. . _ ' <o
CleflrfielftjMpiE'gpttbticaii
IUI
A WEEKLY PAPER: PUBLISHED IN CLEARFIELD, BY D. VV. MOORE AND CLARK WILSON; DEVOTED TO POLITICS, LITERATURE, AGRICULTURE, MORALITY, AND FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC INTELLIGENCE
Terms* —% 100 a year in advance, %125 if paid within three months, %160 if paid within six months, % I 75, if paid within nine months, and if not paid until the expiration of the year 00 will be charged
VOLUME 5.
fetrt
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(rhy
Jlway, Away with theyilridal Veil.
nv MAKV J. KKKVKH.
Away, away with tin* bridal veil,
And tiie orange garland fair,
Tor the smooth young brow is edit and palo
That we doMincd tlu-se lo weur.
And the nlomlor form is still and low
Which wo thought should be litis night
Arrayed in those robes of spotless snow,
And docked with those jewcli bright.
We’ll wrap her form in the winding sheet
And a rose-bud white shall rest
AM' her own pure life an emblem swed)
», On her cold and pulseless breast.
!
era!
LUgft
rcr:
and
»OV*
Her sunny looks wo will leave as free
A* they wore in bv-gone days,
When .she tossed them back, in girlish glee,
From her fair and smiling face.
<t. then nway with the bridal veil,
And the orange gurland fair,
For ihc smooth young brow is cold ami pale
That we destined these to wear.
And ihe crimson lip and the eye uf blue
No longer of hive may speak.
And gone is the trembling wild-r«*«e hu<s
That pla\ed on her trembling cheek.
Dr,
his
npo,
r i/a
’I lie angel-bands in the world above
Hn\e welcomed a sister home.
\nd bright is she in that lund of love
Where the ill of uarth ne’er come.
Away, away with the flashing petit",
And the bridal robes nf while.
For her brow is gilt with a diudem,
And her robes are like the light.
Hot there ia one who will see her n*M,
In lu r silent beauty there,
Wiih speechless in his aching b'en-*l
And a look of mute despair.
SM»
pdr
ino,
twt
torn
Ho will come with a joyful heart, to claim
jlia'loxely and youthful bride ;
Ho will go again, but not as ho nunc,
\\ ith a soul of joy and piide.
lie will go with a weary, weary heait,
To m'»urn fur the treasure fled.
To bear in his breast grief's poinetl dart
And nidi that he, 100, were dead.
(>h joy. for the young bride, pure and bright
With the angel legions blest,
Kct wh tor him on whot>c s«*ul the blight
■ * (if a mourner's grief doth rest.
Pr*<m tJleujmn's Fictoiiul.
THE HUSBAND’S PRESENT
pies
lore,
lolc
irg-
(Ir “The Beginning of n New Year."
It was a bitter cold night on the 2-lihof
It, comber. The snowy deep upon the fro
zen earth, and the bright moon, riding half
wav up the bright heavens lent a crystu-
Imc lustre to the seine, in lhe high road,
a short distance from u quiet, reposing
village, stood the form of a human being.
Ills garments were scant and tattered, by
In r insufficient to keep out the biting frosts ;
his frame shook and trembled like the ice
bound houghs of a weeping v. illnw that
grew near him, and his lace, ns Ihe moon
beams now danced upon it, exhibited ail
the fearful footprints of the demon Intem
perance. Poor, wretched, debased he look
ed—and such in trutli he was..
**his
tyke
febf
feay
west
Before him, at tho end ofa neatly fenc
ed und trelliscd enclosure, slood a small
cottage. It was elegant in its simple neat
ness, und just such an one as the humble
lover of true comfort nml joy would seek
for a borne. Tho tears rolled down the
bloated cheeks ol the poor inebrinto, as bo
gazed upon the cottage ; and at length as
he clasped his hands in agony, he mur
mured :
•km!
(ting
With
fcJCV
!Pa.
i ihfr
itab
piQol
it in
“O, Thou fond home of my happiest
days, thou lookest like a heaven ol the
pus!. Beneath ihy mof I was married to
lhe idol of my soul, and within thy walls
(dud gave me two blessed children. 'I hen
peace and plenty were mine—and lovcand
joy. My wile—God bless her gentle soul,
was happy then ; and my may
heaven protect them laughed und played
in glcesomc pleasure. Gladness smiled
upon us then, und every hour was n sea
son of bliss. But I lost thee ns the fool
loose! h his own salvation! Six years have
passed since the demon that I look to my
heart, drove us from our sheltering roof. —
And those six years! O, what misery,
what agony, what sorrow, and what deg
radation, have they brought to me anil my
poor family! Home.- health, wealth,peace,
joy and friends are gone—all gone ! O,
thou falnl cup—no I will not blame thee—
it was I—l who did it! Year ufter yeur,
1 tampered with thy deadly sting, when I
knew that destruction lurked in thy smiles.
But, but,” and the poor man raised his
eyes to heaven as he spoke, “there is room
on earth for another man, a?id I will be
that man /”
Within the only aparlinont of a miser
able and almost broken down hovel, sat a
woman and two children, a boy and girl.
The cold wind found its entrance through
a hundred crevices ns its biting gusts swept
through the room, tho mother nnd her
children crouched nearer to the few em
bers that still mouldered on tho hearth.—
The only furniture was four poor stools, n
rickety table, and a scantily covered bed ;
while in one corner, nearest to the fire
place-was a heap of straw and tattered
blankets, which Berved as a resting place
for tho brother nnd sister. Part of a (al
low candlo was burning upon tho table,
nnd by its dim light one might have seen
that wretched mother’s countenance ; it
was pale and wari, and wet with tears.—
The races children'wore both buri
ed in hev lap, and they seemed to sleep
peacefully under her prayerful guardian-
At length-the sound of footsteps op<ui
tho snow crust struck upon tho mother’s
eurvand hastily urousing her children, she
hurried them to their lowly coubh, and
(unit
rhcro
Htate
T No
10 to!
<l>‘ ■'!
1:1 !
MU*
itfcs
F
Mbs
m
p
oHce,
if;;
ihe»4
gh*>
f-l#
hardly had they crouched beneath the thin
blankets, when the door wns opened, and
'the man whom we have ulrcndv seen be
neath that pretty collnge entered" the place.
With a trembling, fearful look, the wife
gazed into her husband’s face, and seemed
ready to crouch back from his approach,
when the mark of a tear-drop upon his
cheek caught his eye. Gould it tic, tho’t
sire, that that pearly drop was in trutli a
tear! No, perhaps a snow flake hud fallen
there and melted.
Once or twice, Thotnns Wilkins seem
ed upon the point of speaking some words
to his wife, hut at length he turned away,
and silently undressed himself; and soon
nfter his wearied limbs had touched the
bed he wus asleep.
Long and earnestly dill Mrs. Wilkins
gaze upon the features of her husband, af
ter lie had lallen asleep. There was some
tiling strange in his manner, something
unaeeonntable. Surely lie had not been
drinking, for his countenance lind none of
| that vacant, wild, demoniac look, that usu
ally rested there. His features were rath
-1 er sad and thoughtful than otherwise ; and
10, heavens ! is it possible? a smile play
ed about his mouth, and a sound, ns of
prayer, issued from his lips while yet he
slept!
A faint hope, like the misty vapor of
approaching morn, flitted before the heart
broken wife. But she could not grasp it,' 1
she had no foundation for it, and with nj
deep groan she felt the phantom pass.—
She went to her children and drew thej
clothes closely about them ; then she knelt
bv their side, and after imprinting on their
elu eks a mother’s kiss, and uttering a fer
vent prayer in their behalf she sought the
repose of n pillow.
Long ere the morning dawned Thomas
Wilkins a rose’from his bed, diessed him
self, nod left the. house. 11 is poor wife
awoke just as lie was going out, and she
would have called to him, hut she dare
not. She would have told him that she
had no fuel, no bread, nor anything with
which to warm and feed the children ; hut
he was gone, and she sank hack upon her
pillow and wept.
The light of morning came at le'ngth,
hut Mrs. Wilkins Had not risen from her
bed, nor had her children crawled out
from their resting place. A sound offool
steps wns heard from without accompanied
by a noise ns though a little sled was be
ing dragged through tin'snow. The door
opt nrd and her husband entered. He laid
on the table a large wbeaten loaf, a small
parcel, and a paper bundle ; then from his
pocket lie look another papier parcel, and
again he turned low aids the door. When
lie next entered, lie bore in his arm a load
of wood ; and llireo limes did he go out
and return with a load of the same descrip
tion. Then lie bent over the fire place,
and soon a blazing fire snapped and spar
kled on the hearth. As soon as this was
accomplished, Thomas Wilkins bent over
his children and kts c ed them ; then he
went to the bedside of his w ile, and while
some powerful emotion stirred up his soul
and made his chest heave, ho murmured:
“Kiss me, Lizzie.”
i 4 ov\4i'illt Jiturunl.
’lJightlv that wife wound her arms nbout
the neck of tier husband, and as though
the love of venrs wns centered in that one
kiss, she pressed it upon her lips.
“1 hore—no more,” ho uttered ns he
gently laid the arm of his wife from his
neck, “these things 1 have brought arc
lor you and our children and ns he
spoke he loft the house.
Mrs. Wilkins arose from the bed, and
tremblingly examined the articles upon
the table. She found the loaf, and in the
pail she found milk ; one of the papers
contained two smaller bundles, one of ten,
nnd one of sugnr, while in the remaining
parcel she found a nice lump of butler.
“O," murmured the poor wile nnd moth
er, ns she gazed upon the food thus spread
before her, “from whence come these
Cun it be that Thomas has stolen them 7
No, he never did that. And then that
look ! that kiss ! those kind, sweet words I
O, my poor, poor heart, raise not a hope
that mny only fall nnd crush thee !”
“Mother,” at this moment spoke her son,
who raised himself upon his elbow, “has
father gone 7”
“Yes, Charles.” '
“O, tell me, mother, did he not come
and kiss me nnd little Abbv this morning 7”
“Yes, yes, he did!” cried the mother,
as she flew to the side of tho boy nnd
wound her arms nbout him.'
That mother could not speak, she could
only press her children more fondly to
her bosom, pnd Weep n mother’s tears up
on/ them.
Was Lizzie Wilkins happy as she sat
her children down to that mprning’s meal 7
At least a ray of sunshine wns struggling
to gpin entrance tp her bosom.
'fpwurds the middle of tho afternoon, a
retired sea-captain of somawealth, sat in
his comfortable parlor, engaged , in rend
ing, when one of his servants informed
him that some one was at the door, and
wished to 6ee him.
“Tell hirri income in, then*” returned
Mr. Walter. ■ i . . . '
“But it’s the miserable Wilkins, sir.’fi
“Never mind,” said ibO captain, after, a
momout’s hesitation, “show |iim in.’i Poor
CLEARFIELD, FRIDAY, JULY 28, 1854.
fellow,” he continued a Her the servant had | As Thomas Wilkins once more entered
gone; “I wonder whnt lie wants. In truth, the street, his step wns light and easy. A
1 pity him.” j bright light of joyousness shone in evory
With a trembling and downcast look, feature; and as he wended his way home-
Thos. Wilkins entered Captain Walker’s word, ho felt in every avenue of his’soul
parlor. thnt ho was q man !
“Ah, Wilkins,” said the Captain, “wlmt The gloomy shades that ushered in the
lms brought you here 1 ” night of the thirty-first of September, had
The man twine attempted to speak, but i fallen over the snow-clad earth. Within
his heart fuiled him. >the miserable dwelling of Mrs. Wilkins
“Do you como for charity ?” j
“No sir,” quietly returned Wilkins,
while his eyes gleamed with a proud light. 1
“Then sit down, and out with it, said
Walker, in a blunt and kind tone. I
“Captain Walker,’’commenced the poor |
man as he took the proflbred seat, “I have
como to ask if you still own that little cot
tngc beyond the hill.”
“I do.”
“Is it occupied 1"
“No.”
“Is it engaged V'
“No,” returned (lie captain, regarding!
his visitor with uncommon interest. “But
why do vou nsk V
“Captain Wulker,” said Wilkins, in a
firm and manly lone, even though his eyes
glistened and his lips quivered, “I have
lieen poor and degraded, deeply steeped in
the dregs of poverty and disgrace. Every i
thing that made life valuable I have almost
lost. My w ife and children have sufTered,
and O! Cod only knows how keenly I I
have long wandered in the path of sin.—
One nfter another the tender cords of
friendship that used to bind me to the world
have snapped asunder ; my name has be
come a bv-word, and upon the earth I have
been a foul blot. But, sir, from hence
forth lam u man ! Up from the depths of
| its long grave, 1 have dragged forth my
heart, and love still has its home therein.
I have sworn to touch the futal cup no
more ; and while in my heart there is life,
! my wife ond my children shall suffer no
j more for the sins they never committed.
, I have seen my old employer at the ma
chine shop, and he has given me a situa
tion, ond is anxious that 1 should come
back ; and, sir, he has been kind enongh
j to give me an order in advance for neces
sary articles of clothing, food and furni
ture. To morrow morning I commence
' wotk.”
“And you came to see if you could ob
tain your collage back again to live in ?”
said Cupt. Walker, as Wilkins hesitated.
“Yes, sir, to see if 1 could hire it of you,”
returned the poor man.
“Wilkins, how much can you mako at
your business?” bluntly asked the old
Captain without seeming to heed the re
quest.
“My employer is going to pul me on
job work sir, and as soon as I get my hand
in, I can easily make from twelve to four
teen dollars a week.”
“And how much will it take to support
vnurlnmily?”
“As soon os I gel cleared up, 1 can ea
sily get along with five or six dollars a
week.”
“Then you might he able to save about
four hundred dollars a year!”
“1 mean.todo that, sir.”
A few moments Captain Wulker gazed
into the face of his visitor, and then asked :
“Have yon pledged yourself yet?”
“Beioro Goil and in mv heart I havo ;
hut one of my errands here was to get you
to write me n plodge",'nnd have it made to
tny wile and children.’ 1
Captain Wulkcr sat down to his table
and wrote ont the required pledge, and
then in a trembling but bold hand, Thom
as W ilkins signed it.
“Wilkins,” snid the old man, as ho took
his visitor by the hand, “I have watched
well your countenance and weighed your
words. I know you speak the truth. —
When I bought that cottage from your
creditors six years ago, I paid them one
thousand dollars for it, It has not been
harmed, and is ns good ns it was then.—
Mosh of the time I have received good rent
for it. Now, sir, you shall have it for
just what I paid for it, and each month you
shall pay me such a sum as you can com
fortably spare until it is all pnid. I will
nsk you for no rent, nor for a cent of in
terest. You shall have a deed of the es
tate, and in return I will take but n simple
note and mortgage, upon which you can
have your own time.”
Thomas Wilkins tried to thank the old
man for his kindness, but ho only saok
back into his chair and wept like u child;
and whilo ha yet sat with bis face buried
in.his hands, the old man slipped from the
room. And when ho returned, ho bore
in his hands a neatly covered basket.
“Come, come,” the Captain exclaimed,
“cheer up, my friend. Hero are some
bits for your wife and children—take them
home; and believe me, Wilkins, if you
feel hulf as happy in recoiving my favor
as 1 do in bestowing it, you are happy in
deed.”
God will bless you for this, sir,” ex
claimed the kindness stricken man ; “und
when 1 betray you* confidence may I die
ort the instant.”
“Slick to yriur pledge, Wilkins, arid 1
will lake care of the. Test,” said the old
captain, as his friend, took tbo basket, "If
you have time to-morrow, cail on the, and
I will arrange thd.papers.
there was more of com fort than we found
when we first visited lier ; but yet nothing
had been added to the furniturcofthe place.
For the last six days her husband hnd
come homo every morning, and during
that time she know that ho had not drank
any intoxicating beverage, for already had
his face begun to assume tiio stamp of its
former mnnhood, and every word he had
spoken hnd been kind and affectionate. —
To his children he brought new shoes
nnd warm cdothing, and to herself he had
given such things, as she stood in imme
diate need of; but yet, with all this he had
been taciturn nnd thoughtful, showing a
dislike of all questions, and only speaking
such words as were necessary. Tlie poor,
devoting, loving wife began to hope. And
whv should she not? I’or six years her
husband had not been thus hel'ore. One
week ago sho dreaded his approach but
now she found herself wailing lor him wilh
all I ho anxiety of former years. Should
all this be broken ? Should this charm be
swept nwn\ ! Fight o’clock came, and so
did nine and ten, and yet her husband
came not.
“Mother,” said little Charles, just us tho
clock struck ten, seeming to have been
'awakened from a dreary slumber, “is not
this the last night of the year?”
! “Yes, my son.”
“And tlo you know what 1-have hern
dreaming, dear mother? I dreamed that
’ lather had brought us ijcw New Year’s
presents, just the same as he used to. Rut
ho won’t, will he! lie's too poor now!”
j “No, my dcur boy, wc shall have no
! other present than food ; and even fir that
, wc must thank doar father. There, lay
vour head in mv lap agnin.”
■ The hoy laid his curly head once more
in his mother's lap, and with tearful eyes
she gazed upon his innocent form,
j The clock struck eleven. The poor
wife was yet oil her tireless, sleepless
watch! Rut hardly had the sound of the
last stroke died away, ere the snow crust
gave back the sound of a foot-liill, and in
n moment more her husband entered. —
With u trembling fear sho raised her eyes
to his face, and u w ild thrill of joy went
to her heart as she saw that nil was open
and bold—only those manly featurcs look
ed more joyous, more manly than ever.
“Lizzie,” said he, in mild kind accents
“I am late to night, but business detuined
me and now I lmvc a fuvor to ask of lltec.”
“Name it, dear Thomas, and you shall
not ask it a second lime," ciieil the wile,
as she laid Iter hand confidingly upon her
husband’s a mi.
“And will you ask me no questions ?"
continued Wilkills.
“No I will not.”
“Then,” continued the husband, as lie
bent ever nnd imprinted n kiss upon Ins
wife's brow, “I want you to dicss our
children fur n walk, nnd you shall aceoin-
puny us. Thu night is calm and tranquil
nnc.l lho snow is well trodden. All !no
questions I. Remember your promise!”
Lizzie Wilkins knew not wlmt this all
meant, nor did she think to care ; for any
thing that could please her husband she
would have dono with pleasure, even tho’
it hud wrenched hor very heart-strings.—
In n short time the children were ready ;
then Mrs. Wilkins put on such articles of
dress as she could command, and soon
they were in the road. Tho moon shone
bright, the stars peeped down upon the
earth and they seemed to smile upon the
travellers from out their twinkling eyes of
light. Silently Wilkins led the way, and
silently his wife und children followed. —
Several times the wifo looked up into her
husbands countenance, but Irom the strange
expression that rusted thcro she could
make out nothing that would satisfy her
curiosity.
At length a slight turn in the road brot’
them suddenly upon the pretty white cot
tage, where, years before tlioy bud been so
happy.
They approached tho spot. The snow
in tho front yard had been shovelled away,
and a path led to the piazza. Wilkins
opened the gate—his, wife, trembling fol
lowed, but whoroforeshe knew not. Then
her husbund opened the door, and in the
entry they were met by the smiling coun
tenance of Captain Walker, whoybahered
them into tho parlor, where a warm lire
glowed in tho grate, and whero.evcryihing
looked comfortable. Mrs. Wilkins turn
ed her gaze upon her husband. Sutely,
in that greeting bctweervtlic poor rpan and
tho rich there was none of that constraint
which tld hr been expected. The
,iich woui .Javc beci. ;xpi
met rnthor ns friends nnd neighbors.—
VVhnt could it mean 1
Hark 1 tho clock strikes twelvo ! Tho
old year hde .gd>oo, and a new, a bright
I winged cycle is about to commence its
[ flight over the earth.
“ Lizzie, t/iis is your husband's present
\for the New Year,"
The wife took the paper and opened it.
She realized its contents at a glance; but
she cuuld not rend it word for word, for
tho streaming tears of a wild frantic joy
would not let her. With a quick, nervous
movement, sho placed the priceless pledge
next her bosom, and then, with a low mur
mer, like the low whispering of some hea
ven-bound angel, she fell into her hus
band’s arms.
“Look up, look up, my own dear wile,”
uttered the redeemed man, “look up and
smile upon your husband ; and you, too,
my dear children, gather about your fath
er ; for n husband and lather henceforth I
will ever be. Look up, my wife. 'I here !
Now, Lizzie, feel proud with me, for wc
stand within our own house! \ es, this
cottage is once more our own ; and noth
ing but the hand of dentil sliull again Hike
us hence. Our good, kind friend here
will expluin it all. O, Lizzie, if there is
happiness on earth, it shall hencelerili be
ours. Let the past be forgotten, and with
this, the dawning ofa new year, let us
commence to live in the future.”'
Gently the husband and wile sank upon
their knees, clnspcd in cacli other’s arms;
and clinging joyfully to them, knelt their
conscious, happy children. A player from
the husband’s lips wended its way to the
throne of grace, und with the tears trick
ling down his aged face, old Captain Wal
ker responded a hcailicit “Amen. ’
* v • ‘
Five venrs have passed since that hap
py moment. Thomas \\ ilkins has clear
ed his pretty cottage from all encumbrance
and a happier or more respected family
do not exist. And Lizzie—that gentle,
confiding wife —us she takes that simple
paper from the drawer, and gazes again
und again upon the mtijie pledge it beurs,
weeps ;e° r s of joy anew. Were all the
wealth of the Indies poured out in one
glittering, blinding pile nt her feet, and all
the honors of the world added thereto, she
would, not, fur the whule countless sum,
givo in exchange one s.ngle word from
that pledge winch constituted her llcs
nanp’s Pkesknt.
IS IT PAINFUL TO DIE!
According to mv observation, tlie mere
nctofdying is seldom, in nny sense of the
word, a very painful process. It is true
that some persons die in a slate of bodily
torture, ns in tnlnnus ; but the drunkard,
dying of. deliiium tremens, is haunted by
terrific visions; rind that ihe vichm u! that
most horrible of all diseases, hydrophobia,
in addition to those peculiar bodily suller
ings from which the diseuse has derived
its name, may be in a stutc of terror Iron)
the supposed presence ol frightful c'jcols,
which ure presented to him us reulities,
even to the last, i’ut these, and some
other instances which 1 might adduce, ure
exceptions to the general rule—which is,
that both mental and bodily sullering ter
minate long be In re ihe scene is finally clo
sed. Then, as to the actual learol douth,
it seems to me that the Auilior of our ex
istence, Ibr the most part, gives it to us
when it is intended that wo should live,
and takes it away from us when it is in
tended we should die. Those who have
been long lormeiiti J by bodily pam are
gene rail v as anxious lo die as they ever
were to live. So it often is with those
whose life has hei n proirncted to an ex
treme old age, beyond the usual period of
mortality, even when they labor under no
ueluul disease. l'si/chulcgieul Inquiries.
Kf.f.f Him 1> mv.v,—All keep him down.
What business Ins ;i poor man to nttempt
to rise, without u ntimc —without friends,
without honorable blood in h s veins? We
have known him ever since he wpS a boy
—we knew his father before him, and he
was but a mechanic ; and what merit can
there be in the young strippling ? Such
is the cry of the world when a man of ster
ling character attempts to break away
from the cords of poverty and ignnrence
and rise to a position of truth and honor.
The multitude arc excited by envy : they
cannot endure to be outstripped by those
who grew up with them or their children
side by side, and hence the opposition a
man encounters in his native place. Des
pite of their feelings, many noble minds
have arisen from obscurity, while others
have failed. Let it not be so with you
voung man. Persevere, mount up and
startle the world.
Extravagance. —There is not a coun
try in the world where the people arc be
coming so extravagant in the mode of liv
ing and dressing ns in the United Slates.
It is one of the worst signs of the times. —
The habits of the mushroom aristocracy
are really disgusting. llow ludicrous it
looks to see buys sporting diamonds by Iho
thousand dollars worth at a lime, whose
fathers were accustomed to wheel bar
rows, and whose children are pretty cer
tain to bo in the work-houso. And girls—
silly, simpering things, weighed down with
jewelsand bracelets —whose mothers broke
their bucks ut iho wash-tubs, scouring
floors and picking oultum. The reul, sub
stantial aristocracy never indulge in such
fopperies and follies.
oO"Keep n low sail at the commence
ment of life; you may rise with honor,
you cap not recede without shame.
NUMBER 25.
‘■the i w.i. laniiei."
The fellow who calls himself “Tho An
gel Gabriel,” and who disturbs by his low
blackguardism the pence of the cities in
this country, should be sent back to his
own country with a leuther medal, and a
tin trumpet. We give a synopsis of his
history. His real name is M’Sirish, n
Scotchman. Hut he goes by the name of
Orr or Horr. His futher was a servant in
the house of the Mnrquis of Hunt)y. The
angel Gabriel, so colled, was born on tho
3d of September, 1809. He was first a
weaver —then an itinerant vagabond—cir
cus rider, or vnultcr, nnd was considered
good at it. Ho ran away from the com
pany, then playing at New Castle —went
to Liverpool, eloped with a rum shop kee
pers daughter. Went to Wales, became a
local Methodist preacher. He ran nw'ay
from SlnngufT'el, the place of his sojourn,
stealing a Pewter tankard, belonging to
the church, nnd leaving sundry dcbl9 un
paid, as a remembrance of his honesty nnd
religion 1 Went to Jamaica as a cook on
board nfn vessel. There’took to prench
ing—in mod Ilnbtisl. Then turned dan
cing master, taught (heart. Then turned
Mormon, hollowed Joe Smith to Illinois.
He then in turn became check taker at a
circus, —nn assistant in a menagerie—a
temperance lecturer—a tin pedlar —and
editor of a native paper in Philadelphia. —
lie then went to New York—bought n
trumpet, commenced tho angel Gabriel
line of business, since which ho has lied,
blasphemed, humbugged, nnd created more
riots than has nny other foreign vagabond
for the last fifteen years. He now repre
sents himself to he the leader of the ‘know
nothing party.’
Thu Love ok Pleasing. —lt may safe
ly be taken for granted, that every one
likes to please ; there are hardly excep
tions enough to prove the rule. Whatev
er subtle guises this love of pleasing may
put on—however it may borrow rough
ness or carelessness, or egotism, or sar
casm, as its mask—there it is snug in Ihe
bottom of each Si
mon StyJrtes, shivering under the night
dews, to Jenny Lind flying from adoring
lion-hunters, und Pio Nono piously tap
ping his gold snuffbox, and saying he is
only a poor piiest; The little boy who
has committed his piece with much lubor
of brain, much screwing of body, and anx
ious jesticular tuition,utterly refuses to say
it when the time comes. Why? Not
because he docs not wish lo please, but be
cause his intense desire to do so has sud
denly ussumed a new form, that of fear ;
which, like other passions, is very unreas-'
unable. The same cause will make a
young lady, who has bestowod much tho’t
on a new ball-dress, declure at the last
moment, that she does not wont to go !
A doubt has suddenly assailed her os to
the success of her costume. The dress is
surely beuutiful, but will it muke her so ?
No vigor of personal vanity preserves us
from these swoons of self-esteom; and
they are terrible while they last. What
wonder, thin, that the thought of a per
petual syncope of that kind should make*
us behave unwiselv sometimes?
Heavy Damages Claimed. —The Bui
timore Argus of a late date, says:—ln the
Superior Court of this city some of the
pnrties injured on the Baltimore and Sus
(|uehanna Railroad by the collision on the
4th of July, as well as those who have lost
friends from the same cause, have alrea
dy commenced entering suits against the
Cotnpnnv for damnges. Mr. MalcCm,
counsel for Madison Jeflbrs, who was hi I-/
ly injured himself, and had his son killed?
at his side, has entered two suits, dama
ges being luid at $30,000 in each case. —
Mr. King, counsel for Mrs. Johnson, who
lost a member of her family, has entored
a suit in the name of the Slate of Mary
land, use of Fliz.ibeth, Sarah Elizabeth,
and Joseph 11. Johnson, against the com
pany, damnges being laid at $20,000.
Sisti;ri.v Affection. —At u protracted
meeting held not a thousand miles from
Balston Spa, an ancient sister in thechurch
arose and relieved herself ns follows: “I
sec young ladies here that seem to loye
gew-gnws, furbelows, ribbons and laces,
more than their I loved them
oneo and adorned my hat with French ar
tificial flowers, bright colored ribbons, and
sky blue trimmings; but I found thoy
we/e dragging mo down to hell, and I
look them off and gnve them to my sister!”
(/Cy’Courage in attacking difficulties, pa
tient concentration of attention, perseve
rance through failures, —these are charac
teristics which after life specially requires ;
nnd these are characteristics which this
system of making tho mind work for its
food specially produces.
(Ly’The sorrows of n pure heart are but
the May frosts, which precede the warm
summer duy, but the sorrows of a corrupt
soul are its Autumn frosts, which foretell
the cold dreary winter.
houses in Carlisle, Pa.,
were forcibly entered on tho night of the
21st instunt by burglars and thieyos.
fr3"ln Alabama the corn and wh.a.
crops are unusually good, and tho samp
inay be said of tho cotton crop.