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THE OPEN DOOR.
Within a town of Holland, once
A widow dwelt, 'tis said.
So poor alas ! her children asked
One night, in vain, for bread.
But this poor women loved the Lord,
And knew that he was good :
So. with her little ones around,
She prayed to him for food.
When prayer was done, her eldest child,
A boy of eight years old.
Said, softly, "in the holy book.
Dear mother, we are told
How Ciod, with food by ravens brought.
Supplied His prophet's need."
"Yes," answered she ; "but that, my son.
Was long ago, indeed."
"But., mother. God may do again
What he has done before :
And so, to let the birds fly in,
I will unclose the door."
Then little Dirk, in simple faitli
Threw open the door full vide.
So that the radiance of their lamp
Fell on the path outside.
Ere long the burgomaster passed,
And, noticing the light.
Paused to enquire why the door
Was open so at niglit.
" My little Dirk has done it. sir,"
The widow, smiling, said,
" That ravens might tly in to bring
My hungry children bread."
•• Indeed !" tlie burgomaster cried.
"Then here's a raven, lad :
Come to my home and you shall see
Where bread may soon be bad."
Along the street to Lis own house
He quickly led the boy,
And sent liim back with food that filled
His humble home with joy.
The supper ended, little Dirk
Went to the open door.
Looked up. said •• Many thanks good Lord."
Then shut it fast once more.
For, though no bird had entered in,
He knew that God on high
Had hearkened to his mother's prayer.
Ami sent this full supply.
TO J. Do WITT, ESQ.
DF.AR SIR : —1 had no idea when replying
to your address to the \\ higs, that it would
load to a controversy : and still, I am not
averse tu a friendly talk on politics, so
long as it remains friendly. The gentle
manly tone of your rejoinder induces a re
ply. *
<>ur surprise that i sliuuld controvert
tiie position you assumed in your lirst ar
ticle. that it was not whether the people
had the courage, ljiit whether they had the
intelligence to preserve their institutions,
does not astonish me. On the contrary, it
is what I would expect, as it is somewhat
natural to an intelligent, and honest mind
ed young - men. A quarter of a century ago,
1 thought as you do on thegeneral question
ot intelligence. Now Ido not ; and there
lon'. 1 meant just what 1 said in my form
er epistle, viz : that it was the intelligent
men of the South who rebelled, and not the
inoraiit. That many ignorant men have
' "on made use of to sustain and carry
out the rebellion, is not questioned ; but
that they were in any way instrumental in
pv ijt. ting it, can not be shown. Nor is
their subsequent labor in and for the rebel
lion, to fe attributed to their ignorance.—
I he intelligent people of the south, women
worse than men, and the learned clergy as
had as the Worst, led off in this out-break,
and made simultaneous eiforts to fire the
southern heart against the government.—
Young chivalry, the educated, the elite
young men of the South, almost to a man,
joined their army as officers, and cavalry
men. lhcse iacts can not be successfully
contro\cried. I hose people believed a lie,
and laboicd under a delusion,as to the pur
poses ol the general government towards
thein ; but that they believed the lie*, and
adopted the delusion and the less readily
because they were the less intelligent, I
deny. I hey believed it before, and were
a< much infuriated against the North by it,
as the more ignorant people. So their in
tellig, •nee was no protection to them, or
their institutions. The southern people
know that we do not like slavery,and hence
they are offended : and because of this of
fencc,which blinds them,they arereadv to be
hove an\' thing badjof ns. The ambit nous poli
ticians among thorn,who concocted the con
federacy, in order to secure to themselves
perpetuity in office, took advantage of this
state of the public mind, and aggravated
it, by all manner of slanders of the North.
our quotation from President Lincoln "on
the debauching of the public mind," is cor
roboration of this ; hut you appear to over
look the tact, that it was the reading public
and not the unlettered /leop/r, that was de
bauched ; and that the former more than
the latter, labored to sacrifice their liber
ties in this contest." Whilst 1 readily ad
mit, that we as a people cannot well guard
too carefully against the encroachmentsJhif
power, yet, it does appear to rno, that you
are unduly exercised in regard to the ty
ranny of the administration.
fhe present Secretary of State has no
more power over the citizen, than any of
ins predecessors hud ; and you mistake me
m anticipating that 1 would plead the ne
cessities <>f his situation. No, 110, I plead
the lolly u f those who subject themselves
to iis power ; because, it is only as man
makes themselves liable to the charge of
'•nine, t.iat he has any power over him. So
mug as they stand above this, they may de-
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXV.
fy his authority. Xn man has been impris
i mied against whom seditious words, or acts,
I were not alleged. If they were not
lawless enough to convict, they were to
| raise suspicion ; and, in either case, it was
the folly of the criminal, at least, as much
I as it was of the man in authority, which
j forced the confinement. Besides, circum
| stances may augment, or .diminish, the
j criminality of words and acts. If, in the
midst of a molt,a man uses severe language
| against the authority which arrests the
| rioters, or in any way interferes with their
I imprisonment, ho subjects himself to sus
j picion as a party to tlie crime, and may be
I legally confined. Yet, no notice need, or
would be taken of his conduct, in time of
j quiet. So too, a man may say with impu
i nity.that lie will kill another,who is known
to be far away ; but, if he says this of one
1 present, he can be bound over and impris
oned. It is therefore, the imperiled condit
ion of the country, which aggravates the
i criminality of those, who, in our midst,
raise voice and hands against it. I grant
: you, that if arrests, such as you complain
I of, by implication, were made in time of
profound peace, that it would be alarming ;
but being made at a time when rebels are
j striking deadly blows at the vitals of the
nation, 1 say it is right ; and the wrong is,
I that more are not immersed in dungeons un
til the country is free from danger. What,
when we need men to defend the govern
ment, allow others to run at large,who call
our war a self-defence, a villainojis war,the
public authorities tyrants and usurpers—
thereby hindering enlistments—who give
aid to the enemy by underground railroads,
who organize secretly, and procure large
supplies of war materials, with which to re
sist the execution of the laws—what, I re
peat, allow such criminals to the nation, to
go at large ! This would be simply, stupid
folly. A man would be pronounced a sim
pleton, by common consent, who should,
when a desperado was about to blow up
his dwelling, with himself and family in it,
I go a number of miles to take out a warrant
tor his arrest, instead of giving him a dose
of powder and ball at the instant. ' So with
our country. There is no time to parley
with criminals. And 1 contend too, that in
making arrests, shooting deserters, or sup
pressing newspapers that are engaged for
tiie enemy, no violence is done to the con
stitution, even if the habeas corpus, and
trial by jury are withheld, in this time of
peril. If there is, it is not such an instru
ment as we need, and therefore, not worth
preserving. A government whose organic
law does not allow it to defend itself, is like
a house built on the sand.
You quote from the great Webster. I am
glad of it. He is our very best constitu
tional authority ; and how does he make
that instrument " for times of peace, for
times of war. and for all time ?" By as
suming that implied powers accompany its
expressed ones. Hear what he says,"When
tin 1 constitution confers a general power, it
imposes a general duty ; all other powers
necessary for the exercise of that general
power and for fulfilling that duty, are im
plicil so far as there is no prohibition. We
act every day upon this principle, and
could not carry on the government without
its aid." Truly, under this interpretation
the constitution is sufficient " for times of
peace, for times of war, and for all time."
But the position of the present democratic
party stands in strange contrast with its
position in 1840 up to 1844, on the subject
of arbitrary arrests. At the first named
period, the notorious expunging resolutions
were introduced into the I*. S. Senate ; and
every democratic leader, and democratic
newspaper in the country favored that
measure, and justified General Jackson's
conduct at New Orleans. Yet no arrests
have taken place in this country of so flag
rant a character. In that case, after Gen
eral Jackson had received a circular from
the Postmaster General announcing peace,
he still continued martial law at New Or
leans, although all necessity of it had ceas
ed; and when a .Mr. Louallier, a member
of the Legislature, animadverted on this
fact, over a fictitious signature in one of
the newspapers, he was arrested hv order
General Jackson, and committed to prison,
to he tried by a military court for his life.
on a charge of mutiny. Then lie arrested
Judge Hall of the U.S. District Court., and
sent hint out of the city, for granting to the
prisoner, Louallier, a writ of habeas corpus.
The District Attorney then applied to a
.-Tate Judge for a writ of habeas corpus to
release Judge Hall, and he too,was impris
oned ! Remember, this was done after
peace was declared. And this conduct, twen
ty years ago, the democratic party not only
justified, but.caused. Have you not fallen
into strange paths, now that you condemn
so heartily acts of this description which
have not a tithe of the violence that char
acterised the case referred to ? Look to it,
and see whether it is not partizan zeal, and
not love of country, which prompts- these
hursts of indignation over arbitrary arrests.
This seems probable, since Gen. McClellan
ordered the arrest of the Legislature of
Maryland, but you make no complaint of
that act ; and it is legitimate to infer there
fore, that if all the arbitrary arrests of
which your party complain had been made
by this General, or any other partizan fa
vorite, you would laud instead of condemn
the acts.
In your reference to other republics, par
ticularly to that of Rome, you have group
ed together facts and results of history,
which indicate great forgetfulness or su
perlicial reading. " Let me ask" you say,"if
history furnishes the instance of a free
people resigning their liberties under a
plea of necessity,and resuming them again
at pleasure." My answer is, yes, there are
many instances of this kind. Home made
one man dictator three different times, un
der pressing necessities, and at the end of
each, again assumed her liberties ; and
then remained a republic over four hundred
year* afterwards, in the meantime having
given many others plenary powers. Pretty
well for the Ediles,the Pretors,the Tribunes
and Consuls of Rome. Surely, if President
Lincoln is the first dictator, we will have a
good long run of it yet, before we lose our
liberties. If Lincoln represents Ctesar, who
personifies Marias andSylla,who alternate
ly ruled and butchered the citizens of Rome?
}<>u will hardly allow that Pierce and Bu
chanan do, and who are the triumvirate. It
seems very manifest that your wild inter
rogatories, based on a similitude between
our condition and that of Rome, is the re
sult of a distorted imagination.
Your effort to make out a case of incon-
TOW AN I) A, BRADFORD COUXTY, l'A., DECEMBER 22, ISG4.
sistency against the administration by con
trasting its acts on the subject of slavery,
with an avowed doctrine of the convention
which first nominated .\lr. Lincoln, is, to my
mind, not successful. Had there been no re
bellion,the sentiment of the resolution which
you quote, would have been strictly carried
out, because it conformed to the letter, and
spirit, of the constitution ; but the very
men whom the candidate for the Presidency
proposed to protect by law, rebelled, and
by this act, changed materially their status.
They become criminal's ; n the eye of the
law, in the place of citizens; and the crimi
nal code had to be applied to their case, in
stead of the civil. It is amazing that you
cannot see this distinction ; nor is it the
least part of this amazement that this men
tal obtusity should run over the fact, that
it is not the instrument, or the administra
tion of the law, that changes the condition
of those who commit crime, but tlie crimi
nal's own act. Besides the cases which oc
cur daily in the civil life,there are hundreds
taking place in the army, which illustrate
this. The army regulations alike impose
duties, and afford protection to the soldier ;
and so long as lie heeds the one, the other
is his defence ; but il he deserts, or mutin
ies, the aspect is changed ; and it is nut
the officer in command who makes this
change, but the soldier's own act. I might
refer you to the six militia men of Georgia,
who were shot by General Jackson's order,
in 1815, after peace had been declared, and
others, but will reason it in another way.—
Suppose you were assailed by a ruffian who
tried to take your life. In defending your
self you seize a poinard and when the weap
on is raised to strike, another man says to
you, it is unlawful to use deadly weapons.
In your paper you have contended that the
laws must be obeyed,and now in defending
your life, you are the tirst to break them.—
You would pronounce this man both a fool
and an enemy. You are not breaking the
law in defending your life, no matter what
kind of a weapon you use ; but lie who |
threatens to take it is. tie therefore, is ,
amenable to law, not you. Just so with j
our government and the rebels. The gov-j
eminent, you say lias used unlawful weap
ons ; but was it not in self-defence and
therefore, justifiable ? 1 might even grant
that the iminineucy of the danger was over
rated, when trie weapons were used, and
still be justifiable. You do notjlose your 1
right of self-defence, because you plead for
an observance of law in your paper. Nor
does the government, because its adminis
tration, as an individual, expresses a will
ingness to respect certain expressed and
implied laws.
You liavc u considerable to say about
passion and prejudice. Is this not pot cal
ling 1 kettle black-face ? A democrat talk
about parti/.an prejudice and passion, just
as if lie was innocent of this weakness !
Well, to my mind this is pretty bold. The
most bigoted partizans this country has
ever produced, who have ruled the country
and the party, by means of the prejudice
of its votaries, who have driven to political
death almost every independent thinker who
was joined to it, who have ground to pow
der-beneath the weight of prejudice all
rebels against its behest, talk of passion
and prejudice in others ! ! Well, well. Are
you not in the position of a darkie wtio
undertook to prove before an alderman
" dat de black man wer de wite man, and
de wite man wer de black man." Doubtless
Sambo believed this. And then, how un
reasonable to charge the republicans with
being controlled by prejudice and passion
for a leader, or a cause. These are gener
ally the results of years of devotion, as is
the case with the democrats, but the re
publicans, a young party, made up in some
measure by discordant materials, and not
long enough'together to become assimilated,
how can they be prejudiced to the same ex
tent as an older organization? Moreover,
the very history of this campaign disproves
the thing. One-half, at least, of the party,
did not want Mr. Lincoln as the candidate
for the Presidency ; and this was owing to
these distinct parties within the party. The
abolitionists,as such, wanted the candidate.
The old democrats wanted him, and the old
whigs had a choice. llowcan such a party
be under the control of prejudice and pas
sion. The enthusiasm of the party for the
union you mistook for prejudice ; and my
belief is, that were you as free from this
weaknes, as are the republicanss generally,
you would not serve the democratic party
as you do, instead of the nation at large.
For this it is—nothing more nor less—that
zeal for the party,has blinded the democrats
to their duty to the country. The large
majority of that party love the count.iy as
well as republicans, but like their southern
brethorn, hale for the republicans,and partial
ity for the party, led them to believe a delu
sion and they follow it.
You remind me of the Scottish laird, in
olden time, who wanted a trap set which to
catch wild boars. He, accordingly sent
twelve men into the forest to locate and
build a fall-trap, without giving any direc
tions, or authorizing any one of the twelve
to superintend the work. In the evening,
the men reported that nothing had been
done, for the reason, that they could not
ayree. On the next day three were appoint
ed, with equal power,to attend to the busi
ness ; but it was spent as the one before
had been. The day following, my lord,
placed a menial servant over the party,with
full power to enforce obedience. At noon!
of tiie same day the men returned, having,
in that half day located and set up a good
trap. But the men complained bitterly of
the tyranny and abuse of the menial,saying,
that he had made them lift too heavy, and
had goaded them with a sharp stick, as
well when they lifted as when they did not.
1 pon inquiring however, it was found that
the men, who esteemed themselves much
above the servant in civil, as in social con
dition, were sorely vexed, inasmuch as he
had been placed over them, and had, as a
sequence, combined among themselves to
hinder the progress of the work. Here,the
utility of a head, in any business, is aptly
shown, as well as the caprice which can
actuate human conduct. And does not
this little parable fitly represent the demo
cratic party, in its antagonism to the ad
ministration ?
I am, with great respect your ob't serv't,
E. GUYEIt.
ACCORDING to Haller, woman bear hunger
longer than men; according to Plutarch they
can resist the effects of wine better; accord
ing to l'liny they are seldom attacked by
lions: according to linger they grow older
and are seldom bald.
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
THE UESI'EIII IIKS.
We seek it in our glotviug youth—
That wondrous garden far away ;
AVe deem its golden fruit still waits
For us alone each passing day.
AVe close our eyes to see them shine,
AVe wake to strain our utmost speed,
Forgetful of the dragon-guard,
The tempting branch our sorest need !
AVe cross the changing foam of life,
Nor pause to measure depths below :
The sun-god's radiant cup upbears
Our hot hearts o'er the wave's dark fiow.
AVe scale the mountains, pass the waste,
Yet linger 'mid the earnest quest,
By mnrmering streams 'neath harvest-moons.
Of siren nymphs the willing guest!
AW free the ehaiu'd Promethean thought
From tyrant Custom's gnawing beak :
Yet, strong in faith, the heavens rest
Upon the dreams we never speak.
The years grow gray : unwitherod .still
The golden apples sparkle there ;
AVe know some path must reach the gates.
Mount Atlas bounds our worst despair!
Alas, alas, for all our hopes !
Our lieart-beats fainter throb at last :
AVe drop our heads on Memory's breast,
Hesperides was in the past!
AA'e think again of harvest-moons,
The dead we knew, the kisses sweet :
The high endeavor leaves our soul :
AVe only long the loved to meet :
Once more the passionate old thrill
Of yearning to our lives is given :
God, Death and Truth alone reveal
The real Hespcrirles is heaven 1
pigjcdUttwmiiSu
OUR ECONOMICAL SOIREE.
Economy in household expenses lias come
to be the loading idea of terrcstial existence
in the minds of Mrs. Dobb and myself.—
We calculate closely. We never did be
fore since we were married that 1 can re
member. But when butter costs at the rate
of five cents a dab, and everything else in
proportion, housekeeping expenses heroine
a serious matter.
I was musing upon the announcement
that there was a rise of three cents on the
pound on veal, since the day before—mus
ing and eating veal, at the breakfast table
when Mrs. Dobb spoke :
"James, did you know to-day was Sal lie's
birth-day ?"
"Isit ?" said I. " llow old is she now ?"
" She is six years old and 1 have promised
to hold a little party for her this evening."
"Susan, will it cost anything?"
" Why, but a trifle, James. Besides, Sal
lie has never had a birth-day party, you
know."
"Sallie should not have her birth-day
come so often, wife, in such times as- these.
How long is it since 1 bought her a self
operating locomotive fur a hirth-dav pres
ent ?"
" That was Susie, my dear. It's perfectly
distressing to me the way you do mix those
children up."
"But what will this soiree cost us, Su
san? You are forever preaching economy
to me, and I'd like you to practice it a little,
and let me preach. It's more fun to preach.
I like to preach first-rate."
"Oh! there will have to be some nuts
and apples bought."
" And some candy of course ?"
" No—"
" What ! A baby party, and no candy?"
"If you won't interrupt me at every
word, .Tames, I'll tell you. I have bought
two quarts of molasses, and am going to
make the candy myself. Now there's one
of my economical shifts. 1 never get any
credit for it."
" But what a dauby job, Susan. Stretch
ing candy sticks a body's fingers up so."
" You didn't mind it when you were a
young man, Mr. Dobb. Have you forgot
ten the candy parties we used to have at
our house when 1 was a giri, James? Such
glorious times as we used to have in that
old kitchen ? Why, it was at one of those
candy parties that yon paid me the first
compliment 1 ever received from you."
"Ah! what was that?"
" You said I was the sweetest girl in the
room."
" That was because you were daubed all
over with molasses, my dear —as you'll be
tonight again."
" i should think, James, that it would lie
a pleasure to revive, here in the city, the
recollection of those old days at the farm
house. Do you remember those big hooks
in the ceiling of the kitchen that you threw
a great twist of candy over to stretch it
easier, when Mary Howard helped you ?"
" Ah, those were happy days !" 1 said,
musingly, sipping my coffee.
" You enjoyed candy-making then, James."
" Yes," said I, coming back to the pres
ent and economy. " 1 enjoyed a great many
foolish things when 1 was young and inno
cent—courting, for instance."
" Well, I haven't lost my zest for simple
pleasure," said Mrs. D., with enthusiasm. I
think it will be splendid to made the candy.
1 had a thousand times rather make it than
buy it "
" Which accounts for one of your econom
ical shifts that you never get any credit for.
Eli, my dear?"
Mrs. Dobb looked daggers at me.
" Well, Stfsan, let's see what it will cost.
What's the molasses the pound now ?"
" I paid sixty cents for two quarts."
" And apples ?"
"A peck will supply the party ; that will
he sixty cents more."
" And say a dollar and a half for nuts.—
That will be three dollars and seventy cents.
It will be very economical so far."
" I should say it would, Mr. Dobb."
" Can I, papa?" said Sailie, looking up at
mc, with her spoon between her lips.
" Can you what, darling ? Have the par
ty ? Why, of course you can, you little
blessing."
" Won't that he bully, sis ?" cried Fred
from his side of the table.
" How that boy does pick up the slang of
this vicious ago, is astonishing ! It's no
use reproving it. ' Boys will he hovs,' as a
friend of mine once remarked when lie sat
down on a bent pin placed in his chair by
his oldest son in a frolicsome moment."
" What a good papa he is ?" whispered
Sallie to her sister, next plate east.
" Oh, he's gayl" slanged Fred.
I gave Sallie some more gravy.
"Do you like kisses,papa?" putin Nellie.
" I like everything good, dear. Why do
: you ask ?"
" Because we're going to have all the girls
: kiss you to-night."
" They won't be big enough, Nell—not
i half. 1 prefer big girls to little ones."
"James !" said Mrs. Dobb, reprovingly.
"Oh, Mary Ann Smith is a great big
girl," said Nell. " Her dresses almost come
i down to the ground."
" Do they ? TluiFs encouraging. Is Mary
j Ann coining ?"
'• Yes ; and two other big girls. They
| write compositions."
" Compositions ! They must he getting
! very old."
I Compositions arc such a proof of maturity
j among those little bodies. Did you ever
notice it?
" Bring the nuts when you come to din
-1 net - , James," was my wife's parting injunct
! ion.
"All right, my dear."
1 was detained down town that afternoon
later than usual, and when 1 came home in
! the evening, 1 found the four little Dobbs
! sitting in solemn state in the parlor, await
j ing the coming of the guests.
Shortly alter the door bell rung, and the
children were in a high state of commotion.
Sallie jumped down from the sofa and made
a dash for the door, but suddenly recollec
ting- herself, returned- to her perch and
i smoothed her hands over her apron.
Bridget ushered into the parlor a string of
seven boys of assorted sizes, who ranged
themselves along the wall without saying a
word. But there was any amount of sub
dued giggling among them.
The next arrival was a cluster of little
girls, looking as sweet as June roses.
1 went out to tea, and when I looked in
again, the room was filled with the neigh
i burs' progeny, including Marv Ann Smith
j and two other big girls.
Such a staid conclave 1 never saw before
in my life. There they all sat, as bashful
!as mice, never uttering a loud word, and
(scarcely caring to look each other in the
l face. It was vastly amusing to me to ob
serve the conventional awe under which
those boys, especially, labored ; the very
| boys that had been saluting each other
roughly in the street an hour before, per
! haps pulling each other's hair. As sedate
as deacons now.
The ice was broken in this way :
One of the big girls, byway of opening
tlie ball, said to a youngster of some eight
i summers, named Joey Perry.
I " It's a pleasant evening, Mr. Perry."
" Oh, how are you, Mr. l'erry !" burst
forth our l'red, derisively, at the top of His
■ voice.
And then such a broadside ot laughter !
In less time than it takes me to write it the
youngsters were in a hubbub as noisy as
I the meeting had before been sedate.
! They played the " Post-office," and " Ce
ilar Swamp," and " Forfeits," and all that
sort of games, whose principal feature is
'an abundance of kissing. 1 went into my
study and began writing. The merry bursts
;of laughter came echoing to my ears, but
they did not distuyb me. lam a fond fa
! ther.
I One of the big girls came into my august
I presence and threw a cushion at my feet,
on which she kneeled, pouting up at me a
pair of ripe red lips.
"Who's this?" said I, laying down my
' pen.
i "That's Mary Ann !" cried Fred from the
door-way, which was thronged with gig
i gling little spectators. " ."-lie wants you to
j kiss her."
" All !*' said I, as memory suddenly re
pealled the old-time game. "How many
i can I have?"
"Twenty !" " Thirty!" " A hundred !"
j cried a dozen voices.
" Well, I'll take three," said I, " and you
; may have the rest, Fred."
"Can't see it !" slanged the young hope
i ful. backing off.
Tin young lady struggled after the or
thodox manner, handed down from gener
ation to generation of young ladies, and
the children screamed with delight,
j " Hold her, Mr. Dobb !"
" Kiss lrer, Mr. Dobb !"
j " Rub her nose with your whiskers, papa!"
j That was from Fred, who had memories.
We left them alone at last, I don't believe
: in old folks intruding too much on the en
joyment of the little ones. They get along
j a great deal merrier by themselves. So
i Mrs. Dobb shut the parlor door and left
them alone, while 1 shut myself up in my j
j study.
About half-past nine I went out and found
i the little guests had gone,
i Sallie was missing, hut we presently
j found her on the stairs in the hall crying
, bitterly.
" Why, what's the matter with 1 my little
j bird ?" said 1 taking her in my arms.
i Slic was loth to tell, but at last she sobbed
out that she bad been kissed too mueh, and
had bad her six years pounded 011 her back,
j in honor <>f birth-day usage, till she was
I sore all over. Added to whieb one of the
| hoys had caught hold of her dress and torn
j it in a shocking manner.
. The child was soothed and put to bed,
I and thin I went into the parlor.
Oh ! spectacle for an economical parent !
IMy statuette of Senator Douglas—only a
i cast, but a gift from the sculptor—had been
| knocked over as it stood in the corner, and
jits head broken oil short. There was a
deep scratch a foot long on the piano, and
! the music was one hideous dab of molasses
! candy from first to last. A lamp bad been
• tipped over 011 the Brussels carpet and left
a spot in the middle of the room. And
i worst of all, some ambitious youngster had
been at my paintings, and had broken a bole
j through the canvass of a beautiful land
scape —an original Sontag, which I valued
highly.
j " Oh, Susan, Susan!" I cried, "behold
the havoc of this economical soiree !"
Mrs. Dobb stood aghast at the spectacle.
" Can you compute this damage calmly,"
I 1 asked.
But Mrs. Dobb had no answer for me.
1 got out a pencil and a piece of paper,
. ! and made a reckoning :
Beheaded Douglass, #'2s
Mutilated Sontag, sft
j Molasses canity and other damages to piano
and music, 10
Burned Carpet, 100
" A total my dear, of $185."
" I think you are extravagent, James,"
said my wife. "A little Spalding's glue
will put the statue's head in place."
" And then you could tie a red ribbon
round his neck to hide the crack, couldn't
per Annum, in Auvance.
you, dear?" 1 said in a tone of intense irony.
"As for the painting, seems to me you
might mend it in some way, James, since
you make those things yourself."
" Those things ! That's a wife for an ar
tist."
" The piano and music I will see what I
can do with ; and as for the carpet, we can
get a rug for the centre of the room, and
L the spot will never show."
" Another expense, my dear."
" James, I have wanted a rug for that
room this long time. For my part, I don't
know as lam very sorry. At least, it can't
be he'ped now ; and there arc no more
birth-days in the family this year."
" Let us be thankful for that, then," said I.
A CHILD'S EXPEDIENT.—A little girl about
four years old trotted down to Atlantic
Dock the other day, says a New York cor
respondent, to buy sonic corn for her moth
er's chickens. She had a pail in her hand
in which to put the corn, but before she
reached the spot where she was accustomed
to find it, she came to a cask of honey.—
This was not to be passed by without an
effort to obtain some of it. The men at
work within the Dock, unobserved by the
child, watched her attempts to reach the
sweet temptation. Her little arms were
too short for the enterprise, but, after a
moment's consideration, she took off her
shoe uful stocking", rolled up her drawers,
and climbing up on something against
which the cask stood, let down her foot and
ankle into the honey ; then she drew it up,
and with her hand scraped off the honey
into her pail. This she repeated until the
pail was full, when she went to the water
side and washed, and replacing her shoe
and stocking, started with her spoil for
home. A man followed her and heard her
tell her mother that she had brought home
some honey ; but to all questioning as to
how she obtained it, she was mute. In a
short time she returned to the dock for her
chicken food, when, as I understand, there
was quite an excitement over her, and a
collection taken up to reward her ingenuity
—not, 'tis hoped, to encourage her honesty.
LIFE'S AUTUMN. —Like the leaf, life has its
fading. We speak and think of it with
sadness, just as we think of the autumn sea
sons. But there should be no sadness at
the lading of a life that has done its work
well. If we rejoice at the advent of a new
pilgrim to the uncertainties of this world's
way, why should there be so much gloom
when all these uncertainties are past, and
life at its waning wears the glory of a com
pleted task ?
Beautiful as is childhood in its freshness
and innocence, its beauty is that of untried
life. It is the beauty of promise, of spring,
of the bud. A holier and rarer beauty is
the beauty which the waning life of faith
and duty wears.
It is the beauty of a thing completed ;
and, as men come together to congratulate
each other when some great work has been
achieved, and see in its concluding nothing
but gladness, so ought w.i feel when the
setting sun flings back its beams upon a
life that has answered well life's purpose.
When the bud drops are blighted and the
mildew blasts the early grain, and there
goes all hope of the harvest, one may well
be sad ; but when the ripened year sinks
amid garniture of autumn flowers and
leaves, why should we regret or murmur?
And so a life that is ready and waiting for
the "well done "of God, whose latest vir
tues and charities are its noblest, should be
given back to God in uncomplaining rever
ence, we rejoice that earth is capable of so
much sadness, and is permitted such vir
tue.
FASHIONABLE CALL —Enter MissLucy,near
ly out of brcatli with the exertion of walking
frnm her papa's carriage in the street to the
door of her friend.
Lucy.—"Oh, Marie ! how do you do ?
How delighted I am to see you ! How have
you been since you were at the ball last
Thursday evening? Wasn't the appearance
of that tall girl in pink perfectly fright
ful ? Is this your shawl on the piano?
Beautiful shawl ! Father says he is going
to send to l'aris to get me a shawl in the
spring. 1 can't bear home-made shawls !
How do you like Monsieur Esprey ? Beau
tiful man, ain't he ? Now don't laugh,
Marie, for 1 am sure I don't care anything
about him ! Oh, my ! 1 must be going !
It's a beautiful day, isn't it? Marie, when
arc you conr'ng up to see me ? Oh, dear !
what a beautiful pin ! That pin was given
to you ; now I know it was, Marie ; don't
deny it, Harry is coming up to see me this
evening, but I hate him—l do really ; but
he lias a beautiful moustache, has't lie?
Marie ! Don't speak of Harry in connection
with my name to any one ; for I am sure
it will never amount te anything, but I
hate him awfully—l'm sure I do. Adieu."
I'SE 1 IST SAM. —During the last winter a
"contraband" came in to the Federal lines
in North Carolina, and was marching up to
the ollicer of the day to give an account of
himself whereupon the following soiloijuy
ensued :
"What's your name ?" •
"My name's Sam."
"Sam what ?"
"No Sah ;no not Sam Watt. I'se jist
Sam."
"What's your other name?"
" I hasn't got no other name, Sah—l'se
Sam dat's all."
"What's your master's name ?"
"Ise got no massa now ; rnass'r rnu'd
away —yah ! yah ! I'se free nigger now."
"Well, what is your father's and mother's
name ?"
"Ise got none, Sah —neber had none. I'se
jist Sam—nobody else."
"Have not you any brothers and sis
ters ?"
"No, Sah! never had none. Nobrudder,
no sister, no fader, no mudder, no massa—
nothing but Sam.— When you nee Sam, you
nee all dere is of us."
IT is temper which makes the bliss of home
or disturbs its comfort. The home is in the
forbearing #mper, in the yielding spirit, in
the calm pleasures of a mild disposition,
anxious to give and receive happiness.
"WHERE a woman," says Mrs. Partington
" has been married with a congealing heart
and that beats desponding to her own, she
will never want to enter the marriage state
again."
HUNTING THE TIGEE WITH ELEPHANTS.
In parts of the conn try whore good shi
karis were not to be obtained, I used to
find tigers by fastening a bullock near some
ravine or thicket known to be frequented
by| thein ; the poor animal was generally
carried off in the course of the night and
nothing further was necessary than to fol
low up the trail of the tiger to some neigh
boring'cover, where we are sure to find
him gorged. Tigers are also found when
returning at daybreak from their nightly
prowl by men stationed upon trees, who
i hem them into the first cover they enter.—
. i In whatever manner a tiger is found, the
i great point to insure success is to J procure
I plenty of hands from the nearest villages
I and effectually to surround the place so ;is
to prevent his stealing away before the
elephant arrives. II he becomes restless,
as he is apt to do when not gorged with
food, a shout is generally sufficient to pre
| vent his breaking cover ; for, with ail the
I ferocity, the tiger is a cowardly animal,
I and much averse to showing himself by
i daylight.
Having found our tiger, we must, before
; proceeding to action, devote u few words
1 to that most useful "auxiliary, the elephant,
j A really good sporting elephant is Luvalu
' able. He beats for the game like a poiu
: ter ; and carries his rider in safety over
j the most dangerous ground, and through
; the thickest covers, which he searches
; inch by inch, with a degree of patience
| and sagacity that makes instinct aim >si
i amount to reason. frees that oppose lies
, progress are levelled by his head, or t irn
! down with his tnn.k ; his stupendous
weight forces itsell through every obsta
■ cle ; and at the word of command the sa
-1 gacious brute picks up stones and bauds
them to his driver to throw into thicker
parks of the cover.
On finding the tiger, the elephant gives
warning of his proximity by throwing up
his trunk and trumpeting : and, if well
i trained, should remain perfectly steady,
ready to obey every command <>f Hi- ma
hout.
The worst fault an elephant can have,
.is a propensity to charge the tiger. In
j doing, the violence of his motion is apt t■>
unseat the riders, rendering it impossible
to take aim ; and what is still worse, he
; genarally throws himself upon his knees it
! the moment of attack, pitching the nun
! out of howdah by the violence of the shock.
This bad habit is usually cawed by tin
driver encouraging his elephant to trample
j upon a tiger when killed, and thereby ren
dering the animal ferocious. Nothing is
i required of an elephant but to remain per
i fectly steady when the tiger is found ; and
the best way of training him to do so is t
| make him stand quietly over the tiger after
i he is killed, without allowing him to touch
it ; while the driver encourages him by
his voice, and rewards hint with balls •
i sugar dipped in the blood of the animal.-
Some elephants are so steady as to allow a
tiger to rush up to their heads without
1 flinching : but these are not more or less
i alarmed by a determined charge. A vete
ran gains confidence, and is at length math
perfect by the coolness oi his driver, and
the good shooting of his owner ; but tii<>s>
i which are ill entered turn round and often
run away at the lirst roar ola tiger ; and
I even the best and most practiced are often
rendered useless, and become irrecoverably
I timid by wounds received in a successful
1 charge.
' 1 have had occasion to use nervous, tim
in elephants, and they are bad enough :
but I would rather ride a determined run
away than a savage brute who insists on
killing the tiger himself. It is, no doubt,
a severe trial to the nerves to find yoiir
i self hurried away by a huge ungovernable
monster, with the prospect of being either
smashed against a tree or rolled into a ra
i vine ; but this is nothing to the risk you
i incur on a fighting elephant of being pitch
i ed into the jaws of an enraged tiger, or
pounded into jelly under an elephant's
knees.
On a really good elephant the sportsman
is exposed t<> little danger ; less perhaps
| than in most Indian field sports. He is
raised from ten to twelve feet from off the
i ground, on a comfortable seat, from whence
jhe can fire in all directions, and he must
be a bad shot indeed if he fails to stop a
. tiger in his charge. But even supposing
- that he does miss—which he lias no busi
ness to do—and allows a savage tiger to
spring upon the elephant, still the man is
! seldom the object of attack, and he ought
| to be able to blow the brute's brains out
before be docs much mischief. Tigers
| generally spring at the elephant's head,
rarely making any attempts to reach the
howdah. Instances of their doing s• have
occurred, but they are very rare.
DIMPLES. —Dimples are the perpetual
! smiles of Nature—the very cunningesi dc
i vices and lurking places <>l' Love. \\ lien
eaitli is dimpled by dells and valleys, it al
ways seems to laugh, when the ocean is
dimpled by the breeze, it speaks with j<>\
beneath the sunshine of heaven. We can
not look for frowns on a dimpled face; frowns
; and dimples will not associate together.-
How soft, how roguish, how beautiful an
the dimples in the elbow and shoulders, the
pretty hands and feet of a rosy baby.
Mothers dote upon these darling dimples,
and delight to kiss them. But perfect dim
pies, enchanting at least to the eyes of cn
i thusiastic young men, are those which
i come peeping out of the cheeks around the
mouth, of the " sweet seventeen, when
I sweet seventeen essays some arch provok
ing sally, peeping out and flying away the
moment after, coming and going with the
1 most bewitching coquetry.
WHOM TO MARRY. —When a young wo
\ man behaves to her parents in a manner
particularly affectionate and respectful,
from principle as well as nature, there is
| nothing good and gentle that may not be
| expected from her, in whatever condition
she may be placed. W ere Ito advise a
I friend as to liis choice would be, "look out
far a pious girl, distinguished for her at
tention and love to her parents. 1 lie
; fund of worth and affection indicated by
such behavior, joined to the habits and
duty of consideration thereby contracted,
being transferred P> the married state, will
not fail, as a rule, to render her a mild,
obliging, and invaluable companion for
life."
LET there he plenty of sunlight in your
house. Don't be afraid of it. Hud floods the
world with light, and it costs you an efiort
to keep it out. You want it as much as
plants, which grow sickly without it. It is
necessary to the health, spirits, good nature
and happy influence. Let the sunlight
stream freely in.
A QUAINT winter says :—I have seen wo
mon so delicate that they were afraid to
ride for fear the horse might run away:
afraid to sail for fear the boat might cap
size; and afraid to walk for fear the dew
) might fall; but I never saw one afraid to
j get married."
(TREAT books are dead men, yet glorified
! ones ; and their pupils will ever hold them
selves as their living relatives,
NUMBER 30.