwise, Should he pass on rudely his char acter is declared, and there is a cheap riddance* Politeness or good breeding Is like 'law—tho “reason of things.?’— Harrisburg Herald .. Ds> IVo noticed, some time' ago, a' pladard suspended in'a'car on' tho Georgia railroad, in the following words: . “A gentleman will bo known in these cars by keeping his foot off tho seats, and his tobacco id'his pockets.” A wag took out his pen-knife'and cut out the words “ off the seats,” and the.notice do#reads thus: “ A gentleman will bo known in these cars by keeping his feel and his tobacco in his pockets.” (dun/tett TUG GAME OF CHECKERS. “Aunt Molly,” said Fanny Observer, one evening, “ did you ever hear any one pop the question? “ Why, certainly, my child, 1 heard your un cle Charlie pop it, as yon call it.”. “Oh, yes, of course,” said Fanny, bnt’onc doesn’t often toll their own experience. I mean did you ever hear any one else ?” “ Well, yes,” replied Aunt Molly , slowly, “1 did happen to once.” “ O' please toll me all about it,” cried Fanny, “ I would so like to he a little mouse in the rVall on such an occasion.” Fanny was just out of fifteen, and it was very natural that she should want to be posted. “Very well,” said Aunt Molly, “get your work, then, for I don’t like to talk to an idle listener.” Fanny established hersolf, and Aunt Molly began : “It was about ten years otter I was married, and house-keeping; that cousin Will Morris, Undo Benjamin’s son, came to live with us; that is ho was a partner in your nncle Char lie’s, store, and boarded with us. You never saw Will, did you ?” Fanny,nodded her head, and Aunt Molly went on. ■ ’ “He was a whole soulod, straight forward substantial young man, not lacking in polish, cither j but very bashful, so much so that I used really to pity him sometimes, when we had young Company. -Annie Kvans. was an old school-mate of mine, and just after I went to honso-keoping, her parents moved to’Oxford, and lived only a short distance from us. An nie used frequently ,to bring her work and spend the evening with us, and uncle Charlie,would go homo with her. Those were rare times, Fanny, and wo enjoyed them fully. Annie was a real woman; none of your nonsensical, love sick girls, whoso beads are full of beaux that they won’t hold any thing else. . Fanny blushed ns Aunt Molly said this, but Aunty looking very demure, and continued:— “And knowing her as I did,’ I felt particularly anxious that she should be well settled in life.” “ That means with a good husband,” replied Fanny, roguishly. “ Certainly,” said Aunt Molly; “ and niter Will came, and I became acquainted with him, I took it into iny head that he and Annie would make a capital match. But somehow, after he came, Annie did not como so often, and Will, who was very entertaining in his conversation when we were alone, in her presence, was silent and awkward in his manner, as if under re straint; and Annie took hut little notice of him. only ns far as politeness required, and requested me privately to arrange'it, that uncle Charlie should still go home with her, that is, if he had no objections. So the young people's acquaint ance progressed slowly; Time and: habit ar range these things beautifully, and gradually they came to be more familiar, so as even to call each other by their Christian names. I helped it about though, for I could not bear the for mality of Mr. Morris and Miss Evans. Just as I expected—Will betaine very much interested in Annie; for that inattcf, he bad admired her from the’ first, hut; lie was modest in his pre- I tensions, and seemed to regard .her as beyond his reach. At any rate he could hot summon courage to speak on the subject nearest his heart.'*,, ' ..,“llow.Aidyou.linow,AantMolly?” inquir ed Fanny. .‘t Oh, from observation.!’replied Auntilol- Iy, f‘and Annie did not .help , the matter any. for though she was quite friendly and social in ins company, yet there was nothing in her man ner that betrayed the slightest interest iivhiin. Well, on} evening, Annie had been spending the afternoon with me, and we were about talked out, when Will came home from the store, and I proposed ll;eir playing, a game of checkers. — Uncle Charles had gone to a political meeting. I sat some distance 00. sewing, and with one eye watching tile game. They were both good players,-and for a long lime moved silently, and apparently intent on the game. . At length as if conscious that her caSe'waa hopeless, Annie re marked, identifying herself with the man she was moving, "I see you are after me. Will.” “ If I catch you,” spoke Will with sudden energy, “will you leave me undisputed posses sion?” , Annie looked up, startled by his manner, and seeing in his eager' face the meaning he had placed upon her words, paused, blushed deeply hesitated and presently replied. “ Perhaps so; if you arid Mary will promise never to tell anybody that I popped the ques tion 1” Will rose hastily, dropped the board' —the checkers ran all over the floor, and taking An nie by the hand, led her to me, saying: “ Cousin Mary .do you think I deserve this happiness ?” Certainly, Will,” I replied, “and I congra tulate you most sincerely, and riow if you will come out of your happy state, and pick up these checkers, I will be rimeh obliged to you.” Will and Annie laughed heartily, and began picking them up with alacrity, and as. Will took hp the board to put it.away.be remarked : “ That was the pleasantest game of checkers I ever played in my life.” • . Annie said nothing, but looked very rosy and smiling. “ And now,” said Aunt Molly, “ are you satisfied ?” . Modesiv.v-“W1io shall win tho prize There was a meeting of the flowers, and tho judge was appointed to award tho prize, ol beauty. , “ Who shall win the prize ?” asked tho .lose, proudly rushing forward in blushing beauty, in full assurance of jts winning worth. “ Who shallwtrP the pszo ?” asked the rest of the flowers, ns they came forward, each con scious of its own attractions, arid-each equally sure of receiving tho reward.' ,«I will take a peep- at tho assemblage,” thought tho Violet, not intending to make one of tho company, “and see tho beauties as they pass.” ' , Just ns it wits raising its modest head from its humble and retiring corner, and was looking in upon the meeting, tho judge rose to render tho decree. j j v , <> To the Violet ,” said he, “ I award the pr'i Jo of beauty, for there is no trait more rare—none more onchautlngly beautiful, than modesty. BEAtn'mjri he’ following Hues nro from tho pen of G. D. Prentice: - ■ . “ Why is it that the rainbow and the clouds Como over ns with a beauty that is not of carlh, and then pass away, and lento ns to muse on fa nod loveliness 1 Why is it that tho stars that hold their nightly festival-around the midnight tljrono, nro placed above file roach of our limit ed iaculties, forever mocking us with their un npprecinbio glory. And why is it that the bright forms of human beauty are presented to our view and then taken from us. leaving tho thou, sand streams ot affection to flow back in mighty torrents upon the huma'u heart ? Wo are born of larger destiny than that of earth. There is n land where the stars will be’ set out before us like islands that slumber In tho ocean, where tho beautiful beings that pass before us like a meteor, will stay in our presence forever.” Ky“ Mr. John Adams, a foSt-mastorin Texas, lias been detected in embezzlement. Throe of his clerks proved to have been involved with liimy ’ . “ In Adam’s fair' They sinned all.” vr7~ “Foot expressed a belief that a certain miser would take the beam out of his own eye, if ho know' ho could soli tho limber. AT 52,00 PER ANNUM. A Good Suggestion. The “ I.ittle Junior” of the Boston Gazette suggests that those who are disposed to indulge in tho luxury of prblano Sweating, should first enquire if it will be disagreeable to tho company —jiisf as any gentleman docs before lightning n cigar in tho presence of others. Profanity is much more disagreeable and disgusting to most people than tobacco smoko. Tho latter offends but a single sense of propriety, while the other offends tho conscience. It is an insult to tho Being to whom a Christian renders tho highest reverence, and tails npbh his 6ar much like the abuse of tho name of a beloved and honored friend. There is no more offensive net than to abuse a man’s friend in his presence, and no po lite or cultivated man will doit. On the same principle exactly, if no higher motive is suffi cient, a gentleman should suppress his profani ty in tiie presence of others. If a gentleman can swear anywhere without a breach of courte sy, when he feels moved to swear, let him first ask if profanity is offensive to any of. the com pany, and having ascertained that they can all stand it without flinching, then, if after snob deliberate preparation, ho feels' like it, let him “rip.” As there are a great many men who smoke and chew, but do not swear, it might bo well for landlords to fit up a “swearing room;” convenient to the smoking room, where those who can’t hold in, may relievo themselves with out annoying other visitors and impregnating the whole house with sulphurous exhalations It will sound rather odd, won’t it, to hear a well dressed and decent looking gentleman ask, “Is swearing offensive to you ?—if .not,-I’ll let off a little,” —or to hear a landlord directing liis guest to tho common swearing room. Education. Education in the most cxtcnsivo.sense of the word, may comprehend every preparation that is made in our youth for the sequel of our lives; and in this sense I use it. Some such prepara tion is necessary for all conditions, because without it they must be miserable, and proba bly viscibus when, they grow up, cither from the want of .the means of subsistence, or from want of rational and inoffensive occupation. In civilized life everything is efleclcd by art and skill. Whence, a person who is provided with neither, (and neither can be acquired without exercise and instruction,) will be useless ;■ and he that is useless W'll generally be at the same tinie mischievous to the community. So that to send an uneducated child into the world is injurious to the rest of mankind.; it is little better than to turn a mad dog or a wild beast into The streets. — Paley. Wives "Wanted.— Our roving fellow-citizens wboiiayo found.a home ontho borders of civili zation or beyond, in Kansas, Nebraska, Arizo na, &c., are beginning to find out that single blessedness is a very miserable state of "exist ence. And tlio bachelors of Kansas have ad vertised for bettor halves in such an honest, straightforward and sensible manner, that we give them the benefit of our circulation gratuit ously. We copy loom the Temmseh Tetiler: “ Wanted Immediately— A “ right smart chance” of smart Yankee girls, to become wives of ns many men in Kansas Territory. Said girls must understand the art of. washing, ironing, cooking and making homo happy; even should that homo prove an unhewed, log house,.with ono room—small at that. It is desirable that they should understand the management pi chil dren, or they must bo, like the Irish girl, easy to teach ; : ■, ~ , “Salary not very largo tlie first few years;'not nioro than three or four calico gowns and a sun .bonnet. But aitor wo get our land paid for, and some fencing and breaking done, wo will build (or you more pleasant houses, sot out-fruit trees, build arbors,(lor the children,to piny in,) set out grape vines, &c. Then wo will-go down tlie hill el life together, and wo shall enjoy our good things' all the better for having earned them. . “ What say you girls? Dad yon not rather become loved and honored helpmates of us sons ol toil, than retain the beauty of your white hands and become “ old maids 1” “For further particulars, come and see foi yourselves. Wo shall be found at "bur claims, keeping watch, and if you will give us notice of your coming, wo will sweep out and bring in an extra chunk of wood for you to sit on.” Cool Impudence. —The editor of a Western paper owes a bank about 31,000, for which they hold his note.- The defaulting wag an nounces it thus in his paper: “There is a large collection of autographs of distinguished indi viduals deposited for safe keeping in tlie cabinet o( the Farmers’ and Merchants'Bank, each ac companied with a note iu'tho hand writing-of the autographist. We learn they have cost the band-a great deal of money. They paid over a thousand dollars for ours. We hope great care is taken to preserve these capita/ and interest inp relics, ak should they be lost wo doubt whether they could be easily collected again. Should the bank, however, be so unfortunate as to lose ours, we’ll let them have another at half price, in consequence of the very hard times.” OUT” A corporal in the Life Guards of Frede rick the Great, who had a great deal of vanity, but at the same time a bravo fellow. Wore a watch chain, to which ho affixed a bullet,liking unable to buy a wa'ch. The King, being in clined to rally him, said : “Apropos, corporal, you rtmsthnfo bcchiru gal to buy a watch ; it is six o’clock by mine; tell me what o’clock it is by yours ? The soldier, who guessed tho king’sintonlion instantly drew but thte biillct from his fob, ail'd said : “My watch marks neither five nor sixi o’clock ; but it tells me every inmute that it is my duty to die for yonr majesty.” my friend,” said the king quite af fected, “lake this width that you may bo able to tell the hbut also.” And he gave him his watch adorned with diamonds. I* on 'fiuiE.—An exchange well says, when a rakish, youth goes astray friends gather around him in order to restore him to the path of vir tue, Gentleness and kindness are lavished upon him to win him'back to innocence and peace. No one would over suspect that ho had sinned. But .when a poor, confiding girl is be trayed, she receives the, brand of society, and is henceforth driven from tno ways of virtue.— The betrayer is honored, respected, esteemed, there is no peace for her this side tho grave.— Society has no loving, helping hand for her, no smile of peace, no voice of forgiveness. Those are earthly moralities unknown to heaven.— There is a deep wrong in them and fearful are tho consequences. The CATKcmsSI Revived. —ln a household where the good old Puritan custom of catechi sing the familyis still observed, the following amusing incident is said to have lately taken place: ■ ' , The fnlhtr asked 1 his eldest son, a boy of about fifteeii summers, who had just finished reading “ The Conflict of Ages.” ‘‘ Jolmi'who was the first man 1” The boy hesitated a moment and said,. “Div Edward Beecher, of Boston.” ■ “ What ?” thundered out the old gentleman. “Father, said John, “I should think ho was, for ho claims to have existed long before God created Adam. . 0 v, . ‘ - iTj 31 * A chaplain at a State Prison was asked by a friend how his parishioners wore. All un dcr ‘conviction/ ” was tho reply. . The' rcccn t' discoveries of gold on' Frazer’s river will lead many to examine their maps in Tain for the purpose of finding the precise lo fcaiity of this now ifnpoftant stream. ■,. ; , . . Frazier's river empties into the Gnlf of Geor gia, ix branch of Puget’s Sound; a few miles north of the 49th parallel, which is fhe.bduri • dory between our Territory ami the British possessions. Its. head' waters interlock with those otthe Columbia And the AthabasCa.For ‘ the first half-of its course it runs in a southerly - direction, when it turns westward. At the dis tance of 160 mites from'its mouth;-it is joined by Thompson’s , river,, a considerable stream flowing (rum the eastward. The Cascade range ‘ of mountains; which indy be fegarded as a con tinuation of the Sierra Nevada, ceases here. At - (he junction of the two rivers, and in (heimme diate vicinity, lie the diggings which are cans- " ing so much.excitement on the Pacific., coast. They have been worked more or less since Io?t summer, but their real importanco was hot as- . certttihcff iifftit fateht, / , i -' Fort Langley, the Itnvesl plash of "the. Had- ’ son’s Bay Company on Frazer’s river, is situa ted on the left bank, about twenty-five miles from the mouth'. Thus far the stream is navi gable for Vessels of considcfableburden. The next post is Port Hope, At tfib tfrqvftn' .of Quc c/ucalla fiver, sixteen miles above Fort LSngley; To the “Falls” is twelve miles farther, thence tp Thompson’s Eiver Forks is fifty-five miles. Thus the whole distance from the moth of Fnk zer’s river to the gold diggings at Thompson’s River is one hundred and sixty mites, orthefed bouis. ; Above Fort Langley the rifef is practicable for balteaux of three tons burden—a'slow and - tedious navigation—but after passing the Falls, canoes only can ,bc used. But the journey mustrcally be made on footfrom the Falls,and •. is exceedingly laborious andrugged. THtifedre no horses or mules to be procured in all that re gion. ... ■ '. ' ' It is by, Hie route above indicated that most . of the gold seekers will find their way to the new placers.- There.is, however, another route via the Columbia River and the Dalles ; but the distance is four or five hundred miles. Ifi.l The latitude of the Thompson's River Forks is about 50 degrees 30 minutes, or nearly tw6£ hundred miles further north than Quebec. But it "must bo remembered that the clithatc on the Pacific const'is mild irt comparison with that of similar latitudes cast of the Rocky mountains." Tt will be evident,.even from, this imperfect description, that the Frazer mines are not easy of access. The country is wild, mountainous, and nearly inaccessible. But men trained in California are. not easily daunted. They cart, doubtless, force their wAy wherever gold invites them to go. The propriety dfeuifivating feelings orbcDey." olence towards onb. fellow-Crcaturcs is denied in theory, however frequently th’e duty : may be omitted in practice. It has been" rec ommended by the eloquence of heathen philoso- ; phers, and enforced, by some extraordinary ex-, ; amplcs of heathen philanthtopny; but os the foundations on which, they built their beautiful .. theories of virtue were narrow and confined, tho superstructure was frail and perishable, and" " never was the true foundation discovered; till '■ brought to light by Jesus Christ. Herflrst. • taught how the obstacles to bengfoiense-tjcro, to bo removed, by conqueringthat pride, self- . love, and vain-glory, which had, till then, con? stituted a part of the catalogue of human vit 1 - "' tues. He first taught tlie universality of its" 1 extent, by connecting it with the love of the common Father and Benefactor of all, and made the love of our fellow-ercatures the test criterion of our love to tho CrCaiof" while from true dyvo- [ tion to the Sprcme .Being, lie thought. nevolcnoe to man must nce'csWrily ffovfr-..; /Se likewise taught upon" all who wcre convinced of 1 these truths, and-w'crcanxious to fulfill the di vine commandments, divine assistance ntoiild bb" bestowed. He alone ennobled Virtue by the assurance of an eternal reward". There is .no wine cqualto the. blackberry wine when properly made, cither in flavor pr for madicinal purposes, and all persons who'him' conveniently do so, should manufacturebnOUgfi for their own use every year, as it is ad ftrtaitf able in sickness as a tonic, and nothing is' a' hot ter remedy- for bowel diseases - . We therefore give the receipt for making if, ahd’ having tried it wo speak advisedly on the sub ject: ; ; , “Measure your berries and bruise them ; to every gallon adding one quart of boiling water. Let the mixture stand twenty-four.hours stir ring occasionally; then strain off, the liquor-in to a cask, to every gallon adding two .pounds of sugar ; cork light and let.it stand till' tho following October; and you will have Wine rea dy for use, without further straining or boiling, that will make the lips smack as they never smacked before under similar influence.” Blackberry Jam.— Galhcf life fruit in dry weather ; allow half a pound' of good brown su gar to every pound of fruit; boil the whole to gether for an hour.br till the' blackberries are soft, stirring and mashing them well. Pre serve it like any other jam, and it will-be found very useful in families, particularly for children; regulating their bbwcls, and enabling you to dispense with cathartics. It may bespreadon bread, or on puddings, instead of butter. Even when the blackberries are.bought it is cheaper than butter. CoiaiECT Speaking.— Wo advise tiT young people 10 acquire in early life the habit of using good language, both in Speaking and writing, and Ip abandon as cariy fis possible; artjh list) of ; slang. words and phrases. The lohg'cr they live the more difficult tho acquisition Of such ; language will be; and if the golden ageofyouth, the proper 'season for tho acquisition of lan 'guage, be passed in Its abuse, the unfortunate victim Of neglected'education is very probably doomed to talk slang for life. Money is .not necessary to procure this education. Every man has it in bis power. He has merely to use the language which ho lOids instead of tho' slang which he hears ; to form his taste frqm : the best speakers an 1 poets of the country ; to • treasure up choice phrases in his memory.-and habituate himself to their use—avoiding fit the same time that predanlic precision and bombast which show rather the weakness of a vain am bition than the polish o( an educated mind'. “Sir,” said a burly fellow of no enviable, character, “I have the largest neck of any man - in the city.” “Very likely,’’said his neighbor; “and I saw yesterday the largest rope in tho city 7-put that and that together.” ’ 1 IX?” A female correspondent Of a St. Louis paper speaks of a sight she saw,lately,that made. her smack her lips. It seeiiis a pitfy that the la dies in that city have to smack their OWti lips. ■ In this town, the “fellows” are always ready to : save them that trOyblo.- ; . O'?”What does chare mean, papa J” “It ; moans to stick together.” “Does John stick • wood together when ho cleaves it 7” “Hem!, it means to separate.” “ Well, then, pa, docs , a man separate from his wife when he cleaves to '■ her?” “Don’t ask foolish questions, child.” When Lady Holland waptod to got rid of a fop she used to say, “ I beg your pardon, but I wish you would' sit a' little farther off; there Is something in your handkerchief, which I do not like.”. .'"i Common Sense.—Coriimon sense has bccomo such a rare commodity, that tho .world has en tered into a fecit compact to live without it. 1 tfp- Officer—“ Didn’t yon guarantee, sir, that - flio horse wouldn’t shy before flip (he Of an en- ' oray ?” “No more ho won’t; ItHs alter the flro that ho shies.” \v D 3” A Quaker’s admonition to a man who was pouring forth Avolley of ill langttrgo to Mm:' “Have a caro, my friend, thou mayost run thy laco against my list.” Where I* tffattrt Biver. Tlie Best Pliilosopliy. Blackberry \iiae',
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers