- • „ ..-. •M. • , • , • • • ~ kr: 40 \ p • _T • • :„... _ sir L ie • 1' :A. • • • ' - • _ r dig] . , SJU!!!CU.T, WRIGHT, Editor•and Proprietor- VOLUME XXXI, NUMBER 42.3 PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY MORNING Office in azrprt h ill. ..Vin•th-wev t corner of Front and Locust :erects. , Terms of Subscription. iiobie Copy p e runeum,if paidin advance • • •' if no paid witliin thrre asiontlisfroracommencementofthe year. 200 C7aszts Lk Dopy, 'Nor übaeriplion received for a let, lime than asx ixontba; and no paper will be di4continued until all ancenrage tate patd,unleatat the omit:moil tic pub. tsber. iEr : l, lconey , aayue•eraittcebymail a u'lep 0.0101 era risk Rates of Advertising, squartL6 istesjone week. three week:, each•uhsequentiatertton. ie . [l2 itter]osteweek • three weeks g 1 aubtequen liniertion . 25 Lorgertdv . ertitentent,to proportion Al:bend laseoun twi I I be made to quorterly.holf• .early or •ettrly tdverueere,cylto are etrietleonfined o their buttine..e. DR. HOFFER, DENTIST. --OFFICE, Front Slrret 4th door from Locust. over slayloc it McDonald's nook store Columba,. Pa. 117'Entrance, sams it. Jonil'. Pilo. lograph Guile**. [August 4, 1.%9 THOMAS WELSH, TUSTICE OF TIIE PEACE, Columbia, Pa. OFFI , III, in Whippers New Building, below Black's Hotel, Front street. Mr'Prompt attention given to all business entrusted to his care. November 28, 1857. 11. DI. NORTH, A TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW Columbin .I'n CollectionE promptly ma do nlgineasternncl York pots llllC •. Columbi =MEM J. W. FISHER, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, Pea.. Columbia, September li, le:ri•t( S. Mies B ckius, D. D. S. "DRACTICES the Operative, Surgical and !Nicellan J. iced Department,. orDeninory: Orrice -I.ocu.t wee, beivecea he Franklin and PoQt Office, Columbia. Vu May 7. 1459. Harrison's Coumbian Ink iArffICII is a ruperior article, permanettilc black. V►V and not corroding the Rea, can be lind in am enmity. at the Vantily bledicine Store. and blacker get In that English Boot Columbia. /non 0.1859 0 - :rmfomv;mwmq R. CUTTER'S Improved Chest Expanding Su-priuler And Shoulder f3race- for Gem !einem and Patent Skirt Supporter nod Itrnee for LndmQ, pint the article that t, warned nt thin time. Come mid nee them at Family Medicine Store. Odd Fellows Iln [Aprll9,lB3o Prof. Gardner's Soap 11TE have the New England Soap for who die I! not obtain it from the Soap man; it is plett.ntit to the oltin. and will tithe great,• mot• from Woolen tioodt. it it therefore no Imm . mg. for you get Mt. worth of your money nt the Faintly Medicine Store. Colutnbm, Julie 11,16.59. anilllll, or, Bond's Boston Crackers, for Dy v e l the,,, mid Arrow Root Cray ker , ., for in valid+ and •hfldt cli—new u rite la, 111 Columbia, at the Family Medicine Store. April IG. SPALDING'S PREPARED GLUE.--The want of such nu artieie is fell in every Amity, and now it can tie Fuppl red ; , i,r mending furniture, eliina• ware.ormimenial work, lop: &e, there i- nothine superior. We have found it useful in repairing nein) iiriiele4 wide!, have been woiles+ fur month.. VOll J1111...t . i1l it et the to ouisA • I'M ILY 't! I.:DICIti I.: :.."1.01t1; IRON BNI3 STEEL 1 TIIT: r. have Tr , rivet ti New 111.1 Largi . 4. 4 tack of 1111 's rind 417 n. of B.‘R IRON AND STEEL! They are eone•iatitly •iep led with .t •rk in thin br of bin letoeioesq. e it 'o cur Omer. in large• Or at the loos eat el RUMPLE' & SON. Loewe -erect below Second. Columbia Va. Atirii I.?ITTEIt'S Compound Syrup of 1 and Li S',id , berry. I".r.'n.ig.”.. .tole hr Uo.dca Al onar Drag.ior, Front et. luly2 A TER'S Compound Concentrated 'Arad 8:11,•oorillo for the cure of SerOLI . R 1 4 :vil_ soul d'1...rw,,/od4:ttrerc'tsoit:, II ire ' or, :let just tt.erived and (or by It Wi1.Li.154:4. rrnni st , Columba. ..ept 24,1859, FOR SALE. 20 0 lIOSI ritelles, yea.. le,:lif:;rAcAnil, Dutch Herring! • NF one fond ofa good II ei ring -no In. •npplied of F 1:11F.111.1aN'S Nov 19. 15159 (1 rovery Sto,e, No. 71 Locuqt st. ITON'S PORE OHIO CATAWBA BRANDT nimi/ rill I; WI NM. , eopeeialty (or Ilethemes nJ SAeramentul ptsrpo-ca, 11l lite furl 2 I — .llllX 11F:9ICI NIT h i — ICE RAISINS for 8 cis, per pound, are to 1.1 be bed only et EBERI.I:IN'S f:roeery Szorr. ?Jamb fO. MO. No. 71 LOCO, ...Wet G anuErq SEEDS.- -Freshwar Carden Sccds, noiwd pow, of oil k.O 1.. 1 u,t irceived at EI3EHLEIN , S Grneerr Store. No 71 Losu , i fret. March 1.0.1N0 POCK ET BOOKS AND PURSES. A LARGE Jut of rote timl COlll4llOll Doolo nod Porte., ut from 15 rent. to two &OW, each. lit ellquustrt, and New,. Depot. Columbia, Apr:l 1.1.1 .ull. A. EMU more of those, beautiful Prints len t which will I,r -old rlor.dp, SAYLOR& Aler/ONALITS April is Coltroolllo. Pa . Just Received and For Sale. 1500 SACHS Ground Alum Salt, in large or smut; quanuticyokt APPOI.MA Ain) 5,T0. Warehou.e. Canal -in. COLD CREAM OF GLSCERINE.—For the core and prcvnniton cesclanppc4l Imisd.. &c. Vor .nic , II a 1,c3.1839. G0LDLN MORTAR DRUG STORE, Front 4irrei.Columl.m. Turkish Pruzesf fort a that rule mile le of Prunes you souql go to el. EBIAIE FAN'S ,Nuv.19,1549. Grocery Store, No 1 Locuqt Ft GOLD PENS, — G -- OLD l'ENs. *i 7 ►T:cecived a large and fine ariortment of Cold „ar Pen, of :Vernon and firlswoline mnorufarturc. at 14 Front VLOR & LUDO:VA LUIS Book Store. rrckt gtrect. above I.oeu-t FRESH. GROCERIES. vi• r: eontinue t0..e1l the 1,41.4 Lew)" Syrap, Whit' 1 and Brown Sugara.good Catli•es and chowe 10 be bud 11, iNdumlna nt the New Corner rltore. op poetic 04 ( Feliowe 111.111, and at he old tin rid aztjoin• .leg the 'nk. 11. ONUyiIj.,IIPP II. Segars, Tobacco, &c. A ~{l.OT of araterate Sec. ' ure. Tobacco :tad Sang' will Ahe fo uad at the store of the euttrcriher. lie acepe ;only a Bret rate article. tdtit it. S. F. ELIE:RI-GI N'S Grocery Stnre. Locum et., 11,7olumbie. Pa. - Oct GM i CRANBERRIES, r.w :7rnr , rnme., Inron. Oct. .20. Ivo*. .1. AT R.\l7 MY:4 SARDINES, W=7;l4iyr Saner. ite . filattl Cornet jtvd rc d for rate hy e. .oc[ 20. ivio N.l.:t Loco.l Si. CRANBERRIES. 1 UST r , r , lred a fresh lot of Comb..“'lie. no 1 Near Cnrraut.. wt 10. Loeu•t Kira 11).” 21.1,60. K r. 1;131:1I.L1:.; N. ggiEttiDllo, The Second Player ElEl "I said I would tell you my story. Well, to begin, I was born in this town of Burn ton, something less than sixty years ago.— My father was a small tradesman, and sent me to the best school be could afford till I woe, a little over thirteen. I used to recite on the public days in the school, and repeat Latin and Greek orations, of which the meaning was not a little obscure oven tome; what it must have been to my hearers I don't know. My father took me away from the school to the shop. Ile was a tailor.— It worried me to death to sit hour after hour, stitch, stitch, stitch; and I used to be guile the thee by reciting and reading to the fete men my father employed, and they did my share of the work in return fur the amusement I afforded them. CM "At the age of fourteen I took part in some private theatricals in the town, and found the bustle of preparation much more pleasant than the dull shop work. They went off well, and when next the pliyers came to the town I went to the manager and asked him to take me. He laughed, for I was fit fur nothing. Of course I was too big for a page, and too little for a man-at arms; too young fur a first, second, or even third lover; and too old for any accidental Loy part 4. I was disappointed, but I _soon had to leave the then detested shop. My father was of rather a serious turn. tle heard of my going to the manager, and locked me up, then about sixteen, and fed me on bread and water. This was rather too bad, so I took French lease, and when the bread and water came one morning there was no one to eat it. I was pleased to find myself with a pair of sockS and a clean shirt wrapt up in a handkerchief, about to face the world, and try to wring the hard held honors from stern Fortune's bands.— Still, I was young then. I need scarcely toll you that sitting here I often regretted that fine May morning's work that took me from home. "I went to one town after another, and at each sought out the manager of the theatre, and tried hard to get in as any thing. It was no use; my voice was not yet set or cer tain. "Why, young sir," said one to me, 'you are as alum as a girl, and, if you were to make love in the tone you've been talking to me, the people would insist that I had made a girl play the lover's part. I'd take you, but you aro no use to me at all; two years hence you may come again, and I may talk to Ton." "I felt it was true, but still wanted to be in a theatre, so I entered a travelling circus company as holder and ring-raker. I kept at it for eighteen months, and then the man tiger j”ine4 another in the rezu/ar acting line, Now was toy chance. They wanted a lover, and wanted him to ride; their first lover could no more sit on a horse than n sack could; the first lady saw him once, and said she should die with laughing if ho came on; so I offered. I did well,' and thought I was on the road to fortune; I felt that Kemble and the rest of the great actors were only the same men as I was, with bet ter chances. That is more than forty years ago, though. I'm wiser now. "After this success I became first gentle man in that company, and remained so fur some years. The manager took the leading parts, so I bad no chance. I had changed my name, first, as Gowling did not look well on the bill, and neat, because I did not want to hurt my poor old father's feelings more than I could help-I took the name of Alphon sus Montague. It looked well on the bills, I used to think at one time. Somebody, I forget who, says, 'What's in a name?' I know there is a good deal in a name when it's on the playbills; and the public being judge, Alphonsus Montague was better than James Gowling, fur it drew better houses. "In the company there was a young girl who took second lady. I don't say I fell in love with her; I don't think men of our class do fall in love. The constant exercising of the imitative power in delineating the pas sion, weakens, I think, the power of feeling it as other men feel it. I liked her; she was good, industrious, and rising in the profes sion, and I married her. There never was a better woman lived, and she had her re• ward. I don't suppose that there ever was a woman more respected in any company. =ever had even a raw about her but once, and then a man had been very insolent to her; she came and told me just as I came off as 'Madcuff in Macbeth. I went to the manager and told him that the man must leave the place at once. The manager said it was impossible; he was a son of the noble owner of half the town; his father was then in the house; these things must be endured. I said that they should not be endured, and that, if he would not protect the ladies in the company, I should take the liberty of protecting my wife.' "And how did it end ?" ••W9hy, I cent to the little beast, titled as he was, and kicked him out at the stage door, I did, sir, though you would not think it to look at tee now." "And the manager?" "Came and thanked me. Said ho was much obliged to me; be had more annoy ance from the complaints of the girls about that fellow than any other cause. Lie raised mine and my wife's salary that same week. "We went on very well fur some time. I began to find I was not a star. Once or "NO ENTERTAIN3IENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 18, 1 twice I went up to London and heard some of the best men, and found that I could not equal them. I don't know a more painful sensation, sir, than that attendant on the discovery of the limit of your powers. Every man, not blinded by conceit, who is over thirty, must have felt this. There is a lim it to our powers; other men have more, some less, but still it is'very painful to feel con scious that the eminence that the man has attained to whoa. you aro listening is be yond you. Young men—very young men —feel thatwhat man has done man can do. It does not last. nost men at thirty know their pace well enough to tell them that they will be in the ruck of the wheel of life. "Well, some few years after I was mar ried, the conviction came to ms; I knew I could never be a star—a great actor. It was not in me. I was simply a respectable one. I could take any part, and do that part so that I was not laughed at; but there I was stopped. I could go no further. I never could raise the enthusiasm of my au dience. They listened, and did not disap prove; but when I played a leading part the boxes did not let and the pit was not full. I could not help it, you know. I can safely say I never went on without knowing every word of my part. I was always correct, and in the second and third parts did well. Stars liked me. They used to come down for benefits occasionally, and used - to say, 'Let me have Gowling with me; he's a safe man—never too forward—no clap-trap with him; he's not showy, but he's safe.' Now, you see, praise is a good thing, but when a man has dreamed fur ten years or so that he is to be a star in the theatrical world, it is rather hard to wake up and find a star of no very great magnitude telling him lie's a very good background to show that star's light. Ahl me—those hopes of youth—how the large bud brings forth the little flower." "Still, Mr. Gowling, it was something not to have failed utterly. There must be back grounds, you know, and there must be sec ond parts as well as first." "True, sir, true; and human nature soon adapts itself to circumstances. Three months after I knew I was no genius the ambition to be one left me. I was content to do my part and enjoy life. I had four children— three boys and one girl. That's her child —poor little thing." And ho stroked the ' head of little Alice caressingly, while she played with the buttons on his coat. 'The boys, of course, we tried to make useful in the profession. Christmas was a family harvest; all were busy then, all mak ing money. You know that the profession is not favorable to hea'th. The excitement —particularly to children—soon wears them out. I know often mid often I've seen my boys as imps, and that kind of thing, and felt the life was too fast fur them. Lote at night, to go from the hot theatre into the cold night air was a sal trial to the consti tution; and children are not old mem. You can not persuade boys of twelve and four tem. that they ought to wrap their throats and not run out into the cold at night. We could not, and we lost two of the three boys within a year of each other. Lung diseases, the doctor said. It carries off' a good many of these children, you see, in the Christmas pantomimes. I often wonder whether the house thinks of that kind of things." "And the other children ?" "The boy left our company when he was about eighteen, and joined another as sec ond gentleman. Ile was as good an actin• as his father, and no better. lie thought ho was a genius, poor boy, a; his father had thought before him. Ile had no experience to teach him, as he thought he was ill-used, and left us." "And What became of him ?" "At first we used to hear from him now and then, then there was n long silence, and his mother worried herself dreadfully about him. - One night I had been playing a coun try gentleman in a screaming farce, as the bills call it; for in a small company you are a king, a warrior, and a fool—all in one evening; so my wife had gone home, and wl.en I arrived, came to the door to let me in." "Don't be frightened, dear; here's Alfred come back." "I went up,: and there he was; but what a wreck ! His eyes bloodshot, his hand trembling, and a hot, rod spot on his chdek." "Well father, how are you:" "I did not answer; I sat down and cried. He tried hard to keep from it, but couldn't; he came and knelt down in front of me, cov ered his face with his hands, nod cried like a child. His mother, poor soul, clung round his neck and kissed him and cried till I was beside myself. He told bit; story. lie had made a mistake. lie thought himself a great actor. Managers didn't; the public backed the managers, and were right, too. He could not stand the disappointment; had no wife, as his father bad, to console him, and he took to the actor's eurso—drink.— Eie sank lower and lower, because ill, could do nothing, and just crawled home to die. "Oae night I had just come off when I was told some one wanted me at the stage door. I went and found the girl of the house where ho lodged. She wanted me to come home directly; I was wanted at once. Mr. Alfred was very ill. Our manager had his benefit that night, and we had one of the first-rate London men down as "llain let." I was dressed as the "Ghost." I for got all about my dress, then, and rushed home; it was too late—poor Alfred was gone! Ile lay his bead on his mother's arms; she was dressed as the "Queen," and was weeping hot, silent tears, that fell on my boy's face, one by one. His sister sank on her knees by the bed-side as I entered, and the people of the house were standing looking on. I shall never forget it—never. "I was roused by a touch on the shoulder. A message from the theatre." "Manager says he should be glad if you could come back." "Look here, Jennings, do you think I can ?" "Not to do nnything. sir, but you might see him; perhnps it would be better." "I left them and went back, saw the man ager and told him; and though it was his benefit night, he said he would read both parts himself." "I am sorry for you—very sorry; if I can do anything for you let me know." "We buried the poor hey, and then went on as before. his mother never recovered the blow, and gradually sank, and about six months after his death could no longer take her parts, so Alice and I had to do our best. I noticed that n young fellow had been rather attentive to her, and was not surprised when he took me aside ono night, and told me lie wanted to make her his wife. Ire was just such another as I had been myself when at his age. I thought it better to see her the wife of a respectable actor than remain single behind the scenes, for she was n good girl. Well, they mar ried and remained in the company. I was getting old, you see, then, and it was some comfort to see her with some one to take care of her. Soon after she married her mother died, and I laid in the grave beside her son one of tho best women that ever lived. I was alone now, and old, fur the wear and tear of an actor's life, and the late hours, tell on the strongest constitution. It was something awful, the change from the light and glare and noise of the theatre to the silence and quiet of my.poor room. Just then, too, the company was broken up, and, at the age I was then, it was a serious thing for me. We all three tried to keep together, but it was no use: Those who wanted an old man did not want a second lady or a third gentleman, and so we were divided. I went on circuit as an old man with very poor pay, as much as I was worth, though, I dare say, for I was getting feeble, and 'Speak up, old 'unl' was the salute I heard from the galleries, directly I opened my mouth. "1 heard from Alice every week, and saved her letters fur Sundays, for the day was long and dull time. I could not make new friends. Tho young pitied me, and I was proud then, and 'loved not pity;' so I was a lonely man. "Alice's husband died. I don't remem ber now how it wan, but he died, and she told me it was just after this little one was born. I quite longed to seo her, but she could not come, and I could nit go, so we . only wrote to each other. I have all her letters now, poor girl. She came to see me olive afterward, and was looking ill and fagged; and soon after that visit our com pany was broken up again. "I tried hard to get a new engagement, traveled from place to place, spent all the little I had saved, and then was laid up at a place some fifty nines from here. They took me from the inn to the Union when the money was gone; and after a deal of wait ing and grumbling they brought the litre. I !ittle thought, when a boy I used to get the nests out of this tree, that I should end my days here, an old scion out pauper. You know where it says, 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we may.' I often said that on the stage. I feel it now." And the old man mused in silence. "And your daughter?" "Alice? She died in this holm not two years ago, poor child." "Here, do you mean?" "Yes—there in that room." And he pointed ton window in the back part of the house. "That ono, whore the sun shines on it through the trees." "Of what did she die? She was young." "Tho same disease that carried off her brotherr-consumption. She knew I was here, and spent he: last money in coming, and the doctor, good fellow as lie is, would have her in hero. She lingered on for about a fortnight up there, then died one evening et sunset, holding my hand, and the child lying on her breast. Poor girl! she looked so beautiful in her coffin. I're out lived them all but this little one." And the old man looked fondly on the child, and stroked her head With his lean shriveled hand. "It's rather sad to see them all gone —all—wife, sons, and Alice, all gone. Poor Alice!" And the old pauper's eyes were full of the slow-eciming tears of age. A. Tale of the Olden Time "The devil choke thee wi' un !" As Mas ter Giles, the Yeoman, said this he banged down a hand, in size and color like a ham, on the old fashioned oak table. "I do say, the devil choke thee wi' un l" The dame made no reply; she was chok ing with passion and a fowl's liver—the original cause of the dispute. A great - deal has been said and sung of the advantage of congenial tastes amongst married people, but true it is, the variances of our Kentish couple arose from this very coincidence in gusto. They were both fond of the little del icacy in question, but the dame had man aged to secure the morsel for herself, and this was sufficient to cause a storm of very high words—which, properly understood, signifies very low language. Their meal times seldom passed over without some con tention of the sort; as sure as the knives and forks clashed, so did they—being, in fact, equally greedy and disagreedy; and when they did pick a quarrel, they picked it to the bone. It was reported that on some occasions, they had not even contented themselves with hard speeches, but that they bad come to scaling —he taking to boxing, and she to pinching—though in a far less amicable manner than is practiced by the taker of snuff. On the present difference, however, they were satisfied with "wishing each oth er dead, with all their hearts;" and there seemed little doubt of the sincerity of the as piration, on looking at their malignant face:i—for they made a horrible picture in this frame of mind. Now it happened that this quarrel took place on the morning of St. Mark—a saint who was supposed on that festival to fsvor his votaries with a peep into the book of fate. For it was the popular belief in those days, That if a person should keep watch toward midnight, beside the church, the appari tions of all those of the parish who were to bo taken by death before the nest anniver sary, would be seen entering the porch.— The yeoman, like his neighbors, believed most devoutly in this superstition; and in the very moment that he breathed the un seemly aspiration aforesaid, it occurred to him that the even was at hand, when, by observing the rite of St. Mark, he might know to certainty whether this unchristian wish was tc be one of those that bear fruit. Accordingly, a little before midnight, lie stole quietly out of the house, and in some thing of a seston-like spirit set forth on his way to the church. In the meantime, the dame called to mind the same ceremonial; and having the like motive for curiosity with her husband, she also put on her cloak and calash, and set out, though by a different path, on the same errand. The night of the Saint was as dark and chill as the myteries he was supposed to re veal, the moon throwing but a short occa sional glance, as the sluggish masses of cloud were driven slowly acr.ss her face. Thus it fell out that our two adventurers were quite unconscious of being in company, till a sudden glimpse of moonlight showed them to each other, only a few yards apart, both, through a haturnl panic, as pale as ghosts, and both making eagearly toward the church porch. Much as they had just wish ed for this vision, they could not Help quak ing and stopping on the spot, as if turned to a pair of tomb-stones, and in this position the dark again threw a sudden curtain over them, and they disappeared froni each other. It will be supposed the two came only to one conclusion, each ennceiving that St. Murk had marked the other to himself.— With this comfortable knowledge, the wid ow and widower elect hied home again diy the roads they came; and as their custom was tc sit apart after a quarrel, they repair ed, each ignorant of the other's excursion, to separate chambers. By-and-by, being called to sapper, instead 1 1 of sulking as rifuretime, they came down to gether, each being secretly in the best hu mor, though mutually snspected of the worst; and amongst other things on the ta ble, there was a 'calre sweet-',rea•l, being one of the very dainties that had often set them togeth••r by the ears. The dame look ed and longed, but she rofraine 1 from its appropriation, thinking within herself that ' she could give up sweetbreads for one year; and the farmer made a similar reflection.— After pushing the dish t.' and fro several times, by n common 'impulse they divided the treat; and then, having sopped, they retired amicably to rest, whereas 'until then they had never gone to bed without tailing out. The ttuth was, each looked up m the other as being alread; in the church-yard mould, or quite "moulded to their wish." On the morrow, which happened to be the dame's birth day, the farmer was the first to wake, and knowing what he knew, and having, besides, but just roused himself out of a dream strictly confirmatory of the late vigil, he did not scruple to salute his wife, and wish her many happy returns of the day. The wife, who knew as much as he, very readily wished him the same, having. in truth, but just rubbed out of her eyes the pattern of a widow's bonnet that had bean submitted to her in her sleep. She took care, however, to give the fowl's liver at dinner to the doomed man, considering that when Ise was dead and gone, she could have them, if she pleased, seven days in the week; and the farmer, on his part, took care to help her to many titbits. Their feelings toward each other was that of an impatient host with regard to an szawe/come guest, showing scarcely a bare civility while in eapectation of his stay, but overloading him with hospitality when made certain of his departure. In this manner they went on for some six months, and though without any addition of lore between them, and as much selfishness as ever, yet living in a subservience to the comforts and inclinations of each other, issmetimes to be found even amongst cosirles of sincerer affections. There were as many causes of quarrel as ever, but every day it became less worth while to quarrel; so let ting b 3 Doses be by-genes, they were indif ferent to the present, and thought only of the future, considering each other (to adopt a common phrase) "as good es dead." Ten months wore ntr,t7,-nni the frrmer's $1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE.! birth-day arrived in its turn. The dame, who had passed an uncomfortable night, having dreamed, in truth, that she did not look much like herself in mourning, saluted him as soon as the day dawned, and with a sigh wished him many years to come. The farmer repaid her in kind, the sigh included; his own visions having boon of a painful sort, for he had dreamed of having a head ache from wearing a black hat baud, and the malady still clung to him when awake. The whole morning was spent in silent med itation and melancholy, on both sides, and when dinner came, although the most favo rite dishes were upon the table, they could not eat, the farmer, resting his elbows upon the board, with his face between his hands, gazing wistfully on his wife—scooping her eyes, as it were, out of their sockets, strip ping the ©rah off her cheeks, and in fancy converting her whole head into a mere euput mortuum. The dame, leaning hack in her high arm-chair, regarded the yeoman quite as ruefully—by the same process of imag ination picking his sturdy bones, and bleach ing his ruddy visage to the complcaten c f plaster cast. Their minds, travelling in the same direction, and at an equal rate, arriv ed together at the same regection; but the farmer was the first to give it utter:lace. "Thee'd be mised, dame, if thee were to die." The dame started. Although s:ie had nothing but death at that moment before her eyes, she was far from dreading of her own exit, and, at this rebound of her thoughts against herself, she felt as if nn extra cold coffin-plate had been suddenly nailed on her chest; recovering, however, from the first shock•, her thoughts flowed into their old channel, and she retorted in the same manner: "I wish, master, :bee may lire so long ns 1.,, The farmer, in his own mind, wished to live rather longer; fur, at the utmost, he considered that his wife's bill of mortality had but two months to run. The calcula- - tion made him sorrowful; during the lust few months she had conNulted hie appetite, bent to his humor, and dovetailed her own inclinations into his, inn manner that could never be surplied; and he thought of her. if not in the language, at least in the spirit of the lady in "Lall4 Itookh." Ills wife, from being at first useful to him, had become agreeable, and at last dear to him; and as he contemplated her approach ing fate he could not help thinking ou. au dibly, "That he should be a lonesome man when she was gone." The dame, th:s rime. heard the survivorship foreboded without starting; but she marvelled much at what she thought the infatuation of a doomed man. So perfect was her faith in the infal libility of Saint Mark, that she had even seen the symptoms of mortal diecise, palpable as plague-spots, on the devoted yeoman. Giving his body up. therefore, far lost, a strong sense of duty persuaded her that it was imperative on her as a Christian. to war.; the unsuspecting farmer of hie di.- solution. Accordingly, with a solemnity adapted to the subject, a tendernes. of re cent growth, and a memento mori face, she broached the matter in the following Ices tion: "Master, how bee'st "As hearty, dame, tts a buck"--the dame shook her head—z="and I wish thee the like:" at which he shcOok his head himself. A dead silence ensued; the farmer was a= unprepared as ever. There is a. gre.it fur breaking,. the truth by dropping it gently—an experiment which ha• never an swered any More than with ironstone chi..(. rho dame felt thi., and thinking it better t throw the news at her husban! at once, she told him, in as many words, that he was a dead_ man. It was now the yeoman's torn to ho stag gered. By a parallel course of reasoning. he had just wrought himself up to a similar disclosure, and the dame's death warrant was just ready upon his tongue, when he met with his own dispatch, signed, sealed, and delivered. Conscience instantly p binted out the oracle from which she had derived the omen, and he turned as pale as "the pale of saciety"—the colorless camp' exian of late hours. St. Martin had numbered Lis yei.r.+; and the remainder of his days seemed discounted by Saint Thomas. Like a criminal east t ,, die, he doubted if the die was calf, and ap pealed to his wife: I "Thee bast crotched, dame, at the church ' porch, then?" "Ay, master." "And thee diist see mo spirituously?" "In the brown wrap, with the boot hose. Thee was coining to the church, by Fair thorn Gap, in the while I were coming by the Holy hedge." ror a minute the farmer paused, but the next he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter; peal after peal, and each higher than the last--according to the hysterical gamut of the hyena. The poor woman had but ono explanation for this phenomenon; Ishe thought it a delirium--a lightening be fore death--and was beginning to wring hor hands and lament, when she was checked by the merry yeoman: t "Dame, thou bcest a fool. It was Imy self thee seed at the church porch. I aced thee, too,—with a notice to quit upon thy face; but, thanks to God, thee bee's: a Lis ling, and that is mole than I eared to say of thee, this day ten in intb:" The dame made no answer. leer heart was tlo full to rpcals: but thr-wing he: I WHOLE Y W18E1.1,604. arms round her husband, s he showed that she shared in his sentiment. And from that hour, by rra:ticing a careful abstinencn from offence, or a t empera sufforance of it• appearance, they b, - ..earno the most united eoupc in the country; lint it :unit be said that their comfort was not complete till they had seen each other, in 'safety, over the per ilous anniversary of St. Mark's Eye. T txr..74; A 511ARE....--EXCITISra Ll 5 my render ever been present nt the capture •of a shark? If he blis crossed the line, or even if he knows what it is to spend a week or two in the calm latitudes," the debatable border sea. between the ordinary breezes and the trades, ho is no stranger to the assiduous attentions of this lank an.l lithe tenant of the tropical seas. Jack fa miliarly talk him the "Sea Lawyer," for reasons which are by no means complimen tary to the learned profession; and views him with that admixture of bate and fear with which unsophisticated landstron are apt to regard his terrestrial representatives. To bait a line and catch the mackerel or the bonito is 111.r.n3's a welcome occupation to the sailor; but to no amusement does Jack bend himself with At , Zll a hearty alacrity as to take a shark. When, on nut.roach;ag the northern tropic. Dowa drops :he Inatezr.,l:lC CU. .!tar , 00 'tis not "sad as sad con be;" fur all to }C larity and alertness. Away g , o.s one to thu harness-cask fora junk of salt pork; anuthQr is on his Inces before the cabin locker, rum maging out an enornmun hDuk, which tradi tion continently reports is Jepcsited• there; a third is unreeling iho studding-sail hal yards to serve as a lino—for au tough a Cue turner needs stout gear; a fourth is standing on the taffrail, keeping one eye on the tnon• ster, that now drops of, and nom comes gliding up, a light-green mass, through the blue water; till his whiteness nearly touches the surface, and telling the villain all the while, with uncouth malediotions, that his time is coming. The mate on the jib-boon. wielding the grains, whose trident prongs he has been fur the last half hoUr sharper. ing with a file, ready to take-by-force any one of the hated raco who may lie too suspi cious for the bait astern. And now the skipper hiliself comes up, fur even dignity itself cannot resist the temp tation, and with his own brawny hands puts on the enticing pork, and lowers away. 'Tis twirling and eddying, in the rash •+f the ship's counter; the craw aro divided in their allegiance—half clutter at the quarter to Watch the captain's success, half at the ace-heads to see the mate's harpooning.— Tlnlre rout tie up the two little pilot gshes, in their handed livery of blue and bra a, f.-nru their ration on each ride of the 2friree n ,se; they hurry to the bait sniff' at it, nib ble at it, and than back in haste to their huge patron. giving his grimness due infor mation of the trent that awaits him. See how e.l7,eriy ho receives it. With a lateral we% e his powerful tail he shoats ahead, at.d iv in a• instant at the pork. "Ln.,k nut there', stand by to take a turn of the lino round rt belaying pin, for he's gling t, bite, and he'll give us a sharp tug I" Eery pair of eye; are wide open, and every mouth too; fur the monster turns on his side, and prepares to fake in the delicate morsel. But, no; ho smells the rusty iron, perhaps, or perhaps he sees the line: at any rate he contents himself with a sniff, and dr, , p3 astern: cetning forward again.' 'T:s perilous; yet 'tis tempting. A .11.iut forward I The mato has struck one I And awat• radii the after band to Fee the ep , rt; the skipper hitn<elf haula in the line, and joins the shooting throng. Yee• the grains hade ber3 welt thrown, and are faet In the fleshy part of the back. NVhnt a monster I full ftlicen feet long, it he's an Inch I and how he plunges, and divee, and rolls round and r. und, enraged at the pain and restraint, till you cam% di-cern hie body for the sheet of white foitzn in which it is en wrapped. The stunt line etrains and creak•. but holde on; a dozeu eager hands are pull ing in, and at last the unwilling victim is at the Purr:tee just beneath the bows, but plunging with tremendous force. 3.:0w, one of the smarter hands has jump ed int, the fore chains with it rope made into a noose. Many efforts he makes to get tiii+ over the tail without success; at length it is slipped over, in en instant hauled taut, and the prey secure. "Reeve' t he line through a block, and take a run with it:" Up ensue; the vast length, toil foremost, oat of the sea, for a moment the ung linty beast hang , , wining and bending his body, and r,onehing. those hor rid fangs, h tlf a dozen boar-hooks genie the mass tt. its death-bed on the broad deck. Stand clear! If thtt mouth gets hold of your leg, it will cut through it, sinew, mus cle, and bone; the stoutest man on bran! would be swept down if lie Came within the reach of that violent tail. What rererhera ting blows it inflicts on the arn.-.oth planks : One cannot look at that face without an involuntary shudder. The long flat imp], and the mouth so greatly. overhung by the snout, impart a most repulsive expreseion to the countenance; and then the teeth. those terrible serried fangs, as keen as lancets, and yet cut into tine notches •11ke saws, lying row behind row, biz rows de - .p: See how the front rows start up in erect stiffness, as the creature eyes you l Yon shrink back from the terrific implement, tin longer wondering that the stoutest limb of man should be severed in a moment by such chirurgere. But the eyes: those horrid eyes! it is the eyes that make the shark's countenance what it is—the very embodi snout of Satanic malignity. Half concealed beneath the bony brow, tha little green eye gleams with so peculiar an expression of hatred, such a concentration orLendish mal ice—of quiet, calm, settled villainy, that no -ther aiuntenance that 1 have ever seen at all resembles it. Though I have seen many a Ain rk. I could never look at that eye with • ent feeling my flesh creep, as it were tn my hence.
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