. 1 4
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- •
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• XINS
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•
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 10.]
PUBLISIIED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
Qlliee in Northern Central Railroad Cone
; "any's Building,north-wcst Corner Front and
T-Viartui streets.
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ere risk.
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I *quart [6 tines] one week,
•• three weeks,
" each .11t..equent insertion, 10
1 " [l2 linez , ] one week. 50
• three week.. I. OU
melt Aut,,,pr en t insertion, •.:3
La rge r ad vent proportton.
A hoxr..l will lie !node to quarlerly,l.ll
- or v. , trly gilverwer-.vello are -trictly cotailtril
to Tile, 451.1110...
DR. S. .1.R310R,
H OMEOPATHIC P 111310.0. Office and
lit Locust htreet, oppo.ite the robt
offiee; 1/PPIC1•: PHI VATS
Columl,ll, April '25,1,57 Ihn
Drs, John & Rohrer,
HOE associated in the Practice of .Ddedi-
JA.,
cot urrthia, April Ist, 195G•tt-
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
TIENTIST, Locust street, opposite the Post
A.../ Office. Columbia. Pa.
Columbia May 3. 1.8Z6.
2_
NORTH,
A TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
.1.1. Con/mina. pit.
eollecuon•. J rompdy made, in Lancaster and York
Cowiucw
Qoilltritlin.,Atity 4,1850.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
4.7(1111n1b1+1 Nt:4111 . 11111t, "•
GEOEME J.
\VllBOLESALE,,amllyitelhaila vari e tya
llrcatltild f
too nunieruie to mention; Crackers; Sods, Wine, Scroll.
and Sugar Llmet.r, Coideaboacry, of every desert, uou.
Zac., d.c 1.01 usT
Feb. 2, TA. Between the flank and Fr:mishit I loos.
QOllllOll OF CITRATE OF lIIAGNESIA,or Par
► antiv, 3l utrrnllVater.—Thi , plea.ual gurdwitie
which it highly reconanetided as a ,iili.ditute for
Crooort Anil.. soidlitz ('under,, (.. , ran he °Mani,
cry day tel I. IIERIP:7; Drug Stoic.
Front ty2
JUST received, a fresh sum)! y of Cora
u CU. 1 , 10..r.14t
)IU \ I.i. N. DELIA:AMA
Odd
COluitibm. Alvt.
T AMPS, LIMPS, LAMPS, Just received ut
Dere- Drug r•inie. u new and beautnul lot of
Lump- of all de•urtplions.
May 2.1,57
ALOT of Fresh Vanilla Beans, at Dr. E B.
Urn'. UuiJru Nlortur I/mg:4lo;e.
enlerruhi.. 1,:•7
AM3PERIOtt article of burning Fluid just
ret.r.v,d awl ior .lile by IL
ALARGE tat or City cured Dried Dar, just
received t It St; bANI Sot.
Columbia December 0.1,50.
ANEW and fresh lot of Spices, just re
c•eiv rlllll
cn‘owlim Ilrr t. 41. 1 -4515.
/ ' . OUNTRY Produce constantly on hand an d
it,r by II ',UV 13 %NI SON
HOIIIINY, Cranberries, Raisins, Figs, Da
°lid,. 1V . “11.41., rccrwrd
11. ,UVD.O.I.k,
Colombia. nee YO. 1556
ASUPERIOR lot of Black and Green Teas,
coo" rreo•iVt`d at
II •L 1 SON . 4
Corner of 1 , 11)311 and Citron
Dec. 20, I P 56
JUST RECEIVED, a beautiful assortment of
01:t. , Ink .:ands, at the headquarter.> and
.NC.W4 !Jew
Columbia, April IS.
XTRA Family and Superfine Four of the
ilOlll4. for •hle by II ..,..1.11"1).% \I N. SON.
jUST received 1000 lbs. extra double bolted
ilia.k a I rat Meal. al
n.•.• la 11. 141.1 V ()AM h SON'fz._
EIEEL'S Instantaneous Yeast or raking
fttc • 4te l.a (1, :"•(/:,;
Tock. by the tuck or bu.hrl. for
AIM r•
au le :ovv.
Pan I el. 2-
EI,El".,"1111(1 OIL .Iw-t reePivrl
1/ treeh ttuptAy of this popular and for sale
It NV I LI,LI MS.
Front Street, Colutnlaa, Pa.
A LARGE u, , ortutuut °Mope.. nil ut C , tlttd
/1 ou howl and for sale at
Alurch 12, 1x57. No.l. nigh street.
BOOTS, SHOES, GROCKRI, al.so, Fre , .ll
ES
Bunting Fluidotht opened Itt
THOMAS WHI.SII'S
No. I. 111;0 Street.
March 21, 1857
MRIME Bares. Shouldere, Dried Reef, and Sides,
junt reccverd ut
March 2.2, 1t37. BRUNER & CO'S.
SUGARS. Sugars, of the bent qualities, jest received
and lot Sal r by
Nit re. b 24. I ~57.
.;)IZ . ii: * ;:l l 4 ° , l v j &'; sr.e
`OA I' of all lands .uetublr for wo.llittr: Rod th,,
3,1 I. U tilt.UN VAL d. CO ,
Miter), v 7. 1-57
(CONFEE • I ot. TGAS of a❑ Rind. and •I nee,. (or Nair
'L by 1.0. SRUM R 1. CO'S.
March 2A. 1857
- - - -
MASH, Fish I , i+h—Cottfiati, Mvic‘eret.
J. for oat.. by 1. 0. 1311 UN F.R. Sc. CO.
P.Nrch. 1.57.
nn 141 7 \V lot of WHALE AND CAR GREASING
41. OILS, received at tliv 'tore or the cub..eribe r.
Front Street, Cnlmnlnn. Pa.
May ICI. 11;56
-FRESH Burning Fluid, Just received find for sale
by 1. 0. BRUNER ar. CO.
March 28,18:i6.
71 RIED BEEF, Extra and Plain Hams, Shoulders
-LI and mess Pork, for sale by
THOMAS WELSH,
No. I. limb street.
;Larch 21, 1656
OATS, Corn, Hey, and other feeds. for .ale by
T110.:11AS
Alnrch 21,1.57
MOL. A :is Kz. , .Lo vering'stqnlp.tiew Orleun,,Cuhu,
and sugnr /louse, fur brae by
Mll reh I. 0 BRUNER h CO.
9 .O DOZEN BROOMS, 10 BOXF.S CHE1 , ....3E. For
Bale cheap. by B. F. APPOLD & CO.
Columbia, Ociober 25, 18,50.
A
*upEttiOn article of pm:Nrrottlar7l7l'Y
From Stre it et. Columbia.Pa
.gety 110.1 E
TURT,REC EI WED, a large and well .elected variety
e t of Bruilie, con ristintr ill part of Shoe, II air, Cloth.
Crumb, Nat:, Pat and Teeth Erto.huu, and r o r p..ni e by
It.
_March 22, 7 56. Front atrect WILLIAMS.oIoon,
- - ----
ASUPERIOR article of TONIC SPICE HITTCII44.,
suitable for Hotel Fleepere, for ro le by
It, 1V11.1.1A MS,
Front -.treat. Etolam,tia.
Al ay 10.1'658
F R Esll 1-ITFIBIIIIAL. OIL, alrnys on hand, and fo
lIV R. WILLIA
!any In. i4'lo Front Street. eniaminn.
Tusr received, FRESH C. 6 PRENF.. and for
by - R. ‘V - 11.1.1A115.
Al AY 10,1`36. Front Street. enlinotion. P.
0 nit 1.135. New City Cured name and Shoulders
Uri lust received and for sale by
Fcb. 21,1E47. H. SUYDAM, & SON.
Rake the embers, blow the coal.,
Kindle at once a roaritig fire:
Here's sonic paper—'us nothing, Sire—
Light it (they've saved a thot.and souls!)
Run or faggots you scurvy knaves,
There are plenty out in the public square—
You know they fry the lieretie4 there
(But God remembers their Mimeless graves!).
Fly. tly! or the Kula may die!
Lich! Ills royal feet are like snow,
And the cold is mounting up to his heart
(lint that was frozen long ago!).
Rascals, varlets., do us you're told—
The King is cold!
ERMI
ESA
Ills Led of state is a grand affair,
Wall sheets of mutat, and pillows of down,
Arid close beside it stain', the crown--
But that won't keep lain from dying there
His hands are wrinkled, his hair Is gray,
And Lis ancient blood is slu.Gnth raid hdrll
When he was young it was hot Wall sin,
But that is over this many a day!
tinder Lire-C r6ecis of curio and lace
Ile slept in the arms of his coriculanesi
Now they rouse with the Prince instead,
Drinking the maddest, merriest wines.
It's pleasant to hear such catches trolled,
Now the King is cold!
iVlmt shtili I do with his Majesty now?
For, thanks to my potion the man is dead:
tluppose I boaster Into up to Ins bed,
And fax the crown again on his brow'
That is ould be merry—but then the Prance
Would tumble it down, I know, in u trice:
'l'would puzzle the devil to twine a vice
That would make Ins Excellent Highness sesame?
Bat hark' he's rotating, I baste Ina step.
Lle's FMIIIIIII , to see alms washes are true:
Ala, sire.. may your father's end be yours'
(Watt, 3ust such a son to murder you!)
Peace to the dead' Let the bells be tolled,
The King is cold!
Marseilles is a city of fountains, and has
a fine aqueduct, almost entirely subterra
nean, by which pure water is brought from
the little rivers, Huveaume and Juvet. But
this was not always the case. Look back
with me Lanny, many years, and I will show
you how ill it used to be supplied with
water, and how in the fullness of time it
came to b e otherwise.
Once upon a time—l know not exactly the
date—there dwelt at Marseilles a man
named Ouyot, with hiss wife and one eon.
They were but humble people; and at the
time my narrative begins the child lay sick
of fever, his tongue cleaving to the roof of
his mouth, and his little hot hand pressed to
his still hotter forehead, while he ceased not
to cry in a plaintive tone for a draught of
water.
'Alas, my child,' said Madame Guyot, in
reply to his moaning, 'you know I have told
you already the cistern is empty. Not a
drop of water have I in the house, and 1 fear
all our neighbors are as badly off as our
selves. See, take a draught of milk; I have
mulling else to give you.'
`But, mother, it is not like water,' replied
the boy; 'it makes me only the more thirsty,
and almost chokes me, it seems so thick;
while water is so cold, and refreshes mc - for
a long time. But, alas! you have none to
giro me. If it would but rain, for I am
burning! Oh, if I were rich, I would care
little for the finest wines if I had but plenty
of fres'i, pure, cold water.'
Madame Guoyot, with true maternal love,
strove to pacify the young sufferer; and
having succeeded in partially relieving his
cravings by means of a draught of water,
which a kind neighhor, scarcely better off
than herself, sent by the hand of her little
daughter, ho at length slept. Even in his
dreams, however, the memory of his fever
ish longings haunted him; and his plaintive
cry fer water at oft-recurring intervals
brought tears to the mothers eyes; and she
trod softly, dreading to awaken the boy,
lest by so doing she should also awaken his
desires to greater activity, when she knew
the was without the means of satisfying
them.
1.0 imuNr.n Cn
=I
Seven years later, and the fever-sticken
boy had grown into a fine thoughtful youth
of sixteen. No longer dependent on his pa
rents, the young .Jacques Guyot cheerfully
performed his part in gaining a living. One
evening, after his return front work, as
Madame Guyot was busily engaged in
placing the evening meal on the table, she
said to her son, 'Jacques, you must be con
tent with less than your usual quantity of
water to-night, for again the cistern is near
ly dry.'
'I. am sorry for that, mother,' replied Jac
ques; 'but though we have often since been
very scarce of water, at least we have never
wanted it so badly as when I had the fever.'
"0 Jacques, can you ever forget that?'
'Never, mother. No day passes but the
torture I suffered then for a draught of wa
ter comes into my mind; and I envy no man
his wealth in anything save his more abun
dant supply of that one good gift. Is there
no way of relieving this want by which the
poor of Marseilles suffer so much and so
often?'
'lt is just because the poor are those who
suffer that they must continue to do so;
wealth might remedy the evil,' answered his
father.
'How so?' said Jacques.
'Easily enough. Only let an aqueduct be
constructed to bring pure water from e. dis-
taut river.'
'And what would that coat, think you,
father.'
"farttis.
The King is Cold
(114rper's
gEttainll.s.
The Marseilles Miser
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 12, 1857.
'More money than you could count, my
son,' replied the elder Guynt; 'so let us to
our supper before it is as cold as the water
you are always dreaming about.'
The meal over, Jacques wandered into the
garden thoughtfully and Silent, but not un
notice by his parents. They conversed to
gether in an under tone about the extraor
dinary manner in which his mind dwelt on
the one night of suffering from thirst so long
gone by.
'lt is strange,' said. Madame Guyot, 'how
the lad is always thinking of it. I quite
feared to telrltim how little water we base
left to-night, for it seems to grieve and trou
ble him so much; not for ourselves alone,
but lest some unfortunate should have to
bear sufferings like those he experienced
seven years ago.'
'Well,' replied the father, 'even that is
not the chief object of his anxiety.'
'Why, surely he does not fancy himself
in love yet!' said. Madame Guyot in an ac
cent of alarm. 'Our neighbor's daughter,
Madeline, casts sheep's eyes at him, I know,
young us he is; and Jacques often tells her
how like a little angel she seemed to him
when her mother made her the bearer of
that draught of water. But it is doubtless
only nonsense, for he is still a boy, and she
is a full year younger.'
I was not thinking of Madeline, wife,'
replied Monsieur Guyot; 'in my opinion,
Jacques loves something else better than all
the little damsels in the world—l mean
money. Ile is always hoarding every sou
he can collect, and trying, by all sorts of
extra services, to earn more than his daily
wages; and I almo..t fear our , on will turn
miser, since he spends nothing be can avoid.'
'Oh, if that he the case, he i, doubtless
thinking of some girl, and trying to save
against the time when he is old mionelt to
marry; but he is a good youth,' added Mad
ame Guyot, brushing a tear from her eye at
the thought of having a rival in the love of
her only child.'
'Ah, wife,' said her husband, 'you are
almost jealous of little Madeline; but remem
ber you cannot expect to keep this one
lamb of yours always by your side; and I
say that if the thought of having some day
to provide for a wife makes the lad so saving,
I for one am well content!
The return of Jacques here stopped the
conversation. Hours after his parents were
at rest the youth sat by the lattice in his
little chamber: A luxurious vino hung over ;
the casement, and waving backwards and
forwards in the moonlight, cast fantastic
shadows on the wall. Little knew the pa
rents
of Jacques by what strong feelings ho
was actuated, though both were in parts
right, the father when speaking of his al
most miserly habits, the "mother in believing
that her son loved Madeline.
The youth possessed one of those thought
ful natures which become old too seen; and
those who wonder at lure in a boy of six
teen, must remember that in southern
Prance the blood runs warmer than in our 1
cold climate. It was indeed wonderful how
he always thought of Madeline in connec
tion with that night of feverish agony—how
like a ministering angel the child had
seemed in his eyes when she tripped lightly
in with the cooling drink to satisfy his long
ing. The cup of cold water had worked
with a marvellous charm, and the youth re
garded the girl with a fooling akin to wor
ship. In the eyes of others she was just a
bright-eyed laughing thing, somewhat wil
ful and capricious at times, as girls are apt
to be; but to poor Jacques she was a being
of heavenly beauty.
The recent scarcity of water had again
brought the old scene most vividly to his
mind, and you might have seen by the
moonlight how pale and agitated was his
face. After a long vigil, he rose, and taking
from a secret repository a sum of money—
large for hint to possess—he slowly counted
it, and then gazingearnestly on his treasure,
said softly, 'lt might be done in a long life
time; but 0, Madeline, Madeline then with
tears streaming down his cheeks he flung
himself on his knees to pray. Poor Jacques!
he prayed with such earnest simple faith,
that he rose tranquil, and seeking his couch,
soon fell into a sound sleep.
Three more years went by, and still Jac
ques continually added to his store. So
scrupulous was he in denying himself every
superfluity that the neighbors whispered'
how the young Guyot had become a miser.
Some did more than whisper; they spoke
openly to his mother respecting this peculi
arity in her son. Madame Guyot looked
very sagacious, and gave mysterious hints
about the virtue of sparing on one's self to
spend on another, glancing as she spoke at
Jacques and Madeline, who were just visi
ble to the group of gossips.
Let love be the presumed cause of a man's
actions, a woman will hardly ever deem him
in the wrong, however extravagant they
may be. Even vice in her-sight assumes
the dignity of virtue, if she can ascribe its
committal to the power of love. So it was
with the gossips at whose self-constituted
tribunal Jacques was tried, and from that
time many a sly joke was leveled at Made
line, till the little damsel's head was almost
turned with thinking of the—of course much
magnified—riches which were hoarded by
her admirer for her to spend some day.—
She felt she was beloved, fur it is not hard
to divine when ono is the dearest of all
earthly objects to a pure and honest heart;
but in spite of her convictions in this re
spect, the conduct of Jacques was a cad
puzzle to her.
'lie is never so happy as when by my
side,' she would often say to her mother;
`that any one may see; but I do not think
he cares to gain me for a wife.' The mother
would bid her be patient, and all would in
time turn out well; but Madeline thought
there should lie some limit to the expected
patience, so she would pout her cherry lips,
and give Jacques short answers. Still,
though she evidently succeeded in giving
him pain, lie scented as far from declaring,
his intentions as ever.
The crisis, however, same at last. Made
line had a cousin Marie, who was not only
a near neighbor, but also a sort of rival
j beauty. - There had been no slight jealousy
between the girls on the subjects of love and
marriage; but Marie bad at last triumphed,
and, the day f,r her own wedding being
fixed, she openly twitted Madeline about I
her laggard lover. This was a sad blow to
the vanity of the younggirl. Marie's fiance
came from what seas in those days consid
ered a great distance, and neither grudged
spending time nor money in visits to his be
trothed; while Madeline, with her lover
almost at the door, seemed likely enough to
remain single. Oh, it was too much for any
maiden's patience.
The wedding-day came, and she of course
was one of the gueAts, together with Jacques;
and tho girl, bent on punishing, her tardy
admirer, coquetted with others by his very
side. But she did not step at coquetry only.
'Elie brother of thy bridegroom, a gay and
handsome fellow, now it Marseilles fur the
first time, was smitten with her charms, and
after the wedding, found, or made, many
exco , es for trill it, the town which eon
mined Nl:dlitte. i:tuque,, it seemed would
not be piqued into submission, and she was
not inclitted either fur a spinster's life or a
longer silent wooing: so, after some hesitrt-
tion on the part of her parents, NI-ho still
leaned to their neighbor, partly from old as
-1
socultam, and still in,fre because of his re
puted wealth, Madeline was betrothed to
the stranger.
Madame Govt often sighed, and said in
her sou's hearing that it was a pity two of
I the prettiest maidens in Marseilles should
be carried off by strangers; for she had Jong
ago made up her mind that since Jacques
would needs marry soon or late, it would be
well to have a daughter-in-law whom she
had known from babyhood. All her hints
might have been unheard, for any outward
effect they produced on lae'r who:,
the marriage•day came he remained shut up
in his little chamber. Ne:ther food nor
drink passed his lips; but could ho have
been seen by any one, a mighty mental con
flict would have been revealed to the watcher ,
—it was the last great struggle with human
passion. The last bar to his devoting him
self to one great object was removed.
The gossips who 114,1 aforetime interested
themselves so liberally in the affairs of Jac
ques and Madeline, once more twitted. Mad
ame Guyot, saying, it plainly was not love
that made her son such a miser in his habits,
but she answered them more proudly than
e:cr that Jacques would. aow look higher
for a wife.
So, first one great lady and then another
was said to be the fair object for whom our
hero cherished a. secret passion, and whom he
was trying to equal in wealth. l3at though
Madame Guyot fostered the idea, she, poor
soul, knew better fur only a. few days after
the marriage of his own love, Jacques had
begged her, in a broken voice to find out
whether the little vessel in which Madeline
had borne the precious draught of water to
his bedside, a dozen long years ago, were
still in existence.
'O, my son,' said Madame Gnyot, 'since
you did so love Madeline, why did you let
her go? She would not now be the wife of
a stranger if you had asked her for thyself.'
'Better as it is, mother,' replied Jacques,
though his lip quivered while he spoke, and
again begged his mother to procure what ho
had mentioned at any cost.
Madame Guyot's mission proved success
ful, though the mother of Madeline marvel
ed greatly at the request; and both the
worthy matrons agreed that the conduct of
Jacques was a problem beyond their power
to solve. Eagerly was the little vessel seized
by him, and after bestowing many grateful
thanks on his mother, he conveyed it to his
own little room. Could the thing of clay
have spoken it might have told how, when
others slept, Jacques spent many an hour
in sighs and even tears. Ay, for every drop
of water it bud once held, the strong man
paid in tears a thousand fold.
Years sped on, and the father and mother
of Jacques pa.sed front the earth. The
young man had been called a miser even
during their lifetime, hut now, indeed, be
merited the title. ii:er craving for rich-
es, he added to his store by the strictest
parsimony. His clothes were patched by
himself, again and- again, till no traces of
the original stuff remained. Generally his
feet were bare, and even when lie wore any
covering on them, it consisted of old shoes
which had been cast away as worthless, and
picked up by him in his solitary wanderings
through tho town. flis food was of the
coarsest description, and taken simply to
sustain life. lie no longer occupied the
dwelling in which his early days had been
spent; his present home was an old and
roomy house, built with a degree of strength
which defied any attempt at entrance, un-
sanctioned by the will of the occupant—at
least without a degree of force being used
which must inevitably have led to a discov
ery. Here, then, dwelt Jacques Guyot quite
alone. But far w(,rse than alone was he
j when absent front his home, fin- the evil re-
pate in which he was held was such that as
he walked, the little children ran shouting
after him, 'There goes Guyut! See the
wretched miser how thin he is! He grudges
himself food to make himself fat, and clothes
to cover his lean old body.' Then the mis
chievous urchins would cast stones at Jac
ques, and load him with insults unchecked
by their parents.
But even this was not the worst. One
day he met a friend, or at least he had been
such in youth, and whom he had not seen
for many a long year. For the moment
Jacques forgot his rags and his isolation—it
was so long since a kindly word had been
bestowed upon him, and AI how be yearned
to win it. Eagerly he advanced, with an
indescribable gleam of joy lighting his
pinched features; but his former comrade
shrunk bach, holding up his bands as if to
forbid his nearer approach, saying, as he
did so:
I will not hold communion with a thing
like you. Did you not love thy money better
than her who ought to have been thy wife?
but you suffered a stranger to carry her
away, and now the accursed thing is dearer'
to you than yourqell, th.ottrb Sou have noi•
cher child nu: kin to whom to leave it.—
Away! touch me not.'
Another trial came still later, and; it was
the hardest of them all. A pot tly dame
elderly but still ft e-h and comely 10,dth,;.,
and with a fair daujttar l y her side, p a ,
leisurely along the streets of Marseilles.—
They seemed to be new arrivalq, but the
elder one wa , . evidently no stranger, for she
pointed out to her daughter various changes
which had been made of late. Jacque,
Guyot looked earnestly at the girl, fur her
features brought vividly to his mind those
of the ol!;ect of his one love-dream, and to ,
he came near he heard her mother call her
MadeLne. An.dher glance, and he recog
nized in the elder female the Madeline of
his youth. Though so many years had gone
over his head, his pale face was in a mo
ment flushed. Again he forgot the curses
and the stones daily showered around him;
the vision of the bright eyed child, with the
little treasured pitcher in her hand, was be
fore him, and he too was for an instant
young; but for how brief an instant! Mad
eline, even in her distant home, had heard
of the miser Guyot, who heaped up wealth,
thous!: with "boo to oho ro it, and don; oil
even the smallest aid to the miserable,
though surrounded with gold. Even at
that moment, too, she heard the taunts of
the passers by; so, gathering her skirts
closely around her, as though his very
touch would poison, she swept by with such
a look of scorn as routed the miser to the
spot, and brought back the sense of his lone•
liness more terribly than ever.
I Though no inhabitant of Marseilles ever
entered the miser's dwelling during his life,
yet I am able to tell how he spent his life
there. 1 know he never entered his silent,
comfortless dwelling without feeling that
Ihis heart would leap for:p,y to hem. a friendly
voice, or if he might be permitted to clasp a
!child to his bosom. I know that, in spite
of insults, rei roaches, and taunt., h heart
teemed with loNim:..khnine,, to his fellow
creatures; and often when suffering from
them, he would even smile, and murmur:—
'lt is becau,e they know me not; for one
day these curses will be turned to bles , ings.'
Ay, and that, whot, seated on his hard bench
to take the fowl twedful to p ng his Le
until the object for which he had given up
all that could tend to his enjoyment, should
be accomplished, ho prayed fur a blessing
on his coarse fare; and I know, too, that nf-
ter each more biting proof of scorn from
those around him, he asked from the same
Almighty source strength to endure to the
end.
A very old man was Jacques Guyot when
the end came, but ho met it with joy and
I hope, for he had lived long enough to finish
his self ittWosed task. Stretched upon his
wretched pallet, ho smiled and talked to
I himself. 'Ah! Jacques,' said he, 'they
will never more call thee accursed. The
last stone has been cast nt thy worthless
carcass, for worthless it may well be called;
since even the worms will scarcely he able
to banquet on the scanty covering of thy old
; bones. But oh: what joy to think the miser
I has not lived in vain'. And then, ton,' said
; he, taking in his hand Madeline's little
pitcher, 'well bast thou perforated thy part.
I Though but a thing of clay, the sight of thee
has reminded me each day and hour that,
having given up her to whom thou didst once
belong, no greater sacrifice could be demand
ed of me; and more than that it ever brought
before me the memory of the one pressing
want which inspired the resolution God has
in his goodnes given me strength to fulfil.—
I will indulge just one weakness and having
taken my last draught from thee, no other
lips shall touch thee.' So saying, be drank I
the water it contained, and gathering all
his remaining strength, shivered it to atoms.
One hour after, and the miser lay dead.—
Only lifeless clay, senseless as that shivered
by his last act, now remained of Jacques
Guyot.
As soon as he was missed from his daily
haunts the propriety of examining his dwel
ling suggested itself to the towns-people, for
there were many who would not touch him
while living who would gladly have acted
as his executors. Fancy, then, the crowd
around the door—the forcible entrance—the
curious ransacking each room till they at
€1,50 PER. YEAR. IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
last stood beside all that remained of the ob
ject of their bitter I 'ailing. The authori
ties of the town, who led the way, took pos
session of a sealed paper, which Jacques,
ere he /ay down to die, had placed in a con
spicuous position. It was his will, duly
executed and contained these word,.
"Having observed from my youth that the
poor of Marseilles arc ill supplied with wa
ter, which can be procured fin- them only at
great cost, I have cheerfully labored all my
life to gain them this great blessing, and I
bequeath all I possess to be spent in building
nn nqueductfur their use."
Jacques had told the truth. The curses
turned into blessings, and his death made a
city full of self reproaching mourners.—
Many a man has won the name of a hero by
one gallant deed; but be who made a con•
quest of a city by the continued heroism of '
a long life, methinks deserves the name in
deed. And thus I have told you to A'bora
the inhabitants of iiklarseilles Owe their aque
duct.
From Om Ps'• ayune
Doesticks Sees a Cricket Match.
I have beard a great deal about the man
ly sports of '•Merrie England," and have al
ways had a great re•pcet for expert,. in the
atilt is game; of the Bruishers. Cricket
has been specified as a game requiring the
greatest possible quickness of eye and activi
ty ot• limb, and. I have here.otire looked
upo , as a glories sport, full of intense,
though innocent excitement. In my lamb
like innocence I have always, until yester
day, ,apposed cricket to be a diversii n, an
amusement, a pastime, a holiday recreation,
and nothing but ocular demonstration could
have convinced me of my great mistake.—
Two famous "Elevens" were to play a match
lat Huhoken—crack :ten 011 bath sides—
, heavy bets—sporting world prophesying
great things—resolved to go—did go—ium
disappointed, and, I may say, disgusted.—
Cricket is nut a game—it is a popular
falla
cy to suppose it is, but it is a solemn ceremo
ny periodically performed with the greatest
seriousness by deluded Englishman, who
think they are having fun. Fun! A crick
eter
has no more appreciation of genuine
fun than a dead jackass has of a fancy horn
pipe. Grim are the cricketers, and despond
ing; smileless, dejected, forlorn and bilious.
The Pilgrim Father s, holding au out
evening prayer-meeting on a sidehill in four
feet of snow, in the middle of February,
were a gay set of jolly dug., compared to
to these rueful cricketing Englishmen out
for a day's pleasure. A New York murder
trial, or a Kentucky hanging-match would
be a roaring farce by the hide of the sport
ive tragedy of these two crack Elevens.—
The ghost of Hamlet's father, and the spec
' tre of the murdered Banquo, talking over
their private matters at midnight by the
light of blue fire, would look gay and festive
when likened to the Hoboken cricket ground,
with a match in progress. Criel.etl—u ell.
hereafter when I want a Sy1111111(p13 fur all
that is intolerably dull and stupid, I bball
say, Cricket. Whet' I want to express a
grand climax of spiritless dejection, 1 shad
remark, Cricket. When I desire to say of
sonic mass against . :whom I hate a mortal
spi t e, that be is g.iin-visagail. jam:Weed,
mel,•uacholic, in-am. and Eat, 1 ,hall simply
cricketer, and thou I sa.ttl dodge.
Aad if any tutu accu-es sue 1:3 like manner,
1 shall take out a warrant fur ilefawatiurt of
character, and sue him fur maliciously
damagiug my reputation to a huge extent.
I went to Ilobuken with Damphool, who,
although an American, is a cricketer.—
I hope Damphool may be forgiven, and in
deed I think there is in store for
prolided he speedily repents of cricket
and takes to base-ball.
Damphool told me I would see great sport.
Got to the ground—bestowed myself under a
, tree, while Damphool went to f he Ch,b-Louse
to attire himself. Presently he appeared
! .
again, dressed in white flannel from head to
foot. He had a jockey cap on his head, and
buckskin slippers on his feet. Just before
the game commenced he tied a bedquilt on
I
and put on some leather gloves.—
Then the people took their places—the
men who were not bowling all took the setae
position, with their hands on their knees;
and their chins elevated at an angle of 4.5 de
grees. Then the umpire called out 'play'—
, then the bowler, a disheartened looking man,
took up the ball, which was as hard as a
brick, and throw it with all his might at a
lugubrious looking individual with a two
handed pudding stick in his grasp, who
stood in front of some little sticks which
were stuck in the ground like an unfinished
hen-coop. There were two melancholy
bowlers, two drooping batsman, and two un
finished hen-coops. When the dejected man
saw the ball coming, he made a poke at it
with his pudding-stick, but ho didn't hit it:
then he sadly rested from his labors, while I
I a number of doleful men on the other side
wearily sought for the ball. Then the other
bowler with a sad countenance threw the
ball at the other gloomy batsman, who made
another dispirited poke at it with his pud
ding-stick; this time ho hit it—then he ran
towards the other hen-coop, while the man
at that end ran to his hen-coop. Then the
marker put down one mark for his side; then ,
they all rested in desponding silence for five
minutes, during which time everybody re
ligiously kept mournfully still—l expected
to hear some one lead in prayer, or begin an
exhortation, orcommence reading the Burial
Service, or some , inspiriting thing of that
kind; but no one volunteered any amusement,
EWILOLE NUMB ER, 1,415.
and pretty soon the dowileast players re
surnoctthe mysteries of cricket. There was
mule throwing nt the hen-coops, and pretty
-oon one ITELB knocked down. Then the
atsrann, who ought to have stood before it
'
h anc: stm . pcd the ball with the bedqu;lts on
was declarea to be 'out.' Then he
:•etited discomfited, while the rest of his
‘2leNen *et op a dismal groan. Then Dam
,houl went in end took the pudding-stick.—
Then the grave mon threw the hall at Dam
, ph”ol. Domphon'l pled at it ii nfully; then
he ran for the other hen coop, eta the man
I who presided at the wher pu•hl:t•g-stack, run
lur hi. hen coop. The Lot q uit., et, Di! to
ph.mr. log.; interfer ed with his sreed,
he didn't get along very fast; do ther,r,
pensively took the hit . don
Damphool's hen-co,_
out. They persevt red in this jocolf,r:ty us.-
tit sunset, at e Ida time the fonet eat state of
things came to no end. Then the eleven
whose pudding-stick men had made the most
Hurney, hem een the heir-coups was deCIIITOd.
to be the winner: then they untied the bed
pt:lts from their legs, tuck off their flannels
rid went home. This is all there is of a
_.,ate ref cricket. It may be a very brisk
mnusement for some men, hut I would as
-oon think of taking a pleasure-ride in a
hearse, Or going to a dozen pedestrian
funer
..l+ fir a day's pleasure, ns of participating
a the gloomy ceremonies of cricket for the
• ame length of time.
I hare been low spirited ever since the
;rent Jersey match, and am rapidly sinking
under the remernbrance.of the ditmal doings
cm that oppressive occasion. Disconsolate
Q. K. PIIII.ANDER DOLSTICKS, P. B.
Charles Lamb
An essayist in Harper's Magazine, writing
of the humorists, says:
I Perhaps the most delightful and popular
of this class is Charles Lamb—a man cosily
id )mesticated by the heart's fireside of his
readers. Such wit, such humor, such ima
gination, such intelligence, such sentiment,
Such kindliness, such heroism, all so quaintly
'ailed and mingled. and stnttering out in so
freakish a fashion, and all blending so finely
in that exquisite eccentric something which
we call the character of Chnrles Lamb,
make him the most lovable of writers and
men. His essays, the gossip of created ge
nius, are of a piece with the records of his
lire and ennversation. 'Whether saluting
his copy of Chapman's Homer with.& kiss—
or saying grace before rending Milton—or
going to the theatre to see his own farce act
ed, and join in the hisses of the pit when it
fails—or sagely wondering if the 'Ogles of
Somerset were not descendants of 'King
Loar—or telling Barry Cornwall not to in
vite a lughbrious gentleman to dinner, be
caumo his face would ;cause a damp over a
funeral—or giving as a reason why ho did
not leave off smoking, the difficulty of find
ing an equivalent vice--or striking into a
hot contr,,A ersy between Coleridge and H9l
- as to whether man as he is, or man'as
he is to be, is preferable, and settling the
dispute by saying, "give me a man as he ig
lint CO doing i.orne deed of 'kindness
and love with tears in his eyes and.apun-on
his lips—ho is always the same dear, atrange
delightful companion and friend. He is
ne‘er—the rogce—withuut a of login
to astound common 4ense.
'Mr. Laurb,' says tLe Lend clerk at the
ruche, 'yuu cum() down very lato.in
tlie morilive,
*Yes sir,' Mr. Lamb repließ, •but than you
know 1 4;4 Lowe very early in the after-
noon.'
And then with What humorous estrum.
g:lnee he esprest-es his peetishness at being
ow.l6tie.l to such work, with curious ingenu.
ity running his moledieticns on commerce
tanner all its lines of influence.
'C' , ,nfu-lon Was , : oil mer-L.-it'le rransa.o
ti.ms, •,f
air,e Le:v. eel! I itti :he con
anent ,;.%:I':z.ition, 84,1 %seal:l4 and amity.
and link Vly. anti gett.ii.g rid of preju
dices, and knowledge of the free of the glut e l
and rut ail the tiro of the totest, that luck
su ro uautiu oche, and die into desks.'
it is impossible to cheat this frolicsome
humorist witn any pretence, any exaggerated
,eutiment, any of the do-me-goudisms of
well meaning mural feebleness. A lady
~ends him •Ctelebs in Search or u Wife,' for
perus.ll and guidance. Ile returns it
with this quartrain written on the 9y-leuf,
expressing the blight disagreement between
kits views of matrimony and those entertain
ed by Miss Hannah Moore:—
ever I marry a wile,
11l marry a landlord's daughter.
And sit in the liar all day.
Awl driule co d brami amt
If Le thus slips out of controversy by
making the broadest absurdities the vehicles
of the finest insight, his sense and enjoyment
of absurdities in others rises to rapture.—
' The nonsensical ingeunity of the pamphlet
in which his friend. Capel Left took the
ground that Napoleon, while in the hands of
the English, might sue out a writ of habeas
corpus, threw him into ecstasies. And not
only has be quips and quirks and twisted
words for all he sees and feels, but he has
the pleasantest art of making his very mala
dies interesting by transmuting them into
jests. Out of the darkest depths of the `die
mats' fly some of the happiest conceits.—
'My bedfellows,' be writes to Woodsworth,
'are cough and cramp. We sleep three in a
bed. flow is it,' he says, 'that I cannot . get
rid of this cold? It can't be front a lack of
care. I hare studiously been out all these
rainy nights until twelve o'clock, have had