CAN VOLUNTEER.
EVERT TUDR9DAT MORNING BT
ii B. Bratton.
TEE MS. ’
.—One Dollar and Fifty Cents,
Two Dollura if paid within the
Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not
, year. Those terms will bo rig
,o in every instance. Wo sub
sntinued uptil ail arrearages are
[he option of the Editor.-
;nts —Accompanied by the cash,
ing one square, will .bo insetted
}no Dqilnr, and twenty-five cents
mal insertion. Those of agreat
•oportibn.
a—Such ns Hand-bills, Posting
;s, Blanks, Labels, &c.,&o.,oxe
iracy and at the shortest notice.
TT STAyToYG,” .
.itning tenderness
her lushes lies,
.iopo and love unutterable
,'ro shadowed in her eyes,
(n some deep unruffled stream
re clouds and Summer skies,
?s passed through early-womanhood,—
.•‘rom dreamy, sweet girl life,
dd crossed the rosy threshold, but
; To find hcrselra wife;
gently should ho lend her steps
Along the path of life !
'• ’ ■
.'And as she clasps her small white bands
Jh'Upon his arms so strong,
tjfojf oiten, like a Summer sigh,
a sweet pleading song,
nhispcr3 \vith a parting kiss, 1
Beloved one, don’t stay long.”
■■ l ' ■ . ■
|®Sl£a almost always on her lip,
;JEler gentlest parting words, / . ' ' ■ ■
as the fragrance from rose leaves
: . When by soft sephyrs stirred,
fejAhd lingering in the memory
songs of Summer birds.
fe;Aiid in Ids heart they nestle warm,
I;;’ other scones, amid j .•
stays not fill she weary grows, # ,
»> And her fond eves are hid •
tfenrs which lie in bitterness
each-veiling lid.
how ninny hearts are kept
llppSiiS? thut love jittered song!
scarcely ono who on life’s wares,
SfPg/iia.swUtty borne along, .
,- ‘i ’'.Butwhilt has heard from some dear lips.
v .'.Those sweet words—« don’t stay long."
BP! BP!
Out among the flowers
In the early morn,
•With these golden hours
.. Happy thoughts ace born.
Thoughts that never, never
Come in day’s decline, ’
Shades that brighten ever,
-V. ""' , ‘ r When the dew drops shine.
. !■. • (Listening to the song birds
~ In harmonious band,
, ' Seem to hear some fairy words
\ From the spirit land.
A little golden robin,
I In the apple free,
' Sara'chirr-up, chirr-up bobbin,
Listen unto me. ■
Up! up! rip 1
Willi the morning light,
; Quaff the crystal cup,
’ i- \ Sparkling with delight.
i. ; A little tiny chicken
VV Sleeping the early morn,
uty .pulsus iiuicteh, '
t ’!,* And roy thoughts return.'
*■ .Where memory loves to loiter'
’•’ With hours she. ne’er forgets,
When I, farmer’s daughter
Loved those homely pets.
Ohl there are hours that brighten
. All one’s after life,
;And richly serve to lighten ,
The burden’d years of life.
0 'Oh! il we aught may cherish
.That soothes the brow of caro,
, Oh) leave it not to perish,
W ‘ But keep it lingering .there, •
/'i Then up in the early morning
, >Mong the cheerful flowers,
' Peace shall come, adorning
r . ‘ * All the noon tide hours.
j£v' Jmmmmmmmrn
1 : Mlktllmniw.
THE CABIN BOY.
Oo the 26th da/bf April, in the year 1738,
» fine brig named the Triton, was preparing to
leave the port of Havre, in order lo go fishing
forced on the cost of Newfoundland. Her Cap,
tain. Giles Varenne. was a regular rough, hardy
;43eaman,'.caring little whether the weather was
fair Or folll, and accustomed to navigate his ves
sel as well through fog as through sunshine.
’s deck presented a busy scene.—
li* Ailthecrew were occupied in getting on board,
and storing away their sea stock of wine, bran
dy.salt meal, flour, lines, nets, books, togeth
er-. erwithavast quantity of salt. Amid abun
dance' of noise, bustle, and loud talking, the
,r: long-boat made her last .trip from thesliore, and
. out of her there stepped on the deck, with a ti
i inid,trembling air, a boy of about 12 years old.
r' lie went up to.a sailor who had just lighted his
If,, pipe, '“Sir,” he began, twisting a pretty cap
# of green velvet between his small hands. The
||U' rough seaman interrupted hita with a loud.
laMt** Sir, indeed!” he replied. “My name is
sSl'Ma'andm. What do you want, young chap 1”
Do you want a cabin boy on board ?’’
I know nothing about it; you must go and
the captain ; there he is standing near the
|||fe|iisiißt, with the largo pipe and the bear-skin
p' .’ '. boat..’’ The child approached the person thus
1 described. and before he could speak, the cap
f! .. thin exclaimed :
& v -What do you want, you young scamp ?”
S i .. it* To bo a cabin boy on this vessel,” replied
■ the boy courageously."
Did you ever go a voyage before ?”
‘••.No, but 1 think I could soon learn my bus
f iness.
& “Bravo? What’s your name ?”
1 “Georgo.l'
.«Who is vour father?’'
“ I ad, an orphan,” replied the child, looking
U . down and blushing.
Wi ' :,;"So much the bettor!” cried the captain
■:v .<• Here Jlalandin, take charge of this new cab-
I-' '■ jit-boy. Secure the long-boat, and weigh an
cbor.” . .
lake care of tho icebergs !” said an
old white-headed sailor, standing by. “You
arebeetling out too soon. In my time, wo used
only to begin buying our salt in the middle of
May, find how we are only at the'end of April.”
. Captain Varenne vouchsafed ho reply, but
continued to puff forth immense volumes of
smoke from his pipe, as he tranquilly'watched
the noisy progress of weighing anchor. At
length the; sails were set, and the gallant brig
left the port, amid the farewell cheers of those
oh shore, while a few prophetic voices shouted
alq|(d : “ Beware of the icebergs, captain!—be
: i»rh of the icebergs!”
;'j|oh the first day, very little notice was taken
f(([,Qcorge, sa.he thought the life of a cabin-boy
■ ! *|ynost charming one ;,but the next morning the
called him hastily, and, gave some or-
which to him was unintelligible; the boy
'•'."pshpsiiated, and his impatient commander gave
a kick which sent him to the other side of
[We deck. George stood up amid the derisive
laughter of the crew, red and furious, more from
f phamo than pain; but when he began to speak,
BY JOHN B. BRATTON,
VOL. 46.
his mouth was rudely stopped by the mate, who
threatened him a good rope’s ending if he at
tempted to say a word. Silent submission was
all that remained for the child ; but from that
time, how often would he creep into some re
tired corner of the deck, and weep and watch
the waves, and call softly on the name of his
mother. .
“So you Have a mother?” said the mate
Malandin, who overheard him one day.
" Ah, yes. and a father also,” replied George;
and t left them to become a sailor. Oh, how
miserable I am .?”
"“•‘ You told-the captain you wereian orphan,”.
“ I told a lie, for I was afraid if I mentioned
my parents, I should be sent back to them;
and now I am punished for it.”
“They then don’t know where you arc,
George?"
“ No. I wanted to bo a sailor, and my fal ti
er would not consent, so I took the advantage
of his and my mother’s going for a day to the
country, and I came on board here, as you
know.”
“ And what makes you dislike being a sai
lor?”
“ The blows and kicks that every one here
seems to have right to give me.”.
“Bah! a mere trifle. AH that will, only
make you a hardy boy. The sea ls a fine place,
and true home for a man.”
They were now in 51 deg. 3 min, of north
latitude, and 56 dog. 58 mih. west longitude.—
The same day—it was the 29th of May—they
met floating icebergs; Suddenly a dreadful
shock was felt; a cry of horror burst from all
on board; thb vessel had struck upon an ice
berg, and the water poured in through, her
cleft side She began to sink rapidly, and a
terrible scene ensued among the crew. ’ Some
ran aboo t'wildly; others fell on their knees, and
prayed aloud ; some of the faint-hearted went
and lamented like children ; while avfew, with
more presence of mind, lowered the long-boat,
and asked the captain to get into it with them.
I must be the last to leave my vessel!” re
plied the bold seamen. ■
Meantime the ship’s deck was nearly on a
level with the waves, and poor George, pale and
trembling, kneeling near the mast, exclaimed:
“0 my mother ! my mother! shall I never sec
you again . •
“ All is not lost that’s in danger,” said the
gruff voice of the captain. “ Take a firm hold
of my. leg, child, and trust to Providence.”
George, almost mechanically, did as he Was
told ; the next moment a dark wave swept over
him, and he lost ail consciousness. When he
revived, the ship hacl completely disappeared,
and he found himself with the captain floating
on two planks lashed together. There situa
tion was perilous in the extreme ; nothing was
to be seen aroud but the dark surface of the
water, varied by icebergs and floating fragments
of the wreck. Captain Varenne at length de
scried a large level pace of ice, and with the as
sistance of a broken oar, after long and painful
efforts, he reached it, His dress consisted of a
woollen shirt, a pair of thick trowsers and
stockings, together with his hat; which ho had.
the good fortune to keep on his head; but poor
George had scarcely any clothes, and was bare-,
headed. Thoroughly exfiatfsted and numbed
by the cold,’they lay for some time on the ice
without stirring, the captain pondering on .the
means of escape, and the boy thinking of his
mother, and of the tears she would shed if she
knew the situation of her son. The darkness
and the hard frost of night coming oil, added lo
their misery. The cold was so penetrating,
that in order to avoid beifife entirely frozen, the
captain hindered George from going to asleep,
and forced him tq walk,up and down with him
on the ice, as the only means of saving them
selves from falling into a state of fatal stupor-
The pangs of hunger soon began to augment
their sufferings.
At daybreak, they descried four men on a
raft at a great distance off. In vain, however,
did they shout and make signals ; their com
panions in misfortune did not see them.' To
wards evening their hopes were revived by the
appearance of a three mosied vessel. Anxious
ly did our two shipwrecked mariners watch its
movements- They saw them shorten sail, and
presently after perceived that the four inch on
the raft to be taken on board. Now, would
they comb to them ?
Planting the oar upright, and surmounting
it wiih his hat and handkerchief, the captain
waved it continually, and shouted as loud as he
could. Afier half an hour passed thus in ago
nizing suspense, the vessel sailed away without
its crew perceiving them,-and slowly disappear
ed from their sight. .
At this dreadful sight, poor George fell at the
captain’s feet, arid exclaimed : “ Oh, must we,
then, stay hero to perish with cold and hun
ger?”
. Without replying, the captain felt in his
pocket, and taking out a biscuit wet with salt
water. offered it to the child. George seized it
with avidity, and was putting it to his mouth,
when remarking that the capiain had none for
himself, he said, “ and what will you do, cap
tain ?”
“ Eat it,” said Varenne, briefly.
The boy did not wait to be desired a second
The next night was dreadful. Varenne pre
served a moody, despairing silence ; only from
time to time ho moistened with a piece of. ice
the lips of the poor child, whose strength was
fast, failing.
“ 0 captain, lam very cold—very weak. 0
my poor mother!”
And then come back vividly to his remem
brance his little soft white bed. in which his
kind old nurse tucked him up so snugly every
night; his nice supper of while bread and hoi
milk, even the piece of dry bread, which was
given to him for dinner when he behaved badly.
Oh, what would he have given now for even one
half of that bit of bread. Thus passed the long
weary night in dreadful sufferings and unavail
ing regrets; At daybreak, as soon a§ the Tog
was.sufficiently dispersed to allow them to dis
tinguish objects, they perceived, floating past
the ice, a cask of. cider. With great exertions
the capiain at length succeeding in securing it ;
and a hearty draught greatly refreshed them
both.
“ Captain,” said George, “ wo have,forgot
ten one thing which may save us.”
“ What is that ?” '
“ To pray,io God.”
Varenne sighed deeply.
“Yes, captain.” continued, George, as he
tried., to kneel on the slippery ice, “ whenever
mamma was in grief, she used to pray to God,
and He always comforted her. She often told
me so. and she often spoke the truth. Do, dear
captain, kneel down by me.”
Whether from conviction, or merely from a
wish to please the boy, Varenne obeyed : and
George, in simple, childish words, asked their
Heavenly Father to forgive them all their sins,
and especially his great one in disobeying and
forsaking his parents, for which he was now
justly punished ; also, for their Saviour’s sake,
to lake care of them, and deliver them from their
dreadful situation.
They had not long risen from their knees
when they saw, drifting by them, a small emp
ty boat, which the captain recognized ns hav
ing belonged to his ship. They caught it, got
into it, and Varenne guided it carefully through
the icebergs—-the slightest shock from which
would have crushed it like an egg-shell—and
soon perceived that they were not far from land.
At length they reached the shore, and land
ed, the captain carrying George in his arms, for
the child’s lips were weak and numbed. The
sun rose, and in some degree warmed them ;
and the captain filled his hat with muscles,
which he found among the rocks. George had
often eaten of these shell-tlsb, delicately .cooked
and sent up to his parent’s table, but tftver did
he think them half so good or, savory as now,
that he was glad to devour them raw. Their
hunger in-some measure. appeased, a new fear
-took possessioaot the.caplain. . ~
He wanted to explore the coast and ascertain
what chance They had pf escaping ; but George
was too weak to accompany him, and he dared
not leave him alone, for fear of the bears and
other wild animals that infest these northern
lands. Indeed, in his own weak and totally
unarmed condition, he could make out little re
sistance were they to.attack him. While rum
inating over the dilemna, George suddenly gave
a cry of joy,, and with a trembling hand poin
ted out to his companion an English vessel sail
ing along the stioro,
What joy ! The crew perceived them, and
three men put off in a boat towards the spot
where they were. The captain's habitual rough
reserve gave way before the transport caused
by this unlooked for deliverance; he folded
George in his arms, and with tears Of joy em
braced him as if he had been his son.
“ Let us kneel down, enp atn,’.’ whispered the
boy, and thank God for his goodness in saving
us," The old sailor obeyed, and-joined fer
vently in George’s simple thanksgiving. Pres
ently the boat’s bow touched the shore, and the
three sailors leaping out, raised, the exhausted
pair in their arms.
.“Carry the child.” said Varenne. “I am
si ill strong enough to walk.” Aa.soon ns. they
had got on board the vessel, everything possi-
ble was done for their health and comfort., The
captain’s wife took George under her especial
care,, and he was soon perfectly restored. Af
ter a few day's sail, the English, vessel crossed
the track of a French brig, the Natalie, of Gran-'
villo, bound for that port. They hailed it; and
Varenne and George having taken a grateful
farewell of their kind English'friends, went on
hoard of their conntrvraen’s vessel. " They were
laden at Havre, and. Varenne invited George to
ncoompany him to his inn. Tho hoy thanked
him. but said he must first, go Home, as he
could not feel happy until he had seen his pa
rents. and obtained their pardon.
" Well,” said Varenne, “ if you don’t come
to me io morrow morning, I will go to see you
at your father’s house. By the way, I don’t
think I ever asked you his name.” •
“ Pleville le-Polly,” said George, as he walk
ed toward his house.
We leave it to our readers to imagine how
the truant boy made nimself known to his sor
rowing parents—how speedily their grief, was
turned into joy—and how his mother shudder
ed, and drew him closer to her bosom, when he
tali her of the shipwreck and the iceberg. ,
‘ Where are you going, irty love P asked
Madame Pleville, wnen she saw iter husband
take up his hat and prepare to go out. ,
. ■ “ Tt/ bring here that brave Capta'in Vareliho;
blit for him this boy,would have'been lost."—
Ho soon reappeared with-tho desired guest, and
the Whole story of their adventure was gone
over again.
‘I hope, my child.’said Madame Pleville,
• that you have now had enough of a sea ,life,
and will be content to. remain quietly at
home?’
“I hope quite the contrary,’said the cap
tain, roughly.- ‘ I dare say he is.anxious tq be
off again.’
‘.lf what he has suffered has not sufficed to
disgust him with the profession,’ said his fath
er, “ it must be his vocation to become a sail
or," , ,
And a sailor Gcorge-Rerie Pleville-le-Pelly be
came, and continued during his life. After
having made several voyages to Newfoundland
and elsewhcie, he entered his country’s service,
and in an engagement with an English frigate
he lost his right leg. This accident, however,
did not impede either his activity or his promo
tion. Twice was the wooden leg shot from un
der him : arid he used to congratulate himself
that he thus gave the work to the carpenter,
and not to the surgeon. ’ .
In 1770, ill health forced him to retire for a
lime from active service, and he was made port
lieutenant at Marseilles. While there, the En
glish frigate, the Alarm, commanded by Cap
tain Jarvis—aflcrwards Lord St, Vincent, was
driven by a' tempest into the bay, and ran an
imminent risk of being dashed to pieces on the
rooks. Plcvillc, with all the sailors whoiri ho
could collect, hastened to the rescue. The
night was dark, and the storm so fearful, that
the boldest of the sailors refused to leave the
shore. .The lieutenant himself, despite bf his
infirmily, did not hesitate. Fastening a strong
rope round his body, arid grasping a cable, one
end of which he had made fast to the ground,
he let himself down into the sea. With almost
incredible efforts, he succeeded in reaching the
frigate when it was about to perish, and by his
intimate acquaintance with the port, was able
to pilot it in in safety. On the next day he
sent workmen to repair the injuries whibh the
vessel had sustained, and she was soon fit to
return to England.
The English admiral testified his gratitude
by sending Capiain Jarvis back to Marseilles
with a splendid service of plate, and a compli
mentary, and grateful letter for Pleville. His
nobiq conduct on this occasion met afterward
with what lie esteemed a much higher recom
pense, During the war of 1778, his son, who
was serving on board a frigate, was taken pris
oricr. No sooner did the English admiralty
learn who the young was. than they not only
ordered him to bo set at liberty, but permitted
him also to release several of bis comrades.
The telegraph which siill exists on the Hotel
de la Marine, is a proof of Plevi'le’s noble dis
interestedness. Appointed in 1707 Minister of
the Marino, ho was directed ,to make a tour of
inspection along the French coast, and 40.00 Q
franca were allowed for his expenses. He spent
but 8000. and on his return immediately sent
the remaining 32,000 back to the public treas
ury. The.Governmenti however, refused to re
ceive the sura, and Pleville employed it for tho
good of the nation in erecting a telegraph'.
After a glorious, a happy, and a useful life,
having been made a chief officer of the Legion
of Honor. George Rene Pleville le Pelly died
at the age of eighty three years, on tho 2d of
October, 1805. A simple monument, bearing
an epitaph composed by M. Letnaire, was rais
cd to his memory in the cemetary of the East
in Paris.
ICT*Don’t forcoaman to take your advico,—
You can advise him to take a bath without
pitching him into the river.
ttVlfyou want to got rich bo mean.
If you want to bo considered mean by every,
body, get rich.
tty” Dr. Young says that man and wife aro
like soul and body—always at variance and yet
loth to part. ‘
CF* That which wo call remorse, is littls else
than a fear of having our misdeeds ospotod.,
1 “OUB COUNTRY—HAT IT ALWAYS Bit RIGHT —BUT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.”
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1859.
Incident of Ibe Mexican War. ;' |
As tho Kentucky regiment crossed thoNuo.
ces, and readied those immense prairies and
wood : bound streams which spread themselves
out 800 miles to the Rio Grande, gicat quanti
tics of game presented strong temptationiio the
soldiers, and it was found very difficult fp keep
tho regiment from straggling. When the, camp
ground was chosen, tho sick, the lanio ah? the
hunters were, contrary to all military, rules,
stretched out lor miles behind. This ivbs : the
greater breach of orders, because frequent signs
of roving Camanohes were seen, who, not hav
ing tho ieorofjnclo. Sam before.their eyes,
wore ready to cut ofTany Slraggler secnrflyrand
appropriate his clothes and gun. Ono-day,
Capt, Cassius. M. Olay of tho Kentucky.polun-'
teers, was hunting turkeys, and strayed .Several
miles froni his regiment j a flock of turkeys flew
out of the prairie into the woods whichiskirted
a stream (that once was, but now, in JulSKdry.)
Tying his lino blooded horso to a bash,'no en
tered tho dry channel ot the quondam stream',
the hanks of which rose on both sides ab.pyo his
head, and began calling the turkeys, in'lndian
stylo, with the small hone of a defunct ttivkey.’s
pinion. The, fowls answered, and came' nearer
and nearer. At length, on raising bis head
cautiously above the bank, instead of acting tho
turkey he heard a “ click I” There is no nqise
of tree, or stream or wild boast, in all .savage
nature, like this suggestive sound—to-Clay’s
practical ear, it was a death-knell—//ic spring
ing of a trigger !. As quick as. thought,^'Slip
ped back into the ravine, and, running; some
hundreds of-yards. ho reached and mounted his
trusty courser. His snpieions were nnS- all too
well confirmed. Tho regiment .had crossed tho
wood above, passing west; and, as soon as the
lasi horseman disappeared from the distant ho
rizon, tho Camanches, who had been watching
them from the wood, took an opposite bourse,
and quite a troop of them could bo seen deploy
ing from tile wood, in long Indian,file, into tho
prairie onstn ardly. The regiment had .crossed
in such a direction that Clay had to folJCw the
trace by making tho two aides ol a triangle! and
the Indians, if determined to interrupt him, had
only to make one. .Notwithstanding the odds
against him and trusting .to the blood.of his
Kentucky racer, hd gave a shout of defiance,
waved his hot, and plunged into the wood, fol
lowing tho trace for half a mile heforo he'struck
tho opposite prairie. With breathless anxiety
he approached the clear space, not knowing hut
that he would ho cut oft - by a'superior'force,
while still out of hearing of a gunsiiotffdm the
regiment.
But “luck attends the daring sportsman,”
and, as ho emerged into .the wide sea of grass
and flowers, tho coast was clear, and ail was
serene and lovely—not a rod-skin to ho seen J
OJay describes his'fceiings as being a descent
suddenly from tho sublime to the ridiculous; and
ho laughed .outright at his resciublanbo to the
<•’wicked,” who are said to “flee wbon'no man
pur'snoth.” But tho sun was last..sinking in
the west, and, being far behind the regiment, he
kept up a hiisk canter, till the hindmost strag
glers came into view. Misery loves company ;
so does merriment. Putting spurs to his al
ready panting chargor, and assuming the wildest
and most tort!tied, air, ho came tip crying, “ Fly
for your.UVos, the Camanchcs are coming!” .
Then there was mounting In hot haslhj* Some
had captpred r wyid.Jiqrse,Si ;i s(pne J('i'd
themselves with fruit and jpnho; somo wore »ick;‘
others "lamb, &c. ' But when (he cry of “ In
dians” came thus startlingly upon their ears, all
else was forgotten. The. horses, wore turned
loose, tho grapes and game strewn around, coats
and hats were scattered in all directions j the
blind saw, tho lame.walked, and the sick were
cured; As one overtook another in tho race for
life, the same inspiration of terror became a
common feeling till nearly one-sixth of tho Re
giment was in full stampede! The more Clay
cried “ Halt and defend yourselves!” tho faster
they ran and tho less inclined they were to halt.
Tho Captain had a jolly time of it, and for many
days afterward, a singular half-conilcul, half
sorious shadow would pass over some brother
soldier’s face, when the Captain wouidmsk him
what had “ become of his Gray Mustang ?” .
Our joyous little ones, while enjoying one ol
their favorite games, have little idea of its ori
gin. Here is the history of this favorite game:
it itmy not bo generally known that this favo
rite sport of ,childhood is of French oaigln and
of very high antiquity, haivng been introduced
in the train of the Nornmn con
querors. It French name, u Colin MaHlat'd,”
was that of h brave warrior; the memory of
whoso exploits still lives in the chronicles of
the middle ages. In the year 999, Liogo reck
oned among its valient chiefs Jean Colin. He
owed the namo of Maillavd to hie chosen wca*
poh being a mallet,, wherewith in fight he used
literally, to crush his opponents. In one of
those feuds of such perpetual -recurrence in
those times, he encountered the Count do Lou-*
vain in a pitched battle, and in the first onset
Coli Malllard lost both his eyes; ho ordered his
esquire to take him into the thickest of , the
tight, and furiously brandishing bis mallet, did,
such fearful execution that victory soon declar
ed itself for him. . When Robert of Prance heard
of these feat of arms, ho lavished favors and
honors upon him, and so great was the fame of
the exploit, that it was commemorated in the
pantomimic representations that formed part
of the rude dramatic performances of the age \
by degrees the children learned to apt »it for
themselvs, and it took the form of the familiar
sport. The blindfolded pursner, as; with , ban
daged eyes end extended hand, ho gropes for a
victim . to, pounce upon, seems in some degree
to repeat the action of Colin Maillard, the tia*
dition of which is also traceable,in onr name ot
blind man’s bum It would seem, then, that the
game is.nothing less than a myth in action, ha
ving for its nuclues the historic fact of .this feat
of arms.
The Riveu JonnAx.—A correspondent of the
Utica Herald gives this description of the River
Jordan : „
“A line of green, low lorost betrayed the
course of the sacred river through the plain—
So deep is its channel, and so thick is tho inv
est that skirts its banks, that I rode within twen
ty yards ol it before I caught the llrst gleam ol
its waters. I was agreeably’ disappointed. I
had hoard the'Jordan described ns aninsipid
muddy treacherous stream. Whether it was
the contrast with the desolation around, or my
fancy that made its green banks so beautiful, I
know not,’ but it did seem at that moment oi fts
revelation to my longing eyes, tho pcrtcolioi? at
calm and loneliness. It is hardly ns wide ns
tho Mowluuvk at Utica, but far more rapid and
impassioned in its flow. Indeed, of till tho riv*
ers I havo ever seen tho Jordan has the fiercest
current. • lis water is by no means clear, but it
as little deserves the name ot muddy.- At tho
place whore I first saw it tradition assigns the
baptism of our Saviour, and also the miraculous
crossing of the children of Israel on their en
trance into tho promised land.
Like a true pilgrim I bathed in its waters and
picked a few pebbles.from its banks as tokens
ot remembrance of tho most familiar river in
tho wprld. Throe miles below the spot where
I now stand, tho noble river—itself tho very em
blem of life—suddenly throws itself on the pu
trid bosom of tho Dead Sen.
By «l am thy father’s spirit,” ns the bottle
said to tho littlo boy when ho found it hidden
in the woodpile, and wondered what it was.
X£j~ A coroner’s jury recently rendered a
verdict on tho body ol.a poor follow, “death by
banging—around the tavern.” '
‘ ■ i . -
■ -f
Slim) man’s Huff.
Uses of Ice.
In health no one ought to drink ice water for
it has occasioned fatal inflamation of the stom
ach and bowels, and sometimes sudden death.
The temptation to drink it is very great in sum
mer ; to rise it at all with any safely the person
should take but a ,single swallow at a lime,
take the glass from the lips for half a minute,
and then another swallow, and so on. It will
bo found that in this way it. becomes disagree
able after a few mouthfuls.
On the other hand, itself may ho taken as
freely ns possible.'not only without injury but
with great - advantage. in dangerous forms of
disease. If broken in sices of a pea or bean,
and swallowed as freely as practicable, without
much chewing or crushing between the teeth,
it will often bo efficient in checking various
kinds of diarrhoea, and has cured violent cases
of Asiatic cholera.
A kind of cushion made of powdered ice
kept to the entire scalp, has allayed violent in
flamation of the brain, and also arrested fearful
convulsions induced by too much blood there.
Water, ns cold ns ice can make it, applied
freely to the throat, neck and chest with a
sponge or cloth, very often affords an almOst
miraculous relief, and if This be followed by
drinking copiously Of the sariie ice cold element
the welted parts wiped very dry, ■ arid the
child be wrapped up well in the bed cloihes,
it falls into a delightful and a life giving slum
ber. ;
Inflammation, internal or external, is pfomp
ly subdued by the application of ice or tec wa
ter, because it is convened into steam and rap
idly; conveys away the extra; heat, and also di
minishes the'quantity of blood in the vessels of
the .part.
A piece of ice laid on the wrist will often ar
rest violent-bleeding of the nnse.
To.drink any ice cold liquid at meals retards
digestion, chills the body, and has been known
to induce the most dangerous internal conges
tions.
. If ice is put in milk or on butter, and these
are not used at the time, they lose their fresh
ness, and became sour and stale ; for the es
sential nature of, both is changed, when once
frozen and then thawed,— Hall's Journal of
Health.
A Modest Young Man.
Wc love a modest, unassuming young -man,
wherever we find him—m a counting room ora
law office—at the bellows or the crank—at the
roll stand or the type case—on a clam-bank or
in the pulpit. Among a world of brass and
impudence, he - stands forth an hoitor to him
self ; showing 10 others that he at least has had
a good bringing up. and’knows what belongs
to good manners. Ask him a question, and he
will not look cross enough 10 bite you. If you
are looking for anything, he will lake pains to
find it for you it he can.
When in company with others, he does not
usurp all the conversation, and endeavor to call
the attention of others to himself by boisterous
language. lie.listens attentively to his seniors,
and modestly advances his opinions. We love
sucb-a mait —.we do sincerely—and his company
iye highly prise. If he meets you in the street,
his pleasantly bows, bids you good, mprnirg.
You do not find him standing at the corners,
using profane words, or see him at (he entrance
of churches on the Sabbath. He quietly enters
his pew and fakes bis scat without' a .flourish.
He goes to hear, not merely to see. Such young
men there are in the country and in the city.
Wc often see them. You will find them in
some of your printing offices, workshops, and
other places, where to earn one’s living is hon
orable. When they come upon the stage of ac
tive life, they must succeed—it cannot be other
wise. We would give more for a modest, un
assuming young man, for all the practical busi
ness of life, than for u score of brassy . impudent
rascals, who are not worth the bread they keep
from moulding.
A Yankee Trick.
We remember when wo were living down
east, of a neighboring farmer hiring a jolly
Irishman, ,who was very fond of learning irioks.
One day his employer asked him if he wouldn't
like to "larn a Yankee trick." Bringing him
to the end of a brick barn, Jonathan laid his
open hand against the wall, remarking—
“ Pat, I'll bet the liquor you-cannot hit'my
hand.”
‘•lt’s done!” says Pat, making a vicious
blow at the palm of his hand, hut it hting
quickly withdrawn he succeeded in peeling the
skin and flesh from oil his knuckles.
"That’s a d d nasty trick IV roared Pat,
hut howled on, "I'll cheat somebody else !”
“A few months passed, and Pat’s brother
came over from Ireland, as green as early peas.
They both labored together, hut Pat was unea
sy till he would have learned his brother the
Yankee trick. ,
"Jim, did you ever learn a Yankee trick !"
"Niver.”
Pat finding himself in fho centre of a large'
Held, 'thoughtit would be a great loss of time
to go to the barn, and reaching out his open
liand lie cried—
"Strike that, if you can 1”
Jim made a desperate pass, but Pat, having
pulled away his hand, Jim fell after the blow,
remarking that that was an old woman’s trick.
“Try it now 1” shrieked Pat, with laughter,
placing the same open hand against his own
mouth. o
Jim prepared for a sockdolager, and bringing
his massive "bunch of lives” in loving proxim
ity with Pat’s .nose and mouth, who. pulled
away his hand as before, he sent him reeling to
the earth with the loss of four teeth and a, large
quantity of blood, for “laming him the Yankee
trick."
“The Shadows we Cast.”
In this great world of sunshine and shadow,
wo are constantly casting shadows on those
around us, and receiving shadows from them in
return. There is no pathway in life which is
not sometimes in tho shade, and there is no one
who walks over these paths, it matters not
Which way they fend, who does not, now and
then, cast his shadows with tho rest. How ol
ten do wo, by a mere thoughtless word or a
careless net, cast a shadow on some heart which
is longing for sunlight. How often does tho
husband, by a cold greeting, .cast n gloom over
tho happy, trusting luce of his young wife, who,
it may bo, has waited anxiously for tho first
sound oi his footsteps to give him a joyous wel
come to his homo, flow often has the parent,
by a harsh reproof, chilled tho ever-flowing
spring of confluence and love which is bubbling
up from the fountains of tho heart of the inno
cent prattler at his knee. How often are tho
bright rays of hope torn from the clinging grasp
of the souls of those worn out by poverty and
by tho never ending conflict of life, by the
stinging ridicule, or the sordid avarice of those
whom the world honors—aye, love to honor
How often does tho child—oven alter it has
grown to the full bloom of manhood, and. is
clad In garments of strength and beauty—bring
sorrow to file parent already tottering on the
brink of eternity. Then bownro, lest you.cast
a deeper shadow over those which are already
darkening his happiness. Tho shadows wo cast
—can wb escape them f Can we look back, as
wo walk on in life’s journey, and see no sha.
dowy marks about our footprints ?,
AT $2,00 PER ANNUM
Fallen,
It has been well said that death is no respec
ter of persons. Man is ever falling victim be
fore the conqueror. None arc too insignificant
to his prey, none so powerful as to escape him.
And we arc so accustomed to beholding his
ravage that it is only when some mightier than
his fellows whose life has been an illustration
of possibilities achieved by few, has fallen, that
we pause in our labors and our pleasures to
lake heed of the fact. ■
The year through which, we tiro how passing
has witnessed the departure of many illustrious
men, of our own and other lands. Prescott
jtmLllallam are.no more, and scores of other
men, less distinguished, have .accompanied;
them into realms of the departed. And now,
even ns we write, there comes from' across the
ocean lidings of the death of two men distin
guished above their kind in the held of science
one so pro eminently ns to merit the appellation
of the "man of the century,” which has been
bestowed'upon him.
Of course wo allude to Alexander Tun Hum
boldt, and to Dyotlysius Lardner. Tbo latter
has done as much as. perhaps more, than any
manof his ago to popularize scientific knowl
edge. Ills lectures and his writings have open
ed avast Held of thought .and information to
the common people—the class to which, more
especially in his own land—custom and the
feeling of caste had previously denied all access
to those fountains of knowledge from which the
rich or well born alone were expected to sip.—
His labors, both, in America and Great Britain,
are too well known to need comment. And
how that he is no more;, let all remember rather
his benefactions to the massTsVather Ilian any
Wrong inflicted by him upon individuals.
. : Origin of Camp Meetings. .
A correspondent of tho Boston Bee o gives the
following version of the origin ol these popular
religious gatherings:
It has generally been supposed that camp
meetings originat' d with (lie Methodists, but
history informs ns that the Bresbyterjans were
first in the enterprise. Xnot long since listened
to a sermon upon tho subject from which I gath
ered the following facts : Two brother preach
ers, one a Methodist the other a Presbyterian,
were ,travelling in the State of Tennessee. They
stopped at a village to spend tho Sabbath. —
There being but one church in the place (a
Presbyterian,) it was agreed that they should
both preach in it; the Methodist officiated in
tlie afternoon. As they were very zealous in
the cause; they concluded (b hold a mootingon
Afonday. The excitement became so great that
tho house was not largo enough to accommo
date (ho multitude, and they adjourned to a
grove,near by, and tho people came from tar
and hear, some bringing tents, others covered
wagons, and.continued tho meeting a week,—
Hence the name of camp-meetings, though (ho
Presbyterians have never mndo it so prominent
in their operations as the Methodists, yet they
share equal in its origin. The Methodists have
over since observed it, and as a body feel as
much obliged to attend tho annual camp meet
ing as the Jews did theirFcasts of Tabernacles.
A Beautiful Picture.
(The rimri who stands upon his own soil, who
(eels that by tho law of (ho land in which ho
lives—by tho laws of civilized nations'— 7ho is tho
rightful and excluslxo owner of tho land which
ho tills, is, by tho constitution of our nature,
under wholesome influences not easily imbibed
from any other source. Ho feels—other things
being equal—more strongly than another tho
character of a man as lord of an animated
world. Of this great and wonderful sphere,
which, fashioned by the hand’of God, and up
hold by his power, is rolling through tho hea
vens, a part is his—his frrim centre to the sky.
It is tho space on which the generation before
moved in its found of duties, and lie feels him
sell connected by a visible link with those Who
follow him, and to whom ho ts to transmit a
homo. Perhaps his varm has come down to him
from his fathers. They have gone to their last
homo 5 but ho can trace their footsteps over tho
scenes ol his daily labors. Tho. favorite fruit
tree was planted by his father’s hand. Ho
sported in boyhood beside the brook which
winds through tho mondow. Those, arc tho
feelings of tho owners of tho soil, Words can.
not paint them—gold cannot buy them! they
flow out of tho deepest fountains ot tho heart ;
they tiro the life-springs of a fresh, healthy and
generous national character. —Beer ell.
O* “Well, neighbor, what is the most
Christian news this morning?’’ said a gentle
man to his friend.
“I have, just bought , a barrel of flour for a
poor woman.”
“Just like yon. Who is it, that you have
made happy by your charity this lime ?”
“My wife!” . .
[C7“ Joe Snipes was induced in a .lucid mo
ment to sign the pledge. Joe was a wild, rol
licking dog. and Ids firmness in keeping bis
promise was a wonder to all his friends. .Ala
wedding, one day, Joe was found behind the
door taking a tight good drink—a long pull,
and a slrong pull..
“Why,” said Bob Pitls, ‘‘l thought yon
had signed the pledge. Joe ?”
“So I have,” said Joe; “hut all signs, you
know, fall in dry weather. ” ..
A Good One.—Saida gentleman of ambi
tion to one whom ho supposed to be well ac
quainted will) the conditions and prospects ol
the numerous lotvns of the Slate:
-■“lwish to settle in some locality where 1
can he useful and do good ; do you know of a
place where one can practice law, preach, and
use his surplus means to prolit in shaving
notes.?” ;
Reflecting a short lime, the other replied—
“ There is but one place that I now remem
ber.". , .
“Where’s that ?” asked the interested indi
vidual.
“Hell! and it is already filled with just such
characters.”
Interrogator bowed and retired.
D Zr" Henry Ward Beecher made a speech in
New York, at the opening of a place of enter
tainment for men who need a place to chat and
read the papers, and do not wish to frequent
bar rooms. The new institution is to be called
a Codec House, and Beecher went so far ns tosay,
that the first requisite for a Codec House was
good codec, and he gavo a receipt for making
it: “ Go to the principal hotels and all the rail
road stations throughout the country, aud make
codec as they don’t.”
O” It is a lamentable fact that many of our
business men wilhpin'd along from month to
month in a slow and easy way, doing little or
no business, just because they fair to let the
public know what kind of business and how
they are doing, where they'do business and
how they do business. If they would come be
fore the public, advertise their business, and
thus keep their articles of trade moving, they
would bo making money while they are sleep
ing.
K 7” During the rain on Friday last a cow is
said to have caught such such a cold that she
has yielded nothing but ice cream over since.
lle that wears a fight boot is likely to have a
narrow understanding.
THE HOUSEKEEPER
btuECTtoxs son pheseuvin'g thttriis.
Plums. —There kre several varieties of plums.
The richest purple plum for preserving is the
damson. There are of these largo and small; —
the large are called sweet damsons; the small
ones are very rich flavored. The great difficul
ty in preserving plums is that the skins crack
and the fruit comes to pieces. The rule here
laid down fur preserving (hem obviates that
difficulty. Purple gages, unless properly pre
served, will turn to juice and skins; and the
large horse-plum, as it is generally known,
comes completely to pieces in ordinary modes
of preserving. . Tlio one recommended herein
will keep them whole, full ahd rich.
NO. 6.
To Preserve Purple Plums. —Make a syrup
of clean brown sugar; clarify it; when per
fectly clear and boiling hot.'pour it over the
plums, having picked out all unsound ones and
stems ; let them remain in the syrup two days,
thcii drain it oil, make it bailing, hot, skim it
and pour it over,again ; let them remain ano
ther day or two, then put them in n preserving
kettle over the fire, and simmer gently iinlil
the syrup is reduced, and thick or rich. One
pound of sugar for eaCh pobrid of plum;
To Preserve Plums without the Skills.— Pouf
boiling water over large egg or magnum bonutil
plums; cover them until it is cold, then pull
oil the skins. Make a syrup of a pound of su
gar and a teacup of water for cadi pound of
fruit; make it boiling hot, and pour it over;
let them remaiujLday.or_.twmAhsn dram it pfK
and boil again ; skim it clear, and pour it hot
over the plums ; let them remain until the next
day, then put them over the fire in the syrup
with a skimmer into the pots or Jars ; bod the
syrup until rich and thick ; take oli any scunf
which may apse, then let it cool and settle, and
pour it over die plums. If brown sugar is used;
which is quite as good, except for green gages,’
clarify it as directed.
To Dry /’/urns.--Split ripe plums, mho thi’
stones from them arid. lay them on plates oV
selves to dry in a warm oven or hot sun ; takd
I hem in at sunset, and do not put them out'
again until the sun will bo upon them; turn
them, that they limy be done evenly; when per
fectly dry, pock them in jars or boxes lined
with paper, or keep them in bags; hang ibcnf
in an airy place.
To Preserve Green ■ Gages* —fhc following
recipe appears to be o good one;
Pick and prick dll the plums : put them in 4
preserving pan, with cold walCr enough to cold
er them ; lot them retuain on the lire unlil thd,
•water summers well; then take off, and allots
them to stand until half cold, putting the plums,
to drain. To every pound of plums allow opo’
pound of sugar, which must be boiled in tbs
water from which the plums have been taken;’
let it boil very fast until the syrup drops short
from the. spoon,’skimming carefully all thd;
lime. Whew the sugar is sufficiently boilcdj,
put in tho plums, and allow them to boil until’
the sugar covers the pah with large (nibbles i
then pour, the whole into a pah, upd let them
remain until the following day; drain the syr
up from the plums as dry ns possible, boil ilup,
quickly,.and pour it oyer tho plums; then set,
them by ; do this .a ■ third and a fourth time/
On the fifth day, when the syrup is boiled, put
the plums into it, and let them boil a few min-,
ules; then put them into jars, Should ,thd'
greengages bo orcr-ripe, it will-bettor to make
jam of them, using three-fourths of a pound of
sugar to one pound of fruit. ■ Warm thqjarS
before pulling the sweetmeats in, and bo care
ful not to boil tho sugar to a candy.
Jam of Gretn Gages. —Put ripe green gages
into a keltic, with very, little water, and let
them slew untU soft; then rub them through 4
sieve or eolender, and to every pint of pulp put,
a pound of white sugar powdered tine ; then
put it in a preserving kettle Over the Are, stir it
until the whole is of the consistence of jelly
then take it off; put this marmalade in .small
jars or tumblers, and cover ns directed for jel
ly- Any sou of plums may bo done in this
manner.
To Keep Damsons. —Pul them in small stone
jars, or wide-mouthed glass bottles, and set
1 Item up to their, necks in a kettle of cold water),
set it over the fire to become boiling hot; then 1
take it off, arid let the bottles remain until the
water; the next day fill the hottlcswith cold
water, and cork and seal them. Thcs may be
used the same as fresh fruit. Gregn gages may
bo done in this way.
To Preserve Pears.—-Take small, rich, faif
fruit, as soon as.the pips are black ; Set them
over the lire in a kettle, with water to cover 1
them ; let them simmer until-they will yield to'
tho pressure of the finger, then with a skimmer
take them into cold water; pare them neatly,
leaving on a little of the stem and the blossom
cud ; pierce them in the blossom end of lire
core, then make a syrup of a pound, of sugaf
for each pound of. fruit; when it is boiling hot
pour it oyer the pears, and tot ilstand until the'
next day, when drain it oil, make it boiling
hot, and again pour it over ; after a day or two
put the fruit in tho syrup, over tho fire, arid
boil gently until it is clear; then take it into,
the jars or spread it on dishes ; boil the syrup
thick, then put it arid the fruit in jars.
To Stew Pears. —Par e them and cut (hen? iff
halves if large, or leave them whole if small;
put them in a slew pan with very little water,
cover them, and let them stew till tender; then
add a small tea cup of sugar to a quarter of d
peck of pears; let them slew until the syrup is
rich : a lemon boiled with the pears, and sliced
thin when the sugar is put in, improves both
flavor and color ; or a wine g’ass of red win#
may he used instead."
To Duke Pears.— -Wash half a peck of tart
pears, cut the stems so as to leave only an inolt
length ; put them in an iron pot over the fire,
with half a pint of neater and a pint of molas
ses to them : cover Hie pot or kettle, and let
them boil rather gently until the pears are soft
arid the syrup rich, almost like candy ; take
cure not to scorch it, • '. ;
' Pear. Marmalade, —To six. pounds of smalt
pears, take fonr pounds of sugar; put the pears
into a saucepan with a til tie cold water : cover
it, and set it over the fire until the fruit is soft) 1
then put them into cold water : pare, quarter.'
ami.core them : put to them three teacups of
water : set them over the fire ; roll the sugar,,
fine, mash the fruit line and smooth, put the
sugar to it, stir it well together until it is thick'
like jelly, then pul it in tumbles or jars, and
when cold secure it as jelly.
Candied Orange or Lemon jtecl.— Take the
fruit, cut it lengthwise, remove all the pnlp
and interior skin,’then put the peel into strong
salt and water for six days ; then bolt them in
spring water until they are soft, and place them
in a sieve to drain ; make a thin syrup wilh a
pound of sugar candy to a quart of water; boil
them in it for half an hour, or untill they look'
clear ; make a thick syrup wilh sugar and ns
much water ns will melt it: put in the peel,
and boil than over a slow fire until the syrup
candies in the pan ; then take them out, pow
der pounded sugar over them, and dry them
before the fire in a cool oven.,
lir.ACKinninv Jam;—Gath'ei 1 the fruit in dry
weather; allow half a pound 0/ good hroan'su
gar to every pound of fruit; boil Uio whole lor
golher gently for an hour, or till tiio blackber
ries are soil, stirring and mashing them well.—*
■Preserve it like any ether jam, and it wilt bo
found very useful In! families, particularly for
children : regulating tboir bowels, and enabling
you lo dispense with cathartics. It may bo
spread on bread, or on puddings, instead of but
ler. Even when the blackberries are bought it
is cheaper than butter.
C 7” Tobacco. An exchange paper says—
“lt is stated that the Rev. George Trask, of
Fitchburg, lectured so powerfully in Webster
a few days ago, against, tobacco, that several of
his audience went home and burned their ci
gars, holding one end of them in their mouth*.