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BT HENRY J. STABLE.
37 TH YEAR.
TERMS OF •THE COMPILER.
serThe Republican Compiler is published
every Monday morning, by HENRY J. STABLE,
at $1,75 per annum if paid in advance—s2,oo
per annum if not paid in advance. No sub
scription discontinued,' unless at the option of
the publisher, until all arrearages are paid.
ADVNUTISEMENTS inserted at the usual rates.
Jos WORg done, neatly, cheaply, and with
dispatch
sdr•Otriee on South Baltimore street, direct
ly opposite Wampler's Tinning Establishment,
one and a half squares from the Court House.
tipite poetro.
THE BORRQWED BOOK.
BY P. B. COMM
X lent my love a book one day,
She brought it back, I laid it by;
'Tway little either had to say—
She was so strange, and I so shy.
But yet we loved indifferent things—
The sprouting buds, the birds in tune ,
And time stool still, and wreathed his wings
With rosy limbs from June to June.
For her, what task to dare or do ?
What peril attempt What hardship bear?
But with her ! ah, she never knew
My heart, and what was hidden there
And she with me, so cold and coy, •
Seemed like a maid bereft, of sense;
But in a crowd, all life and ioy,
And full of blushful impudence.
She married! well, a woman needs -
A mate, her life and love to :dtare -- -=
And little cares sprang up like weeds,
And played around her elbow chair.
And years rolled by, but i content,
Trimmed my one lamp and kept it_bright,
'Till age's touch my hair hesprent
With lays and gleams of silyer light.
And then it chanced, I took the hook
Which site had rend in days gone by,
And as 1 read, finch pahaiou shook
Aly frame, I needs roust frown or cry.
For here and there her lore was writ
In old. half-faded pencil signs,
As if she yielded, bit by bit,
Her heart, in dots and underlines.
Ah. silvered fool!! too late you look!
I know it ; let me here record -
This maxim, •'LexD NO NAM A HOOK,
UNLESS YOU READ IT AFTERWARD."
Select Illiscellann.
- THE GLEANER. .
' "Thep hare all been touched, and found base metal"—
"So this is my return to my native village !
This is my reception from relatives, who owe
me so much !" Thus thought. rather• than
said, a poor looking old man, as he stood lean
ing over the gate of a newly cleared wheat
field, in the bright, bustling, busy harvest
time. "One," — ex - claiined he, as his musings
took a tone of passion which broke unconscious
ly into words, "one—yonder portly landlady,
forsooth, sitting in her bar, as she ib pleased to
call it—her bar, quotha ! In mi"young days
it was the little boarded parlor opening from
the tap-room. A bar in the old Red Lion !
What shall we hear of next ? One, bedecked,
and dedizened, with her gown like a rainbow,
her fringed apron, and her cap stuck out with
flowers, sitting in her bar, if that be its style
and title, amongst her glasses and punch
bowls, with a bell upon her table and a net of
lemons dangling above her head ; she, Miss
Collins, as she calls herself—she used to an
swer to the name of Jenny Collins twenty
years ago—refused point blank to acknowledge
me ! denied to thy face that she had ever seen
, me ! called, me a cheat and an imposter ! won
dered at my impudence in attempting to pass
• myself off for her dear uncle, Michael Norris !
threatened me with the stocks and the round
house, the •jristice and the jail ! Precious
minx.! She whom I rescued from drudgery
and starvation, from living half shop woman.
half maid, with the stingy termagant clear
starcher, in Bedford Marsh ! whom I set up in
that very Red Lion—perched upon her throne,
in the arm-chair, in the bar !—purchased the
lease, the furniture, the good will ; paid the
first year's rent : stocked her cellars, clapped a
hundred pound note into her hand ! And now
that I come home old and lame, sick and rag
ged, she reviles me as a vagabond and an im
poster, and tells me to be thankful to her com
passion and tender-heartedness that she does
not send for the constable to carry me to jail !
Liar that she is !—base, ungrateful, perjured
liar ! for she knew me. I saw that she knew
me ; ay, as well as I knew her. She would
be glad to be no more altered in the years that
have changed her from a slim girl of twenty
five to a bloated woman of five and forty, than
I, in those saute years, with all my griefs.
"Then her brother—faugh !—lt maddens me
to think of their baseness—whom I educated
and apprenticed, finding him money afterwards
to put him into partnership with old Jones, the
thriving linen draper. He, indeed, did not
pretend to deny that I might be his uncle
but,,grant that I were, what claim had I upon
his 'charity. more than any other starving
wretch ? What was I to him ? He pitied me,
Heaven knew ! but what could I expect from
him ? 0, the smooth-speaking, soft-spoken
knave, with his pity and his charity ! Hypo
crite in look and word ! His tone was gentle
as jf he had been bidding we welcome to bed
and board for My whole life long. What a
fawning parasite, that would have been now, if
I had Accosted him like a - rich man. Well I
there is some virtue in these rags, since they
teach false tongues to speak the truth. Then I
-came-- my-coustu__Authony._ whose daughter
pcirtioned, whose runaway son I clothed and
sent to sea. And this Anthony is now a great
meal man—a rich miser, who could buy up I
half the country. 'What says he ? l‘ hy, he
was poor himself—the scoundrel body
knew how poor, and had been forced to make a
rule to give nothing to beggars : ay, he called - 1
rue a beggar I might go to the Union . , he
said ; the work louse ! 0, the precious ras
cal The son of my father's brother, brought
up in my father's house—worth a hundred
pounds and would have sent rne • to the work
house—me, his only living kinsman ! 0, this,
world ! this world : Then—for 1 was resolved
to try them all— I sought out mv old school
fellow Nicholas Hume. the spen&hrift, whom
I bailed in my- young days. when little richer
than himself, and saved flow prison by paying
his debts. What was his gratitude . ? Why I
he. forsco,th. had never heard inv . name. Mt-
AVliu was Michael Nnriis ?
" "t r!.e well Lnon# twenty years
t6tut,.44-d tiuLL Luc We..lt Indies, a
jermsgapr---11runta to Tulifirs, 2rts ant( i ftiturrs, 1/4r Varkrts, (Patrol En uutir ifirrigu Sntriligrurr, Mardißing, 3tutlituunt,
Prom Household Words
rich man, husband of a wealthy Creole, master
of flourishing plantations, to visit my early
i haunts, help my poor relations—l found them
all in distress, some way or other—and "shook
hands with my old friends ! Nobody had for
; gotten me then. But now that I come hack a
ragged_ cripple, bouseless, and friendless."
And the old man paused, and lifted his wretch
ed hat from his thin gray hairs. and passed his
tattered handkerchief over his furrowed brow,
with an air which proved that he was as much
oppressed by mental suffering, by indignation
and disappointmeni, as if by the sultry beat
4 of an August noon.
. "There are none left now," thought old
Michael to himself as, exhausted by his ve
hemence, he sank into a milder mood : "none
left for me to apply to now, except the three
orphan children of my poor nephew,* William
Leslie, the cousin of these hard-hearted Col-
Mises, and their mother ; and they, I fear, are
themselves iii great want, and great trouble.
He lately died, after a series of undeserved
misfortunes, and a long and wasting illness ;
and she, working as hard as ever woman did
work to keep herself and her family out of the
work-lionse—Ciat Union to whose comforts
my precious cousin Anthony so tenderly eon.
signs me. Poor things ! they may.well deny
any knowledge of me, for they never saw me ;
and I have had a . good sample of the slight
impression that benefits conferred leave be
hind them ! William was only eighteen when
I left England and returned to Jamaica, after
my last visit. A fine, frankhearted lad he
was. I remember wishing to take him with.
me. But my poor sister would not part with
him. She had married again after the death
of her first husband, William's father, and a
wretched match she made ; for this second
husband proved to be a' habitual drunkard,
always half mad when intoxicated, who broke
out at last into desperate frenzy, and; but for
my interposition, would have murdered the
poor boy. I seem to see the struggle now;"
thought the old man, closing his eyes ; "he
flinging himself upon William with a table
knife, and I rushing between them just soon
enough to receive the blade in my arm. I
bear the mark of the wound still. The mad
man wAs_sent to an asyletn, and there soon
died. And my poor sister, well off for her
station, could not part from this only son. He
was a fine lad, was William. spirited, and
generous ; and when she also died he,wis al
ready attached to the girl whom he afterwards
married. 1 helped them, too, for I loved the
boy ; I helped on that match, for it was one of
sincere affection, and they were in a' way to
earn a handsome competence : there must have
been some imprudence, or
s great ill luck, to
have reduced them to such poverty." So ran
the train of the old' cripple's revery. "I never
suspected it ; he never 'wrote to me ; and I,
engaged in my own affairs, and with children
of my own—well. I will see them, however.
They are in this field, gleaning. So said their
neighbor. Yes, this is the field ; there they
are. I'll see them." thought Michael Norris,
"though it is probable that they too will know
nothing of me." And opening the gate, the
old man limped slowly across the furrows, and
began gathering the scattered ears of corn in
his withered hand.
We have said the field, although, afterpass
ing the gate, which admitted him between the
two high hedges that bound it on the northern
side, the wide expanse from which the wheat
had just been carried assumed. the appearance
'rather.of a large
.open ridge of arable land.
bordered by the high road, and terminated by
a distant .village, than of the small wooded
enclosures so common to the midland counties.
A pretty scene- it was, as it lay before
him, bathed in' the sunshine ; and a lovely
group was that to which
. his attention was
immediately directed : A pale young woman,
whose regular and beautiful features received
additional interest from her close widow's cap,
stood before him,'holding a fine infant in her
arms ; a very pretty girl - of twelve or thirteen
was flourishing a tuft of wheat-ears before the
baby's eyes, smiling herself at the smile she
excited, while her little brother clung to the
mother's petticoat in momentary fear of two
high fed dogs attending a gentleman and lady
riding slowly along the road.
The poor cripple drew back, and sat down
under a clump of maple and hawthorn, gay
with the purple wild, veitch, the white bind
weed, and the pretty clematis, known by the
still prettier name of the "traveller's joy ;"
whilst the riding party called off the dogs,
spoke graciously to the child and his mother,
and passed slowly out. of 'sight. As they left
her, Mrs. Leslie, for she it was, approached
the old , man, to replace her infant in his cradle ;
niches under° the fragrant shade of some over
hanging hazel stems, just beside his rude seat.
Struck by the evidence of poverty, sickness
and sorrow, afforded by his tattered apparel,
and his wrinkled yet venerable countenance,
she took up a pitcher, which • stood by the
cradle, and, with the kindness which the very
poor so often show to each other, acid a remark
upon the heat of the day, offered him a small
cupful of the milk which foriffe'd the contents
of the jug.. He took it with a trembling hand.
and thanked her with an emotion, which our
readers will comprehend, but which at once
surprised and interested its object.
"Your name is Leslie r asked he, after re
turning the cup with thanks and blessings. he
made room for her beside him on the thymy
bank. "Your name is Leslie ?"
"Margaret Leslie. ft is so."
"The wife of William Leslie ?"
"His widow. Ah, me ! his widow !" re
plied she, with a sigh. —"The widowed mother
of these children. Michael," added she, as
the boy came near them, -take some milk
yourself, and carry a cupful to your sister, and
tiny what_w_h_eaLears_she_and you have gath
ered to my little heap."
"Michael," echoed the old man, "your hus•
bands name was William ! How came you
to call your son Michael ? But_the name be
longs to your family perhaps ; your father, or
some favorite brother !"
• • eptie d t-was-for-a-di fr.
ferent reason. A very dear kinsman , ( 41 - tnv
husband's sore that name, and in token-of
love and gratitude to him, and in fulfilment of
au old pi oin:se, so our only son was christened. '
'•1 remember, - muttered the clippie to him
self, '•1 rememuer said that. his brat
boy should bear my name, and I think he
wtote to that elleet after the child was burn
but the letter tau,l ha‘c arrived.at the time ot
misery.'' Then tuulifi; himself, and turning
to the gentle cit.:Ito:I!, %%hum a fee-ling of un
usual interest detothed at, his side, he ad-
(Ltd aiocoi. do twat:sober now that IVlihani
Le: 11e had au uudt: ca;led )lichael Norms. but
75 ::1:1..,:e
" CaLLik.: til.Cl ;
GETTYSBURG, PA.: MONDAY, JUNE 18, 1855.
"a thousand causes ; from a mere infant, when
I have heard my husband say that he gave
him the first shilling that he ever - possessed;
that kind uncle, absent- or present. was his
good geniuS. He insisted on his being sent to
Belford' School ; paid. himself for masters,
whom his guardians thought superfluOus ;
rescued him from the frantic frenzy of his
step-father ; saved his life at' the utmost peril
of his own, from the furious assaults of that
wretched madman ;- placed him in the paper
mill, which, but for the rash speculation of his
partner, would have been not merely a com
fortable income for himself, but an affluent
position for his family ; and, last and dearest
kindness, when William, with his character
istic generosity loved a poor girl, the portion
less orphan of a naval officer, when interested
connections and officious friends all opposed
the union, did not • he,'from across the wide
ocean, send himself not merely his appropria
tion of the destined marriage, but a portion for
the destitute bride ? I_ never saw him," con-1
tinned - Mrs. Leslie, in a lower tone than that,
which had been dictated by her eathusiastic
recollection of her benefactor's Goodness • •bur
night and morning I have prayed for him, and
night and morning do my poor children join
in those prayers ; and my dear husband,
amongst his latest words—"
"Did he pray for the uncle who seemed to
have forgotten ?" asked the old man, his voice
half stifled with emotion. "Look, Margaret."
added he. stripping up his sleeves and show
ing a deep scar extended diagonally across his
left arm -"this scar was received from the
knife with Which his furious and - frantic step
father was pursuing William Leslie. I am
Michael Norris. You do not disdain to ac
knowledge the cripple who.comes to your door
hungry and ragged. Here; too," said he, tak
ing from his pocket a bundle' of papers, "are
Characters that you well know."
Tearfully, yet joyfully, the warm-hearted
and grateful Margaret returned the embrace
of her venerable kinsman, presented her three
children to him .one by one, and replied to his
questions as to their change of circumstances.
- It needed few words to tell the story. Noth
ing is mere rapid than a descent. The rolling
of a stone down a hill is a true type of a fall- -
ing fortune. Taking advantage of a long ill
ness with which William Leslie was afflicted,
his partner. engaged in desperate speculations.
They failed. - The rash speclator absconded,
and William remained a bankrupt, without a
friend or resource. Honest to the last, his wife
resigned her small settlement to satisfy the
creditors. His-debts being paid, he tried eve
ry means of living, and whilst he retained his
health had supported his family hy the most
persevering industry ; but a fever, occasioned
by over exertion, had come on ; his constitu
tion, impaired by anxiety and labor, had been
unable to resist the attack, and since that pe
riod the wife, who had been the faithful part
ner of his cares and his toils, had at least so
far succeeded as to maintain her children with
out the assistance of charity, 'whether public
or private.
"Why not have written to me when this
bankruptcy took place ?" inquired the uncle.
- "Alas, dear sir ! we had beliwe heard of that
terrible hurricane, in which—"
"In which,'' said the old man, filling up,
with stern composure. the sudden pause that,
from a mixture of delicacy and sympathy had
arrested Margaret Leslie's words--;-"in which
the plantation where I resided was laid waste,
my house leveled with the ground, -aird my
wife with four helpless children in the ruins !
In striving to rescue them, this thigh,"—strik •
ing the withered limb with a hazel twig—"this
thigh was broken. I owe my preservation to
the gratitude of as emancipced negro ; but foe
months, for years.-all toy litb, all nature, was
a blank before me ! I have sometimes won
dered how Icould have survived such a blow ;
for what purpose was I spared ! The doubt
was sinful, and finds its rebuke, its thrice
merciful rebuke, in this blessed hour. ion
heard, then, of my losses, dear Margaret ?
Poor William heard of them ?"
—We were sure that something must have
gone amiss, front receiving'no reply to the let
ter which announced the birth of our boy, and
claimed your prodtise of standing godfather at
his chTiStening.—William did not like to write
again upon such an occasion ; it would have
seemed like encroaching upon your too gen
erous spirit. But when the news of that
awful hurricane arrived, and Nicholas Hume
and the Collinses made inquiries in London,
and ascertained that your plantation had in
deed been amongst those laid waste—then
your silence was too well explained ! I heard
this sad news first ; fur it arrived during the
dreadful illness which preceded my hosbandiri
bankruptcy.—And when he'regained so much
breathing time after his own misfortunes as
to ask news of you, no tidings could be ob
tained ; all trace of you seemed lost. 0, that
he had lived to . see this day! Ilis will be
done. But 0, that my poor husband had but
lived to see once more the kinsman he loved
so well !"
The old man pressed her hand in speechless
emotion, and Alargaret, smiling through her
tears, went on :
"You must live with us, dear uncle, and we
shall wait upon you and work for you, and be
happy together—as happy as we can be with
out him—after all. My Annie is a good girl
0, such a good girl ! and pretty, is she not,
dear uncle ? and poor Michael, your namesake,
is a boy of a thousand. 'We have had much
to be thankful for. Farmer Rogers, the over
seer, whose books my husband kept, (hale
Michael keeps them now, as well, the farmer
says. as his, father did,) supplies us with milk
twice a day. Mrs. Lascelles, the rector's wife
employs Annie and me constantly in needle
work for her large faun-
keep our pretty cottage—if we can keep that
eottal b -e-at-w hose pot elf poor NV ill lam planted
the honeysuckle 'and the China rose, and the
me which now covers the thatch —that cot
tage where we worked and wept together, and
where he died the death of the ignteoilS if
we-can but live together there, within sight of
the turf that covers his dear remains, I should
ask nothing better on this side of the. grave."
'hue widow's tears flowed afresh, and once
again the old man pressed her hand.
—ls there any doubt of your retaining this'
beloved habitation, dear Margaret f And dues
wy coining caw , e that doubt f"
n o : ! dear uncle, not in the slightest
degree.. "lire cause 01 iloubt is, that we have
no iease, and that Miss Collins. as she calls
herseit. poor William's cousin.' wants it fur
some purpose or other people say %sal' ,oule
yield% u 1 inart ,ng, but this is idle ta11 44., silla ; 4e
ihit certain is. that 4.40'N
IL
t n .',TIV. to , IVC (Nu p 01.11114.1.
I.lJ:ir 1 , 1‘ C.C.4 3i101,1 to
6.0 i 'll i
"TRUTH Is MIGITIT, AND WILL PREVAIL."
l_y : und it' we can but
give. If our -old landlord, Mr. Godfrey, had
stayed, he and Lady Elizabeth had promised,
•at I-should remain ; but the Hall, and the
village, and the whole estate are sold, and the
new lord of the manor is coming' this evening.
—Hark you may hear the bells ringing even
now. Mr. Godfrey slid Lady Elizabeth intend
staying a few days at the rectory: .you saw
them ride by with their dogs they have prom•
iced to speak in my favor to the new landlord ;‘'
they mentioned it even now, and the good rec
tor and hi , r excellent lady will second my pe
tition : still—"
“Be of good cheer, Margaret. Even if you,
should leave your pretty cottage, I would wa
ger something—" - - • -
The old man checked hiros-lf and resumed
in a different tone— • .
"Who is the new lord of the manor? what
is his name 3"
'The property was purchased by Mr. Price :
but he is understood to he an agent., 'and- I
have not heard the name of the real Proprietor.
who is said to be an elderly gentleman, and
so rich that he will hardly be tempted to turn
an old tenant from her cottage for so trifling an
addition of rent. Nevertheless—" • .
-Once again. Margaret, be of good heart,"
reiterated her uncle.
• "The tenants are to meet him in the avenue
the farmers and their sons on horseback, the
cottagers, women and children. on foot. Ought
to join them ? I have no shame in honest
labor, but do shrink from meeting the scorn of
those purse-proud kindred who ' and poor
Margaret's tears fell fast. '•Ought Ito be
there, dear uncle 3 I will go .or stay, as you
direct."
"Go, Margaret, go, and fear nothing. Gath
er up your treasures; the r jug, whose generous
draught was the-sweetest I ever quaffed ; the
wheat ears, and cradle with its crowing babe
—blessingis on its dear face! Go boldly; I
will not shame you by these unseemly rags,
but will rest awhile under the friendly shade
of the hazel, while you return-horde and pre
pare for the procession. Be sure that you fail
not. We shall meet again soon, dear ones !
For the present, farewell."
There was something about the old man,
ragged, sick and lame as he was, that Marga
ret fotind it impossible to disobey. So, heart
ened up, she knew not why, - for many have
felt, without being able to give the feeling its
true name, the mingled power of sympathy
and appreciation to comfort and to cheer,) she
called about her her blooming children and de
parted', Annie and herself bearing the cradle
between them, and the boy laden with the
gleanings of the day.
The setting sun gleamed brightly between
the 'noble elms that formed . the beautiful ave
nue to Corston Hall; gilding the rugged branch
es and turning into pendent emeralds the
leaves of the branches which met across the
wide carriage road ; met and interleaved in a
lengthened archway that might well have sug
gested the rich intricacies of a cathedral aisle
in the proudest days of Gothic architecture.
The village bells pealed amain, horses pranced.
'flags - waved, the children of the parish schools
strewed the gaudy flowers of the early autumn;
and as the carriage of the new lord of the men
u' rolled between the ivied lodge to the gray
old Hall, a quaint, irregular structure of Eliza
beth's or-James' day; with a tame peacock
sunning himselfon the stone balustrade, a large
old English Spaniel basking on the steps, and
the tenants in their hollulay apparel grouped
round the porch, an artist, whether painter or
poet,, might have envied the accident which
produdPd an arrangement so felicitously pic
turesque.
.Something of this feeling, however, unper
ceived or unguessed by herself, mingled with
the natural emotions of curiosity and interest
in our friend Margaret's bosom, as, standing
humhly apart between her two elder children,
with her infant in her arms, under a 1 .rgc syca
more, she gazed around upon the scene, and
perceived, gaily adorned, in the extreme coun
try fashion, the rival candidate for her beloved
cottage—the buxom landlady of the Red Lion,
surrounded -hy the unfriendly kindred of her
late husband. Neither Margaret nor her Wil
liam had ever applied for assistance to these
people : and yet she knew instinctively that
some from pride and some from shame felt the
silent reproach of her unassisted poverty and
her blameless - life—that all wished her ab
sence, and would contribute, as far as in them
lay. to turn her from her home ; and, in spite
of the encouraging influence of her lately known
kinsman's cheering forebodings, her heart sank
within her as the door of the cottage was thrown
open. An elderly gentleman, very neatly
dressed, but pallid, emaciated and lame. wan
assisted by his servants up" the two low steps
that led to the porch. fla.ving ascended them
with some difficulty, he turned around, took
off his hat, bowed with a gracious sunleto the
assembly, and then paused. as if in search of
some one whom he expected to see.
The - etket of this apparition was a start of
surprise and horror from the portly landlady,
seldom equalled on the stage or off ; her broth
er, the haberdasher, who had just flourished
his hat preparatory to leading the vivid
cheer, let it fall in dismay, looking the curses
which his habittial hypocrisy scarce repressed:
cousin Anthony, the rich. mi.:eralde miser.
smothered a groan ; and Nicholas Hume, in
spite of his consummate impudence, fairly stole
away.
What, in the meanwhile, did our friends in
their humble nook under the sycamore r Lit
tle Michael danced for joy. Annie clapped
her hands, and poor Margaret, fur the twenti
eth time during the last six hours. burst into
tears : this time, however, of umningled joy. -
"Mrs. Leslie ! Margaret ! my dear niece!"
cried Michael, (or, as we nifty now cull hint,
Mr. Norris.) advancing to meet her, ••to you
alone, of all my 'relations now living,,o - 1 owe
any account of my motives fur coming here as
I have done to-day : with the rest of my kin
dred I have done forever. But I also owe
some explanation to my tenants and future
neighbors. You all know that. 1 lett England
about fifty -years ago, a poor. friendless lad. I
returned, nearly thirty years afterward, with
riches honestly obtained, the happy husband
of a wealthy and excillent nouaan, and :the
father of four hopeful children. I came to
Corston, found day relations, some Indigent,
some comtbrtably situated, did IA hat I could
:mom; them and went back to Jamaica, with
the view. at sonic future day. of placing lily
sons at the head of my plantatitn ru that-is
laud, and 4.:onung home to die in my native
A hum ricane passed w.er the estate
Is litre I lived, &sou% Ing my d%%elling, toy
%1 lit,. Illy children, and.ahnust trivself.
•-for trimly tears 1 was dead tu.ihe world :
but care hlu !,' . ,'n tak e n o f the I f ir l :e property
: • •'/ 7 IJ oatir-
cy, I was restored to health, mental and bodi
ly, I found myself rich indeed, so far as money
was eoncered, richer than ever. ; but in •the
blessed charities of life, most poor—a childless,
desolate, bereaved old man. I knew that a
report had zone - abroad that I was, ruined in
the hurricane, and I - rcaved to prove the re
lations I had left in F f ngland, by coming among
them in seeming poverty. I have done so, and
the experiment has answered well. And now,
my dearest niece; I need not'tell you that the
cottage is yours ; but for the second time to
day, I throw myself Upon your charity. You
will not - abandon me because I happen to be
rich I, You will never have the heart to do so
You remember your promise that we should
live together; so come with these dear chil
dren to brighten and gladden the old Ball."
Physical Benefit of Sunday.
The Sabbath is God's special present is, the
working man, and one of its chief objects is to
prolong his life. and preserve efficient his
working tone. In the vital system it acts like
a compensition bond; it replenishes the spirits.
the elasticity and vigor; vhich the last six days
have drained away. and supplies the force
which is to fill the six days succeeding ; and
in the economy of existence, it answers the
same purpose as, in the economy.of income, is
answered by a savings bank.
The frugal man who puts - a Side a pound to
day, and another pound next month, and who
in a q u iet way is always putting by his.stated
pound from time - to time, when ho grows old
and frail, gets not only the same pounds back
again, bit a good many more beside. And the
conscientious man who husbands one day
of existence every week, who. instead of al
lowing the Sabbath to be trampled on, and
torn, in the hurry and scramble of life, treas
ures it devoutly up—the Lord of the Sabbath
keeps it for him, and length of days and a hale
old age give it back with usury. The Savings
Bank of human existence is the weekly Sab
both.—Nerth British. Review.
"Ils Bnoionts. Six !"—"Ile did not
die of cholera—he died.of brokers, sir !" said a
man to us yesterday. speaking 44 the death of
his friend. ..lie projected an unwise improve
ment of a piece of real estate—made loans—
covered himself with bonds and mortgages— .
and finally incurred a 'street debt' of two
thousand dollars. which rapidly. rolled up to
eight thousand, and crushed the life right out
of him. He borrowed Canada money - on call,
to be paid in current funds--got paper dis
counted payable in seven days in the city of
New York—borrowed Ohio and Kentucky cur
rency
,for one day. returnable in notes of Buffa
lo banks—shinned it from street to street midi
friend to friend, to keep the debt ahead of him.
Why, sir, I could not sit down to consult with
him, or do any kind of business with him, with
the least assurance that he would not jump up
suddenly to go out and 'give another shove to
that accursed debt. The memorandum book
of his obligations was always in his bosom, arid,
sir, it , burned to the poor man's heart. lie
was owned by brokers lie worked for them,
lived for them, and died for them. Ile did not
die of cholera at all, sir: Ile died of a street
debt, upon which be expended his strength
every week, in throwing it ahead from one day
to, seven days.'
How THEY MANAGE linettifcroair FIRE COM
PANIES IN DETROIT.—LateIy an ordinance WAS
passed by the City Councils of Detroit prohib
iting the fire companies from running their
engines and carriages on the side walks of pav
ed streets, between certain hours of the day.
The companies took such an abridgement of
their assumed rights in high 'dudgeon, and
forthwith abandoned their apparatus to the
city authorities, and withdrew from service.
The efficient Mayor, (woo is a 'son-in•law of
Gen. Cass,) called a meeting of the citizens,
who, in overwhelming numbers, volunteered
their services as firemen. organized new com
panies, and at• a fire which occurred on the
night of the 26th of, May the efliciency of the
new department was tested, and all admit its
superiority to anything known there before.
ARREST or A MA IL AGEsT.—Mr. D. P. Blair,
mail agent, has been arrested at New Orleans,
by virtue of a warrant issued on the affidavit
of J. J. McCormack, charging him with
opening letters in the post-office, contrary to
the laws of the United States. This accusation
is based on the recent charge of Judge McCaleb,
of that city. to the grand jury, wherein the
Judge held that mail agents who were guilty
of opening private correspondence, after it had
been entrusted to the post office, no matter what
the motive,subjedted themselves to the penalty
of the law. Mr. Blair gave 81,000 bail for his
appearance before the _grand jury. A similar
ailida vit has been made against Mr, George
Whitman, another mail agent. It appears
they. opened the letters to detect post office
thieves.
PoTAToEs.---There are large ft toe k or_pota
toes in the bands of dealers in this city at the
prrsent time, notwithstanding the prices are
exorbitant. Thousands of bushels of potatoes
Will be thrown away, a complete loss, rather
than be sold at a price within the reach of the
poor,.half famished creatures Vl ho stay in cel
lars, attics, Sze,--We are told of one specula
tor in this article, who said he could afford to
lose five hundred bushels, and still would
snake lots of money.—BustOn lice.
!l - There is a letter in the Cleveland Post-
Office, directed as follows :
"To the big,-faced Butcher,
With a large wart on his nose,
Cleveland,
Ohio."
The clerks expect a licking when they deliv
er the letter.
s _r"Tellarper's Ningazine gets ofra good thing.
this mouth Waiter, bring me sonic corn,"
said a boarder, to a green Irish _l , ervant.
"Iley ?" said Paddy, leaning down, to catch
the accent. "No, no—corn!" replied the
guest. -
a:±On a Clergyman's Horse Biting Him.
The horse bit his waste;
hots came it to pass?
Ile heard the good Pastor
Cry, "All flesh is grass."
'A model return tmota writ was recently
made by a deputy sheriff' in Morgan county,
E n d. It waq, i----Sarved the within, but wag
tit w rth brickbats by a woman, so that I
couldn't serve
L'.., - ; -- •The seventeen year locusts have m ad e
their appearanre in Rowan, Orange, ..11awatice
LI.LId :•4
TWO DOLLARS A•YEAR.
An Old Housekeeper's Experiences.
I send to your paper -some veceipts that I .
have tried in my own family, and think the
public should have- a chance to benefit by the
experience of an ••Old Housekeeper."
A VERY NICE WAY TO CoOK CHICKENS —Cut
the chicken up, put it, in a pan and cover it over
with water ; let it stew .as usual, and when
dime make a thickening of cream and flour,
adding a piece of butter and pepper and salt ;
have made and baked a pair .of short cakes,
made as fur pie crust, but rolled thin, and cut
in small squares. This is much better than
chicken pie and more simple to Make. The
crust should be laid on a dish, and the chicken
and gravy pneover it while both aro hot.
DRIED - PEACH AND APPLE PIES --After the
fruit is well cooked, mash it. well - ,
.and let it
cool ; then to one, quart ofirnit stir in a tea.
cupful of cream and two eggs . well' beaten :
season with the essence of lemon or cinnamon.
bake -in crusts either with . or without a top
, . .
crust, as you fancy.
CALM NOR BREAKFAST.--At night put two
or three slices of light bread, broken fine, to
soak in a pint and a half of milk; in the morn
ing. mash it well, and add three eggs and flour
to make a batter, with the addition of another
half pint of milk • bake - as usual: - They aro
very light. Should be sent hot to the table.
STONING CHEIGUP.S 1111FORFI TttßY GROW.—
Cherries without stones have been produced in
Fre:lot...it is said. by the following method :
-In' the Spring before the circulation •of the
sap. a young seedling cherry-tree is split front
the upper extremity down to the fork' of its
roots ; then, by means of a piece of wood in
the form of a spatula. the pith is carefully re
! moved from the tree, in such a IMMO' as to
avoid any excoriation, eir other, injury 1 a knife
lis used onlyfor commencing the split, -After
wards the two sections ate
,brought together,
and tied with woolens care being taken to close
hermetically with clay the whole !exile!) of the
cleft. The sap soon re-unites the separated por
tions of the tree, and two years' afterwards,
cherries are produced of the usual appearance,
but, instead of stones, there will only _be small,
soft pellets." So says ono of our exchanges.
Mona merchant informsllia
Philadelphia Gazette that there has been a new
discovery of guano in the North Pacific Ocean,
which bids fare to prove of great value. The
first cargo arrived in the United States a few
days,since, 'and having been analyzed, proved
to be equal' to the Peruvian. h is, said this
discovery is strictly Anterichn,and therrefete the
island or islands belong to us.
A Bum.ET-PRoor Commo—Queen *Victoria's
state coach is Natthippro and the glass of the
windows is air inches ,thick. When 'fieerge
IV, was fired at, the glass was only broken by"
the bill. • In this coach, for. some reason, and
not, as had been expected. in an open one,
Louis Napoleon proceeded on his late visit to
the Guildhall to receive the Addams of , the cor
poration of London. :
A BAnntin•olls OPICRATIONow•The Cr /taller
du Ela Unis is responsible for the , following . :
—One pf our friends was being shaved at Ant
werp.- The barbqr was a *male. What was
his surprise when he saw the' good lady spit
into the box. and boniest his film with the
foaming saliva! An expressive , grimace did
not escape the she barber. My, dear, air, said
she. I do not treat you as I do my other -cus
tomers, because f perceive very well that you
Ala not belong to these parts. By Jupiter t
31a4lain. what do you do in their case ? Why,
sir, I spit cm' their cheeks, instead of spitting
into the soap box.
LAWTERS' SPERMS:3 NOT St ANDltit....—lt WAS
recently 'decided in a Milwaukie Court, by
Judge Lembo', that a lawyer is not liable for
an action of slander for. words spoken in argu
ing a case before jury or court ; that though the
accusation was false and malicious, the defend
ant was protected by his privilege, he at the
time acting as counsel.
PROVING CHARACTER.—"Do you know thei
prisoner, Mr. Jones ?"
"Yes, to die bone."
'What is his character ?"
"l)id'nt know he had an.y.?"
4. Does ho live near you r
"So near, that ho has spent only five shil
lings for tire wood for eight years. '
"Did be ever come into collision with you in
any matter 1"
"Only once, and that was when he was
drunk and mistook me for a lamp post."
"From what you know of him would you
believe him under oath ?"
“That depends itton circumstances. If he
was so much intoxicated that he did not know
what he was doing, I would. If not, I
wouldn't.”
Trir: BEST OUT.--A friend has furnished us
with the following signkever the door of a re
spectable looking house near Chichester, Eng
land :
'slier Up 1 oo guess a goes."
Any joker that can translate the above, at
one reading. "can take our bat!" We have
frequently published "the march of the school
master," but recollect nothing like this. Now
if you want to have some fun, just "turn down
the leaf," and ask a friend to translate it. WYo
subjoin it:--
"here lives one Who cures agues."—Spirit of
the Times.
117Abierinan Binns being called upon by a
woman in great baste, and indignant at an ex
pression made to her, addressed hint in the fol
lowing terms, viz:
"Alderman, Mrs. Snooks; my next door
neighbo•
hbor, called me a thief ; can't I make her
prove it 1" ---- TqWf17 1 said tht , Alderman, attet
a moment's deliberation, ..you may. but• I
think you had better not."
n'An Irishman in recommending a cow.
said she would give milk year after year, with
out having calves, -Because," said-he,—'[6--
runs in the brad°, for_ she came of a cow that
..,
niver had a ca f."
. -- "The young lady who -jumped at an of
fer," dislocated her otnkle and threw her heart
out of place. At. last accounts she was recov
ering...
-
it.; 'The 3lichigin papers complain of the Ely
being very destructive in many counties in
3lichigan. They speak of whole crops being
destroyed.-
Thr• Free State ticket was elected at Law.
rence, Elnii as, at, the election to fill vacancies
ENE
NO. 38.
FM