Nasal I ro t li c g t 1%4( r - 'SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXX, NUMBER 93 'PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING Offtee•in Carpet Hall, :Yuri7t-west corner of' i_Front and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription. caecoarperaaa.m,i f paitit n advance, • If not paid within three omonthafrom commencement of the year, iOO 41. CP a t 9 A. 'No subscription received for a le.o time than cix months; and no paper will be ilkeontinued until all inrrearagesare paid, un less. at the optionof the pub jolter. 11:7oneyina y bete mizLedblmaii ithePublish er's risk. Rates of Advertising. 1 square[Glines3 one week, $0:19 Arm weeks, 7.5 each4ubseque min ser tion, 10 [l9:ines] one week, 50 three weeks, 1 00 Et each subsequentinsertion. 25 Largeradvertisement4i it proportion. A liberaldiseount will be made to quarterly, holt - - earlyoryearlyadvertisers,wito are stricti)eontined otheir business. DR. HOFFER, DENTIST. --OFFICE, Front Street 4th door from Locust. over Saylor &MeDonald's Uook store Columbia, Pa. IrrlintranCe, between the Book and Dr. Herr's Drug Store. (august 21, 18.52 THOMAS WELSH, JUSTICE OF TEE PEACE, Columbia, Pa. OFFICE, in Whipper's New Building, below Black's Hotel, Front street. 137 - Prompt attention given to all business entrusted to has care. November 98,1857. DR. G. IV. 111IFFLIN, DENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above the Odd Fe110w... , Hall, Coltman:l,Pu. Colombia. May 3. l 536. H. M. NORTH, A TTDIEVEY AND COUNSELLOR, AT LAW columbio.r... Collecnons,tromptly made ,ist La neasterand York 3ounties. Columbia, May 4,1650. J. W. FISHER, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, ColnmL C,03.11.11.333.13diaZ, Sepwillher 1.,56•11 - plafft BUTCHER'S' Magic Oil, a new sup ply ju,: rceci,ea bluel Col a ld by R. WI 1.1.1 E A NIS, Trout •trevt. November"G, 1•75 g SiIAKER CORIV.---1 fresh lot of Shaker Corn, for Stile by 111:NICY s CYDANI, Nov. 1.3 11f.159 Coe nrr I 1.)1111F: E. 11. RUG'S Instantaneous Relief. A. For sale by H. 'WILLIAMS, Noventher O. IPSI. From mr,,e AFRESH supply of Extracts for the llama kerchief, 5 Lich as, fro.ie Geranium. Jaarribi Polley Suckle. Sarum Flowers, 'Winter Blossom., Tuberose, Frangipsioni. "ICips me quickly," and a variety of others too numerous io mention. reevived and for pale by Nov. 6.'53. R. NN ASUPERIOR assortment of Puff Boxes, uct rce.ived owl for -.ale by Nov iG, , .5t3. R. WILLIAIVIS. GEOLME J. SMITH, WHOLESILE and Retail Bread and Cake Baker.—Coustainlv mt mud a variety of Cakes. Woomera:. to mention: Or:A.4,cr.; Soda, fl tie, Scroll. end Sugac lieseuit; Confer:lottery. of every description, AAc. LOCUST Feb. 2,'56. Between the Bank and Franklin House. JUST received, 'three dozen Pr. Brunon's Vegetable Bitter.. a zeal:Ain cure for Dyspepsia, also. a fresh lot of Sup Sugo and Pint Apple Clivese, Farina and Corn Stanch, at D. lIKRICS Sept 5, 1557. Grocery and Liquor Store. JUST RECEII'Ea, a beautiful assortment of Gloss Ink Salads, at the Headquarters rind New+ Depot. Columbia, April 18,4657. Preparations for the Hair VRANGIP.AINI ROM IDE, Vegetable Nutritive, Rondolioe, lieors Oil. 1111U1'P Eau I.a.trale, Lyon's 8:1011111011, lU.O{ 1 . 11111C0 , 11C, Bears “rvn-e. Antique Oil, Barry's Trieopherotos, Wood's flair Restorative. Oldridges Balm of Columbia, just re ceived and for tole Nov. 6, %Ty. SETSI'r.E ECEIVED, AT the Laden Igo riar Drag Store, an extra quality of 1.4 on 's Pure 01110 Catawba Broady. Also, pure tPearl Sw fell, 111-Catimiat to of Soda, Olive Uil for ruble use, C.oxe's Saari:hag Belanliae. Iterk erJFttmtna, 434wego COW Stand', Cream of Tartar, All id ads of Spires; Garden, lieuip and Canary seed. 11.1 arc h£7, 1 srsd CHEWING TOBACCO. A l HENRY PFAHLEIVS, Locust street. oppacite the Franklin naive. ran be ted CLLtA LEAF, CON- O RES 4, and several other brand- of the 1..41 Chen log Tohaooo, to which the attention of chewer!, is invited. May 1858. 11 - 411 PORTED Lubin'', also, Gletin's Double Extracts, ,icnr.the hatidLerchief, ut HARRY 6111 7 .M'5. Oppo.ite Cola. Ilri<lge.rroul SI r2=fl NOT/CM. Go TO FENDRICII BED'S jor the Best Tobnceo The Beg Sweet ettvenii-h, " Pooch near, .can be botight cheaper of Fendrich & Bros-than etre where. The on'y estaloln.lied wholesale aid retail •Tobaccoutsts in Columbia. FRONT STREET ABOVE LOCUST. March 12, 1E458. Commonwealth Insurance Co., :UNION BUILDINGS, Third street, Harrisburg, CHARTERED CAPITAL, $200,000. tlnsure Buildings and other l'roperty against toss or damage by fire. Also. against perils of the Sea, In land Navigation and Transportation. DIRECTORS :—Simon Cameron, Geo. M. Tallman, William Dock, Eli Sitter, James Fox. Geo. Bergner, Benjamin I'arke. %Vm. 11. Kepner, A.R. Warford, W. tP. Murray, F. K. Boas, John B. 13errylii 11. Wm. P. Paeker. OFFICERF:—SIMON CAMERON, Precideult IBEN.i. PARKE, Vice President. S. S. CARRIER, .Secretary. H. H. PRY, Agenl,Columbia, Pa. August 23, IfitiO. BAGLEY'S GOLD PENS. A FRESH lot of lot A. G. Bagley's Cold Pens, o ddrercnt sizesSAYLOR st lid & 111cDON Jul-t ree ALD'Seived, at , , mo nad Quarters and News Depot, Front street, sec tand door above Locust. March tr, 1833. Bms.-100 Doz. Brooms, at 11 hiiii - side or Retail, at 11. PFAIILER'S, Dec. 12, 1857. Locust street. SINE'S Compound of Syrup of Tar, Wild Cherry and Honrhound, for the cure of Couglm, •Colds, Whooping Cough. Cup.&e. For retie nt IdeCOR ro KLE & DELLF:Friz Family Medicine Store, Odd Fellows' Halt .oclober 23, 1'258. D. DOTTENSTEIN, 911• QIIRG ON AND PIEYSICLIN, Columbia, Pa. I. Office in the rooms lately occupied by Dr. L. S. May 14. 11,59-if. Patent Steam Wash Boilers. THESE well known noilera are kept ennmantly on baud at Locust latent, opposite the Praialin House. Columbia,July 19,1537. flats for sale by Ihe bushel or larger,quan \July by 13. F. A P 1.01.0, Columb in Dec. 2.1,16.58. Canal 1.1a..in. VITRA. and Superfine Flour, Buckwheat FlOur, Corn Meat, and whole Corn and Om.. at Corner of Third and Union mreetr. [Jan. 6, '59. THORN'S Extract of Cops nal and Sarsaparilla, for **Le at lac Golden Mortar •itrug Store. March D. 1859, TOB&CCO and Segars of We best brands. wholemale and moil, at .la. BRUNER'S• FIT F. P. COZZENS. I lent my love a book one day, She brought it buck.l laid it by; Twos little either had to say— She was so strange and /Po shy, But yet we loved indifferent things— The sprouting Ituda, the btrdi in tune; And time stood still and wreathed his wings With ro=y links from June to Jane. al SO For her, what task to dare or do? What peri! tempt? What hardship bear? But with her! alt! she never knew My heart and what was hidden there! - And she with me, so cold and coy, Seemed like a maid bereft of sense, But in a crowd, all life and j 0127 And full of blushful impudence. She married! well, a woman needs A mate, her life and love to share. And little cares sprang up like weeds, And played around her elbow chair; And years rolled by, but I content, Trimmed my own lamp and kept it bright, Till nge's touch my hair bcopeut With rays and gleams of silver light. - And then it chanced, I took the book Which she had rend in daq•s gone by, And as I read such passion shook My frame, I needs must frown or cry; For here and there her love was sync In old balffaded pencil signs, As if she yielded, bit by bit, lier heart, in dots and underlines. Ah, silvered fool: too"lnte you look! I know it; let me here record This maxim, •"lend 310 maid a book, Unless you read it afterward?, A Painter's Treasure Michael Angelo Cerquorai was a Roman painter who lived in the n.iddlo of the say eitteenth century. His clever paintings of pastorals, markets, fairs and scenes of low life, gained him the name of Michael An gelo delle Bambocciate. Ho excelled especi ally in the painting of battles, whence he was also called Michael Angelo of the Bat tle-field. Michael Angelo had occasion one day to paint a St, John the Evangelist, but his habit of employing ridiculous and gro tesque types made it difficult to find a proper model, and in pursuit of his want he walked towards Tivoli and called on Al. gardi, one of the most famous sculptors of the period, to whom he confided his diffi culty. "Here, Giacinto!" cried the sculptor, "come and show yourself!" Giacinto was a handsome young man of about twenty, who for some 'months past had lived with Algardi, serving him as model. "I am no longer surprised, Algardi, that our pious Roman ladies pray with such fer vor to the saints turned out of your studio," said Michael Angelo. '•lf the lad suite you, I'll make him over to you with the greatest pleasure." Michael Angulo did not observe the sing ular expression with which Algardi uttered the two last words. tVILLIAMS "Are you willing to follow me?" he asked the young man. "Yes, if you'll promise me to teach me how to paint." "I wish you better luck with the brush than with the chisel," said Algardi. Giacinto, the son of Giovanni Brandi; an embroidery designer, had hitherto mani fested no desire to attain a more elevated position art than his father, and if Algardi showed him but little allection, this was partly caused by the small advantage he had derived from the lessons of the great sculptor. His conduct at the outset of his career as the pupil of Michael Angelo was not very favorable, after covering a canvas with colors, he examined it with scrupulous attention, and when forced to confess that at his first trial he had not produced a mas ter-piece, he trampled it under foot, oz claiming: "I shall never be a great painter! Yet," he added, in a lower voice, "I must have fame or money!" For the space of a month Giacinto neglec ted brush and palette; he became taciturn and morose. Each morning as soon as he had finished sitting for the St. John, he withdrew to some isolated spot, and re mained there till night, buried in sombre reveries. But after one of these solitary fits, Gia cinto reappeared in the studio with a more cheerful countenance, and energetically commenced sketching the head of a ma donna. "That's not amiss," said Michael Angelo, 'I think I have seen that head somewhere." "If you had seen it master," replied the young man hastily, "you would think this an abominable daub." "You young goose—when I was your age, I also thought the madonna of my dreams far superior to those created by my brush; that was perhaps why I gave up painting them. Follow my example." But it was very apparent that Giacinto's vocation was to paint madonnas rather than scenes of low life; for regularly every Mon day, after having spent Sunday in wander ing about Tivoli, he rubbed out the madonna of the preceeding week and began a new Some five or six canvases had been used in this way, when one Monday morningGi acinto again abandoned the pallet and re lapsed into those fits of melancholy which had latterly disappeared as they had come, without apparent reason. Michael Angelo noticed this sudden .change, and was tutus. The :ook grirrtirrito. "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CIIEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 24, 1859. alarmed by it. In a visit he paid to Al gardi, Giacinto's name having been men tioned, he could not help saying reproach fully: "That lad you gave me is a perfect mad man!" "Yes, he'll come to a bad end," replied the sculptor, shortly. And he changed the subject, as if he wished to avoid further explanation. Michael Angelo then recollected the plea• sure which Algardi had expressed on giv ing up Gingiva() to him as a model; coupling this remembrance with the well known sel fishness of the sculptor, who would certainly not have parted so easily with a lad who gave hint satisfaction, he became seriously uneasy, and by the time he reached home his mind was filled with indefinite appre hensions. An exclamation which he heard by chance brought his uneasiness to a cli max, and struck terror into his soul. "Money! money! even if I rob or murder for itl" It was Giacinto's voice Michael Angelo, containing himself with difficulty, rent straight up to the young man and said; "Giacinto get your things together, and leave my house this very evening—not to re turn; do you understand?" "Yes, master," he answered; and, with out making any further remark, set about making preparations fur his departure. Reflecting on Giacinto's prompt submis sion and the apparent tranquility with which he left the house, Michael Angelo was more disturbed than ever. lie hastened to his bedroom, drew out from under his bed a box, which he opened hurriedly, and exclaimed: "Thank Godl—the crime has not been accomplished. But," thliught he, may it not be that, for the completion of his crime, it is indifferent to him whether he is inside or outside the house, and that his plans arc so well laid that he feels sure of success!" To account for the anxiety evinced by Mi chael Angelo, it must be explained that he was not used to have in his possession any large sum of money, but it had so happened that only the week before several noblemen had sent him the price of various commis sions. Our painter, had not intended to keep these moneys long in his possession, as he feared lest they should deprive him of his most precious treasure—his cheerfulness. But at that period, the only place in Rome in which money could be safely deposited was the Monte•di-Picla, to the use of which Michael Angelo felt an invincible repug nance; he was therefore awaiting some more satisfactory opportunity, when the imminence of the danger to which he be lieved himself exposed, pointed out to him the necessity of coming to a decision, and executing it promptly. He remembered that, when he returned from Algardi's, he had noticed at some dis tance from the main road, in a wild spot sur rounded by rocks, a dark and deep cave, at sight of which he had exclaimed: "That is the very place fur a miser to bury his treasure in!" His resolution was instantly taken. "Now," said he, putting the box under his arm "let the rubber come w hen he plea ses; he will find neither man nor money." The box was heavy, and the distance from Rome to the cave about ten miles. It was a beautiful night; innumerable stars twink led in the heavens; a cool and perfumed breeze had succeeded to the heat of the day; it was just the time fur a walk; and Michael Angelo got easily over the first three miles. In a little time, however, heated by the eze.tion of walking, our trav eler began to feel the air moist and heavy. Drops of perspiration oozed from his brow. His legs felt stiff, and he was obliged to slacken his pace. In proportion, ns ho felt tired, the weight of the box seemed to increase; he passed it from under one arm to the o'ber, and from shoulder to shoulder, but only succeeded in increasing his sense of general fatigue. At last, yielding to the absolute necessity of taking rest, ho threw himself down at the foot of a tree, exclaim• ing: "If it were to save my life I could go no further!" The night was wearing away, the stars were paling, the rosy tint of morning was just peeping above the horizon; Michael Angelo could not remain eternally under the tree with his box; some determination must be arrived at. Just at the spot where ho was sitting, the road passed at the foot of a hill, half-way up the sides of which fragments of rock jutted out here and there. This place appeared to him much lees se cure than the cave he had in view, yet, as there seemed nothing better to be done, he determined to bury his box there, even if he returned for it a few days later, when he had entirely recovered from his fatigue. lie therefore climbed, and not without diffi culty, up fo a sort of seat formed naturally by a piece of rock, under which, with the help of his dagger, ho dug a hole in which he placed the box; he then covered it with earth, and over all placed some tufts of grass in such a way as to deceive the sharp est eye. This done, be regained the high road, and free from his burthen, turned once more toward Rome. As he left the hill he was assailed by fresh perplexities. lie reflected that his la bors had not been wholly concealed by the shades of night. Might not some unseen witness have watched his departure in or der to possess himself of an easy prey?— This thought came upon him as a Presenti ment; he hastily retraced his steps, and there on his knees, clue to the stone which eonceoled his treasure, gazing anxiously about him, was a man. It was Giacinto Brandi. "I see you, wretch!" cried Michael. An gelo. Startled by the voice, Giacinto did not even wait to ascertain whence it had come, but sprang up and disappeared down a path which led round the hill. Michael Angelo hurried to the stone; the tufts of grass were intact; nothing had been touched. He breathed freely. "The villain must have followed me all the way from Rome, and watched my every movement. What horrible depravity in a young man of twentyl" Michael Angelo's perplexity was now great; his exhausted strength would not al low him to return to Rome with the box; to return without it was to bid his money an eternal farewell. What was to be done? One course alone seemed practicable; it was that of seating himself on the stone, spend ing his day there, and at night digging up the box and eodeavoring to reach the city, where he would hasten to lodge his money in that very .Patti-di-picla which, only the day before, had inspired him with such in surmountable antipathy. Michael Angelo had already spent two hours seated upon his stone, when he heard a slight sound a little way behiqd him.— His first impulse was to spring up and seize his dagger; but seeing only a young girl, who hastily disappeared as if frightened by his menacing gesture, Michael Angelo re sumed his seat. After a few minutes he saw the same girl re-appear at another spot, peering cautiously through the bushes, and again disappearing on finding herself ob served. After lookin. , at her for a moment he exclaimed: "Heavens! Giacinto's madonna!" The mystery was now completely solved; doubtless this hill was the haunt of brig :lade; and Giacinto was one of them; as to the madonna, her employment was that of watching for travelers and giving notice to the band. Michael Angelo; dagger in hand, held himself in readiness fir whatever might happen. Once more he saw the young girl re-ap pear, and this-time she did not endeavor to conceal herself; but walked timidly up to him. "What do you want?" he asked. harshly. "Forgive me, signor," she repled, with some hesitation; "if you knew what brings me, I am sure you would speak to me more gently." "Once more, what do you want?" "I want," replied the young girl, offend ed by the roughness of his manner, "I want you to let me look under the stone on which you are sitting, to see if there is not some thing there which I want." Michael Angelo sprang up and looked around him, convinced that he must be sur rounded by bandits; but he was alone with the young girl. While gazing at her, lost in nmazement at her effrontery, he saw her stoop down and examine beneath the seat. "Enough!" cried he, pushing her away; "I warn you that I am in no patient humor." It was now the young girl's turn to be lost in amazement. "Whom do you take me for, signor?" "For a daughter of Satan, ill-disguised as an angel. Are you not ashamed—you so young and beautiful—to follow so disgrace ful a calling?" The young girl's cheeks blushed scarlet and tears gathered to her eyes. "I should be glad," said Michael Angelo, in a softened tone, "to see in those blushes a sign of shame, and in those tears a symp tom of repentance; perhaps, my poor child, your heart is not yet entirely corrupted; perhaps it is not yet too late to save you, by snatching you from the fatal influence of Giacinto." "Glaciate!" exclaimed the young girl; then you know all?" "Yes, I know all; or rather, I have guessed it; it is Gaicinto's love and wicked counsels which have led you astray." "Giacinto!" she cried, with sparkling eyes; "Giacinto is worthy of my love, and I am proud of his; it is cowardly in you to ac cuse him when he is not here to defend him self." "I am here!" ' It was indeed Giacinto. who suddenly ap peared as the young girl uttered the last words. At the sight him Michael Angelo felt cer tain that his time was come. "Whatever your number may be," he cried, grasping his dagger, "you and yours may make sure that I will sell .my life dearly." Glaciate looked with surprise at Michael Angelo. "Master," he said, "I am alone and un armed." "Unarmed! I can't see beneath the folds of your cloak. Alone! These rocks may conceal many more besides yourself." "Why, master—whom do you take me for?"' said the young man in his turn. "Whom do I take you for?—why, for— for—" But Giacinto's eyes erpressed such perfect innocence that Michael Angelo stopped short. "What were you doing here before day break?" he said, "and what is the meaning of this girl's conduct, and the more than singular manner in which she accosted me? How is it, moreover, that you have reap peared so unexpectedly? What interest brings you both to this seat, under which you both appear to be seeking something?" "Master," replied Gincinto, "in the pres ent state of things mystery is useless—l love Teresa." "I guessed as much; do you suppose that I did not recognize in the sigmira the six or eight madonnas which marked your passage through my studio?" "I came here Sunday after Sunday," con tinued Giacinto, "to gaze upon her lovely face, and I always returned to you with the hope that Love, as with the stroke of a fairy wand, would suffice to transform me into a great painter; but, alasl I was forced to ac knowledge that, as you had told me, wishes alone will not make an artist." "Wherefore this impatience to become a great painter?" asked Michael Angelo. "When I made known my love to Teresa's father, he answered me; "I will only give my daughter to a great artist, or to a man who has plenty of money." "Now I begin to understand," said Mi chael Angelo. "The last time I saw Teresa, she told me that her father had arranged a rich marriage for her, Ireturned home desperate, and see ing no time was allowed me either to become illustrious or rich, I resolved—" "To take a short cut to fortune," said Mieha el Angelo, "by following me last night, after I had given you the dismissal which you took so quietly." "Quietly, indeed," answered Giacinto, "for, as I was, about to tell you, I had re solved to die that I might not see this mar riage, which, by depriving me of hope, fills up the measure of my sorrow. If you see me here, it is because I wish to take a last farewell of this spot, where I have been used to meet Theresa, and of this stone, which has been the safe depository of our correspondence." "Then," said Michael Angelo, "when I saw you stooping this morning—?" "It was to leave my last message—the letter in which I announced to Teresa my despairing resolution. A voice which I fancied that of her father called out to me, 'I see you, wretch!' This frightened me, and I fled, carrying with me the letter, which I had not time to conceal." "And," interrupted Teresa, "it was the hope of finding a letter from Gineinto, which brought me hero when you received mo, signor, in so strange a fashion." In the face of so perfectly frank and sim ple an explanation, it was impossible for Michael Angelo to doubt any longer. "Well, well, my children," said he, taking their hands, "you may congratulate your selves upon having made me pass a wretch. od night and an uncomfortable day." "Ifow so?" "I will tell you another time; at present we've something else to do. Who is this hard-hearted father who refused to make his daughter happy!" "You know him, master," said the young man. "I do not remember, signora, to have seen you anywhere but in Giacinto's pictures," said Michael Angelo. "I did not often leave my aunt's room, and my father forbade me to enter his studio. I am Algardi's daughter, signor." At this instant a voice was heard, which Michael.Augelo at once recognized, and at the sound of which our lovers turned pale. It was the voice of the sculptor. "I expected as much!" he cried. But before he could say any more, Ali en:lel Angelo stepped up to him, holding out hie hand. "One word, my friend," he said. "You here, and with them, Michael An gelo!" he exclaimed. "These poor children stand in need of support, and I have made myself their ad vocate," said Michael Angelo. "I will never give my daughter to Gia cinto," cried Algardi. "But have you not said that you will give her to a great painter?" "Well—and if I have?" "Giacinto will never do any good, either with Algardi the Sculptor, or Michael An gelo of the Battle-field; I will place him with Lafranc, who paints such lovely Vir gins, and I promise you that he will be heard of before two years are passed. "Two years?—it will then be too late; my daughter will be married in less than a week's time." "flow many sequins does your future son in-law possess?" asked Michael Angelo. "Three thousand," replied Algardi. "Giacinto can put down four thousand at this moment." There was a moment of silence, during which Algardi, Gincinto and Teresa gazed with inquiring looks-into the face of Mi chael Angelo, unable to determine whether ho was in jest or earnest. "If that's' the case," said Algardi at length, "I love my daughter too well to re. fuse the husband she herself prefers," Michael Angelo stooped down, raked away the earth from under the stone, drew out the box and presented it to Algardi, saying: "Count! Thank God," he added, "the Monte-di-Pieta will not have my money, end I have found an investment for it which will save me from all further trouble." Whilst Algardi wits handling the money to assure himself he was not tho dope of an $1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE. illusion, Teresa and Giacinto gratefully pressed Michael Angelo's hand. "By the by," said the latter to Giacinto, "you shall carry the box back; it is only fair that you also should know how much it weighs." Billets-Doug aad Busses A number of funny things turn up in that excellent institution for the relief of hus band and wife, the new Divorce Court of London. Misery and folly seem to divide the causes of marital disagreement about equally between them. Here, for instance, is a story, which did come out there, and another which might lead thero, and both about equally illustrative of the absurdity of unsatisfied and self-tormenting humanity: In the report of a matrimonial difference recently exhibited before the Court afore said to public admiration, the husband was shown to have adapted from the stage to private life a singular method of regaining his wife's lost affections. He borrowed from the "Love Chase" the idea of writing billets doux to and from an imaginary young wo man, and of leaving them in the way of his spouse, with the intention of provoking her to jealousy, and, by that roundabout method, to love—the final result of which too inge -1 nious contrivance was that she obtained a separation. However allowable and innocent these little experiments may be in themselves, we do not think their general adoption in do mestic circles would be advisable. One in stance only do we know wherein any meth od other than the straightforward has in the end succeeded. It is the case 6f a certain rich old lady, who, whenever one of her daughters gets "engaged," insists upon no companying her and her intended upon an "experimental trip," before the matrimo nial one, to Switzerland or some other for eign country. If the gentleman acquits himself with unselfishness and good temper amid all his trials of getting passports vised and of taking care of luggage, ho is permit ted to carry off his prize; but if he exhibit, under any circumstances, the cloven hoof, he gets his conge from mamma. We are bound to say this plan has proved most suc cessful; and indeed it is perhaps only, after all, a measure of extreme precaution, and cannot well be called by any harsher name. Would it be fair to Mr. Younghusband himself, who is forbidden to smoke, or even to frequent the company of smokers, if his wife should leave a cigar box in his study, and come in upon him unexpectedly at the second whiff, while he was leaning his body half out of the window, to prevent the possi bility of annoyance to her from the ',delicate perfume? Or, would it be fair to Mrs. —? But that is the very matter we are coming to, which, affording as it does a warning to all persons who aro tempted to make danger ous experiments upon the virtue of their fellow-creatures, must by no means be dis missed in a pargraph. Mr. Younghushand, although he has been married a good deal more than once, is nev ertheless—singular to say—somewhat sus picious of women. Far from being in gen eral an admirer of Lord Byron or his opin ions, lie yet agrees with that poet in ascrib ing very considerable influence over the softer sex to olportunity. "If a woman sees a becoming bonnet that she knows she can never afford to buy, sir, and the milliner says 'lt's no consequence, ma'am, I can wait for the money a little while;' she will come home with that lionnet upon her head, or in a bandbox, to a certainty. They can't re sist it, sir, for resistance isn't in 'em." iSuch being Mr. X's openly expressed opinion, one would imagine that he would be the last person to make experiments of a sensitive kind upon his own better halves— ' that the attraction of the earth being settled, he would not be throwing apples into the i air all day to see whether they would come I down or no. Such, however, we regret to say, is the fact; and even in the case of the I last—that is to say, the present—Mrs. Younghusbnnd, our auspicious frignd could not forbear testing her conjugal devotion.— There was nut, we beg to 'date, the very slightest ground for such a proceeding; the gentleman is a good-looking, smooth-faced personage, of peaceful appearance—being, indeed, a clergyman—and the lady looks up to him (he having considerably the advan tage in point of years) with the affectionate reverence that is his due; they get on, in short, exceedingly well together, and he is not so addicted as so experienced a matri monialist might be forgiven for being, to throwing at her the good behavior of hie other wives, whenever she displeases him. It was during their wedding tour, and while they were journeying from Bristol northward, that the idea of the unwarrant able proceeding which we are about to re late entered suddenly into his foolish old noddle. Most persons have heard of the Box Tunnel—the largest but one, if not the largest, of the Tartarean roads for which English railways are celebrated; the ordi nary Great Western speed lessens as its trains burrow under the long hill, and only a well-like shaft at rare intervals assures the passenger that, in spite of appearances, ' he has not left daylight forever. In the same first class carriage with the Younghusbandskot in at Bath a young dra goon, hirsute and of a martial countenance, at sight of whom the wary Benedict—or Benedictissimus—thus soliloquised as they were about to enter the tunnel: "Now will I prove my Angelina, that she loves me and only me, and that the attractions of oven [WHOLE NUMBER 1,518. this handsome hero would 'be quite thrown away upon her?' So, in the darkness and the thunder of their subterranean journey this cunning man leaned forward in his seat—so that his face would seem to come from the opposite side, Where sat the sol dier—and on the lips of his unsuspicious consort imprinted an experimental kiss.— Ile was back again, and wearing an uncon scious countenance as they whirled beneath the shaft, when the momentary light re vealed his bride-0 heavens!—as quiet, com posed, and innocent of anything having just occurred, as himself! Again this deceiver did it; again and again; as many kisses did he bestow upon her as there were shafts— and still the lady took them, and made neither sign nor scream. Mr. Younghns band was almost out of his mind with jeal ousy, and ready to tear from his head that hair among which the fingers of Time had already been gleaning. There was but a very little darkness now remaining wherein the star of Angelina's constancy might yet display itself—the space between the lust shaft and the termination of the tunnel. This precious interval he employed in counterfeiting with renewed care his mili tary vis a-vis; he fortunately possessed a very long neck; and by craning round, ho even succeeded in saluting the dear girl upon the cheek that was, according to their relatife positions, away from him--thereby, as he imagined, placing the identity of him self with the handsome dragoon beyond all question with her. Conceive, therefore, Mr. Youngliusband's excessive dismay when his Angelina, after suffering him with much equanimity to "graze"—as he subsequently expressed it, to Mrs. Y's indignation—for a considerable period, very quietly kissed him ngain. In the wole annals of love-making there was never, probably, any precedent for a swain so singularly discomfited; if she had but slapped his face, he would have thanked her from the bottom of his heart. Mr. Younghusband had often had occasion to moralise, professionally, upon the vile hy pocrisy of the human family; but he had never before beheld, as he thought, so tre mendous an example of it as he read in his Angelina's face when it emerged from that Box Tunnel. Had she been a Sister of Charity, who had employed herself through out the darkness in telling beads or saying her prayers, she could not have presented to his astonished gaze a more child-like expres sion of feminine innocence. Ire told her to let down the window, which bad been closed during the passage, in so sharp a marital tone that the dragoon looked up in chivalric pity for her, and drove Mr. Y. thereby to the confines of mad ness; nor was it without difficulty that. he repressed his indignation until That disturb er of his peace had left the carriage, and himself and his abandoned helpmate were once more alone together. "Madam," cried ho, "that fellow kissed you as we came through the tunnel, and you know it!" "But how do You know it?" asked Mrs. Younghusband, with a comical twinkle of her eye that would have disarmed a pacha. "And you kissed him again:" continued he, in vain endeavoring to keep warm his jealous wrath. "Only once," replied Angelina, laughing —"only once and away." It was impossible that even Ur. Youngbus band could huld out any longer in his un warrantable suspicions,so he relapsed at,once into confidence and the domestic affections. "But, Angelina, my lore, do tell me how did you know it was me?" "Know?" L answerea she,naively, " why, very easily; it's as different as possible when a person has . mous Mates ltna when a person has not!" Mr. Youngh usband, who had been upon the point of regaining tranquility, was plunged once more into suspicions by this re ply; but he has made up his mind to believe this, at all events—that nothing satisfactory is to be derived from any experiments of the dangerous character of the above. Mr. O'Connell and Mrs. Moriarty. It was at an Irish court of justice that Mr. O'Connell could be seen to greatest ad vantage. EN ery quality of the lawyer and the advocate he displayed. Be showed re search and perfect mastery of hie profes sion, and he exhibited his own great and innate qualities. Who that ever beheld him on the muster circuit, when he was in the height of his fame, but must have ad mired hie prodigious versatility of formi dable powevs. His pathos was often ad mirable; his humor flowed witlidat effort or art. What jokes he uttered, what sarcasm! flow well he worked his case through, never throwing away a chance, never relaxing his untiring energies! One of the drollest scones of vituietation that O'Connell ever figured in, took place in the early part of his life. Not long after he was called to the bar, his character and peculiar talents received rapid recognition from all who were even casually acquainted with him. Ilis talent for vituperative lan guage was perceived, and by some he was, even in those days, considered matchless as a scold. There was, however, at that time, in Donblin, a certain woman, Biddy . Mori arty, who had a huckster's stall on one of the quays nearly opposite the Four Courts. She wan a virago of the first order, very able with her fist, and still more formidable with her tongue. From one end of Dublin to the other, she was notorious forherspowt•
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