''' - ' 1 :'::1 . -. C:O -- - -- :::. - .11V4'..t......;::,..-' . 1.._..:: - .. - . .-.'._.......'••••=4-
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVII, NUMBER 49.]
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
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geany's Building, north-west corner Front and
Walnut streets.
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ench subsequent insertion, 25
• 'Larger advertisements In proportion.
A liberal discount wilt be mnde to quarterly, half
yearly or yearly advertisers,wito are strictly confined
so Mem business.
DR. 8. ARMOR,
HOMOEOPATHIC .fitYSICIAN.. Office and
Beindence in Locust street, opposite the Post
Office; OFFICE PRIVATE.
Columbia, A pril 25, 1857-8 m
Drs. John & Rohrer,
HAVE associated in the Practice of 4 111edi
tine.
Columbia, Aprlllo,lBso-0
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
DENTIST, Locust street, near the Post Of
flea. Columbia, Pa.
Columbia. May 3, MIL
H. M. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR .AT LAW.
Columbia, Pa.
Collections, j.romptly made, in Lancaster and York
Counties.
Columbia, May 4,1850.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
Columina. September Cicaituaikolax,
6, iaso.if
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Constantly on hand a variety of Cakes,
too numerous to mention; Crackers; Soda, Wine, Scroll,
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every description,
Sec., LOCUST STREET,
Feb. 2,'56. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
Z. *XPOLD & CO.,
et••
ga t -
GENERAL FORWARDING AND COMMIS
MERCHANTS,
4/6 1a ,
RECEIVERS OF
COA LAND PRODUCE,
And Deliverers on any point on the Columbia and
Pkiiadelphia Railroad. to York and
Baltimore and to Pittsburg;
DEALERS IN COAL FLOUR AND CRAIN,
WHISKY AND BACON, have just received a
large lot of Monongahela Rectified Whiskey, from
Pittsburg, of which they will keep n supply constantly
on hand. at low prices. N 05.1,2 and 8 Canal Basin.
Columbia, January 27.1E354.
OATS FOR SALE
BY THE BUSHEL, or in larger quantities
at Nos. 1, 2 & 6 Canal Basin.
B. F. APPOLD & CO.
Columbia, January 26, 1856
Just Received,
50 MIS' PRIME GROUND NUTS, at J. F.
SMITIFS Wholocale and Retail Confectionery
emnblishment. Front street, two doors below the
Wwibington House, Colombia. [October 25, MO.
Just Received,
20 MIDS. SHOULDERS, B
15 T 1 CRS HAMS.—
For sale by B. F. APPOLD & CO,
Nos. 1, 2 and 6, Canal Basin.
Columbia, October 18,1856.
Rapp's Gold Pens.
CONSTANTLY on hand, an assortment of
the.° celebrated PENS. Perlman in want *Ca
good article are invited to call and examine them.
Columbia, June 30, 1855. JOHN FELIX.
Zest Received,
A-,URGE LOT of Children ' s Carriages,
Gigs, Rocking Horses, Wheelbarrows. Propel
err Nursery Swinge, .kc. GEORGE, .1. SAIITII.
April 19,1856. Locust street.
CHINA and other Fancy Articles , too numerous te
mention, for sale by G. J. EN ITII, Locust street,
between the Bunk and Franklin House.
Columbia, April tit, 1850.
1111 E undersigned have been appointed
agent* for the sale of Cook & Co'ri CUTTS P ER-
C A PENS, warranted not to corrode; in e laalicity
they almost equal the quill.
SA.YLOR & hIcDONALD.
Co laml?ia Jan. 17, 1957"
Just Received,
ABEAUTIFUL lot
Drum. of Lamp Rutter Shades, viz: Vie
wane. Volcano. Fl. Red Roves,
end the new French Fruit Shade, whic h con be seen
in the window or the Golden Mortar Drug Store.
November 29,1856.
AA LUSH lot of Shaker Cora, from the
Shaker settlement in New Ye, k, jam received,
St H. SUYDAM & SON'S
Columbia, Dec. 20,1858.
T_Tillt DYE'S. Jones' Batchelor's, Peter's and
EgYptian hair dyes, warranted to color the hair
any desired shade, without injury to the skin. For sale
by R. WILLIAMS.
Miry 10, Front st., Columbia, Pa.
TIMM THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Com
mercial and other Gold Pena—the bent in the
market—just received. P. SIIREINER.
Columbia,April MUMS.
VITRA FAMILY FLOUR, by the barrel, for
jUj sale by B. F. APPOLD it CO,
Colonibia,June 7. Nod. 1,2 and 6 Canal Bnain.
WHY should layperson do without a Clock,
when they can be bad for $1,50 and upwards.
at SHREINER'S?
Columbia, April 29,19.15
SAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for ma
king Soap. 1 lb. is sufficient for one barrel of
-Sod Soap, in 11b.for it lbs. Surd Soap. Pall direc
tions Will be given at the Counter for making Soil,
Bard and Fancy Soaps. For sale by
A. WILLIAMS.
Columbia, March 31, 1855.
ALAUB lot of Baskets, Brooms, Buckets
Brushes, Le., for sole by H. SUYDAM & SON.
-WHIRL% Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
Powder, for sale by H. SUYDAM & SON.
20 DOZEN BROOMS, 10 BOXES CFIEESE. For
sale Cheap, lq B. F. APPOLD & CO.
Colunibia, Pemba/L.IM, 1854.
A' SUPERIOR astlete of PAINT OIL. for role by
_ R. WILLIAMS.
Front Street, Colombia, Pa.
May 10, 1E56.
arCHT RECEIYRD, a large and well selected variety
ornrudies, eonaisting in pan of Shoe, Mar, Cloth,
Cillmb, Nail, Mat and Teeth Btu Agee. and for eate by
R. WILLI.% hl S.
Front street Colombia. Pa.
Msrek 44,'5G
A SUPE4IIO4 affilliiell• of TONIC SPICE SITTER.%
suitable for Hotel Keepers. for 011ie by
R. WILLIAMS.
May 10,1850. front attest. Columbia.
- plum! ETHEREAL OIL, always on band. sad fo
X sale by E. WILLIAMS.
May 40,1858. Front Stsest, Columbia, Pa.
TUST received, FRESH CAMPHENE. mod Celt @ale
al by IL WILLIAMS.
May 10,1960. Front Strew . Columbia, Pa.
/ 000 ii i rie N ce e l:e=ufror redia b " T h "hi
Sbehidani.
Feb 91,11157 ratell SL rxiAm s: SON.
ixttrg.
Our Lettice
I said to Lattice, our sister Lattice,
While drooped and twinkled her lashes brown:
"Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man,
There's many a better about our town."
She laughed securely: "He loves me purely;
$1 50
A true heart's safer than smile or frown;
And nothing harms me when his heart warms me,
Let the world go up or the world go down."
"He comes of strangers; strangers are rangers,
Aye trusting nothing that's out of sight:
New folk may blsmo ye, or emrdefanie ye,
A gown ceerhandled looks neSitirkschite,"
She raised serenely her eyelids queenly:
"My innocence is my whitest gown;
No ill tongue grieves me, while he believes me,
Whether the world goes up or down."
"Your man's a (rail man—waa neer a bale man,
And sickness knocked, at many a door:
And death comes making told beans cower breaking."
Our Lettice quivered but once—no more:
"If death should enter,smite to the centre,
Oar small home palace, all crumbling down,
He will not blight us, nor disunite us:
Life bears Love's cross, Death bring Love's crown."
[Harpers' Weekly.
gfitrtivto,
The Laird's Seam.
IN FOUR CRAFTERS.
CHAPTER 111.
Thrift, whose humors were wont to be
passing vapors, under this provocation both
lay down and rose up in bitterness. Wat
was off ere she awoke, while there was yet
a star in the bleak morning sky, to marshal
his troop, and to see them whet their sick
les before he returned for breakfast. The
laird was abroad, too, striding, early as it
was, to his will-o'-the-wisp on the moor—
so completely the centre of his aspirations,
that if it should be quenched, Thrift felt as
if the very lamp of life, that still burned so
brightly in the old student of nature's mak
ing, would leap up and sink in premature
darkness.
Thrift went sullenly about her household
duties, was listless and careless about her
usual brisk business, soundly rebuffed little
Wat when he was attacked with a refrac
tory desire to continue dabbling in the water
from which he had emerged, in order to
proceed with the next stages of his toilette,
sending him shaking, with defiant little
sobs, to stand with his smeared face turned
to the chamber wall. At length breakfast
was ready; and catching little Wat by the
hand, to drag hiin from the demon fire,
Thrift issued into the raw air, traversing
the little fir wood swaying in the morning
breeze, and turning her steps to the pit, in
order to summon her father to his morning
meal. There was an unusual stir about
the working, and Thrift paused on the first
knoll to watch the scene. There it lay, so
close to her that she could not only distin
guish the actors, but hear their words.—
There were the heaps of hardened, tramp
led down clay-slittey shale and limestone
surrounding the smouldering peat fire—
there the black yawning _cavity, in which
treasures more potent than diamonds might
lie buried—there the rud6 machine that
creaked round and round, dragged by the
old grey poney, with his dizzying mechani
cal pace, and the ,crick in the neck he
seemed to have acquired in his endless cir
cles. The whole had a cheerlessness and a
dismal crumbling aspect that seemed to
eschew gain, and to pertain to disaster and
decay; and agreed with the cold October
sky and the fiat which it overlooked.
But in place of the slouching, lounging
figure or two that waited on the ascent of
the tub, and emptied its contents, and the
one stationary man that contemplated their
labors, there was a little knot of excited
workmen, remonstrating against the solitary
voice of command they yet hesitated to diso
bey.
The laird stood erect and still, extending
his arm and giving his orders clearly and
distinctly as ever he had done in his life.
"Unyoke the pony, and you, Simon Moys,
lead him ower to Claygates; his wind's Bair
spent, but his back's no broken, and he'll
supply the plaCe of the gudo grey mare that
fell wi' the full cart and broke her hough
bone last night; the lave e'en gang into the
gin, and yokelo the trams, and pull sheath
er to shouther till noon.
The men looked at each other rebelliously,
and then a spokesman came forward a pace
and addressed Ringau Cockburn—"lt may
be neebor-like, laird, for you to lend a hand
to arrygates wi' the corn no in, and Mar
tinmas nigh," said he; grumblingly but re
spectfully, as men will respect those who
have self-respect waitten broadly, even in
furrows and bleached hair; "and I'll say we
would be aweer to resist your bidding, for
you're a just master and a kind, and some
o' us have been born and bred on your land;
but to render ourselves brute beasts to pleas
ure you, and work out your dreams, is
mair than ony mortals could accord:"
There was an acquiescent murmur from
his companions, followed by a pause. The
laird lifted his hand to hie brow, and then
looked in the rough weather-beaten face of
the ringleader with bright, unflinching eyes,
without a contortion of passion or shame
disturbing a muscle of hie own countenance.
"Man Simon," he said, simply and com
posedly, "yer so far ricbt, I would be nee
borlike in the hake. to Claygates were it in
my power, but I'm sair straightened for
Biller, I'm sending off poor Rory, whose for
bear I rode when I was a laddie, and to
help Claygates, but to bring me a last pound
note or the coal will be found."
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 13, 1857.
The men stirred and started in blank dis
may, and then broke into a unanimous out
cry:
"Gie in, laird,
, bowk nae deeper; ye've
waured ower rnnekle already; the day's
dead set against you; and you'll never licht
a spunk free that hole."
But the laird's voice bore down the clam
or like a trumpet, such a rallying sound
was in its dauntless words—"Gie in, when
the hard battle's fought and victory won—
the fuel that shall blink in our hearthstanes
and gladden them, and raise mair biggins
on Watery Butts than there are arms on a
barley heady Doubt Providence while he's
left a twig to hing by! Yer mistaen, lads;"
and casting off his coat, Ringan laid his
own hands on the poles, as if the might of
his spirit alone would impel dull wood and
rusty iron. But the men were ashamed
fur the moment, and inspired with a com
mon reaction, "Na laird," they said con
fusedly, pushing forward, "we'll no fail you
now. We'll stick by you another day though
we be to replace Rory; wha kens but this
may be the last bout, and something may
be in it?" and, as if they bad been oracles,
these rude impulsive men pulled round the
machine with right good will. A faint,
hollow call, repeated and prolonged, rose
from the pit-mouth. Was it, after all, the
proclamation of great tidings—had the last
mine been driven to victory—the planting
of the standard on new fields, that were to
render unfavored Watery Butts opulent and
famous? The men tugged and strained till
drops started on their toil-worn brows, and
a strange fire of kindled expectation glowed
in their eyes. The laird stood firm, - but
with a tighter contraction of the sagacious
lip, and an unconscious lowering of the
white eyebrows, but how the great heart
within must have panted and prayed!
No tub containing the smallest fragments
of the long-sought, much coveted mineral,
whethei in slatoy layers or shining lumps
—a white, scared face, how unlike the har
binger of fortune and thanksgiving—a
hoarse voice, calling out wildly, "Row, for
God's sake; there's twa forby me, and the
sides o' the mine are cracking like the ice
on Cambus Loch."
The fated words were scarcely uttered,
the tottering feet landed, when a hollow
rumble, like the roar of surf, a muffled,
sharp report, like the crack of a volley of
musketry, a concussion of the solid earth
beneath their feet, a cloud of dust rising
from that great yawning grave, and men's
hearts quailing, ebbing for a second, flow
ing back in a wail and lament of horror
and woe.
"Laird, laird!" called Simon ➢toys, clutch
ing his master by the arm, and confronting
him with dire accusation in his appalled,
wrathful face, "ye tempted the Lord, wha
had gien us the braid peat moss and bidden
us be content, and his curse has fallen for
your sin on innocent heads."
Ringan Cockburn spurned the touch, and
the red blood returned to his white lips as
he shouted for spade and shovel, and clutch
ed the rope hanging over the pit mouth.—
Much need was there of a leader's presence
of mind, or immediate, vigorous action; for,
work as their comrades might, with the
strength of brotherhood yearning over their
fate—let the whole country side be arrested
to relieve their strenuous exertions, it would
be mirk night before these human bodies
could be drawn from the pile of sand and
stones heaped high above the ground, where
they struck their picks, living, life-like men
that morning.
Women, with their fluttering gowns and
shawls, were appearing on many a mean
dering line across the moor, trudging to
their work with their pitchers and baskets,
conveying breakfast to husbands and sons
terribly engaged. At the first suspicion of
evil, they flocked in, tossing their arms and
screaming in sore distress. For, who were
the sufferers? What wretched wife or moth
er was to find her own in that buried pair,
gone forth from them in strength and se-
cnrity—to win their bread—to shelter and
cherish them—to be praised or abused never
more?
. Lawrie Blair, the wild but good natured
prodigal, whom the laird had so often for
given, the solo support of the fractious, ail
ing mother, who was continually bemoan
ing his sins—and there she was, she who
had not walked half the distance for years,
already apprised of the calamity—tumbling
along, her feeble bands twitching at her
neckerchief or check apron.
"Oh, Lawrie, Lawrie, haeye come to this?
Laird, laird, save the lad that wad hae deet
for ye afore the doucest an' decentest man
in your employ—that has deet for ye! Wae's
me, wee's lad yo lived but a ditcher,
my bairn, like your father afore ye, ye wad
hae been to the fore through mony anither
spree."
Thrift took her by the hand and found a
seat for her on the grass, and tried to tell
her to take heart, for Lawrie was in the
Lord's band, even in that overwhelmed pit,
and that he had been found at his post of
duty, though it was but a miner's shaft.
CHAPTER IV
A murmur was spreading among the
workers, paralyzing their efforts; glances of
far deeper commiseration and distress a
hundred fold shot around; Simon Moys
again stood out, and taking off his cap, com
municated something reluctantly and hesi
tatingly to the laird. Bingen Cockburn
staggered and looked up piteously to the
leaden sky. No—no. It could not be!
"Father," said Thrift, joining him, and
suddenly aware of a strange overlook, "why
is Wat not here? Send him and the bans
ters word; they'll take their turn with the
miners. Wat will do the work of two men;
ay, however grieved he may he to see this
sight."
"Let alane, Thrift, my woman," replied
the laird, weakly. "Wat's housing the
sheaves, and he could do no gude here; you
see there's no room for the folk already.—
There's relay upon relay; let a' be."
"Housing the sheaves when men's lives
are to save?" Thrift remonstrated indig
nantly. "Father, ye dimut-ken what you
say, or how sair ye wrabg WM. I'll run
for him myself."
"Bide still, Thrift, bide here, I command
you," the laird exclaimed, violently. Thrift
was thunderstruck; she looked at her fa
ther, shaking in every limb, his fine tran
quil face working with emotion. She caught
the glances of the others, now turned from
Tib Blair, sitting rocking herself on the
moor; all directed to herself with the same
inexpressible gentleness and solemnity
beaming so strangely from those familiar,
homely faces. The truth gleamed upon her,
the awful fact that Wat, -vexed by her pain
and resentment, had risen from his bed;
and, as if possessed by a dark fate, had
gone where he had not been for weeks, to
the pit bed; and, before the main portion of
the workmen assembled, had borrowed a
miner's tools and descended the shaft
either seized with a wild superstitious no-
tion of trying his individual lack in the
costly and condemned speculation—or with
a calmer purpose of attempting to satisfy
himself by actual eyesight, Whether it held
out the least glimmering of the result on
which the laird yet pinned his faith.
Still and stark, or uttering stilled groans
of mortal anguish, fathoms beneath their
feet, crushed and concealed in a living grave,
with the clods and stones heaped on his un
coffined, unshrouded breast, lay comely,
kind "%Vat Cockburn, the husband and fa
ther, in the flush and promise of his man
hood.
Thrift's blue eyes glared upon the wit
nesses, her white cheek grew a purple red,
and she dropped down at her father's feet,
clasping his knees, and writhing before him:
"Gie me back Wat, father;• I gave thee all
else, the bite from my bairnie's mouth, but
not Wat, never Wat!"
Oh, hapless King of Israel, who rent thy
royal robe at the mucking mandate of the
imperious Syrian, here is a man more tor
tured and abased, as if he too were a "god
to kill and to make alive;" and one of
the wretched suppliants his pleasant child
Thrift, a young bride three twelve-months
hack.
Not sorrow alone, but remorse, is canker
ing and maddening the cordial happy na
ture, convulsing and transforming each fea
ture as if an evil spirit had possessed itself
of the fair body.
"Oh, Tib Blair, ye has flyted on Lawrie
mony a day, but ye parted friends at last;
I tell you a' standing there, I gloomed on
my Wat, my gude, sober, kind gudeman,
my dear, dear Wat, I, an ill wife, a hard
heart, I braggit him till, against his better
judgment, he geed down the pit, and met
his death this day." '
Yes, this will be the fearful burden of
Thrift's sad widowhood, the blight that
will alight upon her this moment, and haunt
her sunk, searching eyes—her hair with
not one or two slight threads but whole
flakes of silver breaking its brown before
the October day be done, and she but a
matron of twenty-five—until her dying mo
ment, be it near or far; that there had been
discord between her and Wat Cockburn on
last night, in the cheerful light of their
quiet hearth; that he had risen and gone
out of his house in the grey morning with
out one word of reconciliation and reviving
regard exchanged between them. They
who loved each other so truly, who were
one flesh in the blessed hands of holy wed
lock!
Thrift's first paroxysm of despair soon
sunk her in exhaustion, and with bands
and heart cold and heavy as lead, she sat as
still as Tib Blair. Another hand led away
the innocent, ignorant,-daunted child, or
forced refreshment upon the laird. Now
that ho has gone, taken from her so sudden
ly and fearfully, Thrift cared for none but
`Vat Cockburn.
Many a strong arm that had dug with
grim application gave way; the shades of
evening fell chill on these wastes; by the
red smoky light of lanterns the laird looked
haggard and aged as some patriarch—God
forsaken like Job—before there was a halt,
a shout, and the signal that the lost were
found.
The men clustered together, an agitated
ring; the women hid their faces, and sob
bed anew with bitter violence. A board
had been fixed above the ordinary tub, and
upon it a man was ascending with a dark
mass resting at his feet; slowly and cau
tiously they wound the rope, until they were
almost on a level with the bystanders. The
lights fell on a great crimson stain, and
every breath in the circle was drawn hard
and short.
"There's life in him yet; but hand him
free his mithor."
Life! what a power there is in that sound,
though it be but a vapor fluttering in its
flight, expiring in fitful, tortured flashes.—
Lifel bow the name alone can heal the
broken heart, and revive energies, strange
and wonderful as humanity can display.—
Tib Blair rose up strengthened, and follow-
ed on her feet the shapeless, bruised form.
Was not her Lawrie still in life, and ►night
not a merciful Providence spare him, maim
ed and helpless, for her, his old mother, to
tend and succor—for whom her feeble fin
gers might spin day and night—to whom
she would never again give crabbed, spite
ful answers? A wild imagination, but still
a ray of hope to lighten the miseries of the
bereaved heart. And now Thrift Cock
burn coveted that poor burden, and what
would she not have given to have received
her Wat thus!
Another interval of suspense, brief, but
which. seems to those who endure it a very
life time, sickening, heart-rending; a few
more shovelfuls thrown from the hill of the
stony mould that never seems to decline—
and the second watched-for token that their
weary task was ended. Thrift would not
be kept back by any force, but she stood
still, rigid rather, in the centre of the group.
There was no disorder or disfigurement of
Wat's members, scarcely even of his dress;
his head was thrown back with a stately
air, the features fully exposed; but, oh! the
repose on the face, as if the burden and
heat of the day had been borne, great strife,
perhaps, passed through; a wrestling for
dear life, and those dearer than life—but all
toil and suffering over. Simon Moys, and
other than he, turned aside, but Thrift did
not waver—the spectacle was so solemn it
soothed rather than harrowed her—for it
was yet like a vision, grief-laden, but ma
jestic, to the poor, pierced, spirit-wrung girl;
and all the sign she gave, or emotion she
testified was a single quiet whisper of terri
ble egotism:
"Ay, Wat, my man, I wad lute seen the
hale world lie there rather than you!"
But a slight trembling stirred Wat Cock
burn's benumbed limbs; a tinge of red flick
ered on his blanched cheek; the eyes they
had believed shut forever, opened and gased
around with confused, unmeaning, uncer
tain lustre, clearing slowly until they rested
.on Bingen Cockburn; and then suddenly
brightening with a flash of intelligence, a
world of knowledge which they struggled
to convey, a contrition softening them, in
expressibly, a magnanimous, generous con
gratulation, an honest, affectionate trust.
"Laird," said Wat, with his first choked,
stuttering accents, "the coal's won!"
Sure enough, Wat's clenched hand yet '
retained a precious fragment of the coal
seam, laid bare at last, at such a time, and
under such circumstances.
God's arm had been over the pair in the
recesses of the shaken pit, directing the
course of the avalanche, which stunned and
smote, but did not slay, turning aside the
danger, imminent and deadly; and the cher
ished desire, the long look forward of Rin
gan Cockburn's busy life, was achieved; the
swarming, diffused, exhaustless prosperity
of Watery Butts was secured to his latest
descendants.
No more pinching poverty and disheart
ening struggles—no more thwarting and
decrying—no more mockery and contempt.
Perhaps, for their future moderation and
peace, Wat Cockburn and Thrift needed
the fiery ordeal of that miserable October
day to precede the change in their fortunes;
but to Ringan Cockburn, in that sense, it
was unnecessary. He was too truly great
to be elated by triumph, any more than he
had been depressed by discomfiture and
failure; though he smiled on the happiness
of others, and rested on his noble, peaceful
laurels.
The Social Tread-Mill
NO. 111.
"MR. Puscn—What holds society togeth
er? Mutual services, acts of kindness done
in moments of need or sorrow, self interest,
the pleasure of conversation, the love of
scandal, weariness of ourselves, enjoyment
of the company of others, or mere instinct
ive gregariousness?
"None of these, so far as I can gather
from my experiences as a married man, and
a London householder. Society here seems
to me to be built up of pasteboard—a veri
table house of cards.
"Nine tenths of the social intercourse of
this metropolis appears to be carried on,
either as a solemn and costly ceremonial, or
as a dreary penance.
"Dinners, routs, balls, breakfasts—wed
ding and others—belong to the first, or cer
emonial order of social rites.
"Calling is the principal form of social
penance. It is against this penance I wish
to pour out my feelings.
"It is only married men who know at
what cost of time, money, and temper this
penance is performed. A bachelor's calls
are seldom penal. Your bachelor, if ho ever
makes calls, does it because he likes it.—
What more natural than that Jack Easy, on
his stroll from the club to the Park, should
drop in of an afternoon on pretty Mrs. Bel
lairs of May Fair? The chances aro ten to
one, he will find Mrs. Bellairs at home, for
ho knows her hours, and wants to see her.
And ache is certain to come in for a bright
face, a pretty morning dress, an elegant lit
tle boudoir, and a lively half hour's gossip
—with a cup of tea at the and of it—Jack
has treated himself to a pleasure. He called
with that object. Mrs. Bellairs will have
half a dozen such calls this afternoon, most
of them from her male acquaintances. The
ladies purse their lips when Mrs. Bellaire
is mentioned. She is too agreeable. She
has flung off the ceremonies, and refuses to
perform the penances of society. Her din-
ners are unpretending, and proportioned to
her kitchen and her establishment. She
does not swell her household with green
! grocers; or have her entrees from the pastry
I cook's. When you call, as I have said, you
find her at home. She has arranged her
house and ways for enjoyment, and not as
if for the discharge of a painful duty. Hence
perhaps, the undeniable fact that she counts
in her circle, three bachelors for one, wedded
pair. The married couples you do meet at
her house are apt to be young ones, and of
the unceremonious or off-hand kind, who
take life as if it concerned them more than
their neighbors.
"Women too have their n4n-penal' calls.
When two young ladies, for example,—
dear friends—meet to exchange patterns or
experiences—to talk over the triumphs and
trials of last night's ball—to compare notes
as to husbands and housekeeping—to be
wail the backalidings of butlers, the contra
riness of cooks, or the high-flying of house
maids, I do not doubt that they enjoy them
selves. I can readily imagine two vicious
old maids, keenly relishing a good `go in'
at the reputation or circumstances of their
friends. I can conceive their bitter pleas
ure in. tearing to pieces some fair young
fame—or in routing out some grim skeleton
from its closet in the house of a common
acquaintance; or in letting loose from its
bag some cat, likely to run aboutfreely, and
to bite and scratch a great many people in
the neighborhood.
"There is an enjoyment in a call on an
artist in his studio, provided you know him
well enough to rummage his portfolios, or
turn his canvasses from the wall, while he
continues at work. Unless you are on
these terms with him, you have no business ,
to interrupt an artist, except on invitation,
and on ceremonial or penal occasions; as,
for instance, when Podgers, A. R. A., has
expressed in writing the pleasureit will give
him to see you for inspection of his - pictures
intended for the Academy, on the 3d, 4th,
or sth of April. Thal is one of the penal
performances. If you go, you must make
ono of a shoal of people, who flock into the
place on each other's heels the whole day
through, most of them knowing nothing of
Art. The few who" do, are debarred by
politeness from speaking their mind on 'the
work before them, where they cannot hon
estly approve, but they are all pouring out
the same common-places of compliment to
Podgers' face, and venturing on `shys' of
criticism whenever the poor man's hack is
turned, while poor Podgers is beaming
about, full of himself, feeding on honey and
butter, and believing all the compliments
sincere in spite of his better judgment—so
sweet is praise—till the Times comes out,
the day after the private view, and omits all
mention of Podgers, or damns him with
faint praise, or cuts him up, perhaps, root
and branch.
"But the real penance of penances is that
social performance called 'leaving cards:—
Every day, when I come home from my
office, I find my hall table littered with
these pieces of pasteboard. There is a phy
siognomy about them. Take the newly
married cards, for instance, on which Mr.
and Mrs. Cocbiddy always figure in couples
—a sort of connubial four-poster among the
pack; orCapt. Blunderbore's card—the most
tiny and lady-like square of glazed paste
board, with letters so small they almost re
quire the help of a magnifying glass to
make them out; or Lady Mangelwurzel's
solid and substantial ticket, heavy as her
ladyship's jointure, the letters square as
her bank account, and as firmly impressed
on the paper as her ladyship's dignity and
importance on her mind. Here is the paste
board representation of lively Mrs. Mara
bout—limp, light, spider charactered, en
graved in Paris; and here medicevally
minded Mr. Pyxon has stamped himself in
Gothic characters as difficult to decipher ns
the directions to strangers in the new House
of Parliament.
From "Punch."
"But what is the meaning of this pack of
pasteboard from the Juggernauts? Why
has Mr. Juggernaut left two cards, and Mrs.
Juggernaut two cards, and Miss Jug4ernant
two cards, and Mr. Frederick Juggernaut
two cards? And why are they all turned
up at one corner? The Juggernauts are the
most determined doers of social penance I
know. This show of cards is meant to rep
resent a visit from every individual member
of their family to every individual member
of mine. Well, if it has saved us from an
infliction of the Juggernauts in person, let
us be thankful. These pasteboard proxies
are blessed inventions after all. There
could be only one thing better. To get rid
of the printed pasteboard—even as we have
got rid of the human buckram it represents.
Why call upon each other—oh my brethren
and sisters—you who bore me—you whom
I bore—even in pasteboard? Why not drop j
it altogether—and live apart? People who
care anything about each other will find ,
time and 'opportunity to meet, I will answer
for it. Why should those who do not, pine
in a self-inflicted and superfluous suffering?
Think what you are exposing yourselves
and me to. lor my wife might be at home
when you call. We might all have to en
dure half-an•hour of each other: a constrain
ed, unhaFpy half-hour, of based attempts I
at keeping our mask from slipping on one
side, and showing the yawns, and gat mel
ancholy behind them.
"Then this penance is not merely painful
in itself: it costs time and money.
"One morning in every throe weeks or so,
I find my wife at her writing-tuble, strugg-
*1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; *2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,402.
ling with the ned-book and the Map of Lon
don. She is making out her lists of calls
she tells me. These lists are in duplicate.
One is for her own guidance, the other for
the driver of the Brougham, which is hired
for the day's pennance. There is a sovreign
for that, including
.the tip to the driver.—
Of course, she can't be expected to make
her calls in a cab.
"I once, out of curiosity, accompanied my
unhappy wife on one of these penal rounds
of hers. I never saw more suffering, of va
rious kinds, condensed into six hours. First,
there is the consideration of the route—by
what line the - greatest number of calls could
be got through - in theleast time, with the
greatest economy of ground. This settled
with the driver, begins the painful process
itself, in Tyburnia—let us say—or Beira.-
via,—or the regions around Bedford Square
—if one dare own acquaintances in that
quarter,
•Remote, anfoended, melancholy, slow.'
"You reach No. 1 on your list: a pull at the
! check-string; ten to one the driver has over
shot the door: lie turns round: descends:
knocks: the door is opened: 'Mrs. Harris
not at home'—of course: your cards axe
dropped: drive on to No. 2: the driver has a
Idifficulty about the street: this you discuss
and finally settle with him through the front
window: drive a hundred yards: check-string
again: knock: door opened: not at home:
card dropped as before: then on to No. 3:
and so the dreary routine goes on from one
o'clock to six. Of course there are episodes
of peculiar dreariness. Sometines Mrs: Har
iris is at home, and being at home, has ne
glected to say that she is not. If you have
rashly asked the formal question, you must
,go in, and the pasteboard performance is
. turned into the real penance of a bona-fide
call. Or your coachman is stupid, and keeps
! turning up wrong streets: or cannot read.,
, and invariably stops at the wrong numbers:
or is obstinate, and has a theorfof his own
as to the order in which the houses on your
list is to be taken, and so forth.
"The worst of all, as I have already said,
is when the people called upon happen to be
at home. This chance has to be faced at
every house, and adds seriously to the day's
unhappiness. I shall not soon forget my
wife's fate of consternation, when on drop
ping her cards at the address of our dreary
old friend, Mrs. Boreham, who is at once
deaf, curious and ill-natured—the servant
who took the cards, instead of shutting the
door as usual, advanced to the carriage—
'Good gracious!' exclaimed my wife, in a
voice of dismay, 'She's at home!'
'Mrs. Boreham at home?' she inquired
the next moment, with the blandest smile.
"'No, ma'am,' was the answer; 'but she
told me to say, if you called, she was going
to Brighton for a month.'
" 'God bless her!' rapped out my wife.—
The footman thought the ejaculation one of
pious affection. Under this impression he
might well look astonished. Had he under
stood the words in their true sense—as an
utterance of thankfulness that his mistress
was out of the way,—he would have proba
bly said 'Amen,' for Mrs. B.'s hand is heavy
on her household. I have never joined my
wife in a day of calling penance since that
morning. But I am always paying bills
for packs of cards, and the Brdbgham forms
a serious item in our quarterly accounts..
"But after all it is not so much the waste
of money and time that irritates one as the
hollowness of the business. If these lying
pasteboards must be deposited, why not
despatch them by post, like tradesmen's
circulars? I hear that some fine ladies do
send round their maids on this penance.—
I applaud thorn for it. I have serious thoughts
A' insisting on my wife's employing the
crossing-sweeper—who does our confidential
errands extraordinary—to deliver her cards.
He is a most trustworthy man, and would
be thankful for the day's work, for which
he might be fitted out respectably in one of
my old suits.
"This groan, I feel, ought by rights to
have come, not from me, but from my wife.
It is the poor won.en who hare to do this
penance. But we men suffer from it in
I twenty ways, besides the direst ones of mo
ney out of pocket, and a wife's time ab
stracted from home and home duties. The
huge lie it embodies works all through so
ciety. This pasteboard acquaintance invites,
l and is invited. To it I owe the splendid
dullness of my dinners every season,—the
heat and weariness of many crushes under
the name of drums, routs, concerts, and so
forth—the necessity of bowing and smiling
to, and professing a sort of interest in the
concerns of hundreds of people I don't care
a rap for. Thanks to it, in short, I per
form an uncounted number of journeys in
that prison-van I have already alluded to,
in whose stifling cells we most of us pass en
much of our unhappy lives, on our way,
self-condemned that we are, to hard labor
on the Social Tread-mill.
"When shall wo have the courage to put
down this instrument of torture, as we have
had the good sense to abolish its infinitely
less heart-breaking prison equivalent?
"I am, .3fr. Pinch,
"Yours respectfully,
"A SrrrEar.a.''
fie. "Are those pure canaries?" asked
Tubs of a bird dealer. with whom be was
negotiating. "Yes, sir," said the dealer
confidentially: "I raised them 'ere bird!
from canary seedy' Tubs suddenly im
agines ho heard the whistle blow.
D