iEBMAKVOIxUNTEER.
fbntISUED EVERY lIIDBSDAT KOENINQ BY
lobtt B. Ovation..
TERMS..
Dollar and Fifty Cents,
Itaid in advance) Two Dollars ;f paid within the
L it -, a nd Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not
laid within the year. These .teSffis frill ho rig
idly adhered to in every instpncoj , No sub
scription discontinued, until all arrearages are
uniduuless at the option of the Editor.
f — Accompanied by the cash,
and not exceeding one square, wil) ho inserted
throe times for One Dollar, and twenty-five cents
!or each additional insertion. Those of a groat
tor length in proportion. ■ _
Jon-FniNTiNQ —Such as Hand-hills, Posting
bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c.,&c.j exe
cuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice.
Ist&te Notice*
T ETTEKS of administration, with the will
'l.i annexed, on the estate of Mrs. Sarah Grail',
’dec’d., late of Davis county, Missouri, have boon
granted by the subscriber, residing in Carrol
township, York county, Pa. AH persons in
debted to saidjjsfato are requested to make im
mediate payment, and those having claims
will present them properly authenticated for set
tlement to . •
• ABRAHAM FLEMING, Mm’r.
jScpVetubcr 2, 1857—Gw*
A Hare Chance for a good Investment.
HrtHE subscriber intending to leave Carlisle,
rJL'wlll sell his whole stock of Hats, Caps,
Boots and Shoos, (which is new and good) on
adW.pUgeous terms to a responsible purchaser.
The business is well established and the stand
{lie best in town. Every satisfaction will be
|d#.Vastied, to the buyer; and terms made fair.
1 would like to sell as soon as possible.
; J. B. KELLER.
Carlisle, Sept.. 9, 1858.
'P. S, S I will still keep a first rate assortment
of goods on hand, and sell as cheap as ever to
the. day ,of sale.' ,
Best Family Coal.
THE subscribers would respectfully call the
attention of the coal consumers of Carlisle
and vicinity j and the public generally, lo their
superior quality of. Coal, such as .
Lyken’s Valley, Broken, Egg, Stove and’ Nut,
Luke Fiddler, ' “ “ “ “
Trevor ton, «■ “ “
And the celebrated Lohbery Whiieash, “ ■
Tlieir Yard is situated in the east end of Car
lisle, opposite the Gas Works, where they will
•keep constantly on hand a large stock of all
kinds and sizes of Coal which will be sold as
low as any in the Borough. All coal for family
. use will ho re screened before delivery and War
ranted to give entire satisfaction.
Best quality of Zimelmruer’s fy Blacksmith’s
■ Coal always on hand and. at low figures.
All orders left at the residence, of James Hof
fer. West Pomfret street, at Squire Smith’s
, office, South Hanover street, or at the residence
of Jacob Shrom, North East street, will bo
ptomptly attended to.
LUMBER! LUMBER!!
Wq are also proparedto furnish all kinds and
quality of DRY LUMBER at greatly reduced
prices. ...
Bills sawed to order and furnished, at the
shortest notice. Wo have constantly on hand
all kinds and quality of Shingles, such ns White
Pine, Hemlock, Chestnut, Oak, and Linn; all
kinds of Palling, Plastering Lath, Shingling
Lath, Broom Handles, worked Flooring and
Weatherhoarding, rough and smooth Rails;
Posts, and every article that can be kept in a
Lumber Yard. Having cars of our ownweean
at all times and at short notice supply any arti
cle in our line (if business at low prices.
■ Wo are thankful for past favors and solicit a
continuance of public patronage. Our motto
is to please. ; ,
SHROM & HOFFER
Carlisle, May 27, 1858.
Back Again to the Old Trapc.
THE subscriber respectfully- informs the
public generally that ho has resumed th'p
manufacturing of BOOTS
npyoPy ■' and SHOES, in : West Main jr||l
SlwsjjjSßa street, a few doors west of T
the Railroad of lice, and having a good' assort
ment of Leather, Morocco and Trimmings, anu
engaged competent workmen, lib is preparedtc
make up to measure, every description of work
In his line.
He has also received from Philadelphia a well
selected stock of BOOTS and SHOES, compri
sing every variety for Spring and Sumnier wear,
which ho otters at low prices. Gentlemen's fine
French Cal t Boots, Gentlemen’s Gaiters, Oxford
Ties and Brogans, Ladies’ Gaiters, Boots, Bus
kins, Slippers and Ties; with a large variety of
Boys’ Misses and Children’s, Gaiters, Boots,
&c., <S-c. Purchasers are requested to call and
examine his stock.
ROBERT MOORE.
Carlisle, May 20, 1858,
CUMBERLAND COUNTY
NORMAL SCHOOL.
FTtHE second session of this Institution will
JL commence in Literary Hall, Nowvillo, Pa.,
on Tuesday, April 6tb, 1858, and continue five
months.
An able corps of Instructors have been so*
cured, and no effort will ho spared to render the
school worthy ot the position it seeks to occu
py, and of the patronage it respectfully solicits.
For circulars containing full particulars, ad
dress,
F; A. McKINNEY, Treasurer.,
- Newville, Pa.
By order of the Board of Trustees.
Dan’l. Shelly, President. '
Jab. M’Canulisu, Secretary.
February 18,1858—tt
Blew Coal Yard,
AT THE WEST END OF CARLISLE.
THE subscriber would respectfully call the
attention ot Lime burners and the ciizens of
Carlisle, and the surrounding country generally,
to his—NEW COAL YARD, attached-- to his
Ware House, on West High street, where he
will keep constantly on hand a largo supply of
file best quality of Coal, to wit:
Lykens Valley, Luke'Eidler, Pine Grove, and
Treverlon, Broken, Egg and Ngt Coal —screened
and dry, all ot which ho pledges himself to'-soll
at the lowest possible prices, Best quality of
Limebnmer’s and Blacksmith’s Coal always on
hand. ' .
OTT”" All orders left at the "Ware House, or at
his residence in North Hanover street will be
promptly attended to.
J. W. HENDERSON,
Carlisle, April 15,1858—tf
Telegraph fodder cutter. The
Farmers of Cumberland county are invited
to call at our Foundry and Agricultural Imple
ment Factory, and examine the celebrated Tele,
graph Hay, Straw and. Corn Stock Cutter, manu.
factored by T.. H. Wilson & Co., ol Harrisburg.
It is worked by hand or horse power, and will
fully recommend itself to every former who ex
amines its clean and rapid operation in cutting
4(ty, straw or corn stalks. All tbat is asked, is
»n examination of the machine.
F. GARDNER & CO.
• August 12, 1858—6 t
J. W. SCOTT,
(Late of the firm of Winchester $ Scott.)
Gentlemen’s Furnishing Store & Shirt
Manufactory.
804 OitESNUT Sthekt,
, Nearly opposite the Girard House, Phila.
J. W. SCOTT would, respectfully call tlm nt.-
. tontlon of his former patrons .and friend’s
ro his now Store, and is prepared to All order,
for SHHITS at short notice.' A porfoct lit g uar !
antlod. Country trade supplied with flno Shirts
and Collars. - ,
September 28, 1858—ly
Notice.
ALL persona knowing themselves indebted to
tho estate of Monroe Morris, doc’d., are
Hereby notified to make immediate payment to
MARY M. MORRIS, Adm’rx.
Or C. F. HUMRICH, Att’y.
Carlisle,. Oot. 7,185b— 3t
Ammfan
MIO
BT JOHN B. BRATTON.
VOL. 45.
|Wcd.
tllEllE GAME AN ANGEL TO MI DOOR.
BY UltS. ill.' E. O. ABEY.
The frost had-spoiled-tho flowers that-wove
Their wreaths about my cot
But could not chill the bloom of love,
The flower that fadelh not.
And though tho autumn winds had reft
Tho clustering vinos apart, .1.
The-birds that nested there had left -
. Their songs within my. heart.
But ere the flowers returned to bloom,
Know yo' the blessing given ?
There came an angel to my homo;
" The fairest, out of Heaven:
A blessed sprite", with wings concealed,
r And.some forgotten name; ■
And eyes whpse holy depths revealed,
The Eden whence she came., ,
Ah mo I tho birds have never trjed
. Such songs as charmed my ear;
Tho common sunshine dimmed besido
This sunshine,,,doubly dear,
What carqd l then that wealth should come,
. Or fame or wealth be given £
There dwelt an apgel in,my Some';'
The fairest out o( heaven. ' ‘ -
A tiny, dimpled form of grace,
A footfall hero and there.
And kisses gushing o’er my face,
, And through the glowing air.
And now, when o’er the cottage floor
' The common sunshine streams,
The form she wore is there once more,
She dwclleth in my dreams. ,
For ere the second summer's bloom
Its fragrant freight had given,
There went an angel from my home,
' An angel back to Heaven.
Ah me! she was an angel blest.
Too blight,for earth to claim j
A tomb of lovb is in my breast.
O’er written with her name; '
A memory of exceeding bliss, ■
A, yearning, cihsbing pain r ;
A searching thought of happiness.
That will not come again. -
Mfethinks those hearts are nearer homo,
That have such lessons given;
She sees no shadpws in the tomb
Who hath a.child in Heaven. . .
TUfiiSE BOSES.
Just when the red June roses blow, .
She gave mo one—a year ago.
A rose, whose crimson breast reveal’d
The secret that its heart conceal’d.
And whose half shy, half tender grace
Blush’d back upon the giver’s face."
A year ago—a year ago—:
To hope was not to know.
Just when themed roses blow,
I pluck’d her one—a month ago,
Its half blown crimson to eclipse;
X laid it on her smiling lips;
The balmy fragrance of the south
Drew sweetness from her sweeter mouth.
Swiftly do golden hours creep—
To hold is hot tolfeepi ; -
The red Juno roses now are past—;' .
This very day X broke tbp last, . ; ''
And now its perfumed breath is bid, ■
With her, beneath a coffin lid;
There will its petals fall apart.
And wither on her icy heart:
At throe rod rosea’ cost
My, world Was gained and lost, ■
~ ffiimllnnmm
SOMETHING FOR BUYS,
TUB TIMELY WARNING.—A THRILLING STtfllY.
Every boy should read the following story.
It possesses an interest which will not be easily
forgotten. Read it, my. boy, it will do you
good. ’
My father, after ah absence of three years,
returned to the house so dear to him. He had
made .his last voyage, and rejoiced to have
reached a haven ot rest from perils of the sea.
During his absence I had grown from a child
and baby of my mother’s, (for i was her youn
gest) into a rough, careless, and headstrong
boy. Her gentle voice no longer restrained me.
I was often Wilful and sometimes disobedient.
I thought it indicated manly , superiority to be
independent of a woman’s influence. My fath
er’s return was a fortunate circumstance for
me. He soon perceived the spirit of insubordi
nation stirring within me. I saw by his man
ner that it displeased him, although for a few
days he said nothing to me about it.
It was an afternoon in October, bright and
golden, that my father told me to get my hat
and take a walk with him. We turned down a
narrow lane "into a fine open field —a favorite
play ground for the children m the neighbor
hood. After talking cheerfully on different top
ics for a while, my father asked me if I observ
ed that huge shadow, thrown by a mass of
rocks that'stood in the field. I replied that I
did.
“My father owned this land,’’.said he.. “It
was my play ground when a boy. That rock
stood there then. To me it was a beacon, and
whenever I look at it, I recall a dark spot in
my life—nn event so'painful to dwell upon,that
if it Were not as a warning to you —I should
not speak of it. Listen, then; my deaf boy,and
learn- wisdom from your father’s errors.
.My father died when I was a mere child. I
was the only son. My mother was a gentle,
loving woman,.devoted to her children and be
loved by everybody.- I remember her pale,
beautisul face, her sweet, affectionate smile, her
kind and tender voice. In my childhood I lov
ed her. intensely. I was never happy apart
from her, and she, fearing that ! was becoming
too much of a baby, sent me to the high school
in the village. After associating a time with
rude, rough boys, I lost in a measure, my fond
ness for home and my reverence for my moth
er ; and it became more and more difficult for
her to restrain my impetuous nature. I tho’t
it indicated a want of manliness to yield to her
authority, or to appear penitent, although I
knew that my conduct pained her. The epi
thet that I most dreaded was girl boy '. I .could
not bear to hear it said by my companions that
I was tied to my mothers aporn strings. From
a quiet, homo-loving child, 1 sooul became a
wild bolstering boy. My dear mother used
every persuasion to induce mo to seek happi
ness within the precincts ot home. She exer
erted herself to make our fireside attractive,
and- my sister, following her self-sacrificing ex
ample, sought to entice me by planning games
and diversions for my entertainment. I saw
all this, but did not heed it.
“ It was oh an afternoon like this, that I was
about leaving the dining-table, to spend the in
termission between morning and evening school
in the streets ns usual, my (pother laid her
hand on my shoulder, and said' mildly but
firmly. “My son, I wish you to come with:
me.” I would have rebelled, but something in
her manner awed mo. She put on her bonnet,
and said to mo, “ Wo' will taßo a little walk
.together." I followed berm silence; and as I
was-passing out of the door, I observed one of
my rude companions skulking about the house,
and I knew he was wailing for me. He sneer
ed aS I went past him. My pride was wound
to the quick. He was a very bad boy, but be
ing some years older than myself, he exercised
a great influence over mo. I followed ray moth
er sulkily, till we'reached the spot where we
now Stand,' beneath the shadow of this huge
rock. Oh, my boy! could that hour bo blot
ted from ray memory, which has cast a dark
shadow over my whole life, gladly would I ex
change all that the world; can offer mo for the
quiet peace of mind I should enjoy. But no!
like this huge, unsightly pile, stands the mon
ument of my guilt forever I
“My mother,■ being feeble in health, sat
down, and beckoned me to sit beside her. Her
look, so full of tender sorrow, is present to me
nqw. I would not sit, but continued standing
sullenly beside. “ Alfred, my dear son,” said
she, “have you lost all love for your mdtherl”
I did not reply. “ I fear you have,” she con
tinued; “ and may God help you to see your
own 1 heart, 1 and me to do my duty!” She then
talked do me of my-misdeeds—of the dreadful
consequences of the coursfe I tfas pursuing.—
By tears, and entreaties, anApraycrs, she tried
to make an impression on me. , She placed be
fore me the lives and examples, of great and
gqdd men; she sought to stimulate my ambi
tion. I was moved; but too proud to show it,
and remained standing, in dodged silence beside
her. I thought, “ What will my companions
say, if, after ail my boasting, ! yield at lasf,
and submit to be led by a woman ?”
“ What agony was visible on my mother’s
face when, she saw that 'all she said and suffer
ed, failed to move me ! ghe rose to go home,
and ! followed at a distance. She spoke ho
more to me till we reached our own door.
“Ilis school Time now,” she said.- “Go
my son, and once more let me beseech you to
think upon what I have said.
I shan’t go to school,” said I.
‘‘ She looked astonished at my boldness, but
replied firmly, “cartainiy you will go, Alfred,
I command you.” ;
“I will not,” said.l, with a tone of defiance.
<• One of the two things you must do; Alfred,
either go to school this moment, or I will lock
•you in your room, and keep you there till you
are ready to promise implicit obedieiico to my
wishes in future.”
“ I dare you to do: it,” said I, “ you can’t
get me up stairs.” - ' ,
“ Alfred, choose how,’’ said my mother, who
laid her hand upon my arm.' She trembled vi
olently, and was deadly pale.
“Ifyou touch met-will kick you,” said lin
a terrible rage. God knows I knew hot what
I said. ,
“ Wili you go Alfred ?.”
“ No!” I replied, but quailed before her eyes.
“Then follow me,” said she, as she grasped
my arm firmly. I raised my foot, and kicked
her—my sainted mother! How my head reels';
as the torrcht.of memory rushes over me! I
kicked my riiother—a feeble woman—my moth
er. She staggered back a few steps aud leaned
against the wall. ■ She did not look at me. I
saw her heart beat against her breast. “ Oh;
heavenly Father, she cried “ forgive him ; he
knoWiTnot what he'does "The gardneF JOsf
then passed the door, and seeing my mother
pale, and almost unable to support herself, he
slopped, she beckoned hiiff in. . Take this boy
up stairs and lock him in his own room,” said
she, and turned from me. Looking back, as she.
was entering her room, she gave me such a
look—it will forever follow mo. . It was a look
of agony; mingled with mlcnsest love—it was
the last, unutterable pang from a heart that
was broken. .
“In a moment I found myself n prisoner in
my own room. I thought, for a moment, I
could fling myself from the window-, and dash
ray brains out, but I felt afraid to die. I was
not penitent. At times my heart was sub
dued, but my stubborn pride rose in an instant
and bade me not yield. The pale face of my
mother haunted me. I flung myself on the
bed, and fell asleep. ,1 awoke at midnight stif
fened by the damp, night air, terrified with
frightful dreams. I would have sought my
mother at that moment, for I trembled with
fear, but my door was fast.. With the day
light my terrors were dissipated, and I became
bold in'resisting all good impulses. The. ser
vant; brought my meals but I. did not taste
them, I thought the day would never end.—
Just at twilight I heard a light footstep ap
proach thedoor. •If was my sister who called
me’ by name.
v What may I tell mother from you?” she
asked.
“ Nothing !” I replied.
“0, Alfred, for my sake, for all our safces,
say that you are sorry. She will forgive you !”
“I won’t be driven to school against my
will,” I said.
“ But you will go If she wishes it, dear Al
fred,” said my sister pleadingly. . •..
“ No, I won’t said I, and you. need’nt say a
word more about it.”
“ Oh, brother, you will kill her, and. then
you can never have a happy moment.”
••■“I made no reply-, to this. My feelings
were touched, but I still resisted their influence.
My sister called me, but I would not ..Answer.
I heard her footsteps slowly retreating, and
again I flung myself on the bed to pass another
wretched and fearful night. 0 God, how fear
ful I dftfnot know! “ Another footstep, slow
er and feebler than my sister’s disturbed me.—
A voice called mo by name. It was my moth
er’s. “ Alfred, my son, shall I come in? Are
you sorry for what you have done ?” she asked.
“ I cannot tell what influence, operating at that
moment, made me speak adverse, to my feelings.
The gentle voice of my mother that thrilled
through me melted the ice from - my:' obdurate
heart, and. I longed to throw myself oh her
neck, but I did not. No, my boy, I did not.—
But my words gave the lie to my heart, when I
said I was not sorry. I heard her withdraw.
I-heard her groan; T longed to call her back,
but I did not.
“ I was awakened from an uneasy slumber
by hearing my name called loudly, and my sis
ter stood by my bedside.
“ Get up, Alfred 1 Oh! don’t waitamoment!
Get up, and come with mb. Mother iSdyirig !”
“ I thought I was dreaming, but I got up
mechanically, and followed my sister. On the
bed, pale and cool as marble, lay my mother.
She had not undressed, but had thrown herself
on the bed to best. Arising to go again to ms,
she was seized with a palpitation-of the heart,
and borne senseless to her room.
‘‘l cannot tell.you my agony as I looked
upon her—my remorse was tenfold more hitler
from the thought that she would never know
it. I be’leved myself to be a murderer. I fell
on the bed beside her, I could -not weep» my
heart burned in my bosom; my brain was an
on fire. My sister threw her arms around mo
and wept in silence. Suddenly wc saw a very
slight motion of my mother s mouth—and her
eyes unclosed.
She had recovered consciousness, but no 1
Speech. She looked at me, and moved her lips.
I could not understand her words. “ Mother,
mother,” I shrieked’, " say only that you for
give me." She could not say with her lips, but
her band pressed mine. She smiled upon me,
and lifted her thin white hands, clasped mine
with them, and cast her eyes upward. She
“Gtflt OODNtBT— MAT IT ALWAYS BB BtQHi—BDtf BIGHT OB WRONG, OUB COUNTRY.”
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 21, 1838.
moved her lips in prayer, and thus she died.—
I remained still kneeling beside that dear form
till my gentle sister removed mo. She comfor
ted mo, for she knew, the heavy load of sorrow
at my heart: heavier than grief for the loss of a
mother •, for it was a load of sorrow for sin;—
The joy of youth had left me forever.
“ My son, the suffering such memories awa
ken must continue os long as life, .God is mer
ciful ; hut remorse for past misdeeds is a can
ker-worm in the heart, that, preys upon it for
ever."
My father ceased speaking and buried his
face in his bands. He saw and felt the beim
ing bis narrative had .upon my character and
conduct. I have never forgotten it. Boys
who spurn a mother’s control, who arc ashamed
to own that they are wrong, who think it man
ly to resist her authority, or, yield to her influ
ence, beware. Lay not up for yourself bitter
memories for yourfuture years.
■ Though the boy who reads this may not have
kicked his mother, yet let him think if he has
never given his father any unkind words, or
been disobedient to their wishes in many ways.
Boys . bewa're ? Obey yyuur parents in all
things, for God has commanded it; and remem
ber, that disobedience to yom parents is sin
against God!
We don’t like stinginess. We don’t like
“ economy” when it comes down to starvation;
We have no sympathy with the notion that a
poor man should hitch, himself to a post and
stand still while the rest oflhe! world moves
forward. It is. 00. man’s duty to deny himself
of everyVamiftemont',.every luxury, every recre
ation. every comfort;'ltbat lie may become rich.
It is no man’s-duty, to make an iceberg of him
self—to shut his eyes and;ears to the sullcrings
of his fellows—and to deny himself the enjoy
ment that, results . generous actions—mere
ly that he rtay"hoard wealth for bis heirs to
quarrel about. :
But ■ there is yet an ecopomy which is every
man is duty, and which is commendable in the
man who struggles with, poyerlk—an economy
which is consistent with happiness, and which
must bo practiced, if the poor would secure in
dependence.' .■■■,-. -/■
It is every man’s prjyilege, and it becomes
his duty to live within his means; not up to but
within them. Wealth does not make the man,
We admit, and should; never be taken into the
account in oiir judgment, of. men.. But compe
tence should he seeurcd When it can be, and it.
almost always can be, by the practice of econo
my and aqlfdenial to only a tolerable extent. —
It should bo secured, not so much 1 for others to
look upon, or to raisdus.in the estimation of
others, as to secure the consciousness of inde
pendence, and the constant satisfaction that is
derived from its acquircment-and possession.
We would like to impress this single fact upon
the mind of every laboring man who may pe
ruse this short article—that it is possible for
him to rise above poverty, and that the path to
independence, Jwith toils and self
sacrifices, is much pitl filer to the . traveler
than any one ho can cnierjjpon. ;
The man who feels; is earning some?
streets with a and.enter bis
/home with a much more cheerful countenance
tbaa he jrbit spends os he goes, or foils gradu-J
oily behind bis necessities in acquiring the I'
means of meeting them.
Next to the slavery of intemperance there is
no slavery on earth, more galling. than' that of
poverty and indebtedness. The man who is
everybody’s debtqr.is everybody’s slave, and in
a much worse condition than ho who serves a
single master.
For the sake of the present, then, as well as
for the sake Of the future, we would most ear
nestly urge upon every workingman to live
within his means. Let him lay by something
every day—if but a penny, be it a penny —it
Is better than nothing; infinitely better than
running in debt, a penny a day or a penny a
week, tf he can earn a dollar Jet him try,
fairly and faithfully, the experiment of living
on ninety cents. He wilDike it.
“People will laugh.” Lot them laugh.—
“ They will call me stingy.” Better be called
stingy than say you do not pay your debts. —
They will wonder why I do not - have better
furniture, live in a finer bouse, and attend con
certs and play houses.”; Let them wonder for
a while, it won’t hurt. them, and.it certainly
won’t hurt you. By and by you can have a
fine house and fine furniture of your own, and
they will wonder again, and, come hilling and
cooing around you, like so many , pleased fools.
Try the experiment. Live within your means.
, O’* Some years ago, a (all, guant, knock
kneed, red-headed, cross-eyed Hoosier, who
was a hunter of the classical Wabash, conceiv
ed the idea of .making a visit to the home of bis
progeniture in old Kalmuck. He did so—ran
ted round ambnggtthe girls some, and was, of
course, from his native impudence and unearth
ly ugliness, the !‘observed of alf observers.”—
One morning the whole neighborhood was as
tonished with the news that the ugly Hoosier"
had eloped with Mrs. 8., an amiable, good
looking woman, wife of Mr. B. and mother of
half a dozen little B.’s. For two long years the
disconsolate husband mourned over his unto
ward bereavement; at the end of that period,
however, to his utter astonishment, in popped
Mrs. 8., looking as bright, and rosy as over.—
After the first greeting was, over the injured B.
thus addressed his truant spouse:—.“ Nancy,
how could you lake up with that thar onaifthly
ugly. Hoosier, and leave me and tho children all
forlorn, as you did?” “Well, Josh,” sa'd
Nancy;,‘‘that lhair ugly critter from Indarany
was a leetlc the best whistler I ever hern tell on.
You know I was always fond of good whistlin’
—I used to think you could whistle some, but
I never heerd whistlin’as is whistlin’, until I
heerd him. He whistled my senses clean
away, and I follered.hitn off on that account.—
A short.lime ago, however, he caught the mea
sles, and they spilt his* whistlin’ forever—the
charm was broken, and so 1 concluded to come
back to vou; but 0 Josh! that Hoosier Whs
the awfullest whistler that ever puckered!”
DC?* The most valuable span of horses in the
United States are said to.be owned by Commo
dore Vandcrbiltof New Vork. They are match
ed horses- They cost him $6,000, and he has
been offered $9,000 for them.
Singular Caeb.—A cake sent to Elridge,
the St. Lawrence county, Ohio, school teaohfcr
who cruelly murdered his betrothed, was open
ed by the jailor,-and found to contain a nice
new razor. ’Spect the fellow wanted a shave.
DC?” The Lpusianians recently arranged a
slight “ difference” with rifles at twenty paces.
Result: two shots, nobody touched, seconds in
terposed, amicable adjustment.
0 a Mmimn editor says that ho liked to die
larfln, to see'a drnnkin' chap tryin, to pocket
the shadow of a swinging sign for a pocket
handkerchief.
CF* An Indian chief in Carson Valley, says
a correspondent of a Stockton paper, has a
white woman lor a wife, whom he purchased
from a tribe of Camancho Indians',
live Within your Means,
Boluntfer.
Aaron Burr.
Randall, in bis life of Jetlerson, vhus describes
Burr: “
“Burr possessed much cuhning and much
penetration of a particular kind; but, mpst
wholly unprincipled men, he ovcrra.ed the pow
er of evil. He believed every man and woman
had an easy price. He therefore relied on per
sonal appliances, and petty intrigue and fines
sing, to obtain objects wholly beyond the reach
of such means. He baited mouse-traps expec
ting to 'catch elephants in them. His liefe-long
history is an exemplification of this trait of
mind, and it is a life-long roll of failures! In
every great crisis of his career we find him
with intense cunning in bis look, and mystery
in his rapid movements, setting liisliulc-traps.
But he was always just wise etiough to be out
generaled when he came in contact.wuh a wise,
man ; he was always just artful enough to beat
himself without any attempts''to be cunning,
and by mere force of his abilities,, and a
straight-forward life, he might have been far
more successful. Ho loved intrigue for itsown
sake. There was a fascination 'in it which
blinded bis judgment. He was ready to em
bark in it, and wassanguine of'sudcess, where
a man .of less astuteness, but without his taste
for plotting, would have foreseen the certainty
of defeat. It takes another trail. to complete
the character of a rash aud ready conspirator.
He was proverbially in- ensible to danger. He
was willing to risk his life to carrry out the
most paltry amour. . He was willing to risk it
a thousand times in any .desperate effort for for
tune and power, rather than glide along
smoothly in the current of a common success.
When we consider his peculiar character, and,
weigh testimony, adduced at his subsequent
trial, which was not impeached, or even render
ed the subject of a just suspicion, little doubt
seems to remain that be contemplated a dis
memberment of the Union as a direct result of
his enterprise, or rather as a contingent result,,
which was to follow, if success ccowued the
first branch of the unkertakmg.
Two Ways of Correcting a Fault. .
Well, Sarah, I declare! you are the worst
girl that X know of in the whole country!”
“ Why, mother! what have I done I”
“See there! how yon have spilled water in
my pimtry I Got out of mysight; I cahriot bear
to look upon you—you careless girl!”
“ Well, mother! X couldn’t help it.”
Mrs. A., the mother, Is a very worthy woman,,
but very ignorant of the art of family govern
ment. Sarah, her daughter, is a heedless girl
of about ton years old. She is very much ac
customed toremove things out of proper places,
and seldom stops to put them in again. On the
occasion referred to above, she had been sent to
put water into thp teakettle, and had very care
lessly’spilled a considerable portion on thc pnnr
try floor. After the above conversation, which,
on the part of the mother, sounded almost like
successive claps of thunder on the oars ol her
daughter, Sarah escaped, in a pouting manner,
into an adjoining room, and her mother wiped
up the slop in tho pantry. . .
Weil, thought I, my dear Mrs, A., if that is
the.way yod treat ypur daughter, you will pro
bably find jf'fieC'essary to wipe; after her a great
many tlmeshloro u you'OuirjTivc." SueO’fami
ly government as here set forth, seems to mo to
hp liable (o ooveral serious objections.
The reproof was too boisterous. Children I
can never bo fVightoned into a knowledge of
error, or into conviction of crime. It is their I
judgment, and their taste for neatness and order,
which need training, and not their catsl
It was too unreasonable. The child was, in
deed careless; but she Imd done nothing to merit
tho title of « the worst girl in the.country.”—
'Children are sensible of injustice, and very soon
find it difficult to respect those who unjustly
treat them.
It was too passionate. The mother seemed
to bo boiling oyer with displeasure and disgust;
and, uhder this excitement, sho despised her
darling child; the very same that inashorUimo
afterward, when tho sterm had blown by, sho
was ready to embrace in her arms as almost tho
very imago of perfection.
It was inefficient. Sarah retired, under the
idea that her mother was excited for a very lit.
tie thing, which sho could not help. Thus sho
blamed her mother and acquitted herself.
Mrs. B. is another mother In tho same neigh
borhood. Mrs. A. wonders why Mrs. B. has so
very good children. Says Mrs. A., « I talk a
great deal more to my children than Mrs. B.
does. I frequently scold them most severely,
and-I sometimes whip them, until I think that
they never will disobey mo again. And jet,
how noisy, careless and disobedient my children
are I Mrs. B. siiys but little to her children,
and yet her family moves like clock work.:—
Order, neatness and harmony abound, and I
never heard of her whipping them at ail.”
’Tis even so I And I should like to tell Mrs.
A. the great cause of her failure. Sho has not
yet learned to govern herself, and it is not,
therefore, surprising that her family ia poorly
governed.
Mrs. B. has a daughter, Catharine, about (ho
same age with tho daughter of Mrs. A. Not
long since Catharine committed, In a harry, the
samo act at carelessness as above related, and
-Mrs. B’s. treatment of it reveals lior secret ol
family government.
, “ Catharine, my daughter, can yon tell mo
how this water came on the floor ?”
“ I suppose, mother, I must have spilled it a
few moments ago, when I filled tho tea-kettle.”
“ Why did yon not wipo it up my daughter/”
“ I intended to return and do so; but getting
engaged oh something else, I forgot it.”
“ Well, ray daughter, when .yon do wrong you
should try to repair it to tho best of your ability
and as soon as possible. ’■ Get tho mop and wipo
it .up, and try not to do so again.”.
Catharine immediately does as she is hid, re
marking :
“ I will try to bo more careful another time.”
Mrs. A. may bo found in almost every com
munity. Mrs. 8., though, perhaps, a more rare
personage, yet graces many families in our
land.
’ [CT* A drunken chap, blundering through
the darkened hall of his boarding house, was
accosted by his landlady to know if ho would
have a candle. “ Thunder no !” said he, ‘it’s
id cussed dark out here that I couldn’t see if I
had eight!
DC7* A nobleman having given a grand par
ty, his tailor was among the company, and was
thus addressed by his lordship: “ My .dear sir.
I remember your face, but forgot your name.”
The,tailor whispered in a low tone, “I made
youf breeches.” The nobleman taking him by
the hand, exclaimed: “Major Breeches, f am
happy to see you.”
DC?*.Mr. Craft, of Wareham, Va., has \>een
sentenced to six months imprisomiVcnt at hard 1
labor, for kissing a young lady against her.
will.
Never mind. Craft, if yon had kissed her
with her will; your servitude might have been
longer and your labor harder. —Poston Post.
K7* “Gone a ducking” is the term used for
a young feller in Arkansas, who goes to set up
with a young woman.
OUT* Why is a hen'pitting on a fence like a
cent ? Because she bos' a head on one side, and
a tail on the other.
AT $2,00 PER ANNUM
THE BURNING OF THE AUSTRIA.
List to those solemn dirges
Which the wild waves sing,
While o’er tho rising surges
Cries of terror ring j
Sec, from the fated barquo
Fierce Humes arise,
Where on the wafers dark,
Helpless she lies.
Never again shall they.
That trembling band,
Clasp friendly hands, that wait,
Vainly, on land.
Manly hearts, lovely lorms, -
Childboodand ago,
Midst burning horrors fall, ’
Or from their r.igo
Plunging ’neath rolling waves,
Soon where the deep , ~
Greets (hem with chill embrace, .
Silently sleep.
Long in tho distant fatherland
Shall fall the biftor tear;
A,nd homes shall long he desolate
For tlidse who perished here j
And o’er them still tho winds that sweep
Across tho trackless main,
Shall chant a requiem for tho loved
Earth ne’er shall see again.
[ Boston Traveller.
Trade a Fortune.
Not many years ago, a Polish lady, of plc
bian birth, but of exceeding beauty and accom
plishments, won the affections of a young no
bleman, who, having her consent, solicited her
band from her father, in marriage, and was re
fused. Wo may easily imagine tho astonish,
ment Of tho young nobleman.
•‘Am I not- of sutlioient rank to aspire to
your daughter’s'hand ?” i
“ Von arc undoubtedly of the best blood of
Poland.” " .1 ■
“And my fortune and. reputation, are the;
not—”
“ Your estate is magnificent, and your con
duct irreproachable.” ' ■ '
“ Then having your daughter’s consent, how
should I expect a refusal 7”
“ This, sir,'is my only child, and her happi.
ness is the chief concern of my life. All the
possessions ot fortune are precarious; what for
tune gives, at her caprice she takes away. ,Isoo
no security for the independence and comfort
able living of a wife but one, in a wpid, I am
resolved 1 that'no one shall bo the husband Of my
daughter who is not at the same time a master
of a trade!” ■ ' ’
The nobleman bowed, and retired silently.—■
A. year or two after, and' saw approaching tho
house, wagons ladenod wjth baskets, and at the
head of the cavaloade.a por.son in the dress of a
basket-maker! And who do ypu suppose it
was. 7 Tho former siiitor of. his daughter; the
nobleman had turned basket-maker. Ho was
no.w master of a trade, and brought tho wares
made ,hy his own' hands for inspection, and a
cortilicato from his employer in testimony of his
skill. . '
; Tho condition being fulfilled, no farther ob
stacle was opposed to the marriage. But the
stoi'y is not yet done, ■ Tho Revolution came,
fortunes were plundered, and lords were scat,
tored as chaff before the lour winds ot heaven.
Kings became begftirs, some of them teachers,
the' )!is wifoy and her
father in the infirmities Of ago,' by his tmstmt
making. , ' . ’ • ■ ■ "
Stupidities.
Walking along the street with-the point of an
umbrella sticking out behind, under the arm or
over the shoulder. By suddenly stopping to
speak to a friend or othei* cause, a person wal
king in the rear hud his brain penetrated thio’
the eye, in one of our streets, and, died ia a few
days. .
Stepping into a church aisle after dismission,
and standing to converse witli others, or to al
low occupants of the pew to pass out and be
fore,.for the courtesy ot precedence, at the ex
pense of a greater boorishness to those behind.
To carry a long pencil in vest or outside
coat-pocket j not long since, a clerk in Now
y prk fell, and the long cedar pencil so pierced
an important artery, that it had to bo cut down
upon from the ,top of tho shoulder, to prevent
his bleeding to death, with a three months’ ill
ness.
To take exercise or walk'for tho health, when
every step is a drag, and instinct urges to re
pose.
To guzzle down glass after glass of cold wa
ter, on getting up in tho morning, without any
tooling of thirst, under the impression of tho
health-giving nature of its washing out quali
ties. ' *
To sit down tb a tpblo and “force” yourself
to eat when there is not only no appetite, but a
positive aversion to food.
To take a glass of soda, or toddy, or sanga
roe, or mint drops, on a summer day, under tho
belief that it is safer and bettor than q glass of
cold water.
To economize time, by robbing yourself of
necessary sleep, on tho ground that an hour
saved from sleep is an hour gained for life,
when in reality it is two hours actually lost, and
half a dozen other hours actually spoiled
. Journal of Health. ,
. A Disputed Question/— ‘An old topcf after
indulgiug quite freely in his accustomed bever
age, amused himself in teasing a mettlesome
horse. - The animal, not fancying his familiuri
ties, suddenly reared, and the disciple of Bao
chus found himself sprawling in an adjacent
mud puddle. Gathering himself up as compos
edly as his situation would allow; he shouted
to his son johh who was standing by ;
“John, did you see me kick that ’ere boss 1"
“Why, no, dad, the boss kicked you I”
“Reckon not, John. One or t’other of us
got badly hoisted. - ’Taint vie, John, for. I am
here!’’
Looking fob the Head of the Bed. —Every
one has observed that dogs, before they lie down,
turn round and round, several times. Those
who have had an opportunity of witnessing the
action of animals in a wild slate, know that they
seek long grass for their beds, which they beat
down and render more commodious, by turning
it In several times. It would appear, therefore,
that the habit of our domestic dogs, in this re.
spect, is derived from the nature ot the same
species in a wild state.
Swapping Wives.— The Danville (Va.) Tran
script says : A friend informs ua that an occur
rence in Patrick county came to his knowledge,
a few days since, which wo consider decidedly
rich. Two of the citizens ot that go-a-head
State, having each about a half dozen children,
concluded to make a swap of an. unheard of
character. One proposed to exchange wives,
but the other thinking his wife the most likely
woman, said bo must have something to boot.
It was finally agreed that the duo should give
the other two and u I’idtf bushels 6f potatoes',
and the swap was made.
Tale Coleeoe. — ln the year 1700 ten cleffcr.
men met' at Branford, each one bringing a few
books under Ills arm. Placing fhose on the fa.
bio, in Parson Russell’s study, each said sol
emnly : “ I give those books for the founding
of a college in this' colony. A century and a
half have gone by, and Tale College counts its
graduates by thousands, and this was its foun
dation. , - '
yy Cato says “ tho best way to keep good
acts iu memory is to refresh thenf With new."
arc disappearing, it is time to think about mak
ing sausages j bonce we present the following
of making them, from a noted cook:
Pour Sausages There oro many receipts
for the making of pork sausages. Several coun
ties have their own peculiar receipts, the peon,
iiarily in their sausage’s being the quantity and
variety ol herbs which they Introduce, the pre
valence of some particular one giving the fla.
vor, as well as the peculiarity to each. The
presence ol so mapy -herbs is, however, not al
ways considered an agreeable feature; and many
palates are offended uf that which forms to
others the great merit, the following is a very .
simple receipt:
Take of the fat of pork one pound, tbpt of the
loin df a largo, richly fed pig, or the inward fat
of a small one; chop it.flrioly with half aponnd
of loan pork,; add to it fpur or live sago leaves
finely chopped, some lemon, thymo in a Small <
quantity, and .thfoo dessert spoonfuls ol crumbs
of bread powdered. Bo careful not to pht too
much of the latter, ns it tends to turn the sausa
ges sour if kept. Amalgamate these ingredients
well; dusfon grated-nutmeg, mace, and cloves
in powder, and finish with black pepper and
salt, being sure to season well; the meat nrajr
then bo put into the skins, or may bo, jpltf,)p jars
covered down from the air, to bo used for rolls,
or stuffing, or any required purpose.
All skiu must bo pared from the fat before
chopping, and every sinew removed front- 11)0
loan pork, as well as any bohe, or anything
which may impair tiro taste when eaten.
Another Way. —To a couple of pounds of lean
pork, young, white,' and delicate, put throe
quarters of a pound of minced hoof suet; tho
pork must first bo dropped very flno; and throe
dessert spoonfuits of bread which has boon dip
ped in Port wine, dried, and -grated (Ino; work
it together with lire yolks of three eggs smooth
ly beaten; season it with pepper and salt, and
dried sago; a very little cayenne may bo intro
duced, and a very small piece of garlic i worlc
tire whole well together in a mortar until it
forms a paste; it may, then ho put into Wide
skins, or pressed down into Jars tor future use.;
it is cut into sqtiavo pieces dredged with flour,
fried in fresh butter, and sent to table on a toast
as a breakfast dish.
■ m 19.
Another Way.— Chop particularly, fine about
two or throe pounds of lean pork, and an equal
quantity of fat; have ready some sage, cither
dry or green, either passed, tlirougb a.sieve, or
chopped very fine, a small piece of shallot, d
few grains of ground cloves j season it with pop
per and salt; mix a (ew fine bread crumbs up
with it; have your skins ready cleaned, then till
them;.or it"preferred, roll into balls, and,fry.
them; you will tie them tho length you wish tho
sausages to be ; prick tho skins with a fork be
fore you fry them; you may do them in tho ovod
if it should bo hot.
Another IPuy.—Chop tho pork as before; onljt
add half tho quantity of lean veal, a pound of
subt chopped equally fine; have ready a' French
roil soaked in milk, hut so crust; season it
well with pepper and suit; mix it all well toge
ther. '
Another Way. —Chop pork as before, and an
equal quantity of fat, and the quantity of lean
veal, and the same of suet, and two or'throe'
handfulls of bread-crumbs; have ready, a foW"
sago leaves, a few of knotted marjoram, and one
shallot; pound all well together; season with
white popper and salt; cither put them in skins
or roll them* and fry them as above. ■
K 7” “ X declare,” said Mrs. Partington, as .
Miss Waggles, the daughter of tho green grocer/'
looked in upon her In the full feather of. extreme
fashion, “ you look as though ypu.had just como
out of the upper drawer, and ambit as sweet,ag;
the balm of Gilod.” Miss Waggles smiled/,
smoothed down her sfiff silk, just' bought,’and”
tossed her bead daintily, on the back of which'
hung tho now bonnet that she had come in on
purpose. to show! “ Does that calico wash,
dear?” asked tho old lady without taking her 1
spectacles from her forehead. Sira did not see
the blush that suffused the Waggles, as the
green grocer’s daughter informed her that it was
silk. “Dear mo!” declaimed she; taking.bold
of it, “so it is; how well you have kept it. It
looks as good as now. If some girls had worn
it, it would have all been in rags before now.—
How long is it, dear, since it was dyed anti
turned 7” “It is now,” said Miss Waggles,
suppressing a hoop and extending a spiteful
feeling at tho^giquo, time. “Is It, Indeed 7” ro- ’
sponded tho amiable dame; “well, my visionary
organs do deceive mo'ao, that I believe that I
am growing noar-'slgntdd; bUtaro you going'td
have a new bonnet Jortnateh t” ■ This was put-'
ting the'agoiiy'on too thick; it was tho grain
t hat - broke the back .of tho camel. Miss Wag.
glos remembered that she bad a sudden engage
ment, and rose to go, and a strange smile' play
ed around the mouth of Mrs. Partington, ad
Miss Waggles sailed out of the door, like q lindr
of-battlc-ship. Ike watched her and thought
what fun it would bo to see her go up.
A High Socled. Beggar. —Tho other day a
ladj gave a woman a couple of pennies.
“Two cents!” exclaimed she, “Take them
back, Mias—l asked for charity-T can’t do any
thing with’ two cents.” “My dear Madam,”
said tile, polite donor, “ I hope you will keep
tho pennies and give them to some poor per.
soil.” The beggar sloped 1
Men forget that many a privation has a
hidden joy. As the flower blooms under the
leaf shadow is'sometimes shelter.
rp=lf a man has no design but. to spqqk
plain truth, he may say a great deal in a .try
narrow compass.
OS’* Vegetation is so scarce at Capo Cod, ■
Mass., that two niullcn stalks and a huckleberry
bush are called a grove,
D3* Wheeling people call things by their
right names. Whiskey is familiarly known as
■< Busthoad” and Ginger Pop as “ Ratilebefly
Pop.” , ’
B 3” Found—ninety-five dolldrs, by a lawyer
in Lowell, who 'returned it to tho owner. One
of flic papers says, “the act may behonest and
honorable, but is unprofessional.”
03* Young ladies should not write poetical
love letters. It is dangerous. Such a one was
written to a Kentucky beau, not long since,
which so cfiected.him that be stole a horse to go;
and see the writer, and got in jail to pay for jot
ting in love wilh a poetess.
1 03*“Why is a young lady preparatory to,
dressing in her crinoline, like a-flour barrel
Because the hoops will have to be raised before
the head will go in. .
D3* a dying west India planter, groaning to
his favorite negro servant, sighed out. “Ah
Sambo I’m going a long journey.”, “Never
mind massa,” said the negro, consolingly, “hint
all de way down hjll.
03” The British flag was hoisted on' Capitol
Hill, Washington, on Tuesday week, for the
first time since tho last war with England.
'BIT* Why is a philanthropist like an bid
horse? Because he always stops at the sound
of woe.
K7* A young poet out West, in describing
heaven, says, “ it is a world of bliss, fenced in
with girfs."
XT' The best bite we over had when wc went
fishing,’ was tho bite we took along.
[CT'lt is iu vain to stick your finger in tW
ter, and after pulling |t out, look fpr the hole.
(CP Idolatry, in all its forms, is but tho
abuse of a truth so deeply lodged in the soul of
a man that it cannot be eradicated.
«*. . ,
The best way to treat slander is to let.ft
alone and say nothing about it. It soon dies
when fed on silent contempt.
XT’ There is no occasion to tramp on tho •
meanest reptile, nor to sneak to the greatest
prince. Insolence and baseness arc equally uu*
manly.
How do my customers lifco the milk I
sell them.” “ Oh, they all think it ol the first
wafer.”
A father Called his son idtd a crowded
stage —“Bcn-jam-in!"
XT' Whatever you may choose to give away,
always, bo sure you keep your teitipcr.
XT' Southerners in New York are thick jxa
blackberries. They arc Waitifag to hear of a'
’frost bclorc returning Mine.
Sansages.