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SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 2.1
.PUBLISIIED,EVEITY SATITRDAY
• Office in Yorthern_Central Pallioad Coin-
Ipany'q Puilding,norat-wastcorner Front and
z;Vidnut eft:eels.
'Terms of Subscription"
ethle Copy per anworn, ir paid in advance,
if not paid within three
.months from commenecynent of the year, 200
:+4l. C.,43•33.tal
"No subscription received for a lens time than six
enontk.; and no paper will be di.continued until all
arrearages are pant, unless at the option of the pub
lisher.
.1D Money may be remitted by mail at the publish
era risk. •
Bates of Advertising.
i square [6 lines] one week,
three weeks,
each subsequent insertion, 10
1 " [l2 ;isms] eye week. 50
three weeks, 1 00
eachsubsequeqt insertion, 25
Laiger advertisements in proportion.
A liberal discount will be made to quarterly, half
yearly or yearly adverusers,who are strictly confined
to their business.
DR.S. ARMOR.
•
H OIMPATILIC PHYSICIAN. Office and
in Locust street, opposite the Post
Oflice; OFFICE PRIVATE.
Columbia, April 25, 1857•6rn
Drs. John 8t Rohrer,
TTAPE associated in the Practice of
Col umbia, April 115t.1E56-tf
, . DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
JJ NTIS T, Locust street, opposite the Post
Office, Columbia. N.
Columbia, May 3, 1856.
11. 11. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
Columbia, Pa.
Collections,' romptly made, in Lancaster and York
Counties.
Columbia, May 4,11850.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
C:1 all a .m 1 • 1 co, ,
Col tunteu. September tf, IlZta.ll
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cate
Baker.—Constantly on hand a variety of Cakes,
too numerous to mention; Crackers; Soda, Wine, Scroll,
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every description,
&c., o.c. LOCUST STREET,
Feb. 2,'50. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
. -Z. F..APPOLD & CO.,
• Ji1. 7 :..= disgg
•
GENERAL FORWARDING AND COMMIS
g i Ikai i aSIONMERCHANTS,
RECEIVERS OF
COA LAND'PItODCCE,* I
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 Rectified Whiskey, from
Pittsburg, of which they will keep it supply constantly
on hand. at low prices. Non. 1, 2 and 6 Canal Basin.
Columbia, January 27,1854.
OATS FOR SALE
I),Y THE BUSHEL, or in largcr quantities,
at Nos. 1,2 & G Cuual Basin.
D. F. APPOLD Jc. CO.
Columbia, January N, 1650
Just Received,
50 BUS. PRIME GROUND NUTS, at J. F.
SMITIPS IVholesalc and Retail Confectionery
establishment. Front street, two doors below the
Washington noose, Columbia. [October 25,1,956.
Just Received,
111 - IDS. SHOULDERS, 15 TIERCES HAMS.—
'4 V For sale by B. F APPOLD & CO.,
Nos. 1, 2 and 6, Canal Basin.
Columbia, October 18, Jerk.
Rapp's Gold Pens.
CONSTANTLY on hand, an assortment of
these celebrated PENS. Persons in want °fa
good article are invited to call and examine them.
Columbia, June 3U, 1535. JOHN FELIX.
Just Received,
ALARGE LOT of • Children's Carriages,
Gigs, Rocking Ilorses, Wheelbarrows, Prune:-
lere,Narsery Swings, &c. GEORGE. J. toirrit.
April 19, 1856. Locust street.
nIIINA and other Fancy Artielee. too numerous to
V mention, for Fate by C. J. SArIT/I, Locust street,
between the Bank and Franklin House.
Columbia, Aprill9, 1856.
rTII to E undersigned have been appointed
- tents for the sale of Cook & Co's 0 U'IVA PER-
M A PENS, warranted not to corrode; in e laslicity
they almost equal the quill.
SAYLOR. & McDONALD.
Columbia Jan. 17, 1857
Just Received,
A BEAUTIFUL lot of Lamp Shades, viz: Vie
tonne, Volcano. Drool, Butter Fly. Red Bosco,
and the new French Fruit shade, which can be seen
n the window of the Golden 'Mortar Drug Store. -
•November
A LARGE-Jot` of Shaker_ Corp, froii, the
ShakeV settlement in New Vey k. 'um received,
at H. SUYDAM & SON'S
Columbia, Dec. 20,11356.
HAIR DYE'S. Jones' Batchelor's, Peter's and
Egyptian hair dye', -warranted 'to color the hair
any desired shade, without injury• to the shin. For sale
by It. 'WILLIAMS.
May 10, Front nt., Columbia, Pa.
•
& TROMPSON'S justly,celebrated Com
mercial and.other Gold Pens—the Bent in the
inntket—juo received. • P. SHREINER.
Columbia, April :M 1855..
EXTRA FAIRLY FLOUR, by the barrel, for
sale by B. F. APPOLD & CO,
COIUMIIiR.IIIIIe 7. Nog. 1.2 and ft Canal Bn•in.
Wlitikould anyporsou do without a Clock,
when they cau he had forSl,so and upwards.
at . SIIREINER'S?
Columbia, April 1855
( QAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for
.k..)ma
king Soap. 1 lb. is valliment for one barrel of
.Solt Soap, or Ilb.for Go lbs. Hard Soap. Full direc
tions will be given at the Country for molting Soft,
„Hard and Fanny Soaps. For sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
Columbia, March 31,1935.
ALARGE lot of. Baskets, Brooms, Buckets
Brushes, Ste„ for sale by H. SUYDAK or. SON•
W4EL'S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
roaslet. for sale by 11. SUYDAM & SON.
20DOZMq BROOMS, 10 BOXES CIIETZE. For
sale cheap, by B. F. AFPOLD
R. CO.
Columbia, October 25,1858.
A SUPERIOR article or PAINT OTT.. for sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
From Street, Columbia, Pa.
May 10,1£56.
TUST RKCKIVJIIit:a . lame And Welt 'Glee ted va rimy
el of Brusbes t eon•isengta part of Shoe. Hair, Cloth.
Crumb, Nail, Hut and Teeth Dral i l t te;, v lii . to , rgl , e by
March 22,'56. Front street Colombia. Pa.
ASUPERIOR article ofTONIC SPICE BITTERS,
suitable for Rota Keepers, for sale by
IL WILLIAAIS
Front street, Columbia.
May 10,1850
FRESH ETEigREAL OIL, alaray% ein hand. and ro
pale by R. WILLIAMS.
May 10, LSO. Front Street, Columbia, Pa.
TUST received, FRESH CA MPHEN E. and for Pale
by. ji WILLIAMS.
May 10,1 8 56 . • PronrStrtet, Columbia, Pa.
on A 1.138. New CRY Cared name and Shoulders,
ir lass farewell and for sale by
Feb .11, 1.57 - H. 1 1 1 7111 k SAN
Ettrtris.
A nut-brown maid is our bonny Said,
Lightsome as Summer air,
IVith eyes as black as the raven's back—
And dark is her shining hair.
$ 1 50
She opes her eyes when the orient skies
Dinah with the Sun's first kiss,—
Day stars that rise, when those in the skies
Melt in the blue abyss.
Sans stocking and shoe, the green grass thro'
Her white feet twinkling go,
While songs front the heart her red lips part,
As she drives along the cow.
QM
Then with fingers soft she presses oft .1
The teeming udder white: • ,
High the mills cloth foam as she briugs it home
In the early morning light.
Gaily she sings, while the pail she swings,
The pearl-drops dripping o'er
She's a picture bright, her back to the light,
Al she enters the kitchen door.
rho' many a cloud may life's morning shroud,
Thou mischief loving ,tade,
Thou wilt brave the pain ns thou dust the rain,
True hearted, gudelessSaid!
An Invitation to the Country
=I
All day, from shrubs by our Summer dwelling,
The Easter-sparrow repeats his song;
A merry warbler, he chides the blossoms,
The idle blossoms that sleep so long.
The blue-bird chants, from the elm's long branches,
A hymn to welcome the budding year;
The south wind wanders from field to forest,
And softly whispers, the Spring is here.
Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city,
Before these lays from the elm have ceased;
The violet breathes by our door as sweetly •
As in the air of her native East.
Though many a flower in the wood is waking,
The daffodil is our door-side queen;
She pushes upward the sward already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.
No lays so joyous as these are warbled
From wiry prison in maiden's bower;
No pampered bloom of the green-house chamber.
Ilas half the charm of the lawn's first flower.
Yet these sweet lays of the early season,
And these fair sights of I s sunny days,
Are only sweet when we fondly listen,
And oniy fair when we fondly gaze.
There is no glory in star or blossom
Till looked upon by a loving eye;
Thereis no fragrance in April breezes
Till breathed with joy as they wander by
Come Julia, dear, for the sprouting willows,
The opening flowers, and gleaming brooks,
And hollows greets in she sun are waiting
Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks.
grtutiinu.
How Jenny Was Won
"Eh, Phil—want to know 'how I won her?'
Well, I'll tell you the modu.s operandi, though
its sub rosa, of course!" And Ned Wilder
flung his half smoked cigar into the grate,
ran his fingers through a clustering mass of
brown curls, and settled himself comforta
bly in the depths of a soft-cushioned office
chair.
"Want to know how I won her? Well,
you see, my boy, cousin Jenny was always
the sauciest witch that ever shook a curl or
played tricks with a masculine heart. And
I was always her boy-lover. Can't remem
ber the time for my life, from the day when
I first went to Beechwood as my uncle's
ward, and stood—an awkward, blushing,
stammering school-boy of fifteen—in the
presence of the incipient belle and beauty—
can't remember a minute, from that hour,'
but I was her slave—her downright slave,
Phil. And the witch knew it. Did you
ever see one of the sex but knew - whom she
had entrapped? It's their nature—read you
like a book! Got the gift of second sight,
every mother's daughter of 'em.
"And so, when I came home from acad
emy and college vacations, not a whit less
embarrassed and awkward than ever—act
ing like a grown-up booby—upsetting her
work-box and tangling her worsteds, com
mitting countless blunders at the table, all
this to the gratification of the m ischief-loving
flirt, and the rompish, hoydenish, school-girl
companions she'd always have stopping at
Beachwood on visits—didn't rmake myself
a target for all kinds of practical jokes from
those same romps!
"And Jenny herself—wasn't she the ring
leader of them - all? Didn't she beg to do table
honors on purpose to put salt in my tea, and
pepper my muffins, in order to watch my
wry faces? -Didn't she play tantalizing
waltzes every evening in the parlor, regret.
ting 80 much that "cousin Ned didn't
donee?"' - Didn't she ask me to read aloud
at the village sewing circle, and upon my
bashful refusal, gravely announce to the
scores of assembled old ladies that "Mr.
Wilder was afflicted with bronchilie Pur- :
posely to render me the victim of those same
old ladies, vrho forthwith thronged around
me with recipes, coniposed of all the roots
and herbs in Christendom! I tell gen, Phil,
it was almost purgatory to me, there at
Beechwood; but I was resolved never to sur
render.
" But it bothered me most, that Jenny
could torment me so. I was in love—l knew
it; but had no power to flee her toils.
"Talk about electric shocks!—why one
touch of her little white hand would set my
heart to thumping against my ribs. The
contact of her floating curls would make ray
frame tingle to my finger's ends.. That's
what /call gat-vanlc battery.
"Well, I ensue off with college honors at
twenty, and went 'home to Beechwood.—
Uncle Dick shook . my hand till he wrung
tears (of pain) from my eyes; and called me
a bravo boy, and an boner to the Wilders:
For the Columbia Spy
Our Said.
. .
"1,47 . a ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
OOLUM.1:11A-, ItNNSYLVANIA, SATVIMAY MORNING,
_JULY 18, 1857.
Aunt Illary-got.oetthe Lest china, and pet
ted me like a. grown-up baby; but Jenny
danced before me,: ridiculing my newly-
fledged -beard, calling every_pet hair I had
been assiduously cultivating for the past
few Monthk 'pin feathers,' vowed I hadn't
graduated but was expelled, and- hoped I
wasn't going. o stop at Beachwood lobg, - for
she'd invited her dear friend Seraphine Love
to pass the summer months with her, and• I
should only prove a torment and botheration.
"Seraphine Love came—a tall, tallow
candle, sentimental damsel, with stiff-curls:
light blue eyes, lackadaisical, moon-struck
air. There was no similarity between her
and Jenny; and I fell to wondering about
their mutual liking, and soon discovered the
Seraphine Loie wrote poetry, rhyme,
and leveled her Parnassian darts against
those whom Jenny disliked—this was the
secret. She had been sent for to 'do up'
cousin Ned in verse; and various were the
sonnets, acrostics and lampoons with which
I was favored. They greeted •me every
where? On my chamber table, in my port
folios, between the covers of my Greek
lexi
con, even in the pockets of my dressing
gown I found them. In no place was I safe.
"Had I been particularly sensitive, I must
have been driven from the field; but I with
stood them. Besides, there was a reason,
other than any resolve to seem indifferent.
Of late, I thought I had detected, beneath
Jenny's gayiety, an under current of feeling;
sometimes, looking up suddenly, I • had
caught the glance of two blue eyes—and
though speedily withdrawn, I could have
vowed that glance had something earnest; al
most tender, in it, quite belying her sauciness
of words or manner. Was it possible that
Jenny was playing a part—that she had
been caught in her own snare?
"The thought emboldened me, and one
moonlight evening—coming upon her sud
denly, sitting in an unwonted pensive mood
in the garden—l found myself actually
saying sentimental speeches, with my arm
about Jenny's waist! - •
"The vixen! She heard me through,
smothered a laugh in her handkerchief, sly
ly picked with a pin the hand I had thrown
around her, slapped my cheek smartly and
then disappeared through the low French
window opening into the back parlor.—
Scarcely three minutes after going up stairs,
I heard her recounting to Seraphine' Love,
between her gusts of laughter, that 'Cousin
Ned had actually been quoting Tom Moore,
and making love to her after the most ap
proved fashion.'
"Well, that was a drop too much—and
with my face still tingling under the blows
she had given, and my heart smarting sorer
with wounded pride, on the impulse of the
moment, I pushed open the door of their
room. The two girls sat at a window in the
moonlight. I went up close to Jenny.
"'bliss Wilder,' I said, (and Phil, I must
have fairly got into the heroics, for she
wilted under my eye and sunk down in her
seat;) Miss Wilder, this hand you have
wounded, and you shall one day accept, and
my cheek you shall touch with your lips.
A kiss for a blow, you know,' and I left her.
"A sound smote on my ears as I shut the
door behind me; but whether laughter or
sob I know not. I went straight to my
room—packed my trunks—found Uncle Dick
in his library, and took my resolve, and be
fore Jenny and her 'dear friend' had made
their appearance next morning, I was miles
away from Beechwood.
"In three years I bad gained my profes
sion, and during that time had never once
visited my home. Letters, many and kind,
came from Uncle Dick and Aunt Mary, but
never a Word from Jenny. I heard of her
often, as a'belle and a beauty—and flirt—
since she had invariably rejected all serious
wooers. - That latter item pleased me
strangely; and straightway I fell into be
coming the devoted cavalier of Kate Drew,
the beautiful heiress.'
"Urgent invitations came from Beech
wood to revisit the old place; but I put
them off. 'Business before pleasure,' I
urged in return. 'Coke Blackstone, and—
Kate Drew detained me;' so I wrote
Uncle Dick. En passant, let me mention,
Phil, that Kate was engaged to an old col
lege mate of mine in Italy the last two
years, and you will perceive the drift of our
plans.
"One item in Uncle Dick's letters pleased
me more than fatherly advice or invitations
to Beochwood. 'Jenny,' he wrote, 'has just
refused the best match in the country—your
old chum, Presley Edwards, a thriving
young physician—rich, too, and belonging
to one of the finest families in the country.
I believe the girl has burned her fingers this
time, but she is as headstrong as ever. By
the way, nephew, did you and she quarrel
before you left us? She flouts like a very
shrew when your name is mentioned.—
What's the matter, nephew? Better come
back, and settle up old scores; for though
Jenny's the least bit contrary, she has the
best heart.' So Uncle Dick wrote."
"And you went back to Beechtsood?" said
Phil.
"Not I," replied Ned, smiling, "I knew
the time hadn't come. I wrote home that I
was off for a foreign tour, departed the fol
lowing week, and not till fifteen months
after did I set a foot in Beechwood
_again."
"It was as I expected. Jenny was still un
married, and flirting desperately as ever.—
But faith I didn't recognize the tall, queenly
woman, who received me with such cold
stateliness in Beechwood drawing room.
Not a trace of the hoydenish, romping, mis-
chief-loving, school-girl I had left more than
•
five years before.'
"Many gentlemen came to the house, and
she - danced, sang, played 'and flirted with
them all; but not a pin did' she care for one
of them. 'But did she care for me still?'
I couldn't tell. Her old g,ayiety of manner
was all gone; she was courteously, chilling
ly polite—but never affable or familiar; po
lite, nothing more. Every approach to in
timacy was repelled. She seemed building
higher, day by day, the icy wall between us.
"Well, so it went on for weeks and weeks,
Jenny chatting and playin - g the agreeable
to all others, but de cidedly - icebergy towards
me. I was in tortures; this must come to
an end.
"One night we were left together—Jenny
and I. • A lucky attack of the gout confined
Uncle Dick to his room, where Aunt Mary
was kept -busy with bandages and liniment;
visitors went away early in the evening; and
we were alone for the first time since I had
been at Becchwood, for Jenny had managed
to avoid me, never riding or walking with
me as of old. Now she was stately and
calm as ever—but talked little; and when
the old clock struck ten, arose, gathered up
her embroidery, and took up a lamp. 'Good
night,' she said.
"My time had come. 'No—it is Good
bye,' I replied, proffering my hand. 'Good
bye?' she said, and she glanced up inquir
ingly; 'l—Mr. Wilder, I don't understand
you!' she exclaimed. 'Perhaps not,' I said,
indifferently. 'lt is only this—l am to leave
Beechwood by the morning stage, and shall
not see you so early.' Leave Beechwood!'
and she slightly faltered, looking surprised,
and replacing the lamp on the table. 'I did
not know—had not thought—that is, you
make us a short visit, cousin,' she stammered,
It was the first time she had called me
cousin. 'And why should I prolong it,
Miss Wilder?' I asked, 'since at least one
here does not desire my presence?' Going
over to her, I took her hand. 'Cousin Jen
ny,' I said, 'I can plainly see that I am un
welcome here. You snun me, and lam go
ing back to town. So it must be good bye,
cousin. You will think kindly of me; some
times?'
"There was no answer. I heard a hard
drawn breath—but pride crushed it back.
Shd dropped my hand and again took-up
the lamp.• 'Good bye,. then,'. said she, me
chanically; turning away. I held open the
door to give her •egress. She _advanced a
step into the hull, hesitated, then came back.
The door swung to. 'Cousin Edward,' she
said, and her voice slightly trembled, 'you
have thought me cold and proud--wanting
in the duties of hospitality oven. I acknow
ledge that I seemed so; but you, cousin,
you—have you not neglected us all these
long years? Did you not go away angry,
and,' —she broke down. 'Jenny, let by
gones be by genes,' I said, magnanimously,
acting my part to perfection. hate
hoarded up no anger. On the contrary—
hut no matter. You will come and visit me
in my new home some time? One of these
days'l am going to be married. Good bye,
cousin,' and I passed my arm about her,
'Let me go! Edward Wilder, release me this
instant!' she said, 'let me go I tell you.'
"Ole Phil, you should have seen her eyes
flash! She absolutely stamped her foot
with passion, and struggled hard; but I held
her tightly, 'Let me go! Your lady-lcive
shall know of this!' she cried, with flushed
cheeks and tears of anger. 'Oh, well, Kate
Drew isn't the least bit jealous,' I laughed,
smoothing down her curls. Don't struggle
so! Besides, I want to tell you something.
I do intend to marry, ono of these days, but
no other than her I have always loved, and
who, if I mistake not, does not wholly hate
mel Jenny, look up and tell me if you will
send me-away from Beechwood!" Just at
that moment, as the lamp burned low and
flickered in dusty shadows, a sigh soft as a
summer zephyr, stole athwart my cheek,
and two warm fragrant lips fluttered like
rose leaves against mine. Not a word was
spoken; and there was little need.
"But just the very spirit of mischief
prompted me to whisper then, 'Jenny, my
vow is fulfilled! You remember it? Didn't
I warn you that I would appropriate this
hand? and for the rest, the kiss for the blow,
you know.' And Jenny answered never *a
word, added Ned, smiling, "for the witch
was fairly caught in her own trap."
"But Kate Drew?" queried Phil, taking a
lohg'tvhiff at his cigar.
"Oh, Tom Ashley came home," replied
Ned, "and in a fortnight they are to be
united. But she's promised to go down to
Beechwood first, as Jenny's bridesmaid."
"And Scraphine Love?" asked Phil.
"Is Seraphine Love still?" replied Ned—
"lackadaisical, sentimental, and devoted to
the Nine, as ever. She's a volume of poemsin
the press—" Blighted Buds," or some such
pathetic title. Jenny and I have subscribed
fifty copies to distribute among our friends
as literary bijoux? But enough! - consider
yourself held by and for engagement at
Beechwood this day week, to kiss the bride
and eat wedding cake,
Acting . llpon Principle:
Some years ago, daring a sojourn in Mont
gomery, it was the writer's good - fortune to
be numbered among the friends 01.0)1..0:-
The Colonel was ono of those in whose breast
the milk of human kindness overflowed. It
was his misfortune•that hi was never ableli to
say no. And to so great an extent was this
weakness carried, that it had become a no-
torious fact that the Colonel would lend
money to any one on the first asking rather
than refuse it. But so often had his good
nature been imposed upon that he had es
tablished a rule for his own government,
which he was always careful to explain to
applicants for funds, and usually did so after
the following style:
"Want ten, do you? Well, you can have
it. But when can you pay it back? You
see I've got a great deal of money loaned all
around, and I like to keep it circulating,
but I like to know just about the time when
it is a going to get around back to me; and
I hate to be disappointed. A man that dis
appoints me once never" gets any more money
from me."
Thus, it became notorious that Col. G.
would lend money to any one on the first
asking, and if they were prompt in repay
ment, they could "take him for his whole
pile;" at leat so it was supposed.
Acting upon this supposition, one K, a
notorious gambler, applied to the Colonel
one day, for one hundred dollars, rather
doubtful Of his success, however. G. was
staggered, but catching his breath, and over
come with good nature, he replied: "Want
a hundred?—certainly you can have it, but
when will you pay it brick? I always want
to know when my money is coming in, as I
may want to use it elsewhere. Fix your
own day, but be prompt on the day you fix;
for a man who disappoints:me once never gets
any more money from me!"
K. took the money, promising to return it
on the following 'Wednesday; and punctual
to the day and hour, he did return it, bor
rowing from all his friends to enable him to
do so. According to general supposition,
his credit was thereby opened with G. to any
extent; and, two weeks after, his friends pres
sing for re-payMent, and wanting a "stake"
for himself, he applied boldly to G. not doubt
' ing his success.
"Colonel, let's have a couple of hundred a
day or so, will you?"
"Can't," says G.
"Sorry, but can't really—you disappointed
sue so about the last; and I told you that a
man who disappointed me once never could
get any more money ,from me."
"Disappointed you?" said K. "Why Col
onel, you mistake your man; I paid you to
the hour and minute:"
"Ahl exactly," said G. "that's just it.—
You see, I uever expected to get ii!"
te— The following ludicrous scene is
copied from an article in the April number
of Blackwood's, entitled a "I:lemon:trance
with Dickens:"
One of the most shameful recollections of
our almost irreproachable life lies at the
door of the mad wag Dickens. We were
attending service in a cathedral in a city
where we were a stranger, and had been
shown into a pew already occupied by two
respectable old ladies. For a time we be
haved with our wonted decorum, till some
absurdity committed by the elder Weller,
of which we had been reading the night be
fore, rose up to haunt us. had we been in
the open air a good laugh would have re
lieved us, but cabined, cribbed; confined, as
it was, the risibility expanded till our form
swelled visibly, our face grew purple, and
we saw a medical man in the next pew feel
in his waistcoat-pocket as he anxiously
watched the reins of our forehead. The
choral symphonies of the anthem invested
Mr. Welter's imago with fifty-fold absurdity,
blending him, as they did, in his top boots
and shawl, with angels ever bright and fair.
Despairing of our ability to prevent an ex
plosion, and feeling the danger becoming
each moment more imminent, for india-rub
ber itself must have given way under the
accumulating pressure, we suddenly divide
with our head under the shelf on which the
prayer-books rested, and laughed silently,
while our tears dropped like rain upon the
foot-stool. We were beginning to grow
calm when; looking round, we saw the two
ladies regarding us, with pious horror through
their spectacles, and siding off to their own
end of the pow. This set us off again, and
down went our head in a vain ostrich-like
attempt at concealment for our shoulders and
back, convulsively agitated from nape to
waist, and told of the internal struggle, to
say nothing of sounds that occasionally broke
forth, noways resembling the responses.—
Conscious that prebendary and precentor
were regarding us from their eminence, we
again raised our head with desperate gravi
ty, and shall never forget the agony of shame
with which we beheld an aged verger stern
ly approaching, while two church wardens
were quitting their pews with the faces of
men determined to discharge a painful duty.
Nevertheless, at the instance of old 'Weller,
off we went again in a fit now quite audible,
and were eventually marched down the cen
tre aisle, between rows of faces fixed in de
vout horror, with our handkerchief cram
med down our throat, and our watery eyes
standing out of our head like a land-crab's,
and so turning a corner, out under the old
Saxon archway into the churchyard, where
we exasperated the verger and church war
dens to freniy by sitting down on a tomb
stone and giving full vent to our mirth.—
Next day, •all repentant, we waited on the
dean, who, being himself a Pickwickinn,
gave us absolution in the most kindly way,
and 'we caused a copy of Pickwick to be
bound in moroccoand gold, with the inscrip
tion "from a penitent Sabbath breaker,"
which is te - this day conspicuous on a shelf
of the Episcopal Library.
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
How Nathaniel Hawthorne rose to
Fame.
Frorn Recollections of u Lifet;rtic. or Uonr.riti Things I
EMEM=IIM
It is not easy to conceive of a stronger
contrast than ii, presented by comparing
Nathaniel Hawthorne with N. P. Willis.—
' The former was for a time one of the prin
cipal writers for the Token, and his admir-
We sketches were published side by side
with those of the latter. Yet, it is curious
to remark that everything Willis wrote at
tracted immediate attention, and, excited
ready praise, while the productions of Haw
thorne were almost entirely - Unnoticed. The
personal appearance and demeanor of these
two gifted young men, at the - early period,
of which I speak, was also in striking eon
tract. Willis was slender, his hair sunny
and silken, his cheek ruddy, his aspect
cheerful and confident. He met society
with a ready hand, and was received readily
and with welcome. Hawthorne, on the con
trary, was of a rather sturdy form, his hair
dark and busby, his eye steel -gray, his brow
thick, his month sarcastic, his complexion
stony, his whole aspect cold, moody, dis
trustful. He stood aloof, and surveyed the
world from shy and sheltered positions.—
There was a corresponding difference in the
writings of these two persons.
Willis was all sunshine and summer, the
other chill, dark and wintry; the one was
full of hope and love; the other of doubt and
distrust; the one sought the open daylight—
sunshine, flowers, music, and found them
everywhere; the other plunged into the dim
caverns of the mind, and studied the grisly
spectres of jealousy, remorse, despair. It
is perhaps, neither a subject of surprise nor
regret, that the larger portion of the world
is so happily constituted as to have been
more ready to flirt with the gay rouse of the
one, than to descend to the spiritual charnel
house, and assist at the psychological dis
sections of the other. I had seen sonic
anonymous publication which seemed to me
to indicate extraordinary powers. I inquired
of the publishersas to the author, and through
them a correspondence ensued between me
and "N. Hawthorne." This name I consid
ered a disguise, and it was not until many
letters had passed that I met the author, and
found it to be a true title, representing a
very substantial personage. At this period
he was unsettled as to his views; he had tried
his hand in literature, and considered him
self to have met with a fatal rebuff front the
reading world. His mind vascillated between
various projects, verging, I think, towards a
mercantile profession. I combatted his des
pondence, and assured him of triumph if he
would persevere in a literary career.
He wrote numerous articles, which ap
peared in the Token; occasionally, an astute
critic seemed to see through them, and to
discover the soul that was in them; but in
general, they passed without notice. "Such
!articles as "Sights from a Steeple," "Sketch
es beneath au Umbrella," "The Wives of
the Dead," the "Prophetic Pictures," now
universally acknowledged to be productions - I
of extraordinary depth, meaning and power,
extorted hardly a word of either praise or
blame, while columns were given to pieces
since totally forgotten. I felt annoyed, al
most angry, indeed at this. L wrote several
articles in the papers, directing attention to
these productions, and finding no echo to !
my views, I recollect to have asked John
Pickering to read some of them, and give
me his opinion of them. He did as I request
ed;
his answer was, that they displayed a
wonderful beauty of style, with a kind of
double vision, a sort of second eight, which
revealed beyond the outward forms of life
and being, a sort of spirit world, somewhat
as the lake reflects the earth around it and 1 1
the sky above it; yet he deemed them to be
too mystical to be popular.
He was right, no doubt, at that period,
but ore long, a portion of mankind, a large ;
portion of the reading world, obtained a new
sense—how or where or 'whence, is not eas
ily determined--which led them to study
the mystical, to dive beneath and beyond
the senses, and to discern, gather and cher- !
ish gems and pearls of price in the hidden
depths of the soul. Hawthorne was, in fact,
a kind of Wordsworth in prose—less philo.!
sophical. His fate was similar; at first he
was neglected, at last he had worshippers.
In 1837, I recommended Mr. Hawthorne to
publish a volume, comprising his various
pieces, which had appeared in the Token
and elsewhere. He consented, but as I had
ceased to-be a publisher, it was difficult to !
find any one who would undertake to bring
out the work. I applied to the agent of the
Stationers' Company, but he refused, until
at last I relinquished my copyrights on such
of the tales as I had published, to Mr. Haw
thorne,
and joined a friend of his in a bond ,
to indemnify them against loss; and thus
the work was published by the Stationers'
Company, under the title of "Twice Told
Tales," and. for the author's benefit. It was I
deemed a failure for more than a year, when
a breeze seemed to rise and fill its sails, and I
with
itthe author was carried to fame and
fortune.
John Phcerds on. the Glorious 4th.
Every boy in these United States knows
the origin of this glorious day. Small sums
of money, varying from 12 cents to $1.50,
according to the financial prosperity of their
parents, have been annually given them to
expend on this occasion, which indelibly
impress the fact upon their memories, and
leads them to look down with pleasure to
its return. One of my earliest and most cher-
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,407.
ished recollections is of my exploits on the
4th of July, that I can remember, when
with patriotic fervor, I purchased a leaden
cannon, which, exploding prematurely,
burned off my hair and eye-brows, and pu'
an end to a favorite old .at of my old aunt's
that peacefully reclined watching my opera
tions.
We elect our own rulers, and make our
own laws, and if they don't turn out well
it is very easy at the next election to make
others in their place. Everybody has a
chance for distinction iu this country; noth
ing is wanting but natural ability to do it;
and Mrs. Lavinia Pike's baby, now lying
with a cotton flannel shirt on, in a cham
pagne basket, in Portland, 0. T., has just
as good a chance of being President of the
United States, as the imperial infant of
France, now sucking his royal thumbs in
his silver cradle at Paris, has of being an
Emperor.
I do nut wish to Patter this audience; I do
not intend to be thought peculiarly compli
mentary; but I do assure you that there is
not a man present who, if he bad votes
enough, might not be elected President of
the United States. And this important fact
is the result not so much of any peculiar
merit or virtue on your part, as of the na
ture of our glorious, liberal, republican in
stitutions.
In this great and desirable country, any
man may become rich, provided he will make
money, and has money to pay for his board
and schooling; and any man may become
great, and of weight in the community, if
he will take good care of his health, and eat
sufficiently of boiled salmon and potatoes.
Moreover, I assert it unblushingly, any
man in this country may marry any woman
he pleases—the only difficulty being for him
to find a woman that he does please.
STVEARING,—"Trust not to the promise of
a common swearer," says Francis Quarles,
lin his Enchirdion, "for he that dare sin
against his God for neither profit nor pleas
ure, will trespass against thee for his own
advantage. lle that dare break the pre
cepts of his father, will easily be persuaded
to violate the promise unto his brother."—
There is good common sense in this advice,
and it would be well if it were generally
acted on. There are, no doubt, many great
scoundrels who never swear, and perhaps a
few men of otherwise good conduct who
sometimes transgress the commandment,
but of the "common swearer," the man
whose every other word is an oath, and
who cannot perform the most trivial or even
disgraceful act without profanely invoking
the name of the Supreme Being, but little
good can be said. lle may be successful in
business, shrewd in worldly dealing, and.
courageous in facing danger, but in the
qualities that make up the true gentleman
and the Christian, ho is wofully deficient.
Take the man who is well read in good lit
erature, who is agreeable to those in whose
society he is thrown, and whose name is but
another word for honor and probity, and he
will never be found ono who
"Unpacks his heart with words,
Aud fulls to curing lilts a very drab."
Unhappily too many of our young men
think it a mark of good breeding and social
dignity to interlard their discourse with
oaths and curses, wishing to appear, says a
quaint old writer, that they are en familiar
terms with the Ruler of the Universe, if
they are not with the aristocracy of the
land. How mistaken an idea this is may
be seen by the dislike men of really good
breeding evince to the society of those swear
ing pretenders. Our rising generation, with
the human failing of learning that which is
bad before that which is good, are sadly
tainted with the vice of profane swearing.—
He who doubts the fact has only to pass a
group of boys at play in the street to be
convinced. Nor is the practice confined to
the children of the pour and degraded; the
well dressed sons of the "better classes" are
very apt to be those who swear the loudest
and the most pertinaciously. Are the pa
rents of such boys not aware that "hard
swearing" is frequently a pioneer to more
flagrant vices and crimes? We wish those
addicted to this vice would heed the advice
of "holy George Herbert:"
- Take not his linme, who made thy mouth in slain;
It gets thee nothing. and bath no excuse.
I.ust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain:
Bin the cheap swearer through his common sluice,
Let., his soul run for nought"
A REMEDY WITU ONE OBJECTION.—GeneraI
D— was more distinguished for gallantry
in the field than for the care he lavished in
1 personal cleanliness. Complaining, on a cer
tain occasion, to the Chief Justice B— of
the suffering he endured from rheumatism,
that learned and humorous Judge undertook
'to prescribe a remedy. "You must desire
your servant," said he to the general, "to
place every morning by your bedside a tub
three parts filled with warm water. You
will then get into the tub, and, having pro
vided yourself with a pound of yellow soap,
you must rub your whole body with it, im
mersing yourself occasionally in the water,
and at the end of a quarter of an hour, the
process concludes by wiping yourself di y
with towels, and scrubbing your person with
a flesh brush." 'Why," said the General
after a few moments' reflection upon what
he had just beard, "this seems to me nothing
more or less than washing yourself."—
"Well," rejoined the Judge, "it is open to
that objection. " '
iterSome one congratulating Saxe, the
poet, upon his recovery from his recent dan
gerous illne.s, the nit ivp.0.,1: I tin 1... t
die, you know: that world unuin,t it e -
tirely into the groun.l.-