w MU .A PER ANN'JM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
dhirs-htn fltorninn, Noocmbcr 27, 1850.
Sflttteh soetrn.
THE PRAYERLESS ONE.
He ni*v?r priv* ! The God of heaven has watched
o'er U hi* step*, and with that careful eye
Which never rh-eps. has guarded him from death.
\nd ehit'.ded him from danger. Through the honra,
The thoughtless hours of youth, a hand unseen
H„" guarded all his footsteps o'er all the wild
\nJ thorny paths of li e, and led him on
ta safety through them all. In later days,
Still the same hand ha* ever been his guard
Frem dingers seen and unseen. Clouds have lowered
\nl tempests oft have burst above his head,
itut tlut protecting hand has warded ofT
The thunder stroke of death, and still he stands
\ monument of mercy. Year* have passed
Of varied dangers and of varied guilt,
lint still the sheltering wiugs of love have been
Outspread in merry o'er him. He hath walked
Fpon the beauteous earth for many years.
And skies, and stars, aud the magnificence
Ofmightv waters and the warning voice
That speaks amid the the tempests, and the notes
of softer ton that float <>n evening wing*—
All tbe( have t< Id him of a God w ho claims
The homage of the sout. And he ha* lived
And viewed them in their glory as they stood
Around him etcn from infancy, * voice
That told of merry bending o'er him
With looks of angel sweetness—and ol power
Resistless in its goings forth—but stayed
B\ that seraphic mercy still he stands.
Cold and unfeeling as the rock that braves
The ocean billows, still—he never prays
When evening spreads
Her solemn shades around him, and the world
brows dim upon his eye. and many stars,
S attered in glory o'er the >au!t of heaven,
('!! on the spirit to retire awhile
From earth and it- low vanities, and seek
The high and h dr intereour-c with God
Vouchsafed to mortals here he never prays !
When morning kindles in the eastern sky,
With si! its radiant glory, and the *tin
( ernes up in majesty, and o'er the earth
Wakes all her active tribe, to busy life,
Anil breaks the death-like solitude that reigned
Fr< while o'er Nature's face ; wheu oil his eye
bartli smiled in beauty 'ueath the lucid ra ,
And feathered songsters pour their straius of joy
Vp. his ear. still nut a note of praise
(>r humble prayer arises from his lips.
Ho ,i after m-.rn returns in all its swe'-t
And peaceful lve|inw, and oft invites
His stdrit to com mo ne with God ; but still
lis . rns the offer—still— he n ver prays!
lit isf 11 [an 10 us.
M V LITTLE HOV.
CIIAJ'fKK r.
1 WHS l.tit .i cliildisli mother. I had not for
gotten the merry laugh of ntv girlhood when
flirt In it] my baby on my breast, and I looked
lijsui him more as a curious plaything thnn as
R human MII giveu into my hands for its earth
ly training. lint my husband—ah, he was
rr.ive nnd wise enough for Iwjth—mother and
child alike
My 11 iedmud was many years older than my
self. He had known many ti joy and sormvy
kmg before I was born—and on the verv dav
when my norse was holding me (a helpless,
laughing, crowing baby) out to pick the dai
sies for my birth-day garland, he was bending
tearfully over the grave of one who had made
his home happy for years—thewifeof his youth
•vmi the mother of his children. Strange that
I who had no knowledge of sorrow, was yet
'o dispel his- that he, who had never gazed
upm that child's face of mine, was one day to
'Ac its owner to his heart, as the light and
joy of his declining years.
hong, long before 1 met my husband I had
known hiiu well. The name of Arthur Haw
thorne was familiar to me from my earliest
Yrar*, am] the jtoerns he had written were pre
vrrv( J among my choicest treasures. In my
<<\rct heart I had the wish and hope to meet ,
h -;u -ome day. I would steal one look at hi*
•"■r it mav i>e, touch the hand that had pen- 1
ml tin >v e beautiful thoughts, and then go away I
irn retneinhcr hitn all my life, while lie forgot
' This was my dream !—how different the
reality ;
" c nut suddenly, unexpectedly, embarrass- j
r: . I had looked for a sage—a philoso
' - a man who had outlived the passions of
and wii* kind, benevolent alike to all—
b';f v.hi-n I raised my eyes to the handsome I
'c. and saw it marked with lines of care and
forrnw—when I saw the luxuriant flowing hair,
f 'rect ami stately forehead—nnd more than
a *iien 1 met the glance of tltose eyes of
fcould it be an admiring gaze that rested
V'n my girlish face and form ?) my own droop
f'. icy heart beat quick, and I stood before
- I: timid, blushing, and trembling, like a
i ghteticil bird.
• *ho had scarcely dreamed of love, won
; ' I. who knew nothing of the great world
" l my home, pleased him who had seen
' nrest women ! I, who had no lienuty, no
k >l| \ no talent, won him who had all, and
*° !i him, too, from u throng who were far
k' or " worthy. And yet—were they? They
"v lovely—they were wealthy and" fashiona
it they had grown cold and hard in a
h> a ! l | , rentici ship to fashion—and I gave
" a Icart that was as fresh and pure as the
* tibtain daisies I had loved so w ell. They
■ have given him the love they could not
their diamonds and equipages—l
j'") f 11111 all ! To them he would have been
' Sn ~~to me he was a god ! Did not my
' t lave, mv faith, and trust, and sincerity,
• *'>:\: their more glittering tpinlities ? JYr
t'u'h 1 ami here to-day, when tin*
•j" nave made me older, and the world has
'' me wiser, 1 believe it from mv very
*art \ • J
.A' r , " > " 10 was a little paradise, close leside
t ' v '—n Miiuil, low roofed, brow r. cottage,
i rusti, | M ,|- ( |, latticed window* over
"" T cliuibing ROSE* The low murmur
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
of the ocean soothed ne into a happy sleep
each night—the sweet song of the swallow
waked me to a happy day each morning. And
here, in the pleasant summer time, my blue-eyed
boy was born, and my cup of joy was full to
running over.
My boy, like nil other mother's boys, was
beautiful. And yet his loveliness made my
heart ache. So frail, so fair I His colorless,
waxen cheek, his slender form, and large and
melancholy blue eyes, filled rue with a thou
sand fears. How often hate 1 bent above him
as he laid upon my lap, and prayed with all a
mother's earnestness that his life might be
spared. It was a foolish prayer—an unwise
one—but then I eonld not see it 1
My very life seemed wrapped up'in that of
my babe. With him by me every day I could
not see him fading, and the moaning sea could
tell no tales. But now and then a shadow
came over his father's brow as he watched us,
that not even my kisses could quite drive away.
I thought hiin growing stern and cold ; but,
oh, I wronged him ! Never had he loved us
both so tenderly before !
Weeks passed on. My baby's eyes looked
intelligently into mine, and the little rosy lips
smiled whenever I came near. But still those
little lisping utterances that thrill the heart so
deeply were silent, and all my loving lessons
fell on an unheeding ear.
The shadow on Arthur's face grew deeper as
he watched my unceasing efforts. At last the
blow came. I had been sitting in the doorway
with little Ernest in my arms, trying to teach
him to say " papa." His large blue eyes were
fixed upon me with a wistful expression, but
still the lips were inute, and vexed aud disnp
|K>inted, I heaved a deep sigh, and laid him
back to his little cradle. Something in the
look my husband gave me startled me. I went
bes'de hiiu, and putting my arms around his
neck :
" What is it, Arthur?" I cried.
" God help you to bear it, Mary !" he an
swered, solemnly, " Our child is dumb !"
CHAPTER It.
Dumb ! Could it be possible ? What had
1 done that so deep a sorrow should lie sent
to chasten me ? Other mothers might hear
their children's voices calling them, but mine
would be forever silent ! Forever ! It was
so b>ng a word ! Had it been for weeks, or
months, or even years, I would have liorne it ;
but to know that it could never be—that
through childhood, youth and manhood, he
could never speak my iiame—oh, it was too
much to bear !
Autumn and winter (Missed away, aud my
baby and I threw spring daisies at each other
on the lawn before tbe cottage, while Arthur
looked on, smilingly, from his study window.
I had not grown reconciled to the great mis
fortune-—only accustomed to it—and the mute
kisses of my child were almost as dear to me
as his spoken words could have been.
It was a strange ta.sk to teach that soul how
to expand its wings. It was strange to learu
the child his little evening prayer by sight—
and yet, as he clasped his small hands, and
raised his sweet blue eyes to Heaven, 1 often
wondered if any labored supplication could
have gone more quickly to the Throne of Grace.
It was strange to see him sit silently above his
playthings, to hear s.o sound from him except
the plaintive, half stifled cry he uttered w hen
in paiu—to feel those delicate hands clasping
mine when something new had puzzled him—
to see the wistful, observant lo k with which
he regarded every one who conversed around
him.
No wrong or impure thought could ever en
ter that little breast. He w s as one set apart
to show us what an early childhood should be
—as stainless and innocent as when the Ma
ker's hand first sent the little spirit fluttering
into its earthly prison. Could 1 a.-k for him
happier destiny than this—to pass through
life shielded by my unfailing love, and safely
sheltered by the snowy wings of the guardian
angel ever bv his side ?
We make to ourselves idols out of clay, and
they are taken from us. 1 need the oue les
son more. My little boy faded slowly before
my eyes, as the summer came on. It was not
so much with him a painful sickness as the
gradual wasting away of the springs of life.—
The mission he had been sent to fulfil was ac
complished.
Many days before he was taken I knew he
must go. 1 was with him by day and night.
1 sang him to sleep, and wet the still golden
curls with tears when he was slumbering quiet
ly day by day gathered up my strength for
the parting which I knew must come, and day
by day my heart sank within me,and tiie blood
forsook my cheek if the slightest change took
place.
We sat beside the bod of our boy ; the lit
tle languid head was resting on my breast,and
the tiny transparent hands lay like two lilies
in the broad palm of Arthur. I sang, iu a
hushed voice, the songs he loved the best, and
tlie setting sun sank slowlv behind the sea.
Cool breezes, the plash of oars, and the rude
song of sailors down the bay, came floating in
tt|Hin tis. My darliug lay and listened. I could
not see that his breathing grew fainter and
fainter, and that the lids of the blue eyes were
droopiug slowly towards each other. At last
they closed, and thinkin he slept, I laid my
weary head tt|on my husband's breast and
tried to sleep ulso. A strange drowsiness,which
was not slumber, crept over tne. I started
front it suddenly, at last, with au indistinctive
feeling that all was not well. Tears fell fast
ujiou my cheek as 1 lifted my head. They fell
from the eyes of Arthur, who had sat and
thought while we were still.
1 bent over my little boy. The little cheek
I kissed seemed growing cold, ami with sus
pended breath I listened to hear the beating
of his heart. He moved slightly n> I call
cd his name, and then looked up in my face
with a gentle smile.
It tailed soon, and he seemed to be strug
gling with some terrible pain. His lips were
drawn back, his eyes upturned, and his hand
clenched. I could uot bear to look at hiiu. I
turned awav and groaned in agony.
" Sec-—it is over now !" said Arthur, as lie
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA„ BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REGARDLESS OP DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER."
pdt his aftft around my waist, and held me
firmly to' Ms heart.
I looked. My duffing raked his feeble arms,
and as 1 bent my head, they fell heavily around
my neck ; his pale lips met miee in a last kiss.
A sudden trembling seized him. His eyes lit
up with a happy light, his check tffilAed, his
half-opened lips seemed abont to speak for the
first time. Did I hear, or dream I heard, the
one word I hud vaiuly tried to learu him f—
" Mother !"
I could not tell. For the next moment the
rosy flush faded, the little breast heaved with
one short sigh, and my little boy had left us.
Was that little life'in vain ?* Was no les
son taught, no lessou learned, iu that brief
year of companionship with an angel ? Oh,
yes !—a leflstm which the mother's heart can
never forget while it beats with the love it has
felt for the lost, "Dearer is earth to God for
his sweet sake"—dearer to me, because he lov
ed its beauty so.
Many years have passed since my little hoy
fell asleep. Other children play around the
door of my cottage, nnd kneel each night at
my knee, to say the prayer he only looked ;
another Ernest, with bright dark'eyes and
golden hair, goes singing through the house,
but still my heart is most with him. My chil
dren stand outside that grave and listen with
serious facts, when I tell them of the little
brother who died before they were born, and
then steal away silently, and leave rue there
beside It in*
J have grown old and careworn ; the cheek
he kissed is thin and faded, and the sunny hair
with which he used to plav is streaked with
silver. But my child will know me when I
meet him, and I shall hold him to my heart the
same as when he left me, an infant angel—
freed from every taint on earth.
No barrier then between tis —no weak, inv
perfect utterance, or look of pain ; for in hea
ven my child will speak, and the first word I
shall hear him utter there will be the word
that lingered on his lips when he was dviug.—
He will call me " Mother" there as here. Else
I could never have given hitn np through all
these weary years, and fed my heart upon the
hope of hearing that half uttered word breath
ed freely when I die.
Who are your Aristocrats.
Twenty years ago this one made candles,
that oue sold cheese and butter, another butch
ered, a fourth carried on a distillery, another
was a contractor on canals, others were mer
chants and mechanics. Tlicy are acquainted
with both ends of society, as thcirchildren w ill
be after them—though it will not do to say so
out loud. For often you shall find that these
toiling worms hatch butterflies—and they live
about a year Death brings a division of pro
perty, and it brings new financiers; the old
gent is discharged, the young gent takes his
revenues and begins to travel—toward pover
ty, which he reaches before death, or his chil
dren do if he does not. 60, that, in fact,
though there is a sort of moneyed race, it is
not hereditary ; it is accessible* to all ; three
good seasons of cotton will send a generation
of men up—a score of years will bring them
all down, and send their children to ialaw.—
The father grubs and grows rich—his children
strut and use the money. The children, in
turn, inherit the pride, and go to shiftless (HV
ertv ; next, their children, reinvigorated by
fresh plebian blood, aud by the suiell of the
clod, come up again.
rims society, like a tree, draws its sap from
the earth, changes into leaves and blossoms,
spreads them abroad in great glory, sheds them
off to fall back to the earth, again to mingle
with soil, and at length to reappear in new
dress and fresh garniture.— Selected.
DISPUTE. —How much soever a person may
he inclined to dispute with his fellow-iuan ;
however often his passions may get the mas
tery of his wisdom and his tongue ; yet 1 l>e
lieve there arc none jiossessed of ordinary in
telligence, who do not often muse on the folly
which belong to the petty word quarrels in
wlrch men are so o!ten engaged. There are
men who, being Jed into dispute, wax warmer
and warmer a* the conflict increases, uutil final
ly they separate in high dudgeon, both inward
ly vowing that there never was such an obsti
nate old fellow as that Jones " or " Brown,"
as the case may l>e. For such men 1 have two
rules selected—one from Jefferson and one
front M. Attrel. The former says :—" When
you are angry, always count ten before you
speak." And the latter :—" In all differences
consider that you and your enemy are dropping
ofl, and that ere long your very memories will
be extinguished.''— Fit: Mm ntr.
Sfeaf A handsome young widow applied to a
physician to relieve her of tw o distressing coin
plaints with which she was afflicted. "In the
first place," said she, " I have a little or no
apjietite. What shall I take for that ?"
" For that, madam, you should take air and
exercise."
"And, Doctor, I atn quite fidgety at night,
and afraid to sleep alone. What shall I take
for that ?"
" For that, madam, I can only recommend
that you take—a husband."
HUMAN DEPRAVITY. —' This animal," said an
itinerant showman, " is the royal African hye
na, measuring fourteen feet from the tip of his
nose to the end of his tail, and the same dis
tance back again, making in all twenty-eight
feet. He cries iu the woods in the night sea
son like a human being in distress, aud then
devours all that come to his assistance—a sad
instance of the depravity of human uature."
te&' A crusty old contemporary says : A
lady T ears a long dress for the purpose of mak
ing it shorter by holding a part of it iu her
hands. l'erha|is it would not Ite unfair, to
say, that if the dress w as of projer length the
necessity of lifting it would be avoided ; or,
i that the chance of showing attractions, acci
i dentally of course, would be lost.
[From I>r. Aortic Expleratiou.]
Parting Hawsers among the Ice Bergs.
It blew a perfect hurricane. We had seen
it coming, and were ready with three good
hawsers out uhead and all things snog on
board.
Still it came on heavier and heavier, and the
ice began to drive more wildly than I thought
I had ever seen it. I had just turned in to
warm end dry myself through the momentary
lull, and was stretching myself out in my bunk,
when I heard the sharp twanging snap of a
eord. Our six-inch hawser bad parted, and we
were swinging by the two others—the gale
rouring like a lion to the southward.
Half a minute more, " twang f twang!"
came a second report. I knew it was the
whale line, bv tbe shrillness of the ring. Our
noble ten-inch Manilla still held on. I was
hurrying my last sock into its sealskin boot,
when McGary came waddling down the com
panion ladders. " Captain Kane, she won't
hold much longer ; it's blowing the devil him
self, ana I'm afraid to surge."
The Manilla cable was proving its excellence
when I reached the deck ; aud the crew, as
they gathered around me, were loud in its
praises. We could hear its great Eolian chaut
swelling through all the rattle of the running
gear and moaning of the shrouds. It was the
death song. Titc strands gave way with the
noise of a shotted guu ; and, In the smoke
that followed their recoil, we were dragged out
by the wild icc, at its mercy.
We steadied and done some pretty warping,
and got the brig a good bed iu the rushing
drift ; but it all came to nothing. We then
tried to beat back through the narrow ice
clogged water-way, that was driving, a quarter
of a mile wide, betweeu the shore and the pack.
It cost us two hours of hard labor, I thought
skillfully bestowed ; but at the end of that
time We tt'.'rc at least four miles off, opposite
the great valley in the centre of Bedevilled
Ileuch. Ahead of us, farther to the north,
we could see the strait growing still narrower
and the heavy ice tables grinding up, and clog
ging it between the shore cliffs on one side and
the ledge on the other. There was but one
thing left for us—to keep in some sort the
command of the helm by going freely where
we must otherwise be driven. We allowed her
to scud under a reefed foretopsail ; all hands
watching the enemy as we closed in silence.
At seven in the morning we were close upon
the (tiling masses. We dropped our heaviest
anchor, with the desperate hope of winding
the brig, but there was notwithstanding the
ice torrent that followed us. We had only
time to fasten a spar as buoy to the chain, aud
let her slip. So went our best bower !
Down we went upou the gale again, hope
lessly scraping along a lee of ice seldom less
than thirty Yet thick ; one floe measured by a
line, as we tried to fasten to it, more than for
ty. 1 had seen such icc only one before, and
never in such rapid motion. One upturned
mass rose above our gunwale, smashing in our
bulwark*, and depositing half a ton of ice in i
a lump upon our decks. Our staunch little
brig bore herself through all this wild udven
tiire as if she had a charmed life.
But a new enemy came in sight ahead.—
Directly in our way, just behind the line of
Hoe-icc. against which we were alternately slid
ing and thumping, was a group of bergs. We
had no power to avoid them ; and the only
question was, whether we were to be dashed
to pieces against them, or whether they might
not offer us some providential nook of refuge
from the storm. But as we neared them, we
perceived that they were at some distance from
the floe-edgc, and separated from it by au iu
terva! of open water.
Our hopes rose as the gale drove us toward
the passage and into it, and we were ready to
exult when from some unexplained cause, pro
bably an eddy of the wiud agaiust the lofty
ice-walls, we lost our headway. Almost at the
same moment we saw that the bergs were not
at rest ; that with a momentum of their own
they were bearing down upon the other ice,
and that it must be our fate to be crushed be
tween the two.
Just then a broad sconce-piece of low wa
ter-washed berg eatne driving from the south
ward. The thought flashed up me of otic of
our escapes iu Melville Bay, and as the sconce
moved rapidly close alongside us, McGary
managed to plant an anchor on its slope, and
to hold on to it by a whale-line. It was an
anxious moment. Our noble tow-horse, whiter
than the pale horse that seemed to be pursu
ing us, hauled us bravely on ; the spray dash
ing o\er his windward flanks, and his forehead
ploughing up the lesser ice as if in scorn. The
bergs encroached upon us as we advanced :
our channel narrowed to a width of about for
ty feet : we braced the yards to keep clear of
the impending ice-walls.
We passed clear ; but it was a close shave,
so close that our port quarter-boat would have
been crushed if we had not taken it from the
davits, and found ourselves tinder the lee of a
berg, iu a comparatively open lead. Never
did heart-tried men acknowledge, with more
gratitude, their merciful deliverance from a
wretched death.
ANECDOTE OF FK.ANKI.IN. —When quite a
youth, Franklin went to London, entered a
printing office, and enquired he could get em
ployment as a printer.
" Where are you from ?" enquired the fore
man.
" America," was the reply.
" Ah J" said the foreman, " from America !
a lad from America seeking employment as a
printer ! Well, do you really understand the
art of printing ? Can you set type ?"
Franklin stepped to one of the cases, and in
a very brief space, set up the following passage
from the first chapter of the Gospel by St.
John :
" Nathaniel said uuto him, can any good
thing come out of Nazareth ? Philip saith un
to him come and see."
It was done so quick, so accurately, and
contained a delicate reproof, so appropriate
and powerful, that at once gave hiiu charac
ter and stauding w jth a!! iu the office.
A San Francisco Anotioneer.
The reporter of The San Ffanciw) Xnrr
furnishes that paper with the following report
of a speech made by a California auctioneer :
" Ladies and gentlemen, I now have the ho
nor of putting up a fine pocket handkerchief,
a yard wide, a ynrd long, and almost a yard
thick ; one-half cotton, and t'other half cot
ton, too - f beautifully printed with stars and
stripes on one side, and the stripes and stars
on t'other. It will wipe dnst from the eyes
so completely as to be death to demagogues,
and make politics as bad a business as printing
papers. Its great length, breadth, and thick
ness, together with its dark color, will enable
it to hide dirt, and never need washing. Go
ing at one dollar ?—seventy-five cents ?—fifty
cents ?—twenty five cents ?—one bit ? No
body wants it !—Oh ! thank yon sir !
" Next, goitlrmrn —for tbe ladies won't be ;
permitted to bid on this article—is a real, si
mon-pure, tempered, highly polished, keen edg
ed Sheffield razor ; bran spankiu new ; never
opened before to sun-light, moon-light, star
light, day-light, or gas-light ; sharp enough
to shave a law yer or cut a disagreeable acquan
tance or poor relation ; handle of buck-horn ;
with all the rivets but the two at the ends of
pure gold. Who will give two dollars? one
dollar ? half a dollar ? Why, ye long-beard
ed, dirty-faced reprobates, with not room ou
your phizzes for a Chinese woman'to kiss, I'm
offering you a bargain at half a dollar ! Well,
I will throw in this strop at half a dollar !
razor and strop—a recent patent ; two rubs
upon it will sharpen the city attorney ; and all
for four bits ; aud a piece of soap—sweeter
than roses, lathers better than a schoolmaster,
and strong enough to wash out all the stains
from a Calfioruia politician's countenance, and
all for four bits ! Why, you have only to put
the razor-strop and soap under your pillow at
night to wake up in the morning clean shaved.
Won't anybody give two bits, thcD, for the
lot ? I kuew I would sell 'em.
" Next, ladies and gentlemen, I offer three
pairs socks, hose, stockings, or half-hose, just
as you're a mind to call them, knit by a ma
chine made ou purpose, out of cotton wool.—
The man that buys these will be enabled to
walk till he gets tired ; and, provided his boots
arc high enough, nced'ut have any corns ; the
legs are as long as bills against the corporation,
and as thick as the heads of the members of
the legislature. Who wants 'ein at one half
dollar ? Thank ee, madam, the money.
" Next, I offer you a pair of boots ; made
especially for San Francisco, with heels long
enough to raise a man up to the Hoadley
grades, and uails to insure against being car
ried over by u land slide ; legs wide enough to
carry two revolvers and a bowie knife, and the
uppers of the very best horse leather. A man
in these boots can move about as easy as the
State capitol. Who says twenty dollars ? All
the tax payers ought to buy a |>uir to kick the
council with ; everybody ought to have a pair
to kick the legislature with ; and they will be
found of assistance in kicking the bucket, es
pecially if somebody should kick at being kick
ed. Ten dollars for legs, uppers, and soles !
while soul-, aud miserable souls at that, are
bringing twenty thousand dollars in Sacramen
to ! Ten dollars ! ten dollars ! Gone at ten
dollars !
" Next is something that you ought to have,
gentlemen, a lot of good gallowses—sometimes
called suspenders. I know that some of you
will after awhile be furnished at the State's ex
pense, but you can't tell which one, so buy
where they're cheap. All that deserve hang
ing are not supplied with a gallows ; if so,
there would be nobody to make laws, condemn
criminals, or hang culprits until a new election.
Made of pure gum-clastic—stretch like a judge's
conscience, and last as long as a California
office-holder will steal ; buckles of pure iron,
and warranted to hold so tight that no man's
wife can rob him of the breeches : are, in
short, as strong, as good, as perfect, as effec
tual, huna fide as the ordinance against
Chinese shops on Dupont street—gone attweu
ty-dve cents."
ACTION OF SUGAR ON THE TEETH. —The
Charleston (S. C.) Medical Journal states that
M I .(Urez, iu the course of his investigations
on tlie teeth, arrived at the following conclu
sions :
First—Refined sugar, from either cane or
beets, is injurious to healthy teeth, cither by
immediate contact with these organs, or by
the gas developed, ow iug to its stoppage in the
stomach.
Second—lf a tooth is macerated in a satu
rated solution of sugar, it is so much altered
in the chemical composition that it becomes
gelatinous, and its enamel opaque, spongy, utnl
easily broken.
Third—This modification is due, not to free
acid, but to a tendency of sugar to combine
with the calcareous basis of the tooth.
WASHING SILVER WARE. —It seems that
housekeepers who wash their silver ware with
soap and water, as the common practice is. do
not know what they are about. The proprie
tor of one of the oldest silver establishments in
the city of Philadelphia anys that " housekee
pers ruin their silver by w ashing it in soapsuds;
it makes it look like pew ter. Never put a
particle of soap about your silver, and it will
retain its original lustre. When it wants pol
ish take a piece of soft leather and whitiug,
aud rub it hard."
A friend of ours says that he has been
without money so long that his head aches
" ready to split" w hen he tries to recollect
how a silver dollar looks. He says the notion
that "we live in a world of change is a great
fallacy.
It WHS amongst the loveliest customs
of the ancients to bury the young at morning
twilight ; for as they strove to give the soft
est interpretation to death, so tliey imagined
that Aurora, who loved the young had stolen
them to her embrace.
VOX,. XVII. NO. Q.\
Stick to Some One Pursuit.
There cannot be a greater error than to
freqneiitly changing one's business If anj
man will look around and notice who have got
rich and who hare not, out of those he started
in life with, be wiH Slid that the norcesful
hare generally stuck to some one pursuit.
Two lawyers, for example, begiu to practice
at the same time. One devote* f,,, whole mind
to his profession - lays in slowly a stock of lo
gal learning, and waits patiently, it mav be
for years, tin he gains an opportunity to show
his superiority. The other, tiring of slow work,
dashes into politics. Generally, at the end of
tweuty years, the latter will not be worth a
penny, while the former will have a handsome
practice, and count bis tens of thousands bank
stock or in mortgages.
Two clerks attain a majority simultaneous!?.
One remains with his former employer, or at
least in the same line of trade, at first on a
small salary. The other thinks it beneath him
to fill a subordinate position, now that he has
become a man, and accordingly starts in some
other business on his own account, or under
takes a new firm in the old line of trade
Where does he end ? Often in insolvency,
rarely in riches. To this every merchaut cau
testify.
A young man is bred a mechanic. He ac
quires a distaste to his trade, however ; tninks
it a tedious way to get ahead, and sets out for
the West or California. But in most cases, the
same restless, discontented, and speculative
spirit which carried him away at Grst, renders
continuous application at any one place irk
some to him ; and so he goes waudering al>out
the world, a sort of semi-civilized Arab, really
a vagrant in character, and sure to die insol
vent. Meantime, his fellow-apprentice, who
has stayed at home, practising economy, and
working steadily at his trade, has trrown com
fortable iu his circumstances, and is even, per
haps, a citizen of mark.
There are men of ability, in every walk of
life, who are notorious for never getting along.
Usually it is because they never stick to uuy
one business. Just when they have mastered
one pursuit, and are on the point of making
money, they change it for another which they
do not understand ; and in a little while what
little they arc worth is lost forever. We know
scores of such persons. Go where you w ill,
you will generally find that the men who have
failed in life arc those who never stuck to one
thing long. On the other baud, your prosper •
ous man, nine times out of ten, has always
stuck to one pursuit.
Oyster Dredging.
A very large proportion of oyster-eaters
have at best but an indefinite idea of the way
in which these interesting bivalves arc fisLcd
ont of the deep, to supply their plates and sat
isfy their appetites. Some may imagine they
are picked off the rocks, like the Irishman's
gold dollar from the streets ; others, that they
are the mysterious product of the restaurants,
obtained by merely knocking apart their shell ;
while many have some indefinite notion of a
process of planting oysters in the mud, in shal
low water, to l)e procured, when wanted, by
dexterous manipulations of rakes or tongs, like
potatoes from a hill. This latter mole of
catching o sters is the one most (o:nmon in
Northern waters, —the oysters having first
been brought from the South, arid " bedded ''
here ; as it is thought that, bv this transplan
tation. they are much improved iu flavor.—
There are, however, some varieties of the na
tive oyster that are held iu the highest esteem
by epicures—lteirig of extraordinary size and
superior flavor ; and as those are to he found
only in deep water, rendering the process of
catching them quite la'>oriou, their market
value is much enhanced.* Of native oysters,
the "East Rivers "are most iu favor, —the
market prices for which ranges from $1,50 to
so,oo per hundred. Ttiese are caught by
" dredging."
During the autumn mouths, the attention of
travelers on Long Island Sound is invariably
attracted by the large fleets of sailing eraft
that never fail to meet the eye, when the wii d
is fair, tacking hither and thither, and streteh-
I ing away on either side, as far as Th: limit- of
I vision extend. Frequently, upwards of one
| hundred may be counted at once, under can
vas, and presenting a benutiful?apjearac'. -
Of these, many are coasting vessels—which
may always IK- seen dotting the blue waters of
the Sound—but the greater number are fish
ing-smacks, dredging for oysters. Such fl- ets
are encountered at intervals, ail the way from
Throg's neck to Whitest one and Norwalk -
which points embrace the fi-liing-ground for
" East IF vers."
The " dredge " is a sort of drag-nit, made
of the strongest materials, and holding about
two bushels. This is lowered to the bofo u.
an 1 to ved after the v s el by a st> ut rope, va
rying from six to twenty-five fathoms in luugtn.
according to the depth of the wafer. F o
quently, as many as half a dozen d red .re- ,-•
employed at once—each ole lacing huukd n
every ten minutes, and emptied of its contents
of oyst-rs, mud ai d stones which it may hate
scooped up, while < ruggimr on the bottom. -
The pnc-ss is slow and !al>ori sas hauling
in so great a wc" c li?, with tte vessel sailing un
der a three or >i\ knot breeze, is no slight ta-k
and not less than four or five days' constant
labor are required to complete a full load. It
jis customary for the smacks to -tart out o
Monday, and deliver their cargoes at market
o;i Friday or Saturday ; though shorter trips
are soinc times made. On the l>e-f grounds,
' one hundred bushels per diem arc taken ; but
j the average yield is far less.
This mode of catching oysters i- al-o prac
; tieed in the waters of the Chesapeake, whence
j are taken the greater part of the oyster- bro't
j to the north to be planted—thousands of e.n
; goes of which tire shipped hither every year
A", y Jour. <•( Cam.
A recent Dublin new- contains
; the following advertisement ;
" 1 hereby warn all person-11 ingnn
i wife, Ellen Flaiiigun. on inv u<v< I ,n
I not married to lou."