:)XL PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
r
XOWAXDA:
Thursday Morning, April 7, 1859.
Srlcrtrb Ipoetrg.
THE LAND OF DREAMS.
BT WILLIAM C. BKYANT.
, ht v realm is tlie Land of Dreams,
Vith sleeps than hang in the twilight sky,
weltering oceans and trailing streams,
r. u i gleam where the dusky valleys lie.
jot over its shady border flow
;,reet ravs from the world of endless morn ;
Uii the nearer mountains catch the glow
flowers iu the nearer fields are born.
jK souls of the happy dead repair
prom their bowers of light to that bordering land,
isdwalk in the fainter glory there,
With the souls of the living, hand in hand.
tia p calm, sweet smile in the shadowy sphere,
From eyes that open on earth no more-
One warning word from a voice onee dear-
How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er !
Fir off from those hills that shine with day.
Ami fields that shine in the heavenly dales,
The I-and of Dreams goes stretching away
To dimmer mountains and darker vales.
There lie in the chambers of guilty delight.
There walk iu the spectros of guilty fear ;
And soft, low voices, that float through the night,
And whispering sin the helpless ear.
Pear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower.
. arre weaned fmm the love of childish play !
The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower
That freshens the early blooms of May !
Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow
Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams ;
And 1 know, by the moving lips, that now
Thy spirit strays iu the Land of Dreams.
Light hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet!
Oh. keep where that beam of Paradise falls ;
And only walk where thou may'st meet
The blessed ones from its shining walls.
so shalt thou come from the of Dreams,
With love and peace to this world of strife ;
And the light that over that border streams
shall lie on the path of thy daily life.
Illisttllantous.
|IHE MAGIC OF WORDS.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
Feter Crandall was not an ill-natured, cap
tions of finding fault man, and yet the home
of Peter Crandall was not happy. Very Ut
ile sunshine streamed across the threshold.
Was it his wife's fault ? A visitor, who saw
iter iu her usual mood, might if conclusions
were made from first impressions, lead to this
opinion. She inclined to fretfulness and im
titience; and often scolded the children when
ner husbaud could see litttle in them to
blame.
The Crandall's were poor. Mr. Crandall
was a mechanic and earned only mechanic's
wages. Mrs. Craudall was the mother of five
ch'idren, the oldest of them thirteen years
-ill; but their narrow income left nothing to
>nare for the hire of a domestic, so all the
*ork fell upon her. She was toil-worn and
tod-weary at the end of each day ; and the
same, though not to an equal extent, might he
faitl of her husband. He had more strength
for his work, and therefore he could endure
greater fatigue. He had the advantage, which
was a most importaut one—of freedom from
aervous excitement, and the inevitable exhaus
tion that followed, lie labored at one kind
of work, uninterrupted all day long, while she
was subject to perpetnal and annoying inter
ruptions, incident to her position of mother
and house keeper.
Between Peter Crandall and his wife there
did not seem to exist much affection. They
never spoke loving words, nor manifested ex
cept on rare occasions, any pleasures at meet
ings or any mutual interest. The little cour
tesies of life were something unknown in their
cheerless dwelling. Rude, boisterous, quar
relsome the children grew up, bringing dis
cord into the house, the house that was nn
com fort able enough, without that disagreea
■c inmate. The mother scolded and punished
:a anger ; but saw no good results of her dis
pone. The father scolded in concert, but
always felt an unpleasant sensation afterwards
*5 if he had been doing something wrong.
And so the years went on, and the sun
wams came not across the threshold into their
dteihng. Occasionally Mr. Crandall obtained
R brief glance into some other homes, and as
•■ pleasant visions passed, a sigh would dis-
Drl> his bosom. Light and warmth were
there.
Something was wrong in his own home ;
af lie had felt for a great while—and lie
" i not wholly blame his wife. But the exact
• it on ot the wrong he could never clearly
Ktceive. Iu the beginning it was different.
• n there was a warmth in his heart and
s ■"•shine in the face of his wife. But it was
bis memory, marked day after day as a dial
" ,r 'bs the advancing shadow ; how the
jLir.imess of her face diminished steadily until
J *s eclipsed. Ah ! if he had dreamed of
lie Cftoße '• But Mr. Crandall was not the
j who looked iuward upon his wife—not a
•itaij HUO considered his actions iu their effect
-pen others. He was, moreover, silent, unde
'■" stiative tnan, rarely expressing his feelings.
1 ga\e few outward signs by which any one
hi! , '"I, heart Here la y th origin of
. trouble at home-thc beginning of the
i f • I ,1 World al[UOSt iu tota l dark
when ,t should have been noonday. It
for Mrs. Crandall. in the earlier
■ T their wedded life to know that her
'oved he, Her heart asked more
and words and bving looks also;
ered 'i ' 1 Ti Se ' ts f> reen things witb-
C 1; and its blossom faded. Having told her
beginning that he loved her ; having
-wards married in proof of bis declaration;
TIM; BRADFORD REPORTER.
ond worked ever since for the sustaining of his
borne, and keeping her as far above want as it
was possible for him to do—Mr. Crandall saw
no reason why he should be all the time pass
ing compliments, lie couldn't do it. It
wasn't in him. He would have felt ashamed
of it as a weakness.
And so, almost from the beginning lie failed
to give these little outward signs of affection,
those pleasant tokens of kindness so grateful to
all. When bis wife said, as was often the case,
during the first year that succeeded their mar
riage, " Thank you, Peter,*' and smiled grate
fully in return for some little act of kindness—
or expressed pleasure when he came home from
his work in the evening,drawing her arm around
his neck and kissing him—or told him how
lonesome she felt all day, and what a light his
coming brought into their home, Peter
Crandall felt a glow of pleasure in his heart.
But it did not come within the range of his
imagination—dull at best—to conceive that
like words from him would be to the spirit of
his wife like dew to the thirsty ground. So
he never expressed pleasure at meeting,but ra
ther affected, from u kind of false pride, a cer
tain coldness, as though it were an action of
manliness to act indifferently. Nomatterhow
many attentions his wife might show him—
no matter what she prepared for his return,
nor with what dainty skill she cooked the even
ing or noonday meals, he never praised, and
rarely guve even the meagre reward of ex
pressed gratification. But. if things were wrong
—if the coffee was bad, or the bread sour, or
the meat burnt cookiug, he was sure to speak
out ; and not always in very chioce words
And Mrs. Crandall too began to fail in out
ward signs of affections. Peter perceived their
withdrawal as the gradual feeling of sunshine,
when clouds gather over the flimsy veils that
deeping into obscuring curtains. But the
cause to him was a mystery. He felt as of
old to his wife, and worked as cheerfully as in
the beginning. The home feeling was as strong
as ever ; and, after withdrawing from the
outer world, when the night shadows fell, he
had not the beginning of a desire to go abroad
from liis sanctuary, shorn, us it was, of a chief
attractions—the smiles and loving tones, and
words of his changing wife.
From thi3 inauspicious beginning went on
steadily, the unhappy change. The coming of
children, which on their advent, was like the
falling down upon them of sunbeams, though
suddenly rifted clouds increased, instead of dis
missing the unpleasant aspect of things in the
house of Peter Crandall. If the mother's
heart had been cheerful and strong—if her hus
band had not shut out the light it needed to
keep its green things uuwithered and its flow
ers in bloom, this would not have been so. The
cheerful spirit would have given lite to the
body—would have filled every nerve with vi
tal force, and every muscle with strength for
daily toil. But the children proved more of a
burden than comfort. There was, in their
home, so little sunshine that few green things
flourished in their hearts, and the opening of
a flower was a rare occurrence. But thorns
to wound and weeds to offeud were there, and
hourly they seemed to gain a ranker growth.
llow it was in the home of Peter Crandall
will be clear to every one now. There are,
around us, thousands and thousands of such
homes, all the chambers of which are made
dark and cheerless, for the lack of " small
sweet courtesies of life," so cheaply given, aud
so magical in their effects.
One day Peter Crandall was sent by his
employer, to do some work in the house of a
customer. The work happened to be in the
family sitting room, in which were four chil
dren with their mother. The lady spoke to
him politely wheo he came in, and the children
treated him respectfully. He had been at
work only a little while, wheu his attention
was attracted by a request from the mother to
one of the children to go up stairs and bring
her some articles she named. Wesay request;
for this was the form of words she uttered.—
The child went instantly.
" Thank you, dear," said the mother.
Crandall turned and looked at the child.
Her countenance was tranquil and happy.
"Jane I will take those scissors if your
please."
Crandall looked again. It was the mother
who had spoken. One of the children was sit
ting on the floor busily engaged in cutting out
pictures. But she started up instantly and
brought the shears to her mother.
"Tank you, dear," was the mother's ac
knowledgement of the services, as iu the for
mer case.
" Will you want them long ?" the
child.
" No, dear, only a few minutes. Then you
shall have them again."
The child stood patiently by her mother's
side until the scissors were out of service, and
then received them.
" Thank you," she said, as she took them
from her mother's hand, and then danced back,
singing to her place ou the floor where her pic
tures lay.
All this struck Crandall as beautiful and he
sighed ns the harsher image of his own home
intruded itself. While at work, the husband
and father came home. His presence was
hailed with delight. Every child had some
thing to show or tell him, and he entered iuto
the feelings of each, praised their little achieve
ments and approving wherever there seemed a
chance of approbation. It was the same to
wards his wife. She spoke of some directions
she had given to Crandall.
" That was right," he answered, adding
" how thoughtful you are."
A pleased smile went over his wife's counte
nance.
" You forgot your pocket handkerchief this
morning," said the latter, handing a white lin
en handkerchief to her husband.
"So I did, Thank yon, dear." And he
received the handkerchief with as polite an ac
knowledgement in as in words.
Many other little instances of home conrte
sies were observed by Crandall, who left the
house when his work was completed, with a
new impression of life enstamped upon hiscon
' tciousness. The image of that pleasant home
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TO WANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REffiARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
was fixed upon his mind like a thing of beauty
He had dreamed, faintly of such homes—-"Or
read of them in books ; but the reality was
now before him. The husband, and father,
whose presence had brightened that home, he
knew in a general way as a thriving man of
business, who came frequently to the establish
ment where he worked. His face worj, gen
erally, a grave aspect, a little sour, he had not
given him any credit for such kiudness of feel
ing ; and was therefore the more impressed
for what he had seen.
The sweet musical way in which " thank
yon, dear," had been said, reciprocally, by mo
ther and children, many times and on all oeca
sions of services rendered no matter how
small, had found an echo in his mind, where
it was continually repeated, uutil " thank you
dear," as he mused on his word, come most to
his lips iu vocal utterance.
When Crandall went home at nightfall, he
was still dreaming over the picture in his
mind the words, " Thank you, dear," were
still echoing there in a kind of low music, lie
was very much subdued in feeling, almost sad;
and there was an air or languor about him as
he came into the room where his wife was at
work getting supper ready, that she observed
as something nnnsaal.
" Jane take your father's coat and hang it
up," said Mrs. Crandall to the eldest daugh
ter.
The girl obeyed, but there was no affection
in her manner, and she moved in a listless sort
of away to her father, and reached out her
hand for his coat. Mr. Crandall gave her the
garment saying "Thank you, dear."
The words were spontaneous, not of design;
aud spoke with a teuder utterance. He was
hut repeating the tone that was still sounding
in his memory.
What instant life seemed to quicken through
the child's frame. She gave one glance of sur
prise into her father's face, and then stepped
awny with the coat like one pleased to render
a service.
Mr. Crandall was surprised at himself; and
for an instant, half ashamed of what lie Lad
done as if it were a weakness.
" Will you have a glass of water ?" asked
Jane, coming back to her father.
"If you please."
Mr. Crandall wondered at his own reply.
An almost cold, abrupt "yes" or "no," was
his accustomed answer to nearly all questions.
How lightly did Jane trip from the room.
In a twinkling she was back with a cold glass
of water for her father, and as lie received it
from her hand, said, " Thank you."
To the child, all unaccustomed to such an
acknowledgement for auy services, those two
little words were left to be a sweet reward.
The father's altered manner and way of
speaking was perceived by the children, as well
as bv tlieir mother ; and, as if by magic, the
while ot their lives seemed changed.
" Shall I bring you np your slippers ?" asked
Jane, returning to her father.
" Yes, that's a good girl," he answered, "my
feet are aching in these heavy boots."
As Jane left the room with a springing step
Mr. Crandall commenced drawing off his
boots. They were no sooner laid upon the
floor, than two little fellows caught hold of
them, each desirous of an approving word as a
reward for their tired father.
"I'll put one iu the closet, and John the
other."
" What brave little men ?*' exclaimed Mr.
Crandall really pleased at heart, and manifest
ing his pleasure in the tone of his voice. "I'm
a thousand times obliged to you."
Jane returned with the slippers in a few
moments, and stooping down .drew them upon
her father's feet. When she rose up with
cheeks glowing, and eyes dancing in a new
light, Mr. Crandall thought her face looked
really beautiful. *
" Thank yon, dear." The words came now
really from his heart.
Mrs. Crandall looked and listened, wontler
ingly, while a strange glow pervaded her bosom.
What could be the meaning of all this ? In a
quiet, pleased way, the children gathered
round their father, one climbing upon his
knee.
" what have you been doing all day, Jim
my ? " asked Mr. Craudall of the child.
"playing," was the simple answer.
" Have you been a good boy 1"
" Not all the time." answered the child.
" I am sorry ; Jimmy must try and be a good
boy all the time. What have you beeu pluy
iiig."
"Oh, everything. Horses and dogs, aud
turning up Jack, as mother says."
Mr. Crandall laughed out at the reply say
ing :
" Yon turned up Jack mostly, I suppose."
" Well, I guess I did."
Mr. Crandall laughed again. The spirit of
good nature was transferred into every heart.
Even Mrs. Crandall usually in a fretting state
of mind, felt its genial influence.
" Jimmy's been a right good boy to-day,"
said she iu an approving voice. " His turn
ing up Jack hasn't aunounted to much."
Mrs.Crandall was moving about all this time
preparing supper. Jane, who never willingly
gave her mother any assistance, and who was
rarely called upon because she grumbled when
ever asked to do anything, now said," Mother,
can I help you ? "
" Yes dear," That " dear " which had fallen
so unexpectedly from her husband had been
echoing in the mind of Mrs. Crandall quite as
spontaneously as in the case of her husband.
" Yes dear, you may finish settiug the table
while I dish up the supper."
Wondering almost as much at herself as at
her husband, Mrs. Crandall after seeing Jane
move with a pleasing alacrity about the table,
went into the kitcheu and soon ail was ready.
Quite enough to satisfy the appetite had Mrs
Crandall prepared ; but her thoughts turned
upon something else—someting that would give
her the opportunity to ask him if she should
not get it for his supper.
" Yes, dear." How she was longing for the
words uttered in the gentle, loving way they
had a little while before been spoken—but for
her earb alone. At last she tamed from the
fire and going to the door of the room, said
very kindly :
" Shall I boil you a couple of fresh eggs for
your supper, Peter ? "
" Yes, dear, if you please."
How the wife's poor heart, which for years
had lain almost dead in her besom, leaped with
a joyous impulse ? What a light flashed over
her countenance ; making it beautiful as of old
in the face of her husband. " Yes, dear, if you
please." Not even the voice of Grist or Dina,
would her ears have found, such sweet music.
At the supper table Peter Crandall praised
the coffee and the fried potatoes, and said the
eggs were just what he wanted. Mrs. Cran
dall looked happy, and was happy. With the
vanishing of their father's usual silence, and
their mother's sour looks and fretful tones, the
children's spirits changed like the chameleon,
and taking the hue of things around them,
rose into new better and happier states. Con
tention ceased ; and there was something like
an emulation of kind offices among them, in
stead of a selfish grasping of whatever the
heart desired.
Suddenly the eyes of Mr Craudall opened.
Even while he was wondering at the magical
change produced by a few kind words, a full
revelation of the truth came to his mind. A
new leaf iu the book of life was turned.
Though turned once in the right direction
—Peter Crandall pondered this new fact in his
inner life history—the magic of words—and
going back to the very begining, reviewing his
own conduct towards his wife and family,almost
day by day, up to the evening wheu by the
power of almost a single word, the whole scene
changed, and quite as suddenly as we see it,
sometimes in a pantomine. lie saw his error
—saw how unjust he had been; and cold, and
even cruel in his coldness. Very carefully did
he guard himself afterwards ; and very prompt
was he in observing nil the little social cour
tesies towards his wife and children which arc
so beautiful to see and so sweet in all their in
fluences.
The green things flourished again in the heart
of his wife, and the flowers bloomed there as
of old. The children learned to emulate the
kind words, and courteous acknowledgments
for all little sei vices, that soon became a habit
with tlieir father and mother ; and into kind
words spoken, kind feelngs soon followed.—
It was the beginning of a new order of things
in the home of Peter Crandall ; where, in good
time, the desert bloomed as the rose.
Words appear us little tilings in themselves,
bnt have great power. The magic of kind
words is wonderful ! Try then, ye silent Peter
Crandalls, who have fretful wives and conten
tious children. Try the effect of a little whole
some praise to your tired, unhappy, overwork
ed companion, and see if it doesn't brighten
her pale face, as if a flood of sunbeams had
been poured upon it. Try it with your child,
and if you have in you the heart of a true
man, you will be so pleased with the effect that
you will keep on trying until you will scarcely
recognize your own household.
THE ROTHSCHILD BRIDAL DINNER —The
Paris correspondent of the Literary (iazettc
says:
A great event in the bean mantle of this
place has been the Rothschild marriage. The
magnificence was beyond ail description, and
it would appear that splendors, vicing with
those recouuted in the Arabian Nights, were
lavished upon an entertainment to which no
body was admitted. I mean the dinner given
after the nuptial ceremony, and at which some
sixty or seventy Rothschilds alone were present.
As no one bnt the family was present at this
fauaon —as the Spaniards entitle their bull
fights and other amusements—of course the
feminine public curiosity has been immeasura
bly excited by it, and every young male Roths
child has been cross-examined by the fair ladies
of Paris ever since, in order that they may are
rive at an approximate knowledge of the " fes
tive scone." It sceins that all the plate
of all; tiic [houses of Rothschilds nearly was
forthcoming for this bamquet ; at least
the London chief sent his dinner-service
over to his cousin of Paris, and the entire
changes of the more than threescore guests
were made in silver and silver gilt ; plates,dish
es, everything was of the precious metals, as
at the royal tables, only at dessert was perceiv
ed the priceless service of old Sevres belonging
to the Paris paterfamilias, and whereof each
plate represents somewhere about a king's ran
som. As to the viands on the table, they
came from every country and every clime ;
there were swallow's nests from China, ster
lets (a fish of excessive high price in Russia of
the size of salmon, and of fat, orange colored
flesh) from Russia, reed birds and canvass
back ducks from America, bustards from
Spain, pheasants from Bohemia, entrees of
peacocks' brains, fillets of buffalo-hump, and
—one of my lady informants declares—salmis
of Brazilian parrots ! Every salt or fresh
water has yielded up its fish; every moor,
marsh, and forest its fowl ; every hot bed,
heated by fire or the son, its fruit ; and every
grape that ever hung anywhere its wine. As
to the flowers with which the table and the
dining-room were ornamented, it is affirmed
that there were 1,500 pounds worth. (I mean
P1,500 English 1) All the windows were
covered with trellis work, over which were
framed the choicest creeping plants of the
tropics, shedding their luscious perfumes all
round. If the repast was worthy of an emper
or of a century ago, the tribe of Rothschild
seems to have been worthy of it, and to have
done it due honor. In the first place it is
affirmed that the ladies present wore upon their
persons between twenty and thirty millions of
francs' worth of jewels, and in the way of doing
honor to the banquet, those who partook of it
sat at table from half-past six to miduight !"
fe?* Two men, in dispute, reflected upon
each other's veracity. Oue of them said that
he was never whipped by bis father but once,
and that was for telling the truth. " I be
lieve, then," retorted the other, " the truth
was whipped out of you ; for you have never
spoken it since.''
The Value of a Bit of Knowledge.
In the course of our miscellaneous reading,
we came across the following good story,which
illustrates the value of a hit of practical infor
mation, when applied at the right time :
In the Piazza before St. l'ettr's ut Rome
stands the most beautiful obelisk in the world.
It was brought from the circus cf Nero where
it had lain buried for many ages. It was one
entire piece of Egyptian marble, 72 feet high,
12 feet square at the base, and 8 feet square
at the top, utd is computed to weigh above
479 tons, and it is supposed to be 3000 years
old. Much engineering skill was required to
! remove and erect this piece of art; and the
celebrated architect, Dominico Fontano, was
selected and engaged by Pope Sextos V. to
carry out the operation. A pedestal, 30 feet
high, was built for its reception, and the obe
lisk brought to its base. Many were the in
genious contrivances prepared for the raising
of it to its last resting place, all of which ex
cited the deepest interest among the people.
At length everything was in readiness, and a
day appointed for the great event. A great
multitude assembled to witness to ceremony ;
and the Pope, afraid that the clamor of the
people might distract the attention of the
architect, issued an edict containing regulations
to be kept, and imposing the severest pcnalites
on any one who should, during the lifting of
the gigantic stone, utter a single word. Amidst
suppressed excitement of feelings and breath
less silence, the splendid monument was gradu
ally raised to within a few inches of the top of i
the pedestal, when its upward motion ceased ; j
it hung suspended, and could not begot furth- 1
er ; the tackle was too slack, and there seemed
to he no other way than to undo the great;
work already accomplished. The annoyed
architect, in his perplexity, hardly knew how !
to act, while the silent people were anxiously j
watching every motion of his features to dis- !
cover how the problem would be solved. In
the crowd was on old British sailor, he saw j
the difficulty and how to overcome it, and with 1
stentorian lungs he shouted " Wet the ropes!" '
The vigiiant police pounced on the culprit and .
'edged him in prison ; the architect caught the >
magic words, he put this proposition in force,
and the cheers of the people proclaimed the j
success of the gieat undertaking. Next day the
British criminal was solemnly arraigned before
his Holiness ; his crime was undeniably proved, I
and the Pope in solemn language pronounced
iiis sentence to be—that he should receive a •
pension annually during his lifetime.
These little facts stored up from observation
can never do the owner any harm, and may
some day be of great utility; and this story
only proves tlie value of remembering small '
things as well as great ones, for noting that is :
u-eful is too insignificant for man to know, I
and there is uo kuowlcdge that has net its
use.
PRINKING A MONO YOUNG MEN. —The Phila
delphia Shin says truly that indiscriminate :
drinking among our young nun eventually i
makes its mark upon the population of our
cities. We can see it already betraying itself:
in the rising generation. It is impossible for
unv man to drink even pure liquors six or j
seven times a day without suffering severely (
in constitution. And when he transmits an :
impaired constitution to his son, who in turn j
imparts it still further by the same course, it
requires little foresight to see that we are pre
paring a population for our cities that will
not, in physical frame he much better than the '
wretched Aztecs. This love of drink and liar-!
rooms is every day increasing. Every day sees
our youth becoming more and more the victims i
of this habit, for we really think it is more a i
habit than a passion. It is no love of joviality
that tempts them, except in a few cases. It is i
not the hot exuberance of the youth. It is j
not the evanesenct impulses of the gay young J
fellow who is sowing his wild oats. It is, as
has been said, a cold, deliberate habit. No 1
atmosphere of recklessness surrounds the
drinking groups, except on occasions ; and no l
peals ot merriment atone for the act by pro-!
ving that it is at least unusual. A grim and
melancholy air pervades each countenance.—
The drinks are poured out, the glasses are
touched with n loathsome air of custom, and
each man swallows his portion with the same
impassive countenance he would wear if he
were drinking a glass of plain water. All the
concomitants that partially redeem or excuse
drinking, as far as it can be redeemed or ex
cused, are wanting in this sad and formal cer
emony.
NOISES IN THE SICK ROOM. —It is extraor
dinary how many persons, unused to the sick i
room, mistake certain noises for quiet. When
such people have to walk across the room they j
do so with a balancing sort of movement that j
makes every plank crack uneasily. Tlieir very i
dress rattles in away that would make the
fortune of a rattle snake. If any tiling has to
be said, it is spoken in a loud whirring whiper
that conceals the words but makes the most
irritating of noises. Now the silence of a sick
room must not be labored, it must lie natural.
Shoes that do not creak must tie worn, and in
walking the Riot must be put down carefully.of
course, but with a firm step, that romes gent
ly, yet steadily, on the floor. This will not
make the creaking sound caused by the toe
pointed, gingerly mode of movement so much
adopted by those whose experience of sick
rooms is small. The dress must be made of
some noiseless material, wool or cotton ; silk
must be avoided, for it squeaks with every
movement. In speaking, the pitch of the voice
must he slightly raised, and the words, instead
of being hissed, as iu whispering, should he
clipped short, and cut distinctly. By thi>
means the person spoken to will hear what is
said, while the least possible sound accompa
nies the word.— BnrvetlVs Curt of the Sick.
86y*Fanny Fern says she once had a narow
escape from being a minister's wife, and tells
how she would have acted in such a case. Her
mad pranks, says Prentice, would evidently
Lave made her husband a dissenting minister.
VOL. XIX. NO. 44.
Scr\K IN A Norwich Chit.ch. — An Aqua
tic Srston. —A private Iftter from a friend in
Norwich contains the following amusing anec
dote :
all Norwich is ringing. Sunday before last
the Baptists were to hare a grand celebration;
•jnite a number of persons were about to bo
baptized, not in the river, bnt in a large pool
sank in the floor of the church ander the pal
pit, which is on wheels am] capable of being
rolled awn j. It was an extraordinary occa
sion, and the house was crowded with Episco
palians, Congregationalists and Methodists, as
well as with the Baptists themselves. Tho
opening services were gone through with, tho
pulpit was rolled away, and the miuister, with
one of the candidates, approached the pool and
commenced descending the steps. Snddeuly
they paused, then held a hnrried consultation,
made a retreat, and it was announced that tho
ceremony would be postponed till evening.
Ihe rest of the services were gone through
with by an audience more diverted than edi
fied, for, before the services were euded, tho
whole congregation had learned that the pool
was half full of dirty sonp suds, and various
were the surmises as to how they got there.
In the course of the day it leaked out that tho
Sexton had taken a both there Saturday night,
and forgotten to let off ths water / Imagiuo
the jokes at the expense of the Baptists."
ANTI-BAD LCCK SOCIETV. —From the earli
est times to the present, superstition has been
an ever present quality of the human mind,
and persons who were themselves superstitious
have loudly decried it in others. This was
their idea of reform. Even in this enlight
ened age, the old household beliefs are held by
many with great pertinacity, and no argument
will convince them of their fallacy. The only
way to do this is to prove the position that
the belief is nonsense, by a bold defiance. Some
brave Frenchmen are trying to do this. A so
ciety Las been formed at Bordeaux to put down
the superstition of evil omens As everybody
knows, it is " bad luck " to begin anything on
a Friday, or to sit down at a table with thir
teen, or to balance your chair on one leg, or
to spill salt between yourself and friend. The
new society propose to have regular dinners
on Friday, to have thirteen guests, to turu
chairs on one leg, and spill salt around before
commencing. In the w hole year, during which
ill-luck has been thus defied, no single fatality
has occurred to any member.
gsi>~" Meet me by mooulight alone," war
bled Willie, the garroter, to the old gent who
had a gold watch and chain and live hundred
dollars iu his pocket.
" Coine, O coiue with me," continued the
officer, w ho dragged the thief off to the station
house.
" Welcome, welcome home," softly mur
mured the turukey, as he locked Willie up in
the cell.
Behold, how brightly breaks the morning,"
gently whispered the policeman, as early the
next morning he marched Willie off to the
Tombs.
" 11 ail to the chief who in triumph advan
ces," blithely sang the magistrate as he saw
Willie brought in.
My boyhood's home," wailed the prisoner,
as he found himself domiciled iu a cell on the
third tier of the Tombs.
" Thou art too sweet for me," he vocalixed,
as he declined ids ration of rice and molasses.
" Go where glory awaits thee," sang the
Judge in a deep bass, as he seutenced Master
Willie to six months on the Island.
" 1 would not live always—l ask not to
stay," was rendered most piteously by the pri
soner, who had longed for a razor or a rope.
COXSIIIKHATE. — An amusing scene occurred
at the Police Court iu Albany, the other day.
An Irishman was brought up for petty larceny
and strenulously denied the charge, lie was
confronted by one Michael Fagin, who ap
peared as a witness, when turning to Squire
Parsons, he asked :
" Is Mister Fagin to be a witness fornenst
me
" It. seems so," replied the Judge.
" Well, thin, yer honer, I plade gilty, net
because I'm guilty, for I'm as innocent as yer
honor's suekin' babe, but jist for the sake of
saving Alisther Fagin's sowl.
HIBF.RNESQCB. —A lady sent her servant for
her new velvet mantilla which was at her dress
maker's
"John," said she, "if it rains take a roach.
I would rather pay the hack hire thau have
inv mantilla get wet "
When the man handed her the mantilla it
was ruined, the paper which covered it being
saturated with water.
" Whv John," she said, " I told yon to take
a cab if it mined."
"So I did, mum ; but sure you wonld'ut
have your footman ridin' ins'de, so 1 got on
the box with the driver."
'lr s rpiite too bad of yon, Darby, to say
that your wife is worse than the devil.' 'An'
please your Reverence, I prove it by the
Hon'y Scriptur,—l can, be the powers.—
Did'ut your Reverence, yesterday, in yonr
sarmon, tell u> that if we resist the devil lie'll
flee from us? Now, if I resist my wife, she
Hies at me'
WE have generally observed that a man
bitten by a dog, LO matter whether the animal
is mad or not, is apt to get mad himself.
A noon action is never thrown away. Th ; s
is the reason, probably, whv we find so v>ry
few of them ' lying around loose.'
Nothing is more odious than the fare
that smiles abroad, but flashes fury amid the
caresses of a tender wife and children.
e is a happy man whose circumstances
suit his temper ; but he is happier who can
| suit his temper to his circumstances.