€cwistou>a (Simttc.
Vol XXXVII-Whole I\o. 1902.
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iJocu-i?.
AY Ml.IN!'.
BY R. VV . \\ VI.LACK.
Love me dearly, love m<* dearly, with your
heart and with your eyes:
W liisper all your sweet emotions, as they
gushing, blushing ri.-<-;
fit row V'.ur soft white arms about me ; sav
you cannot live without jne :
Say, you are my AM line: say that YOU are
oufv mine !
l'lait yoil cannot Ih e without me, young and
rosy AveJiue!
Love me dearly, dea'-lv, dearly : speak your
love-words silv.M- (early,
So 1 may not d> uht thus early of vour fond
ness, of your truth.
I'ress, oh! press your throbbing bosom chisel v,
warmly to nn ov n :
l :x your k.ndh d ey< s on mine—say you live
for me alone.
hi!" I lix my eyes on thine,
L.vely. trusting, arilvplighted: plighted,
rosy Avcliue!
I.'Vf me dearly, lov- me dearly; radiant
dawn upon my gloom:
Ravish me with beaut \ - blot m
T 11 me •• Life ha.- y-t a giurv : 'tis not all an
idle story
As a glad'.! lmd ;;i j > >onlight; us a weary
lak" in ni<- niiglit.
L"t me in tlr. love recline:
Show nt" li!" has yet a splendor in my tender
A veiine.
Love me dourly, <L vl'-, dearly, with your
heart and with v or <yes —
Whisper all your sweet emotions as they
gushing, blushing rise :
1 brow your -oft white arms around me: sav
you lived "/ till vott f iund me——
Say it. -ay it. Avium J whisper yuu are only
mine;
That you cannot lis" without me, as vou
throw your arms about me,
That sou am hot ]ie without nio, artless, ru-y
Av "line !
St Srlrct calf.
A TALE OF THE PAST.
'I lie Merchant's Haughter and the Judge.
It was the land of poetry and song—
the laud neoph d with tit memories of the
nnghtv pa.-t —the land over which the
shadows of a long renown reslcd more
glowingly than a present glory. It was
beautiful Italy ; the air. like a sweet odor,
was to the senses as soft thoughts are to
the mind, or tender feelings to the heart,
breathing serenity and peace. That sweet
air swept balmily over the worn brow of
an invalid, giving to the pallid hue of his
countenance the first faint dawn of return
ing health.
The eye of tiie invalid was fixed on the
dark character of a book in cumbrous
binding and massive clasps, which would
now Le considered an invaluable black
letter; and so absorbed vva6 he in its pe
rusal, that he heard not the approaching
steps of visitors, until the sound of their
greetings roused him from his meditations.
4 The saints have you in their keeping !'
said his elder visitor, a man whose brow
bore traces of age, though time had dealt
leniently with him.
4 T he* dear Madonna ble6s you !' ejacu
lated his other visitor, a young girl with
the large flashing cv e, the oval face, and
the classic contour of Italy.
The invalid bowed his head to each of
these salutations.
4 And now,' said the merchant, for such
was the elder visitor, 4 that your wounds
are healing, and your strength returning,
may we not inquire of your kin and coun
try V
A slight flush passed over the pale face
of the sick man ; he was silent for a mo
ment, as if communicating with himself,
and then replied—
-41 am of England, arid a soldier, albeit
of the lowest rank.'
4 Of England !' hastily responded the
merchant * Of England ! of heretic Eng
land !* He crossed himself devoutly, and
started back, as if afraid of contamination.
'I may not deny my home and coun
try,' replied the soldier, mildly but firmly.
4 But I shall incur the Church's cen
sure for harboring thee !' exclaimed the
ipamsjffiEß isra. wsmtamm ms mmamm mBVHBraHHfe smrssmmra 3 sshskf&hsj ©oaw 8 i^T
merchant; 4 thou knowest not what pains
and penalties may be mine for doing thee
this service!'
4 Then let me forth,' replied the soldier,
4 you have been to me the good Samaritan,
and I would not requite you evil ; let rne
go on my way, and may the blessing of
J Heaven be upon you in the hour of your
own need!'
4 Nay, nay, I said not so. Thou hast
not yet strength for the travel ; and, be
sides England was once the brightest
jewel in our holy father's crown, and she
might reconcile herself again ; but, I fear
she will not, for vour master, Ilenrv, is a
violent, hot-blooded man, and he hath torn
I away the kingdom from apostolic care.
Know you not that your land is under in
terdict, and that I, as a true son ol the
holy mother church, ought not now to be
changing words with thee I'
4 Even so,' replied the soldier; 4 but i
there are many that think the king's grace
hardly dealt by.'
4 The shepherd knoweth bpst how to
keep his fold,' replied the merchant hast
ily ; * but you are the king's soldier ; vou
take his pay and eat his bread, and doubt
less ought to hope the best for him ; and
even so do I. I would thai he might re
pent and humble himself, and then our
holy father would again receive him into
the fold; but now, 1 bethink me, thou
, vvert reading-—what were thy studies?' •
T he brow of the soldier clouded, he
hesitated a moment; but then gathering
up his resolution, replied—
-4 in the din of the battle this book was
my breast-plate, in the hour of sickness
my best balm,' and he laid the open volume
before the merchant.
4 Holy saints !' exclaimed the merchant,
crossing himself, and drawing back, as he
held the volume which his Church had
closed against the laymen— 4 then thou
art among the heretics who bring down a
curse upon the land ! Nay, thy sojourn
here may bring maledictions upon me and
mine !—upon my house and home. But
thou shall forth ! I will not harbor thee !
1 vviil dfeiiver thee over to the Church, that
she may chasten thee ! Away from him,
my child ! —away front him !'
The soldier sat sad and solitary, watching
the dying light of the sun, as he passed
majestically on to shine in other lands.
One ray rested on the thoughtful brow of
the lonely man, as lie sat bracing up his
courage to meet the perilous luture. As he
thus mused, a soft voice broke upon his
revery,
4 You are thinking of your own far-oil"
home,' said the Italian girl : 4 how I wish
that ail I love had but one home—it is a
grief to have so many homes !'
i There is such a home,' replied the
soldier.
4 Ah!' replied Emilia, 4 but they say
that heretics come not there ! Promise
rne that you will not be a heretic any
. longer.'
The soldier smiled and sighed,
4 Y oil guess why 1 am here to-night,'
resumed the Italian girl. *1 know it by
that smile and sigh. lou think that lam
come to tell you to seek vour own land
and home, and therefore vou smile ; and
you just breathe one little sigh, because
you leave ibis Liighi sun—and me.'
4 Am I then to leave you, perhaps to
be delivered over to the power ol your im
placable Church ?'
Emilia crossed herself. 4 No, no—go
to your own land and be happy. Here is
money ; mv lather could not deny me,
when I begged it from him with kisses
and tears. Co, and be happy, and for
get us.'
4 Never!' exclaimed the soldier, ear
nestly— 4 never! And you, my kind and
gentle nurse, my good angel—you who
| have brought hope to mv pillow, and be
guiled the sad hour of sickness in a foreign
land—words are but poor things to thank
thee with.'
4 1 shall see you no more!' said the
young Italian, 4 and what shall make me
, happy when vou are gone Who w ill
tell me tales of flood and field ? 1 have
been happy while you were here, and \et
we meet very sadly. My heart stood still
when I first saw YOU, covered witli blood,
on your way back to Milan, after the bat
tle. Aou had crept under a hedge, as we
; thought, to die. But 1 took courage to
lay my hand upon your poor heart, and
it still beat; so we brought you home ;
and never has a morning passed, but I
have gathered the sweetest flowers to
freshen your sick pillow. And while
you were insensible, in that tcrribje fever,
1 used to steal into your chamber, and kneel
at your bed-foot, and pray for the Madon
na's care. And when you revived, you
smiled at my flower—and when you had
| voice to speak, vou thanked me !'
; Emilia's voice was lost in sobs ; and
what wonder if one from man's sterner
| nature mingled with them !
The morrow cante. The Italian girl
gathered a last flower, and gave it in
tearlul silence to the soldier. He kissed
j the fragrant gift, and then with a momen
tary boldness, the fair hand that gave it,
1 and departed. The young girl watched
his foot-steps till they were lost to sound,
and then abandoned herself to weeping.
j 4 Thou art sad, dear daughter,' said a
venerable father to his child, as they tra
IRIDAY EVENING, AUGUST 27, 1852.
versed that once countrified expanse
through the oily of London to Westmin
ster— 4 Thou art sad, dear daughter.'
4 Nay, nay father,' replied the maiden,
* I would not be so ; but it is hard always
to wear a cheerful countenance when—'
4 Thy heart is sad, thou wouldst say—'
4 Nay, I meant it not.'
4 1 have scarcely seen thee smile since
we entered this England—l ntay not say
this heretic England.'
' Hush ! dear father, hush !—the winds
may whisper it; see you not that we are
surrounded by a multitude V
4 They are running madly to some
revelry.'
4 Let us leave their path, then,' said the
girl ; 4 it suits not our fallen fortune, or
our dishonorable faith, to seem to mingle
in this stream of folly. Doubtless the
king has some new pageantry.'
4 Well, and if it be so,' replied the father,
4 haply the gewgaw and the show might
bring back the truant smile to thy lip, and
the lost lustre to thine eye. See how
anxious, how eager, how happy seem this
multitude! Thou mayst catch theircheer
-1 illness. We will go with the stream.'
The girl offered no further resistance.
They were strangers in the land ; poor,
almost pennyless. They had come from
their own country to reclaim a debt which
one of the nobles ol the court had incur
red in more prosperous days, when the
merchant was rich in silver and gold, and
merchandise. The vast throng poured on,
swelling until it became a mighty title ;
the balls pealed out, the cannon bellowed,
human voices augmented the din. The
Thames was lined on either bank ; every
building on its margin crowded, and its
surlace peopled. Every sort of aquatic
vessel covered its bosom, so that the flow
ing river seemed rather some broad road
teeming with life, lialley after galley,
glittering with gold arid purple, came on.
laden with the wealth, and the pride, and
the beauty ot the land, and presently the
acclamation of a thousand voices rent the
skies. 4 i'he king! the king! long live
the king !' lie came-r— Henry the Eighth
came, in all lhat regal dignity, and gor
geous splendor, in which he so much de
lighted.
And then began tlie pageant, contrived
to throw odium on Rome, and to degrade
die pretentions of the Pope, Two gal
leys, one bearing the arms of England, the
oilier marked by the papal insignia, ad
vanced towards eacli other, and the fic
ticious contest commenced.
Borne on by the crowd, our merchant
and his daughter had been forced into a
conspicuous situation. The peculiar dress,
the braided hair, the beauty and foreign
aspect of the girl had marked her out to
the rude gallantry of the crowd ; so that,
to a limited circle, the lather and daughter
were themselves objects of interest and
curiosity,
The two vessels joined, and the mimic
contest was begun. Of course, the Eng
lish colors triumphed over the papal. Lj>
to this point, the merchant bore his pangs
in silence; but when the English galley
had assumed the victory, then came the
trial ol patience. Effigies of the cardinals
were hftrled into the stream amid the
shouts and derisions of the mob. At each
plunge groans issued from his tortured
breast, it was in vain that Emilia clung
to his arm and implored him, by everv fear.
to restrain himself. Ilis religious zeal
©
overcome his prudence; and when, at
last, the figure of the Pope, dressed in his
pontifical robes, was hurled into the tide,
the loud exclamation oi agony and horror
burst from his lips—
-4 Oh ! monstrous impiety of an accursed
and sacrilegious king !' sounded loudly
above the din of the mob.
It was enough ; the unhappy met chant
was immediately consigned over to the
secular arm.
Oh ! sad were those prison hours!
The girl told her beads—the father prayed
to all the saints—and then came the vain
consolations by which one endeavored to
cheat the other. They thought of their
own sunny land, its balmy air, its living
beauty, and tl\at thought was home.
November eanie, with all its gloom—
the month that should have been the grave
of the year, coming, as it is does, with
shroud and cerecloth, foggy, dark, and
dreary ; the father's brow numbered more ;
wrinkles; the once black hair was more
nearly bleached ; the features more atten
uated.
And the daughter—ah ! youth is the
transparent lamp of hope—but in her the
light was dim.'
In fear and trembling the unhappy for
eigners waited the day of doom. The
merchant's offence was one little likely to
meet with mere)'. Henry was jealous of
his title as head of the church. He had
drawn up a code of articles of belief,
which his subjects were desired to sub
scribe to, and he had instituted a court, of
which lie made Lord Cromwell vicar-gen
eral, for the express trial of those whose
orthodoxy in the king's creed was called
in question. Neither could the unhappy
merchant hope to find favor with the judge,
fpr jt was known that Cromwell was
strongly attache to the growing reforma
tion , and irom the acts of severity with
which he had lately visited some of the
adherents of the Rotr. : h creed, in his
new character of vicar-gencral. it was
scarely probable that he would show mer
cy to one attached, by lineage and love, to
papal Home. Strangers as they were,
poor, unknowing and unknown, what had
they not to fear, and what was left for
hope ?
The morning of trial came. The fogs
of that dismal month spread like a dark
veil over the earth. There was no beauty
in the landscape, no light in the heavens,
and no hope in the heart.
The judges took their places. A crowd
of wretched delinquents came to receive
their doom. We suppose it to be a re
finement of modern days, that men are not
punished tor their crimes, but onlv to defer
others from committing them. This court
ot iienry's seemed to think otherwise;
there was all the array of human passions
in the judges, as well as in the judged.
On one hand, recreant fear abjured bis
creed ; on another, heroism braved all
contingencies, courting the pile and the
stake were given with unrelenting cruelty.
At length, there stood at the bar an
aged man and a youthful girl ; the long
white hair of the one fell loosely over the
shoulders, and left unshaded a face wrin
kled as much by care as age; the daik
locks ol the oilier were braided over a
countenance clouded by sorrow and wet
with tears.
The mockery of trial went on. It was
to prove what even tiie criminal did not
attempt to gainsay,. The aged merchant
avowed his fidelity to tlip Pope as a true
son ot the Church—denied tiie supremacy
of Henry over any part of the fold, and
thus sealed his own doom.
i here was an aivluj stillness through
the court —stillness, the precursor of doom
—broken only by the sobs ot' the weeping
girl, as she clung to her lather's arm.
Howbeit, the expected sentence was in
terrupted : there cante a sudden rush—
fresh attendants thronged the court.
Room lor Lord Cromwell ! Room
for Lord Cromwell !' And the vicar-gen
cral came in his pomp and his state, with
all the insignia of office, to assume his
place of pre-eminence at the tribunal.
Notes of the proceedings were laid before
Lord Cromwell. He was told of the in
tended sentence and lie made a gesiure of
approbation. A gleam ol hope lead dawned
upon the mind ol the Italian girl, as Lord
Cromwell entered. She watched his coun
tenance while he read ; it was stern, indi
cative of calm determination ; but there
were hues in it that spoke more of mis
taken duty than innate cruelty. Yet when
the vicar-general gave his assent the steel
entered Emilia's soul, and a sob, the very
acGcnl of dispair, rang through that court,
and, where it met the human heart, pierced
through all the cruelty and oppression that
armed it, and struck upon the natural feel
nigs tiiat divide men from monsters. The
sound struck upon Lord Cromwell's car,
his eye sought the place whence it pro
ceeded ; it rested on Emilia and her fath
er. A strange emotion passed over the
face of the stern judge—a perfect stillness
followed.
Lord Cromwell broke the silence. He
glanced over the notes that had been hand
ed to him, speaking apparently to himself
4 From Italy, a merchant—Milan—ru
ined by the wars—av, those Milan wars
were owing to Clement's ambition, and
Charles' knavery—the loss of substance
—to England, to reclaim an old indebt
tnent.'
Lord Cromwell's eye rested once more
upon the merchant and his daughter.
4 \e are of Italy—from Milan ; is t!|at
vour birthplace.'
4 We are Tuscans,' replied the merchant,
4 of Lupca • and oh ! noble lord, if there
is mercy in this land, show it to this un
happy girl.'
4 To both, or to neither !' exclaimed the
girl, 4 we live or die together !'
ti ** ©
The vicar-general made an answer to
neither. He rose abruptly sat a sign from
him, the proper officer declared the court
adjourned—the sufferers were hurried back
to their cells, some went whither they
would not ; but all dispersed.
A faint and solitary light gleamed front
a chink of the prison-walls—it came from
tiie narrow cell of the Italian merchant
and his daughter.
The girl slept—ay, slept. Sleep does
not always leave the wretched, to light on
lids jnsullied with a tear. Reader hast
thou known intense misery, and canst
thou remember how thou hast felt and
wept, and agonized, until the very excite
ment of thy misery wore out the body's
power of endurance, and sleep, like a tor
por, stupor, a lethargy bound thee in its
chains ? Into such a sleep had Emilia i
fallen ; she was lying on that prison-floor,
her face pale, as if ready for the grave, the
large tears yet resting on her cheeks, and
over her sat the merchant, leaning, asking
himself whether, treasure that she was,
and had ever been to him, he could wish
that sleep to be the sleep of death.
The clanking of a key caught the mer
chant's ear; a gentle step entered their
prison. The father's first thought was
for his child. He made a motion to enjoin
silence; it was obeyed ; his visitor ad
vanced with a quiet tread ; the merchant ,
looked upon him with wonder. Surely—
no—and yet, could it be ?—lhat his judge
—Lord Cromwell the vicar-general, stood
before him—and stood, not with threaten
ing in his eve—not with denunciation on
his lips, but took hs stand on the other
side of poor Emilia, gazing on her with an
eye in which tenderness and compassion
were conspicuous,
A maze;;ip nt bound up the faculties of the merchant ;
lie reined lo himself 89 one that dreameth.
4 Awake, gentle girl, awake !' said Lord
Cromwell, as he stooped over Emilia,
4 Let me hear thy voice once more, as it
sounded in mine eat- in other days.'
The gentle accents fell too light to break
the spell of that heavy slumber ; and the
merchant, whose lears, feelings, and con
fusion, formed a perfect chaos, stooping
over liis child, suddenly awoke her with
the cry of—
< Emilia ' Emilia ! awake and behold
our Judge !'
4 Nay, nay. not thus roughly,' said Lord
Cromwell; but the sound had already re
called Emilia to a sense of wretchedness.
She half raised herself from her recum
bent posture into a kneeling one, shadow
ing her dazzled eves with her hand, her
streaming hair falling in wild disorder
over her shoulders, and thus resting at the
ieet of her judge.
4 Look on ine, Emilia !' said Lord Crom
well. And, encouraged by the gentle ac
cents, she raised her tear-swollen eves to
his face. As site did so, the vicar-general
lilted from his brow Lis plumed cap, and
revealed the perfect outline of his features.
And Emilia gazed as if spell-bound, until
gradual shades of doubt, of wonder, of re?
cognition, came struggling ever her coun
tenance, and finally in a voice of passion
ate amazement, she exclaimed—
4 lt is the same ! It is our sick soldier
guest,'
4 Even so,' said Lord Cromwell, 4 even
so, mv flear and gentle nurse. He who
was then the poor dependent on your
bounty, receiving from vour charity his
daily bread as an alms, lias this day pre
sided over the issues of life and death, as
your judge ; but fear not, Emilia; the
sight of thee, gentle girl, comes like the
memory of vouih and kindly thoughts
across the sterner mood that hath latelv
darkened over me. They whose voice
may influence the destiny of a nation
gradually, lose the memory of gentler
thoughts. It may be. Providence hath
sent thee to melt me back again into a soft
er nature. Many a heart shall be glad
dened, that but lor mv sight of thee, had
been sad unto death. I bethink me, gen- !
lie girl, of tiie flowers, laden with dew,
and rich in fragrance, which thou didst lay
upon my pillow. v\ bile this head throbbed
with agony of pain upon it, fondly think
ing that their sweetness would be a halm :
and how thou wert used to steal into my
chamber and listen to tales of this, the
land ot my home ! Thou art here—and
how hast thou been welcomed ' To a
prison, and well nigh to death. But the
poor soldier hath a home; come thou,
ami thy father, and share it.'
An hour—who dare prophesy its events?
At the beginning oj that hour, the mer
chant and his daughter had been the sor
rowful captives of a prison ; at its close,
they were the treasured guests of a palace.
iHf Uaurottfi.
A Story with a Moral,
Air. Rones, of the firm of Fossil, Bones
Co., was one of those remaikable mon
ey-making men, whose uninterrupted suc
cess in trade had been the wonder, and af
forded tl;e material for the gossip of the
town for seven years. Being of a famil
iar turn of mind, be was frequently inter
rogated on the subject, and invariably gave
as the secret of his success, that he minded
his own business.
A gentleman met Mr. Bones on the As
sar.pink bridge. He was gazing intently
Upon the dashing, foaming waters as they
fell over the dam. He was evidently in a
brown study. Our friend ventured to dis
turb his cogitations.
4 Mr. Bones, tell me hovy to make a
housand dollars.'
Mr. Bones continued looking intently at
the water. At last he ventured a reply. |
4 Do you see that dam, iny friend ?'
4 I certainly do.'
4 Well, here you may learn the secret of
making money. Th3t water would waste
away and be of no practical use to any
body but for the dam. That dam turns it!
to good account, makes it perform some
useful purpose, and then suffers it to pass
along. That large paper mill is kept in
constant motion by this simple economy.
M any mouths are fed in the manufacture
of the article of paper, and intelligence is
scattered broadcast over the land on the
sheets that are daily turned out; and in
the different processes through which it
passes, money is made. So it is in the
living of hundreds of people. They get
enough money. It passes through their
hands every day, and at the year's end
they are no better off. What's the reason ?
They want a dam. Their expenditures
arc increasing, and no practical good is at
tained. They want them dammed up so
that nothing will pass through their hands
without bringing something back—without
accomplishing some useful purpose. Dan
up your expenses, and you'll soon have ,
i\cn Series—Vol. —Vo. 45.
enough occasionally to spare a little, just
like that dam. Look at it, my friend !'
Trenton True American.
A Ciood One.
Ludicrous blunders will occasionally oc
cur in cases where ignorant persons attempt
ihe use of language about which they
know nothing. The following is a case
in point ?
Not long since, while traveling from
Pittsburgh to Cincinnati, two rather ver
dant specimens of the female sex came on
board ot the boat at one oi the landings,
who. for the sake of distinction, we will
call Mary and Jane. Now Mary had cut
her eye teeth, or in other words, was ac
quainted with the rules and regulations
which govern genteel society. Jane, the
younger, had never mixed to any great ex
tent, and was therefore in blissful igno
rance as t;> any of the rules wiTk-h govern
more retined persons. Her language, too,
was only such as she heard among her
rustic associates. Mary was aware of
this tact, and had therefore cautioned her
to observe how she (Marv) acted, and to
govern her accordingly. Jane promised
implicit obedience. Shortly after, while
seated at the dinner table, the waiter asked
Mary what part of the fowl she would
have. She informed him in a very polite
manner that it was •'perfectly immaterial."
He according gave her a piece, and then
inquired of Jane what part she wuulU
choose. The simple-minded girl replied,
with all the self-assurance imaginable—
' 1 believe 1 II take a piece of the imma
terial too.'
1 he scene that followed this declaration,
is beyond our pen to describe. The as
sembled were compelled to give vent to
their surcharged feelings in peals of bois
terous laughter ; whilst the poor girl, hei
lace suffused with crimson blushes, left the
table, declaring as she fled to the ladies'
cabin, ' they won't ketch me aboard of one
of those pesky steamboats soon again.'
Ilaus Lucifer and the Indians.
Among the emigrants to California in
the year 1839, was a worthy son of
• Fatherland,' whom we shall designate as
Hans Sneifer, who having become tired
ot his daily routine of hot* and hard
bread, had resolved to obtain some more
savory viand, and taking a rille, he started
out in search oi game, lie had proceed
ed a few miles from the trail, when lie
! espied a band oi buffaloes grazing in the
distance. Excited by tiie prospects of a
good dinner, he pushed rapjJly forward,
when lie suddenly discovered a band ot
Pawnees, evidently bent 011 the same pur
pose with himself. Now Hans had heard
dreadl'ul stories of massacre and scalping
by the merciless savages, and was of
course brought to u momentary stand-still.
Hut, for fear that we mav be accused of
embellishment, we will let Hans tell his
own story.— 1 Yell v ?n I iirst see the red
skins, 1 lho : t I would sthop a little and see
vhat day makes dare all de vile. So I
sthop and peept oqt behint some stlioues,
and dere dey vas, shneakiu along, and
shneakiu along, slioost like wolfs ! Aha !
thinks I veu you don't see me, den 1 goes
pack again. So I solitaries down de hill
and calks pooty plamebt fast, and go back
most to de trail veil I looks aroundt, and
dare dey coomst shoost like a toqsant tuy
fuls ; so den I valked a litlje faster, and
den looks around again, and all de logons
was pootv closhe ; den I walks again and
looks aroundt, and dey was closher still.
So I tiqks Hans you've got in a blamebt
scrape and 1 walked along, linking, and
byme by 1 got so tarn mad I runs xhoozt
like a tog.—Carpet Bag.
Not long since one of the learned coun
sel in a small suit deemed it necessary to
shake the testimony of a Mr. Samtiet
Hutterworth, bv impugning his veracity.
A witness was called to the stand.
' Do vou know Samuel Hutterworth
• Yes'.'
• What is Butterworth V
4 Two and ten pence a pound, although
some folks have paid as high as three
shillings.'
Some men possess means that are great,
but fritter them away in the execution of
conceptions that are little ; and there are
others who can form great conceptions,
but who attempt to carry them into exe
cution with little means. These two de
scriptions of men might succeed if united,
but, as they are usually kept asunder by
jealousy, both fail.
i ' La, me!' said Mrs. Partington, on
reading in the papers that Jenny Lind had
a fellow feeling in her bosom for the suf
fering and oppressed of all nations, 44 it
I was jest so with me when I was a gal!'
Her companions Gen. Pierced , (fainted.)
while the old lady readjusted her specs.
4 You hav'nt opened your mouth during
the whole session,' complained a member
of the late Massachusetts Legislature to a
Hepresentative from the same town. ' Oh,
yes, I have,' was the reply ; 4 I yawned
through the whole of your speech on the
liquor bill,'