- j roO'Tr AGITATOR is published r& jioroins, and moiled to subscribers ir I'fisUs P rice of •■ -J .- 1 ? ! "CpOMaiß PER ANNUM, p?'" xt is intended to notify every f» “"'T [j™ fbr which he has .paid shall £the stemp-“TrHE Oct,’! on th ' mar ; .rtiica. pj .r* • The paper will then oe stopped ■"(iclsstpap | ttlllce bo rece ; Te( j. By this ar 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 tiuarr 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.”