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roO'Tr AGITATOR is published
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ir I'fisUs P rice of •■ -J .- 1
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£the stemp-“TrHE Oct,’! on th ' mar ;
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jirihcr re {, e brought in debt to the
,;>i« ‘ Ban
J:r. ~ a,, Official Paper of the Cotinty,
IjisiriW”' d ;iy increasing dredlation feach
il>h r f cM .iobborhood in the County. It is sent
■ i-.to ' rt ' r - T c . Jit P ost Office within the county
- rr - pwicjc M conTen ient post office may bo
ro; exceeding 5 lines, paper inolu-
A f* *=
TO “IDA.”
Seep, baby, «1«P. ■ •
Thine eyes are closing—
Mine must ever weep !
The heart reposing— ■
jiioe dark passions sweep—
loJ thine so innocent!
fieep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
On mv bosom pressing.
Thr little heart that seems to leap
ir.th'life’s tot blessing; _ I
from Ufe’c unfathomed deep
ed ti<?« so beautiful — -
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, darling, sleep,
The stars are telling.
Of the far-off home they keep,
TTbere no grief is dwelling,
To make my poor heart weep—
And tbou art innocent—
Sleep, baby, sleep.
, al! . April ISM. A - A. A.
For- the Agithtor.
tetter Prom Over The River.
Over the Rivee, April 29, 1859.
kbits of paper, the dirty scraps of orange
fra'-ments of delf with-their quaint
'" 5 of pagodas, Chinese temples and tod
■■ thicaaien : the engraved trade-mark la
?sid the sweepings of raisin boxes ; —what
lr.it has not loitered to SL-els for these
.. jtidcred trifles’’ as he passed the “dry
X irocery store” on his way to school ? I
;. c ao , many an “Honorable” gentleman
•ci recogniic in himself the hero of such
’«l would he but turn for one moment and
jfc toe mirror of the past. - The hand that
~ this has eagerly gathered like waifs, and
.iter does not shame to confess it. lie
.as thought it beneath his dignity to .pick
. ;HJ seemingly valueless things, has, I ven
< B sav, oftener turned out a spendthrift
; cierwise. I have heard of a man who
jj hfo with trenchers and wooden forks;
I-:-: seldom was seen to dismount from bis
s it rick up a pin ; and who died a rich
--s very rich man, yet did not grow rich
• ;;a meanness or cheating. He was a fru-
C r.j with great business tact to match. So
little things. *
iai sermon on frugality is not intended,
ta tamed into this channel of thonght by a
; sv-at which transpired in my walk to the
sifcce this morning. My attention was
iiti'Uferap of paper—white paper, lying
•C.T in my path. To stoop and possess my
:it was the most natural thing to do in
;v::U.vet it was strictly a mechanical feat,
ictwasn.-ipioneer, speculative thought as to
itisr it was ‘worth little, or much, or noth
-1:: whether it was blank on the under as on
I : :. minutes ago. in drawing some old letters
■| a side pocket, a scrap fell upon the carpet,
itiilrih'lv h one of those nice little women
;«?st liu:r of every description ; in fact,
.would search long and unprofitably fora
-ck of din in the kingdom of -which she is
."on. \uvr I respect her very highly for this
v. and would not for the world do aught tgl
L-e her bump of order unpleasantly. So Jj
•-i-d up the little scrap of paper and thought
tin; it into the tireless grate. (For you
£siktK'W that we have no occasion for fires,
culinary purposes, over the River.)
«:ien I recognized in the condemned scrap
fc Will* of mv morning walk. Very delib
mir jiJ I unfoid it—for it was as if it bad
s; n led snugly and then pressed into be
lt-’.; iuucs.
•' the waif was unrolled. I think I know
sympathize with the emotions of the
suddenly unearths a nugget worth
h:cat thousands. That bit of paper was
of the purest gold of intellect,
c: 10 carets fine. It was closely writ
* T * m a cramped hand, yet rather espres
- • Auraror. It was in rhyme, too, and
>uarr I no less of it for that reason.
• • If it was worth preserving,
•* is evidently but a fragment of an im
written under the inspiration of
’ At least, the opening verses relate
5-. me of those that follow relate to
n't very clear to me. However,
r ‘ ro —not evidencing genius, but a
a tue beautiful
y r
n tK> Eait of Spring,
;he emerald gates arc flung;
1 • i *' - ‘-ii r ?. and everything.
jni ? e. seems gifted with a tongue.
of the Soul
7 :rt -* '•<■* :lc many are denied
. i “ c -•-cti: rf the overflowing bowl.
*■*' “ : - e *' €r ea-:M i fire their faith be tried.”
ciaio two or three lines so blotted
’‘---‘-Ae. Then, as if the muse had
E - r ‘iro‘,.[.iug vring, the following
'" i ““--f tbi> otption—
ainir.ST. April 3, ’59,
'•‘"v^ 4 , prir ' 5e fry sl *! waters rise
■ s u.o s desert waste,
! • r >—mow long wilt mock mine cyca
_ I may not taste?
" - and tender grasses spring
c.->i iratcrs run,
?.5 on humid wing
tj the tun.’’
} V’ 70 w &sdcred many a day,
«-n the sands——”
'•' lLri a jruvukingly abrupt holt, with
'"jrtnthesis, thus: (The fool con-
lit;-,. ,
. i oars in fruitless murmurings.)
: cn iao muse asserts her sway; but I
' .•' t '’’-‘ciphered the straggling lines,
i^'p* ln for this letter. Besides, the
tree in my neighbor's gar
"u * e the mimic snow of promise)
cloud of incense through
f turn from art to more beau-
gather inspiration from the
ii. Mamies so lavishly spread before
,'- v fountain be replenished, good-
Iksomme.
!j Ust ' of a fellow, who being
! ■,: / i : '- payment of a small debt, actually
m his creditor’s pocket a ten dollar
P-nJ him ont of it. That was,
'•.'■paving the creditor in his own coin-
rj s'', iID to dangerous to be working
**•-= ;»- i" 1 ® mie hine “ear a window when
® St= * *o i «mder storm. It is also very dan
-4e* 1,. 'near some sewing machines when
hso “ UD '^ et swrm. At least some hare
THE AGITATOR
yol. v.
for the Agitato.
08, THE TCRX OF THE TCHUSE OP THE RACKESSACK.
In the early settlement of Arkansas, a travel
er, after riding eight or ten miles without meet
ing a human being, or seeing a human habita
tion, came at length, by a sudden turn of the
road; to a miserable shanty, the centre of a
small cfearing in what had originally been a
blackjack thicket, whence the only sound pro
ceeding is the discordant music of a brokeU
winded fiddle, from the troubled bowels of which
the occupant is laboriously extortingthe monot
onous tune known as "The Arkansas, or the
Hackensack Traveler i” Our adventurer rides
up to within a few feet of the door, which was
once the bed frame of a cart-body, now covered
with bear skins and hang upon hinges. After
much- shouting, the inmate appears, fiddle in
hand; and evidently wrathy at being interrup
ted in the exercise of his art. The following
colloquy ensues, (the indefatigable fiddler still
playing the first strain of “the Arkansas Trav
eler,” which he continues at intervals, until the
dialogue is brought to an unexpected conclu
sion:)
Traveler. Friend, can I obtain accommoda
tions here for the night ?
Arkansas Artist. No, Sir—”nary ’commoda
tions.
T. My dear sir, I have already traveled thirty
miles to-day, and neither myself nor my horse
has had a mouthful to eat: t chy can’t you ac
commodate us 7
A. Just, ’cazeit U can’t be did. We’re plum
out of everything to eat in the house; Bill’s
gone to mill with the last nubbin of corn on
these premises, and it ’ill be nigh unto the shank
of to-morrow evenin’ afore he cums home, unless
suthin oncommon happens..
T. You surely have something that I can feed
my horse; even a few potatoes would be better
than no feed.
A, Stranger, our eatin’-roots ’gin out long ago:
bo yonr chance is slim thar.
T. But, my friend, I must remain with you
anyway, I can’t go any farther whether I ob
tain anything to eat or not. You certainly will
allow me the shelter of vour roof?
A. It can’t be did, old boss. You see, we’ve
got only one dried hide on the premises, and
me and the old woman alius has that; so whar’s
your chance ?
T. Allow me t<7 hitch my horse to that per
simmon-tree, and with my saddle and blanket
I’ll make a bed in the fence corner.
A. Hitch your horse to that 'simmon free 7
Why you must he a nat’ral born fool, stranger !
Don’t you see that’s me and the oiii woman’s
only chance for ’simmon beer, in the fall of the
year ? If your boss is so tarnal hungry as you
say he is, he’d girdle it as high as he could
reach, afore mornin’. Hitch your boss to that
tree 7 I’spec’ not: no, no, pUanga-,
come nary sich a dodge as that! '
Our traveler, seeing that he had an original
to deal with, and being himself an amateur per
former upon the instrument to which the settler
was so ardently attached, thought he would
change his tactics, and draw his determined-not
to-be “host” out a little, before informing him
of the fact that he. too could play the “Arkan
sas Traveler which, once being known, he
conjectured, would be a passport to his better
graces.
T. A Veil, friend, if I can’t stay, how far is it
to the next house ?
A. Ten miles; and you’ll think they’re
mighty long ones, too, afore you get thar. I
came nigh onto forgettin’ to tell you, the big
creek is up; the bridge is carried off; there’s
’nary yearthly chance to ford it; and if ye’re
bound to cross it, ye’ll have to go about seven
mile? up stream, to ole Dave Lady’s puncheon
bridge, through one of the darnedest bamboo
swamps ever you see. I reckon the bridge is
standih’ yet —twas yesterday mornin’, though
one eend had started down stream about fifteen
feet or such a matter.
T. You say it’s ten miles to the next house;
the big creek is up; the bridge carried away ;
no possibility of fording it; and seven miles,
through a swamp, to the only bridge in the vicin
ity ! This is rather a gloomy prospect, partic
ularly as the sun is just about down! Still, my
curiosity is excited, and as you have been play
ing only one part of the ‘‘Arkansas Traveler’’
ever since my arrival, I would like to know, be
fore I leave, why you don’t play the tune
through ?
A. For one of the best reasons on yearth, old
boss —l can’t do it. I hain’t larnt the turn of
that tchune, and drat me if I ever shall.
T. Give me your instrument, and I’ll see if I
can’t play the turn for you.
A. Look o’here, my friend ! do you play the
turn of that tchune?
T. I believe I can.
A. ’Lite, Tite, old boss!— tee’ll find a place
for you in the cabin, sure. Ole woman I ole
woman ! (a “hello’’ within the shanty was the
first indication the traveler had of any other hu
man being on the premises,) this stranger plays
the turn of the Hackensack Traveler! My
friend, hitch your boss to that ’simmon-tree, or
anywhere you please. Bill ’ill be here soon,
and take keer of him. Ole woman, you call
Sal and INVnce up from the spring: tell Xance to
go into the spring-house, and cat off a large piece
of bar steak, to bile for the stranger’s supper:
tell Sal to knock ofer a chicken or two, and get
some flour, and have some flour doin’s and
chicken fixin’s for the stranger. (Bill just
heaves in sight, twenty-four hours earlier than
he was expected a half hour before.) Bill, O,
Bill! there is a stranger here, and he plays the
turn of the “Hackensack Travelergo to tbe_
corn-crib for a big punkln, and bring it to the
house, so the stranger can have something to sit
on: and skin a tater ’long with me and the ole
woman, while the gals is gettin’ supper: and.
Bill, take the boss, and give him plenty of corn
—no nubbins. Bill: then rub him down well:
and then, when you come to the house, bring
up a dried hide and a bar skin, for the stran
ger to sleep on; and then, 0 Bill I 1 reckon
he’ll play the fum of of the “Backensack
Traveler’ for us 1
Lord-Bacon beautifully said: “If a man be
gracious to strangers, it shows be is a citizen
of the world, and that his heart is no island
cot off from the other lands, but a continent
that joins them." *
atfrotcHf to tfte ggytension of t&e of jfrctSjom a«ar tf)t Sprratr of l&talthg a&efonti*.
WHIXH THESE SHALE BE A WRONG UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
The Arkansas Traveler;
WELLSRORQ, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. MAY 12, 1859.
Too Proud to Take Advice.
A boy took his uncle down on Long Wharf
to see a new ship that lay there. His uncle
wps an old shipmaster, and Harry was at some
pain£ to show him round, partly to show him
his Uwn knowledge. There was only one sailor
on board, and as the visitors passed and re
passed the hatches, “Mind ye, mind ye,” he
said, “don’t full into the hold, or ye’d never
see daylight again.”
“'There is no danger of my uncle,” said Har
ry proudly, “he knows a ship from stem to
stern; and I too.”
As they came down the ladder and walked
Away, “I was so provoked with the old sault,”
said he; “he seemed to think we were know
nothing landsmen, with not sense 'enough to
keep from pitching into the first danger. I
wonder yon should thank him for the advice,
uncle ; I was provoked.”
“I should he very sorry to take offence at
well meant advice,” said the uncle. “Lid you
ever read about the Royal George Itarry ?”
“Tou mean that big ship which foundered
one pleasant day in • some English harbor, and
all on board perished. I know something
about it hut tell me more, uncle, flow did it
happen ?"
“It was at Splthcad where the English fleet
were at anchor. The Tto’jal George was the
flagship, and thev Admiral Kempenfelt’s blue
flag floated from the mizzen She was a fine
ship of a hundred guns. She was about ready
for sea, when the Lieutenant discovered that
the water cock was out of order. It was not
thought necessary to haul her injto dock for re
pairs, but keel her over until the damaged part
was above water and repair her there. Keel
ing a ship you know is making her lean over
on one side. A gang of men was sent from the
Falmouth dockyards to help the ship’s carpen
ters. The larboard guns were run out as far
as possible, and the starboard guns in midships,
which made the ship keel to larboard, so that
her starboard side was far up out of the water.
The workmen had got at the mouth of the water
pipe, when a lighter ladened with rum, came
along side, and all hands were piped to clear
her. Now the portsillof the larboard side was
nearly even with the water before the lighter
came along side, and when the men went down
to take in her casks, the ship keeled more than
ever; besides the sea had grown rougher since,
morning, washing the water into the lower deck
ports.
The carpenter saw there was danger. He
ran to the second lieutenant, who was an officer
of the watch and told him the ship must be
righted. The lieutenant, angry that the carpen
ter should dictate to him, ordered him back to
his work. Growing every instant more con
vinced of the imminent .nerJl nf the shin, the
man went a second time to the officer, warding
him that he would be lost if the vessel was not
righted instantly, but he only got a volley of
oaths for his pains. The lieutenant, however,
at last ordered the drummer to beat to quarters ;
but, beforelthe drummer had time to lay bold
of his drum 1 , the ship keeled over a little and a
little more, and the men began to scramble
down the hatchways to put the heavy guns in
their proper places. Men may begin their duty
too late. Already the water was rushing in;
she filled rapidly, settled fast, and almost be
fore help or rescue could be thought of, down
went the Royal George , carrying her admiral,
officers, men, and many nobles and strangers
on board, to the number of a thousand souls,
down, down, to a watery grave, so awfully sud
den, that a few only on the upper deck could
save themselves. And to perish on a fair day,
in sight of land surrounded by a fleet of ships,
all aggravated the terrible disaster. As an
English poet, Cowper, has it:
'•lt was not in the battle:
No tempest gave the shock.
She sprang no fatal leak ;
She ran upon no rock.”
“Awful,” said Harry, shuddering; “and to
have it owing to the pride of that foolish lieu
tenant. Too proud to take the carpenter’s ad
vice ; that is not the worst of all. I suppose
you told me on that account. I thank you,
uncle. Oh, that poor lieutenant. His own
life, and life of a thousand others, staked upon
his feeling proud. lam sure it makes the Bi
ble account of pride awfully true; “Pride goeth
before destruction, and a haughty spirit before
a fall.”
Be Wasn’t the Wan.
The senior Mr. Gay, of the Xational Hotel
at Washington, bears quite a likeness to Gen.
Cass, and upon this the correspondent of the
X. Y. Times has the following story:
A stranger, who supposed he knew mine host
very well, put ..up at the Xational the otlier
night. Since this house has become the crack
hotel at the capitol, it is quite full at flus time,
and the new-comer was necessarily, for the first
night, sent to the floor to sleep. Coming
down stairs the nest morning, a little cross, he
met General Cass there, who has a fine suite of
rooms in the hall, stepped up to him, and in
language more forcible and rapid than elegant,
said: '
‘Til be d—d if PII stand it! You've put me
at the top of the bouse. I must have a room
somewhere lower down.”
General Cass, interposing nervously—“ Sir,
you are mistaking the person you are address
ing. lam Gen. Cass of Michigan.
Stranger, (confusedly.) “Beg your pardon,
General Cass —thought it was my old friend
Gay. Beg a thousand pardons sir. All a mis
'Stke. all a mistake, I assure you sir.”
The General passed out of the building, but
soon returned,* and as luck ■would have it, the
stranger met him full jn the face again, but in
another position. This time he was sure he
had mine host, for the Senator from Michigan
he knew had just gone out So the stranger
stepped boldly up, slapped the General heartily
and familiarly on the shoulder, exclaimed:
“By heavens. Gay, I've got a rich sell to re
late, I met old Gass up stairs just now, thought
it was you, and began cursing him about my
room.”
. General Cass, (with emphasis,) “Well, young
man, you've nut old Cass again
Stranger sloped, and hasn't been heard of
since.
Romance.
The following beautiful extract is from Mrs,
Stowe’s story now being published in the At
lantic Monthly, entitled, “The Minister’s Woo
ing.”
All prosaic, and all bitter, disenchanted peo
ple talk as if poets and novelists made romance.
Tbej do, —just as much as craters make volca
noes,—go more. What is romance? whence
comes if? Plato spoke to the subject wisely, in
his quaint way, some two thousand years ago,
when belaid, “Man’s soul, in a former state,
was wfeged and soared among the gods; and
so it comes to pass, that, in this life, when the
soul, by the power of music or poetry, or the
sight of beauty, hath her remembrance quick
ened, forthwith • there is a struggling and a
pricking pain as of wings trying to come forth,
—even as children in teething.” And if an old
heathen,./two thousand years ago, discoursed
thus gfitvely of the romantic part .of our na
ture, whence comes it that in Christian lands
we think in so pagan.a way of it, and turn the
whole care of it to baiiad-m&kers, romancers,
and opera singers?
Let us look up in fear and reverence and say,
“God is the great maker of romace. He, from
whose hand came man and woman, — ile, who
strung the great harp of Existence with all its
wild and wonderful and manifold chords,, and
attuned them'to one another, —iie is the great
Poet of life.” Erery impulse of beauty, of he
roism, and every craving for purer love, fairer
perfection, nobler type and style of being than
that which closes like a prison-house around us,
in the dim daily walk of life, is God's breath,
God’s, impulse, God’s reminder to the soul that
there is something higher, sweeter, purer, yet
to bo attained.
Therefore, man or woman, when thy ideal
is shattered, —as shattered a thousand times it
must be, —when the vision fades, the rapture
burns out, turn not away in skepticism and bit
terness, saying, “There is nothing better for a
man than that he should eat and drink,” but
rather cherish the revelations of those hours as
prophecies and fureshadowibgs of something
real and possible, yet to be attained in the man
hood of immortality. The scoffing spirit that
laughs at romance is an apple of the Devil's own
handing froip the bitter tree of knowledge ; —it
opens the only to see eternal nakedness.
If ever you have had a romantic, uncalcula
ting friendship,—a boundless worship and be
lief in some hero of your soul, —if ever you
have so loved, that all cold prudence, all selfish
worldly considerations have gone down like
drift-wood before a river flooded with new rain
from heaven, so that you even forgot yourself,
and were ready to cast your i whole being into
the chasm of existence, an bffering before the
feet of another, and all for nothing,—if you
IjiWOljt: ■*. -.-i-j'.'i uiiu’urcr.i'ri, r»vui
thanks to God that you have had one glimpse of
heaven. The door now shut will open again.
Rejoice that the noblest capability of your eter
nal inheritance has been made known to you :
treasure it, as the highest honor of your being,
that ever you could so feel,—that so divine a
guest ever posessed yoUr soul.
By such experiences are we taught the pathos,
the sacredness of life; and if we use them
wisely, our eyes will ever after be anointed to
see what poems, what romances, what sublime
tragedies lie around us in the daily walk of life,
“written not with ink, but in fleshy tables of
the heart.” The dullest street of the most* pro
saic town has matter in it for more smiles,- more
tears, more intense excitement, than ever were
written in story or sung in poems; the realty
is there, of which the romancer is the second
hand recorder.
So much of a plea we put in boldly, Because
we foresee grave heads begining to shake over
our history, and doubts rising in reverend and
discreet minds whether this history is going to
prove anything but a love-story, after all.
The Smith Family.
“Gentlemen,” said a candidate for Congress,
“my name is Smith, and I am proud to say I
am not ashamed of it. It may be that no per
son in this crowd owns that a very uncommon
name. If, however, there be one such, let him
hold up his head, pull up his dicky, turn out
his toes, take courage, and thank his stars that
there are a few more left of the same sort.
Smith, gentlemen, is an illustrious name,
And stands ever high in the annuls of fame.
Let White, Brown, and Jones increase as they will,
Believe me that Smith will outnumber them still.
Gentlemen, I am proud of being an original
Smith ; not a Sshthe; nor a Sarin, but a reg
ular natural S-m-i-t-h, Smith. Putting aY in
the middle or an E at the end won’t do, gentle
men. Who ever heard of man by the
name of Smyth or Smith? f Echo answer tr ho,
and everybody says nobody. But as for Smith,
plain S-ii-i-T-n, why, the pillars of fame are cov
ered with that honored and revered name.—
Who were the most racy, witty and popular au
thors of this century? Horace and Albert
Smith, Who the most original, pithy and hu
morous preacher ? Rev. Sidney Smith. Togo
farther back—who was the bravest and boldest
soldierin Sumpter's army in the Revolution? A
Smith. Who palavered with Powhattan, gali
vanted with Pocahontas, and became the ances
tor of the first families in Virginia ? A Smith
again* And who, I ask—and I ask the ques
tion more seriously and soberly —who, I say, is
that man, and what is his name, who bos fought
the most battles, made 1 the most speeches,
preached the most sermons, held the most offi
ces, sung the most songs, written the most po
ems, courted the most women,-kissed the most
girls, and married the moat widows ? History
says, I say, you eav, and everybody says, John
Smith I”
Paddy on Africa.—At a negro celebration
lately, an Irishman stood listening to a colored
speaker, expatiating upon government and free
dom ; and as the orator came to a “period'*
from the highest and most poetical heights, the
Irishman said:
“Bedad, he spakes well for a nagur; didn't
ho no/r?”
Somebody said, “He isn't a negro, he is only
a half negro.”
‘•Only a half a nagur, is it ? Well, if half a
nagur can talk in that style, I'm thinking a
whole nagur might bate the prophet Jeremiah.”
SERENADING.
A youth fell la lovo with a maid.
Each oigbt’neath the window he stood.
And there with bis soft serenade.
He awakened the whole neighborhood.
Bat vainly he tried to arrouse
Her sleep with his strains so bewitching;
While he played in front of the boose.
She slept in the little back kitchen.
A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.
“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.”— Macbeth,
Thou rememher’st
That once I sat within my dormitory,
And heard a tom-cat on a baker’s shed,
Uttering such piercing, unbarmonious breath,
That the load babes grew civil at bis song;
And certain men shot madly from their hearths.
To stop grimalkin’s lonely sounds. *
That very time 1 saw, (but thou coold’st not.)
Running between the bake-house and the shed,
Richard all armed; a certain aim he took
At the black minstrel, throned by the spout;
And loos’d a brick-bat smartly from his hand,
As it should slay a hundred thousand cat^
But didT see young Richard’s semi-brick [
Smash through the chaste panss of a neighbor’s house;
And the serenading pussy passed on, J
In feline trepidation, fancy-free. 1
Yet mark’d I.where the brick of Richard fell;
It fell upon a little tailor’s head—
Before, milk-white; now purple with the wound—
The doctor called it ‘‘fracture of tHe skulL”
[From the Potter Journal.]
SERENADE DE LA GRENOUILLE.
Translated /ram the French of Jean Crnpand and re
spectfully dedicated to J lies C. J/.
The evening shades were falling, and softly fell the
dew.
As I wandered by the brookaide, to think awhile of
you;
One frog alone was “peeping”—one solitary strain—
And it seemed to be the echo of my own heart's sad
refrain.
“Come out, como out, my dearest!”—sosmngthislone
- some frog,
With his head just out of water,-dose by a sunken
log.
“The lizzards have gone sparking, the boys have gone
to sleep,
And not a sound disturbs my soul; then, dearest come
and “peep."
“The boys were throwing stones to-day, but did us no
great harm;
The water now is very cold, but ob toy heart is warm !
Let boys throw stones, bad weather come, let Uzzards
squirm and crawl;
Let trouble come in any shape. 111 shield thee from
them all..
“Ah ! well do I remember, that bright sun-shiny day,
When on this log I rested, to- watch the sunbeams
play:
jTour fairy form came gliding, alOng the peaceful
shore; i
I made a plunge to find you, but never saw-you more!
“Come, dearest, come ! I'm waiting, oh, why so dong
delay ?
Oh, haste thee! haste and let’s he happy while we
may;
I'll whisper love’s soft whisper—Til give thee love’s
soft kiss— *
And every fleeting moment shall bring an age of bliss.
“Alas ! alas I I fear me, your heart—oh.grief untold—
I s given to another fmg—all female hearts are cold—
Good night, good night, Frunclila, I love to breathe
your name.
And though your heart another’s is. 111 love you all
£ *' , C"rnmandfz qn’on rnu* aimr, et rou» scrcz rime, ’ IS
perhaps too freely rendered in this line.
DER DYCHMA2TS SERENADE.
'T vas a gool night, un dcr moon he shone
Un I veltall zo sholly un gay. [prighl,
Yen I dought I would go, mine avrections to show.
To a lady tome muzies I'd play.
Zo I dune I up mine vlute, un away I did poot
To dcr house vere mine lofe she hangs out,
Under air it did ring mit der zongs vat I zing,
For at least half a mile rountaponL.
“ It’ll pe a rich dreat to hear muzies zo shvect,"
Dus I zadc to my«olf ash I blayed:
“I’ll ensbant her, py tam, zooch a teer little lamb
I ne’er zaw zince der tay I vas mate.”
Put a zazh dere vas raised, un I vclt quite amazed.
Ash a beat vrom der vindcr dare bops,
Un on'dop of mine grown, mit a splash dumbled down.
Game ayucket of vaUr un fhlops /
A Railroad Colloquy.
“And so, Squire, you don't take a County
paper ?”
“Xo, Major, I get the city papers on much
better terms, and so I take a couple of them.”
“But, Squire, the country papers often prove
a great convenience to us. The more we en
courage the better their editors can make them.”
“Why, I don’t know of any convenience they
are to me.”
“The farm you sold last fall was advertised
in one of thehi, and thereby you obtained a
customer. Bid you not?”
“Very-true, 1 Major; but I paid three dollars
for it.” 1
“And you made much more than three dol
lars by it. Now if your neighbors had not
maintained that press, and kept it ready for
your use, you would have been without the
means to advertise your property. But I think
I saw your daughter's marriage m those pa
pers ; 1 did that cost you anything V*
“No, but ”
“And your brother's death was thus pub
lished, with a long obituary notice. And the
destruction of your neighbor Brigg’s house by
fire. You 8 know these things are exaggerated
till the authentic accounts of the newspapers
set them right.”
“0, true, bat ”
“And when your cousin Splash was gut for
the Legislature, you appeared gratified at his
nephew's defence, which cost him nothing.”
“Yes, yes, but these things are news to the
readers. They cause people to take the paper.”
“No, no. Squire Grudge, not if all were like
you. Now the day will come when some one
will write a long eulogy on your life and char
acter, and the printer will put it in type with
a heavy black line over it; and with all your
riches, this will be done for you as a grave is
made for the pauper. Your wealth, liberality
and all such things will be spoken of, but the
printer's boy, as he spells the words in arrang
ing the types to those saying*, will remark of
you. ‘The poor, mean devil, be is sponging an
obituary 1' Good morning. Squire/'
Poos nrr Proud.—A highwayman undertook
to rob Major Jones, He asked Jones for his
pocket book. Jones refused to yield. High
wayman took Jones by the neck, and under
took to choke him. Jones made fight, and kept
it up for half an hour. At the expiration of
that time, Jones caved, and the highwayman
commenced rifiing his pockets. The contents
amounted to eighteen cents. “Is this all you've
got?” “Every cent.” “What made you fight
so long?*' Didn’t* want to be exposed. Bad
enough to have only eighteen "cents f a great
deal worse to have -the whole world know it.
Rates of Advertising,
Advertisements will be charged §1 per square of 14
lines, one or three insertions, and 25 cents for every
subsequent insertion. Advertisements of less than 14
lines considered as a square. Thesubjoined rateswill
bo charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad
vertisements :
3 XOSTBS. 6 XOSTHS. 12 XOXTHS,
Square, - . $2,50 $4,50 $6,00
2 do. . 4,00 6,00 8,00
i column, - . 6,00 8,00 10,00
4 do. . 10,00 15,00 20,00
Column, . . 18,00 30,00 40,00
Advertisements not having tfaenumber of insertion
desired marked upon them, will be published until or
dered out and charged accordingly, 1
Posters, Handbills, Wall
kinds of Jobbing done in country establiahmci4ts, ex
ecuted neatly and promptly. Jnsticcs’, Constables',
and township BLANKS : Notes, Bonds,Deeds, Mort
gages, Declarations and other Blanks, constantly on
hand, or printed to order.
NO. 41.
It is said of an English judge that whenever
a man was brought before him for any offence,
he was accustomed to ask “who is she t” being
certain that in some way or other, a woman
was at the bottom of the mischief. This story
is related in another form in the Philadelphia
Press;
Lord Bloomfield owed his rise to the incident
of bis having played well on a good violißcello
and his fall was occasioned (of course) by a
woman. "When we say “of course," we are
bound to explain, and do it by anecdote.
Every one who can read has read the ‘Ar
abian Nights' Entertainments," and every one
must be familiar with the name of Haroun
Alraschid, the Eastern monarch. “Once upon
a time,” as the story-books have it, he was sit
ting in his Divan, when the intelligence arrived
that Bis favorite builder, in repairing one of the
minarets of the principal Mosque! had fallen
off the Jadder and broken his neck. Haroun
heard the intelligence, and commanded his
Vizier ito inform him, within twenty-four
hours, who she was by whom this fatal acci
dent bad been caused. Monarch* in the East
are rather absolute, and as the grand Vizier
knew that he would probably be a heatTahort
er if he did not supply the required informa
tion within the time, he quitted the
Divan with a heavy heart. The morrow came
and he was unable to satisfy the Caliph as to
the She who had caused the builder’s death.
As a special favor, be obtained a respite of a
week, and at the expiration of that time, had
been so succssful in his inquiries, that he was
able to go before the Caliph without apprehen
sion. “Well 7” said Haroun. “My Lord,” re
plied the Vizier, “the builder was on the lad
der, and as a beautiful. Georgian slave was
passing in the street beneath him, he turned
round to look at her—his foot slipped,—he
fell down, and was found dead, when your
Highness’ attendants picked him up." “Very
good,” said the Caliph. “I knew that my
builder's death must have been caused by a
she for there never yet has occurred anything
of importance in this world, but a woman was
at the bottom of it.
An Eastern nation has in its annals an ac
count of a thief, who haring been detected in
his crime, and condemned to die, thought of an
expedient by which he might possibly escapa
death. lie sent for the jailor, and told him he
had an important secret to disclose to the ting;
adding that when he had done so, he would be
ready to die. When brought into the royal
presence, he informed the monarch that he was
acquainted with a secret of producing trees
that would bear gold, and craved a trial of his
art. . The king -consented : amT accompahied
came with the priibnef tG n S r fe I SiJ* t l t J priests,
he had indicated, and commenced his incanta
tions. He then produced a piece of gold, de
claring that if sown, it would produce a tree
every' branch of which should bear gold.—
“But,” he added, “this, 0 king, must be bur
ied in the earth by a person perfectly honest.—
I, alas 1 am not so, and therefore I humbly
pass it to your majesty.” The countenance of
the monarch was troubled, and he at length
replied; “When I was a hoy, I remember
purloining something from my father, which,
although a trifle, prevents my being the prop
er person. I pass it, therefore, to my prime
minister.” The prime minister received the
piece of gold with many protestations, and
said, “On my eyes be it, may the king live for
ever !” with many other expressions of devo
tion ; hut finding the king becoming impatient,
he at last stammered out, with great confusion;
“I receive the taxes from the people; and- as
I am exposed to many temptations, how can I
be perfectly honest ? I therefore, 0 king, give
it to the priest.” The priest, with great trem
bling, pleading some remembered delinquen
cies in connection with his eondoct in offering
up the sacrifices. At length the thief ex
claimed, “In justice, 0 king, we should all
four be hanged, since not one of us is honest.”
The king was so pleased with his ingenuity,
that he granted him a pardon.
Thebe is a rale at Oberlin College that no
student shall board at any house where pray
ers are not regularly made each day. A cer
tain man fitted np a hoarding house, and filled
it with boarders, but forgot until the eleventh
hour the prayer proviso. Not being a praying
man himself, be looked around for one who
was. At length he found one—a meek young
man from Trumbull county, who agreed to pay
for his boarding in praying. For a while all
went smoothly,'but the boarding-master fur
nished his table so poorly, that the boarders be
gan to grumble and to leave, and the other
morning the praying boarder “struck 1”
something like the following dialogue occurred
at the table ;—Landlord—‘•'Will you pray, Mr.
Mild ?” Mild—“No, sir„l will not" Landlord
—“Why not, Mr. Mild Mild—“lt won’t pay,
-sir: I can’t pray on such victuals as these.
And unless you bind yourself in writing, to set
a better table than you have for the last three
weeks, nary another prayer do you, get out of
me 1” And that’s the way matters stood at last,
advices. .
The turtle though brought in at a rear gate,,
takes the head of the table.
Better be the cat in a philanthropist's family
than a mutton pie at a king's banquet.
The learned pig did not learn its letters in a
day.
True merit like the pearl inside an oyster, ia
content to remain quiet until it finds an open
ing-
He ■who leaves early gets the best hat.
The papers say there is a great deal of de
mand for women in Oregon, Isn’t there a great
demand-for women everywhere? There arc
plenty of ladies —dainty creatures with soft
hands and soft heads, puffed with hoops in the
lower story and nonsensa in the upper bat
genuine, sensible women, are in demand a!!
ojer creation. They are scarcer than gold. and
better to tie to than the best of State stocks.
Who wax She.
“Thou art the Man.”