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SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVII., NUMBER 47.]
/PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
Office in Northern Central Railroad Com
pany's Building, north-west corner Front and
Walnut streets.
Torras of Subscription
One Copy per ?num'ilfrlfoatidpielladvediihnnieneihree
mmutha from commencement of the year, 200
C/erss. - tisi a faa=.la3r..
"No subscription received for a less time than six
months; and no paper will be discontinued until all
arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the pub
lisher.
Q7 - 111oney may be remitted by mail at the publish
er's risk.
Rates of Advertising.
square ja lines) one week,
• three weeks,
each subsequent insertion, *0
/ "[2:inns] one week. 00
three weeks, L 00
44 each subsequent insertion, 25
Larger advertisements in proportion.
A liberal discount will be made to quarterly, half
yearly or yearly advertisers,svho are strictly confined
to their business.
DR.S. ARMOR,
HOMEOPATHIC PHYSICIAN. Office and
Residence in Locust street, opposite the Post
Office; OFFICE PRIVATE.
Columbia, April 2.5, IS .57.6 m
Drs. John tr. Rohrer,
AVE associated in the Practice of Medi
cine.
Columbia, April 15t,1856-t1
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
D 1 •
NTIST, locust street, near the Post Of
fice, Columbia, Pa.
Columbia, May 3, L 856.
11. M. NORTH,
TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
JCL Columbia, Pa.
tromptly made, in Lancaster and York
Counties.
Columbia, eL1.8.50.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
Columbia, September ISstbtf
GEORGE J. MATO,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Constantly on hand a variety of Cakes,
coonumerous to mention; Crackers; Soda, Wine, Scroll,
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every description,
&c., &c. LOCUST sTruzET,
Feb.2,'56. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
B. F. APPOLD & CO.,
"Z.,17. - 7" ~,,,,,
GENERAL FORWARDING AND COMMIS
112W64gliSION MERCHANTS, 4 1a ,
RECEIVERS OF
COA LAND PRO DUCE,
And Deliverers on any point on the Columbia and
Philadelphia Railroad. to York and
Baltimore and to Pittsburg;
DEALERS IN COAL, FLOUR AND GRAIN,
WHISKY AND BACON, have just received a
large lot of Monongahela Recoficil Whiskey, from
Pittsburg, of which they will keep a supply commonly
on hand, at low prices, Nos- 1, 2 and G Canal Basin.
Columbia, January 27.1854.
0 ATS FOR SALE
BY THE BUSHEL, or in larger quantities,
at Nos. 1,2 & 6 Canal Basin.
L.EAI'YOLD 3: CO.
Columbia, January 26,1256
Just Received,
50 BUS. PRIME OROUND NUTS , nt J. F.
establishment. Front street, two Iloor. below the
Washington House, Columbia. [October 25. 1956.
Just Received,
raA MIDS. SHOULDERS. 15 TIERCE , : lIAMS.
ZLI For sale by II F. APVOLD tir
Noq. IL, and 0, Canal Basin.
Columbia, October 18, 1850.
Rapp's Gold Pens.
CONSTANTLY on hand, an assortment of
these celebrated PENS. Person., in want of a
good article are invited to call and examine them.
Columbia, Jane 30, 1955. 101 IN FEr.dx.
Suet Received,
LARGE LOT of Children's. Carriages,
Gigs, Rocking Horses, Wheellmrrows. Prenel. ,
erg, Nursery Swings, Ste. GEORGE, J. SMITH.
April 19,18.56. Locust street.
CiIINA and other Fancy Articles. too numerous to
mention, for sale by G. J. Locust street,
between the !Intik and Franklin !louse.
Columbia, April 11, 15.50.
THE undersigned have been appointed
agents for the sale ot"Cook &GO'S GUTTA P ER-
A PENS, warranted not to corrode; in e laslicity
they almost equal the quill.
SAYLOR AL McDONALD.
Columbia Jan. 17, 1857.
Just Received,
A BEAUTIFUL lo Dof Lamp Shades,ll2: Vie
torine, Volcano,rum. Butter Fly, Red Roses,
and the new French Fruit Shade, which can be seen
in the window of the Golden Mortar Drug Store.
November 29,15:4.
A LARGE lot of Shaker Corn, from the
Stinker settlement in New Yottr, sect received,
nt ii. SUY DAM & SON'S
Columbia, Dec. 20, ISSO
Hint DYE'S. Jones' Batchelor's, Peter's and
11Fyption hair dyes, warranted to color the hair
any desired shade, without injury• to the skin. For sale
by IL. WILLIAMS.
May 10, Front st., Columbia, Pa.
FARK & THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Com
mercial and other Gold Pen.—the bevt in the
market—mutat received. I'. SHREINER.
Columbia, April 23,1855.
'LIMB.% FAMILY FLOUR, by the barrel, for
sale by 11. F. APPOI.D & CO,
Colusabia,June 7. No'. 1,2 and 6 Cnnal I3aoin.
WILY should anyperson do without a Clock,
when they can be had for 51.50 and upwards.
t SHREINER'S?
Columbia, Apri129,1.855
'QAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for ma-
L 7 king Soap. 1 lb. is sufficient for one barrel of
Sod Soap, or illb.for 9 lbs. [lard Soap. Full direc
tions Will be given at the Counter for making Soli,
Ilford and Fancy Soaps. For sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
Columbia, March 31, UM
LARGE lot of Baskets, Brooms, Buckets
Brunbeg, &e., for snte by If SUYDAM & SON.
WEIKEL'S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
Powder, for sole by li. SUYDAM & SON.
DOZEN BROOMS, 10 130XES CHEESE. For
ZA sale cheap, by 13. F. APPOLD & CO.
Columbia, October 25, 1850"
A SUPERIOR article of PAINT OIL, for .ale by
May 10, IESO. Front Str e et A.
Columbia, Pa
JUST RECEIVIID, a lame and well selected variety
ofßrutbes, consisting in part of Shoe, Hair, Cloth.
Crumb, Nail, Ilat and Teeth Brushes. and for vale by
R. WILLIAMS,
Front street Colombia. Pa.
Mara 22,'50
- -----
SUPERIOR oracle of TONIC SPICE BITTERS,
A suitable for Hotel Keepers, for s L
l ale by
R. WLIAMS
Front street. Columbia.
May 10,135'0
FRESH ETHEREAL , OIL, always on brand. and fb
sale by R. WILLI A MSt„
May 10, ISSO. Front Street, Columbia, Pa.
TEST received, FRESH CAMP HF.SE. and (or sale
by R. WILLIAMS.
Zday ler, 1856. Front Street, Columbia, Pa.
1000 "S. New City Cared Home and Shoulders,
Just rece i ved arid for sole by
reb.21.1557. H. stypor & SON.
Illstn . s.
For the Columbia Spy
"Ye Christian bards of mighty fame,
Now with sacred fire,
Soar upward on the heavenly flame,
And sweep the gospel lyre.
Sing how the everlasting Son
Array'd in endless light,
In all hia Father's glory shone,
Thron'd by eternal right.
DIM
Sing how creation's plan was laid
In wide and empty apace,
Ilow there Ile said, ye heavens bc spread,
Asd here 0 earth, thy place;
How chaos heard the thund'ring sound,
Throughout its wildest wars.
And sprang forth from the gloom profound,
In earth, sea, suns and stars.
ESA
Jehovah said. "Let there be light, ,
And light shone all abroad,
And told creation in its flight,
That he who spoke was God.
The morning stars together sung,
And list'ning angels stood,
While nature's vast arcanum rune.,
When Ile pronoutte'd all good.
In earth's resplendent Paradise,
He plac'd the nsa••made pair,
And all that life could highest price,
Was found profusely there:
in innocence and purest love,
To worship God below,
Like those in brighter worlds above,
Where endless blessings flow.
But Oh! how soon, through Swale.' power,
They chose the downward road,
That led from Eden's blissful bower,
Aud fellowship with God.
But Jesus Christ in human flesh,
Appeared with joyful speed,
That he, by yielding up his breath,
Might bruise the Serpent's head.
Yes' lie has conquered in our stead,
And rode the crimson cur,
And sin, and hell, in triumphs led
Throughout their wide-spread war.
0! lie has ransom'd every slave,
And death's dominions trod,
And gather'd laurels from the grave
To wreathe the throne of God.
From victory's Geld. on whirlwind's wing,
To his own heaven he rode,
Where angers hallelujahs sing
To the immortal God.
Ile prised through everlasting doors,
And the highest throne;
And HOW the promis'd spint roam,
As the anointed One.
Though kings combine, and heathens rage,
Messiah's throne shall stand,
Firm ac u rock, in every age,
Upheld by God's right hand.
Hell bid the rose of Sharon grow,
On •"cloud•cap'd mountains' high;
And flourish in each vale below
The blue and starry sky.
His word shall sweep the sounding surge,
And hail each ebbing shore;
And loudly ring death's doleful dirge,
When time 50011 be no more,
Then go yc heralds of free grace,
Ana earth, and hell defy;
Go. preach to all, the blood bought peace,
Till sin and death shall (lie.
Then far above this mundane scone,
Around Jehovah's throne,
The saints eternally shall reign,
And praise the lofty One.
There they shall sweep the loud strung lyre,
Where seraphs prostrate fall,
And sing with the angelic choir,
That God to all, and all.
C01.131111A, May '2sth : IM7
EtiTi~z.
Some Pleasant French Gentlemen.
In the time of the First Empire, among
the furcate, or convicts, of the Ragne at Ro
chefort, was one named Cognard; a man of
remarkable courage and decided good breed
ing. One day Cognard was missing. He
had slipped his chains and had flung away
his bullet, and the guns of Rochefort thun
dered after him in vain. Cognard got safe
away to Spain; and though the gardes chi
ourmes (the guards of the Bagne) twirled
their moustaches and sacred in right royal
style, the forcat was beyond their reach.
Cognard, as a gentleman traveling for
pleasure, became acquainted with the fami
ly of the Count Pontis de Sainte Helene.—
The acquaintance ripened into intimacy,
and the pleasant French gentleman, who
had so much to say on every subject, was
soon rarely absent from the count's chateau.
But sorrow fell on the hospitable Spaniard.
One by one, myste;iously and as if they
were pursued by some relentless fate, every
member of the Pontis family disappeared.
Sudden deaths and lingering deaths, name
less diseases and horrible accidents, cut
them off one by one; the pleasant French
gentleman always at the side of the suffer
ers, soothing the dying with rare drugs;
and generally at hand in time to see, but
not to prevent, each catastrophe. Did any
light break in upon the last Pontis, as he
lay on his bed of death slowly following the
rest of his brave kindred, and the French
gentleman mixed him draughts and pre
pared him potions, and learnt from him all
the particulars necessary for conveyancing
and managing his estate? Did one look of
triumph from those cruel eyes ever reveal
the fatal tragedy to the dying man? Cog
nerd never confessed this; all ho told was,
that as soon as the Spaniard was dead he
possessed himself of the jewels, plate, and
money left; of the title deeds of the estate,
and of the patent of nobility. And, with
these, fully armed now for the great con
test of life, he entered the Spanish army as
sub-lieutenant Count Pontis de Sainte He
lene.
In a short time he was raised to the rank
of chef-d'-eseadron, and after having distin
guished himself gallantly at Monte Video
ho was made lieutenant coloneL However,
he could not quite subdue his ancient pro
pensities, having entangled himself in a pe
cuniary misdirection, be was arrested, but
twice managed to escape. On the second
occasion he put himself at the head of a
brave band of French prisoners of war,
seized a Spanish brig, passed into France,
and, by virtue of his courage and his name,
was made chef-d'-escadron on the grand
staff of the Duke de Dalmatia—the brave
and virtuous Marshal Soult. Soon after he
was made chef-de-batallion of the hundredth
regiment of the line, and his fortune seemed
to be secure. At Toulouse and at Waterloo
he signalised himself greatly, received many
wounds, and performed many acts of gal
lantry; for these he was rewarded with the
cross of the legion of honor, no common re
ward in those days. In eighteen hundred
and fifteen the Duke de Berri made him
successively Chevalier de Saint Louis, chef
de-batallion, and lieutenant-colonel of the
troops of the Seine. There was not a man
in the army who did not envy and admire
the gallant and successful Count Pontis de
Sainte llelene.
One day the count was in the Place Ven
dome assisting, at the head of his troops, in
the painful ceremony of a military degra
dation. He was in full uniform, glistening
with stars and crosses, and gay with many
colored orders; surrounded by the best and
noblest in the laud, and standing there as
their equal. A voice at his elbow calls
"Cognaral" The count turns. He sees a
dirty, haggard, low-browed ruffian, whose
features he only too well remembers; for,
years ago, within the fatal walls of Roche
fort, that low-browed ruffian had been his
chained companion, manacled to him limb
to limb. To put a bold front on it was all
that the count could do; to order the man
to be thrust back; to affect indifference, ig
norance, disdain—he saw no better way of
escape. But his chain-mate, one of Cog
nard's inferiors, was not so easily put off.—
He denounced the lieutenant-colonel, in the
hearing of them all, as an escaped. convict,
and gave his real name and history. Gene
ral Despinois ordered the arrest of his offi
cer; and four gendarmes seized him in face
of his troops. He demanded and obtained
permission to go to his hotel for a change of
clothes; when there, he seized a brace of
pistols, presented them at his guards, and
while they stood stupified and thunderstruck
at his daring, he rushed from the hotel, and
they saw him no more.
Six months afterward he was caught;
tried as an escaped convict, and for forgery,
and murder; condemned to the galleys for
life; and, in a few years, died at Brest,
an outcast and degraded forcat. It' it had
not been for that voice on the Place Ven
dome, Cognard the convict might have died
Count Pontis de Sainte Helene. Marshal of
France.
Anthelme Collet, a gentleman by birth
and education, an officer on the fair way to
promotion, deserted the army in seventeen
hundred and ninety-six; and, under the
name of Tolosant, establishes himself at
Rome as an "engraver of armorial bear
ings." In the course of his profession he
became acquainted with Cardinal Pesch,
who, taking a fancy to the handsome young
engraver had him to live with him in his
palace. Such a patronage is worth money;
accordingly, Tolosant turned it into sixty
thousand francs, (two thousand four hun
dred pounds,) which, on the strength of his
' intimacy with monseigneur, he borrows of
a banker. With this sixty thousand francs
he quits Rome and the cardinal, without the
trouble of saying adieu; escaping to Mon
dovi, where he leads the life of a veritable
prince. Received among the golden youth
as one of themselves—as, indeed how should
he not be with his elegant manners, hand
some person and evident wealth?—ho soon
I became the leader of their fashions and their
amusements. After organizing many very
popular games he proposes private theatri
cals; of which he is to be the costumer and
keeper of the wardrobe. The thing takes
•
Immensely, and all sorts of plays are agreed
on and dressed for. When all the dresses
are chosen and in the theatrical wardrobe
our friend amuses himself one night by
packing them up smoothly and carefully in
certain private valises, and before the morn
•
ling sun shone on Mondovi the popular stage
manager and his characters were far on
their way to Sion,
'A mild, modest-mannered young priest
arrived by diligence at Sion. He had ex
cellent letters of introduction, and was re
ceived with cordiality by the clergy, whom
he much edified by his spiritual graces and
good gifts. In a short time he was placed
as cure in the small parish of Saint Pierre,
which office he filled for five months with
exemplary devotion. There was a talk of
removing him to another more populous
sphere, where his labors would be more con
spicuously blessed; but, while the project
was pending, one fine morning the reverend
father was missing, and with him a sum of
thirty thousand francs, which had been en
trusted to him for the reconstruction of the
church. The part of the village cure which
had been apportioned to one of the golden
youth at Mondovia, brought the grist to
Anthelm Collet's mill for a long time.
From Sion to Strasbourg: from Strasbourg
into Germany; thence back again to Italy—
this time under the name and title of a
general—the thirty thousand francs carry
ing him bravely on the very crest of fortune,
the young swindler led a comfortable life
enough. But his funds were getting low,
and to replenish them the general put his
name and graces out at interest, and bor
rowed on them a large sum from a banker
of Sarene. He was nearly caught there.—
M1E=1!1:1
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 30, 1857.
The banker was a wary man, and only
trusted even generals as far as he could see
them. However, the man of war disap
peared when the banker began to stir, and
in his place stood the grave and reverend
'prelate Monseigneur Dominique Pasqualini,
Bishop of anfl dOM'R, who, with a forged
bulle d'institution, presented 'hiinself to the
Bishop of Nice, and ordained thirty-three
abbes. The game of prelacy, however,
could not be safely played long. Collet
turned his face to Frejus, as an inspector
, general, covered with military decorations.
At Draguignan he formed his staff, and at
Toulon, the prefect's son was proud to be
come his private secretary; at Marseilles he
had a suit of twenty followers, and took one
hundred and thirty thousand francs (five
thousand two hundred pounds) from the
government chests. His people must be
fed. At Nimes he took three hundred thou
sand francs, or twelve thousand pounds.
But, Anthelme Collet's theatricals wore
drawing to a close, the game was getting
too warm for him. While .breakfasting
with the prefet of Montpelier, the brilliant
inspector-general was seized by the police,
and his staff of dupes were summarily in
carcerated. For better security he was put
into a dungeon below ground. Ho expected
nothing else than to be shot; when the pre
fet, willing to gratify the curiosity of a
large dinner-party whom he had invited to
meet the inspector-general, and to wnom he
was eager to show the lion under a new
form, ordered the prisoner to be brought up
to be looked at. While the guard went in
to announce him he was left in the office, or
passage-room between the kitchen and the
dining-room, under the care of two ionti
nels. Before they knew he had turned
round he had put on a cook's cap, apron,
I and vest that lay handy; seized a dish wait
ing to be carried into the salle-a-manger,
carried it in and set it down before the pre
fet; then he disappeared. The sentinels
had seen nothing but a cook of the estab
lishment pass through the office. While the
city was up in arms, and the public were
hunting everywhere, Collet, from the win
dow of a small room close to the prefecture,
watched their movements, laughed at their
dismay; in a fortnight's time he was safe
out of the city. Such an escape war unpre
cedented. People talked of magic and com
pacts with unpleasant powers, and all sorts
/of wild superstitions crept around the name
Antlielme Collet. The truth only came
out when he was finally arrested, and lie
told his adventures with a novelist's delight.
Ile took refuge from the police of Mont
pellier in the convent of the Brothers of
Christian Doctrine at Toulouse. He was a
boarder there, and enchanted them all by
his piety and munificence. He made thorn
wonderful promises—the Arabian Nights
were nothing to him; he did buy (but he
did not pay for) a piece of land whereon to
build an establishment for novices; for, the
I Brothers of Christian Doctrine were to take
the lead of every other monastic institution
in Toulouse. One day, while the good, sim
ple, predulous brothers went to inspect their
new domain, and see bow far the workmen
had got on with the novitiate establishment,
their kind patron loaded a carriage with
vases, cups, ornaments, and jeweled relics
of the chapel: not forgetting all the money
he could find in the house. When the un
happy brothers returned they found their
patron and their wealth among the things
that were not.
Knowing that he would be hotly pursued,
Collet conceived and executed one of those
strokes cf genius which aro almost sublime.
He went to Roche-Beaueourt, and took lodg
ings in the commissary's house. The po
lice, of course, looked too wide, and Collet
assisted in the search after himself. No
one suspected the Commissary's guest, and
the pursuit slackened and finally died away.
Under the name of 6"alat, and in the guise
of a modest and honest tentier, our friend
I turned next to Mans. He lodged in the
parish of Couture, and was remarked for
his pious exactitude in attending mass, ves
pers, and the confessional, and for his won-
I derful benevolence to the poor. Ile distribu
ted large quantities of bread daily, furnish
ed on credit by a rich baker; for Galat's
rents were not yet due, and he was tempo
rarily short of cash. He bought much jew
elry, too, on credit, and mystified honest
men by sending them to look at a certain
estate which he had to sell at a low price,
and which they never could find. Finally,
he would buy a cabriolet of one of the rich
notables of the town. But he must try the
cabriolet first. He did try it, and drove it.
ten leagues away from Mans. When safe
let the end of his ten leagues he wrote a po
lite note to the owner, telling him where he
might find his property, thanking him fur a
very useful loan, hut declining to purchase
I it, having no more occasion for it.
Collet was arrested a short time after
this, after more than twenty years of suc
cessful swindling; was condemned to twen
ty years' travaux forces at the Bagne, was
branded with the letters T. F. between his
shoulders, and was taken to Rochefort as a
galley slave. lie led the most luxurious
life a man could lead (even at this day,
French prisoners with money may buy un
heard of personal luxuries) no one knowing
where his immense resources came from.—
When he died—which he did just before
the expiracy of his sentence—a large quan
tity of gold was found stitched in between
tho lining and the outer covering of his
clothes.
The result of the Brussels lottery was to
be made known one evening in Paris. In
the time of the empire, it was lawful to buy
tickets for the Brussels lottery, three hours
before the arrival of the courier with the
list of winning numbers. With a margin
of three hours there surely could be no foul
play, even among the clever sharpers of
Paris. Rather more than fox* hours before
the arrival of the messenger, a man named
Baudin presented himself at the office,
bought u number, paid and disappeared.—
That evening Baudin had drawn a million.
Napoleon the Great was no easy man to
cheat. Such a wonderful coincidence of
good fortune seemed somewhat suspicious.
lie caused an inquiry to be made; after
some time he discovered that Baudin had
an accomplice at Brussels, who sent him
the number of the lucky ticket on the neck
of a carrier-pigeon. The carrier-pigeon flew
faster than the courier rode, and Baudin
gained his million for a time. Ile lost that,
and liberty, and life too, at the Bagne at
Brest.
Fichon, a forcat for life, condemned for
numberless audacious crimes, has a trick of
breaking loose, spite of double chains, the
bullet, guards and steno walls. One day he
is seen on the port unironed quietly look
ing at his companions—not attemptibg to
escape, only taking a little exercise on his
own account. Taken back to his bench, (for
ho was chained to a bench apparently im
moveable,) strictly watched and trebly iron
ed, the neat day he is in his old place on
the port, watching his companions again,
and. whistling Le Postillion de Longjumeau.
The commissary, a common man, without
sympathies, orders M. Fichon to the cachet
(the dark under-ground cells.) "Here at least
he will be safe," says the common man,
sipping tho cafe noir. Two days afterward
he espies M. Fichon strolling through the
town of Toulon, his hands behind his back,
whistling as before, and looking in at the
shop windows.
"'What are you doing there,' Fichon?"
"Why, my commissary, what you see; I
am taking a little walk. What do you
wish me to do? I will obey you. Must
' go back from whence I came?"
"As you please!" said the commissary,
ironically, "since it seems a settled thing
with you not to obey me any longer."
Fiction, hurt at such an insinuation, re
turned to his cell. An hour afterwards the
guard found the door locked and Fiction
reironed by his own hands; but they never
could find the most trilling instrument ca
pable of filing or unriveting his chains.
From 'ranch: ,
The Social Tread-Mill.
NO. 1.
"\'o, Mr. Punch, I can bear it no longer!
I have suffered so much—l see so many
around me suffering like myself. Whenever
I broach the subject, I find such a store of
smouldering discontent, that I feel certain,
if I do not find a weekly vent-hole in your
columns, we shall have a frightful catas
trophe some day. Yes, sir, society is like
James the First's Parliament-House. It is
undermined; there are gunpowder barrels
piled, and faggots staked; all that is wanted
is a Guy Fawkes with his lantern and brim
stone matches. I propose to bring out the
powder, barrel by barrel, to unstack the
faggots, and separate the sticks. Then we
may safely use the one in bringing down
our game in a sportsmanlike fashion, and
the other in roasting scientifically what
otherwise, sooner or later, must have been
barbarously blown up. Excuse this excited
and figurative introduction of my subject.—
Strong feelings, long pent up, cannot be dis
charged without considerable recoil and con
cussion.
If I am flurried, consider that the
silent sufferin,g of thousands are about to
find a mouth-piece in me. I labor, like the
Pythoness, because, like her, I am about to
be oracular.
"A reference to the tide of this paper,
will indicate the motive of this somewhat
incohbrent preface.
"Sir, I am a married man —a householder
of the middle class—nearer, perhaps, to its
upper than its under stratum—living in
London, discharging, I can honestly say,
my duty to my family, to the utmost of my
power, and paying rates and taxes with
a punctuality which quite affects the tax
gatherer and rate-collector of my district.
"My wife is an excellent woman, not less
anxious to do her duty in her sphere than I
will make bold to say, lam in mine. Our
children are healthy and promising, our cir
cumstances unembarrassed, our tempers
even, our income sufficient for our wants, and
our expectations, on both sides, by no means
to be sneezed at.
"And vet I ani a sufferer—a sufferer in
so many ways, that I hardly know with
which kind of suffering, to begin this out-
pouring
"Sir, lam one of the 1111111'0w condemned,
ror no crime, to the Social Tread-mill.
"The Tread-mill! 'Why not the crank,
the pillory, the press, the rack, the thumb
screw, the scavenger's daughter—'little cite'
itself? I mean to express, by whatever
image our suffering may best be described,
that I am one of millions struggling with
a host of oppressive, costly, body-and-soul
crushing, social usages, which we have
been thrust into somehow or other, and find
ourselves groaning under, without any
offence of our own. Most suffer in silence.
I have long suffered so. At last I have de
termined to speak—and I know that thou
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
sands and tens of thousands will bless my
courageous pen
"Where shall I begin?
"I might take my stand on this side the
very thresh cold of matrimonial life—at the
wedding itself, with its absurd and cn,:tl3-
paraphernalia of bridesmaids, and lloniton
lace, and Mace bonnets, and orange-flower
wreaths, and best French gloves at :;q.
a pair. But many may thiuk any eon:-
plaint of that part of the ceremony transact
ed in church indecorous. Though why
people should not go quietly to church, with
two or three of their best friends, male and
female, neatly and chastely dressed, and
there—stripping off as lnuch as may be of
our tailorings, and getting down as well as
we can for our social stilts—kneel humbly
to take upon them those life-long vows—
the crown of manhood and womanhood—l,
for one, never could see.
"There is a demand for simplicity in fu
nerals; why not in marriages? We arc not
more equal beside the grave than before the
altar. The parson who consigns dust t o
dust, and the parson who joins man and
wife together, equally consecrate a common
lot of humanity.
"I protest against the vanity and ostenta
tion which waits upon Iv', on our entrance
into wedlock—the hired broughams, and
the wedding favors, and the fashionable
church, and the team of parsons, the gor
geousness of the bride and the bridesmaids,
the glossy newness of the stretched bride
groom. It's all wrong. How dare we set
about what should be the most serious and
awful act of our lives—l protest there it
no act of our lives so solemn except death—
all varnished, and rouged, and masked,
and 'got up?' Marriage as it is, is led up
by altogether too gay and glittering a revel
rout. It would be better to approach the
altar with seriousness at least, if not with
some sadness; above all, we should. utterly
repudiate that pretentious show, above our
means and unfitting our stations, with
which most of us flaunt and swagger into
holy matrimony.
"Sir, when I was married, I was a bolder
man than I am now. The social irons had
not entered into my soul. I protested then,
as 1 do now, ag,aiust the cost and display
and. uncomfortable splendor of the marriage
' ceremony. But I did. more. I carried my
protest into act. My wife had Leen peen
' liarly brought up, and luckily. thought as I
did. ller mamma, and all her relations, I
am thankful to say, were at a distance.—
Mine were eccentric people. We were mar
ried quietly at Kensington church. We
had only one brougham, which was not
hired—but a friend's. My wife and three
of my dearest women-friends (they have
been my wife's best friends ever• since) went
in the brougham. I followed in a cab, with
two of my man-friends. My wife wore a
French grey chalis dress, and a petty little
straw bonnet with white ribbons. I had
on the blue coat which I hail mounted a
year before for my friend Bt..tzun's marri
age—llLszra did the thing handsomely:
was turned off at St. James•s, with coaches,
favors, bridesmaids, glace bonnets, lloniten
lace, orange flowers, best French gloves,
mother-in-law,—in short, with all the obli
gate? accompaniments. It was only by the
passionate persuasion of the friend who act
ed 'Father' on the occasion—he was mar
ried, and a miserable grinder on the cocial
mill already—that I was induced to pur
chase a pair of white gloves, which I Wt.l at
the haberdasher's nearest the church,
"So we were married. It was cheap—it
was snug—it was of a piece with our daily
existence. We did nut roll into wedded
life on a grand triumphal chariot, with
eight horses, to come down to a tax-cart im
mediately after. We began our journey,
Denny and JOAN fashion, in the tax•eart.—
Would that I could always be allowed to
tool that humble but easy-hung vehicle:—
Eat alas, the gig of re•pectability is every
now and then driven to the door, and one
must mount, tinder heavy penalties, leaving
the easy old tax-cart in the stable-yard.—
' •
But the gig of respectability is bearable.—
, Not so that terrible, black, dreary, stifling
prison-va n—with 'Society' painted in Ma
, zing capitals on the panels. Against Cont
i pulsory riding in that odious vehicle, I mean
to protest as Nehemently as you will permit
me. To that end I send you this groan,
the forerunner of many more, shmild this
awake an echo. I doubt not it tt-11 awake
thousands, on the part of those who would
be but too ready to sign themselves, as I do,
P. S. I have not ,lone yet vith the pe•
nal accompanirnent9 of twernroelc. I have
much to say on the sul t ieet
butt they tletterttt an extra ,_rove
to themselvett.—
Roon FOR Ist rontxcr..—Loryr
(entering his friend, ether. and
°P{kaking in a hoarse 1011 , 1-.o , o—Fred. I've
got such a cold this morning. I rant .peak
the truth.
Dr.M.--NV ell, Fin gla I n thing that
will interfere w:th your business.
—(C. finds enough of his voice to mutter
some antiquate , ' remarks about doctors be
ing legalized murderers, &e., and bolts off
to meet an engageracnt.)
U'More Jersey pearls are reported. A
number of small ones, of little value, have
been taken from a small brook leading from
"Sunfish Pond," in Essex county, near Sea
ark. They are irregular in shape.
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,351.
A Srs;;I: Wiar.—The Chapman family,
consisting of old Chapman, William
Chapman, George Chapman, Caroline Chap
man, and Harry and Therese Chapman,
.ohildrem conlc ycars since established and
carried into onpration, on the Western waters,
a "floating thratrc", concerning which so
many anecdotes are toll. The family were
QKtzo;;•.<.l:. fond of fishing, and during, the
-waits" the actors amused themselves by
••dropping a line" over the stern of the Ark.
Oa one ace.t.inn while playing the "Stran
ger," act IV, scene Ist, There was a long
wait for Franck the servatit t f the misan
thropic Count Walbourgh.
"Francis! Francis"' called the Stranger.
No reply,
"Fi Francis!" (A. pause.) "Fran
ei-l" rather angrily- called the Stranger
ISM
A vcry di , tant voice—" Corning Sir!" A
considerable .pau , e, during which the Stran
ger walks up :ilia down a la \lacread}•, in a
grcat Mg."!
Franci,, (tutering.)—“Frere I am, sir."
Strang.;r—"Viliy did vuu nut come when
I called!"
."Why the fact is, sir, 17118 just
hauling in one (,f the d—hest biggest eat-fish
Franci , —'
YOU ON
It was come minutes before the laughter
f the audience could be restrained sufficient
ly to allow the play to proceed.
On another occasion, while laying at Nat
chez. the performance being the play of Pizar
ro, It Ella, in the last act, after seizing the
child, and as he \VII , rushing up towards the
bridge, observed a tall negro, holding a tea
cup full of blood (rose pink,) -which was
wanted almost immediately on the other side
of the stage. As he passed he said to the
rocra
"Itere, bay, carry that bin td round to me
on the other side: I want it the moment I
cross the bridge."
Away dashed. Rolla, bearing the child
aloft, amidst a volley of Spanish musketry;
and turning to cut away the bridge with
his sword, what was his horror to see the
tall negro walk deliberately upon the stage,
between the "waters," and the full sight of
the audience, holding the cup in one hand
and stirring up the contents with the fore
linger of the other, and hear him exclaim:
•'lteah, Massa Smith, here's your blood."
The effect on the audience can be better
imagined than described, and the drop was
innuediate!y luwered to shut in the ludi
eruni scone.—Pieilq. S+oulay _Mercury.
Coxt-smit 31 , -.—"Talking of conundrums,"
said old hurricane, stretching himself all
over Social Hall, and sending out one of
those mighty purf, of Havana smoke which
had given him his name. "Can any of you
tell am when a ship may be said to be in love?"
"1 can tell—l can," snapped out Little
Turtle. "Ica when she wants to be man
ned;'
“-Juq missed it,” moth old Hurricane.
"by a mile.—Try main. Who speaks first?"
"I do, secondly." answered Lemons. It's
when she wants a mate."
"Not correct," replied Hurricane. "The
rpte , t ion is still open."
"When she's a ship of great size," (sighs)
modestly prop.)unded Mr. Smoothly,
"When she's tendei• to a mon "/'rear," said
the Col,nel, regarding the reflection of hi 9
facts in his I
Elary thin, 'but correct," responded.
llcn•ricanc
"When she's struck back by a heavy
swell," suggested Starlight.
"Not as yet," said Hurricane. "Come,
hurry alon_.'•
wal,rg much tlr a fast sailor,"
cried Smashpipes.
II ere there eras a great groan, and Smash
pipes was thrown out of the window. When
peace was re,tored litirrica no "propelled"
MEM
"You might have said, 'when she hugs
the wind' or `when she runs down after a
smack.' or `when she's after a consort,' or
soluMbiag of that sort. Dot it AVM] hio ' t
have boon right. The real solution is—
when she's attached to a Guor•.
Ilona. S..,,Ar.—And first of the soap—of
that little inconvenient, latherle3s cube of in
, aurated emnposition which is part and par
eel of the old hotel system. What is it?—
Where is it bought? How is it made? What
is supposed to be its use? Is it really soap,
or cheese, or was, or chalk. ( , r gutta-percha.
or content, or all these things combined? If
you try to w r.sh with it in cold water, you
might a • I%ell use a . 1 ::aro of ivory—if you
taut it in warm, after a time a film collects
about i:. hat e seen about a dead perch,
the acliof a punt; but you will get no
lAther. Atel if, iu your desperation, you
null it 11.111 on your coarse single towel, its
nippe , l-up cornerless form offers no Iola:
and Aippery, without being saponaceous. at
la,t it darts off your hands, like a bullet.
into a corner of the room. where you had
Fetter let it lie, and purchase some brown
Windsor on Tour own account.
"A Su rrEr.rn."
tr-I„.WATERING PLACE Di ALOG T:L.—Trencia
ruta—Madame, you charge rer mooch too
hig price for zat room.
Landlady—Oh, you know we at the wat
ering, places must make hay while the elm
shines.
Frclichmon(indignant)—De gar, madame,
shall nerare make ze hay of me. You must
not ziuk zat hecausa all flesh is grass, zat
you can make hay of me.