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God. what paroxysms of grief must have baptized her soul in its awful agony.— Had the wish of Nero been applied to the earth, she would have exulted in its desecration, only that she would thereby been robbed of her re venge. It: was night. Claire Leslie was alone in the spacious parlor of her new dwelling, a weary hearted watcher beside the oaken casement. The clock tolled forth the mid•nrght hour, and yet she was alone. Where was 'Gordon Leslie that his young wife should be awaiting his re turn at this late hour ?—Alas ! where ? Since his marriage he had plunged more deeply than ever in the whirlpool of sin and dissipation. He had soon wearied of the quiet monotony of home, and ,now he seldom passed an evening there. Why should he slay home. There was no love existing between himself and Claire, and though they breathed no word of murmuring, yet they knew the misery within each others hearts. Could Claire Leslie look up foully, and confidingly to her husband, for protection Mid counsel ? or could I iordon Leslie gaze into the depths of his wife's sparkling. eye with con fidence and truth ?—Alas, no ? Those two per jured beings felt the utter desolation of their condition in all its bitterness; and yet, they rushed on wildly towards their ruin. Revenge was their watchword, and they resolved to sa tiate themselves in its depths 'till their souls were relieved by its baptism. Alas ! what changes a few short months can create., One year ago would we have believed the gentle Claire Willis would so soon become the guilty being we now behold her ? Verily, we cannot trust our own hearts. Far down within their bidden depths lurks treachery and deceit we dream not of. It becomes us to " watch and pray continually lest we enter into temp , ation." It was very beautiful, that calm bright morn ing in early June. Trains of whiterobed maid ens, and smiling swains passol up the flowery lane leading to the little village church on the green sward. White haired old men came leaning on the vigorous arm of youth. Middle nged men and women, and giddy light-hearted children were there assembled in the little church awaiting the opening of the drama.— The village pastor too was there looking calm and happy surrounded by his numerous flock: A slight rustle was heard, and Ernest Du rand and Alice Layton passed up the aisle, and paused before the holy man of God. Very happy looked Durand as the tiny trembling hand was placed within his own. And Alice. oh ! how gloriously beautiful did she look ar rayed in the simple white muslin, looped up front the floor with pure white rosilools. A veil fastened by a wreath. of tilt! same sweet buds, confined the dark tresses batik from oil her brow. A world of happiness beamed from the liluid depths of her clear blue eyes. . Alt! radiantly beautiful did she look, and there was many a gallant in that assembly who envied Durand the privilege of clasping that lilt} hand within his own, and breathing such holy vows at her shrine. The ceremony was ended, and they knelt in prayer. The solemn tones. of the minister fell in measured accents on the ear ; invoking a blessing to rest on tho.:e young heads. A hushed stillness reigned in that room, for every one of that throng felt themselves in the presence of their God. The low tones of the minister died away, when the door was thrown widely open, and a -tall pale figure advanced on the aisle. " Ernest Durand," and Gordon Leslie's voice sounded unnatural and hollow, " Ernest Du rand thy time has coins ; prepare to meet thy God ! Alice my revenge is come at last." With the look of a denion he drew a revolver. .A quick report rang through that sacred room. a groan, a stifled sigh, and the good and noble Durand was no more. A pale stiffened corpse was left on earth, but in heaven a happy glori fied spirit was basking in the sun-light of God's presence. All this was but the work of a moment, and ere any one could interfere, that quick report Tang out again, and Gordon Leslie s guilty per jured soul was ushered into the presence of its Judge. A murderer and still more dreadful. a self murderer, guilty and unrepentent, he had gone to answer for his many crimes, to meet the spirit at the tribunal bar. that he had sent unwarned to an endless eternity. Months had passed away. Alice Durand sat nlone in the stillness of her little room. In her desolate heart lay the blackness of intense dark ness. Long days of wasting disease, had wrought a fearful change on her fragile form. The rose-tint-had left her cheek and the lustre fled her eye. A spiritual loveliness marked her whole being, for she had found in the waking up of that dear life-dream, a precious boon inure valuable than the richest gems earth can afford. She had found the grace that passed* under standing, and she knew that Ernest Durand's immortal spirit awaited her in heaven. his spirit presence was always with her to minister to her grief fraught. soul. Earth possessed not one charm to woo her to its tickle pleasures. What were all its giddy whirling scenes to her, who had loved as only such spirits as hers can love, and had lost, lost forever, as far as earthly prospects are con cerned. It was a dark stormy day in December, the heavens were veiled. in leaden clouds, and the rain swept swiftly along the mountains and valleys. • But Claire Leslie little heeded the drenching torrents, that fell-upon her uncovered head. Backward and forward, through that silent churchyard her tall ghost-like figure wan-. dere/ Now kneeling low over Ernest Durand's quiet grave, clasping the white marble to her bosom, breathing a wild prayer for death, and, then away in a distant corner, over the grave of the suicide, cursing and taunting. But that heap of dust could not be injured by the curses of the maniac, for such she was, the light of rea son had become extinct, and the wild vagaries of a lunatic taken its place. There was no resting place for her—not ono bright spOt over the waste of waters - whereon she might repose in confidence and trust, froM the awful remorse that haunted her spirit. She felt that she was the cause of all : the awful guilt rested on her heart, and no wonder the light of intellect died out. Let Ns pause a moment and listen to her words as she bends above that lowly grave. " Gordon Leslie, I never loved you, in my soul I dispised you but I thought revenge would be sweet: Ernest Durand I worshipped. and you were his murderer you it was who caused that life blood to stain the little church, and mark me, you shall pay the penalty !" With a hollow laugh, she drew a small jewelled dagger from her girdle, and whirling it over her head, thrust it into the air •at the imaginary form before her. " Ila ! you may cry for mercy, but it will be in vain. You murdered him, and I have murdered you."— Then she turned away, and sought the grave of Durand, and setting herself he sang iu a low solemn voice : " Ernut, I loved thee, but thou wert untrue: Thy love was as fleeting as the mid-summer dew. Thy vows were forgottonyott heeded them not, You left me in sorrow to mourn my sad lot. You knelt to smother, and left at her shrine The pledges once giVen end offered at mine. And 1 wed another. and voived to adore, When I know that I never could love again more lie thee, oh, heaven ! even now thy life's bleed Is crying for revenge before the great God, But thou art avenged—he has an,wered his guilt, In Ids heart. I have buried this blade to the buil. lie erieiffor mercy, but his cries were in vain ; I laughed at his pleadingl, find mocked at his pain. I have cursed hint, and left his body so cold, Nl'here the raven and vulture their wild reveli, bold. ! Ernest. they call me the maniac, now, They marvel the shadows that cover my brow. They know not the sorrow that covers my soul, They know not the guilt that o'er it did roll. Thou art in heaven, but I cannot go there; They would nu'er ope' the gate to admit crazy flake But I see thee, hear thee, I know thou art neat% I know that thy, spirit is lingering here.'' Claire Leslie's wild song ended, and she arose from the ground and slowly took her way towards home, ever, and anon, murmuring wild unmeaning words. And this wasted wreck was the once gifted and brilliant Claire Leslie. Who shall sap that this was not the retribution of Gal.:— " Vengeance is mine," saith the Lord, and she haul not regarded this injunction, and as her re ward, li,er reason had been taken from licr, and the proud and gifted woman had become the wandering senseless maniac. It. was a bright June morning, the anniver sary of Alice Dnrand's bridal day, and she sat within her little room what scenes came up to her view. But think you she repined, and passed her time in unavailing woe ? No ! The midnight of agony had gone by : and the thonght only of a re-union in heaven with the departed. But Alice's revery Was suddenly broken by a soft tap at the door : she hastened in open it. when Paul Willis handed her a note and departed, she hastily broke the seal and read— "Injured but forgiving Alice Come to me quickly ! Oh ! do not refuse my prayer! lam dying, but I cannot go without your forgiveness. I have bitterly wronged you, and can you, will you forgive me. I could not betir to see you the wife of livrand; fur, oh I loved him so intensely, I sought revenge, but oh ! God, that, I should be so 'guilty ; but I cannot write, my eyes grow dim and my limbs are growing cold.. Haste thee, I pray, to my side, that I may beg forgiveness ere it be too late !" CLAIRE.LESLIR. Alice Durand hastily equipped herself and started on her journey. There was not one moment's hesitation no reluctance to enter the presence of the great destroyer of her life's hap piness. Very softly she entered that darkened cham• her and stood 'in the presence of the dead.-- Yes! Claire Leslie was no more Her reason had returned on the morning of her death, and tyilh it a sense of her guilt. Guilty and unre pentant she had gone to answer for the manner in which she had spent her life. One request only had she left behind. and that, to be buried by the side of Durand: and on that calm bright morning, they robed her in her death robes; and softly lowered the coffin beside the grave of Durand, for Alice would not that the request of the dead should be unfulfilled. They placed It low white slab above the grave, and inscribed thereon-- . " CLAIRE LESLIE—AGED 22. Thy bli p s or bale we leave with God!" Reader, should you ever visit the church yard of old St. Joseph's, pause one moment, and drop a tear of sympathy over the grave of the gifted but erring Claire Leslie. Five years had rolled their wearied round since the events recorded above. It was in Italy. A fair girl was resting in the embrace of death. Those great mild blue eyes Were softly smoothed over the marble forehead.— Beautiful, very beautiful, looked Alice Durand in the calm composure of death, if, the quiet spiritual loveliness that rested on her counte nance could be termed death. Alice had even felt a lingbring intense desire 'to visit Italy. ,Ernest Durand had dwelt on its beauties 'till she had almost fancied herself in the spirit land. It had been the home of some Of the great spirits of her admiration. It was the land of poetry and romance. But she had only reached its sunny bowers to find a grave. The death summons found her ready, and her weary wings were gladly girded for their joyful flight. Her spirit had joined with the loved one in heaven. They laid her down to rest, far from her na tive land, and the hallowed graVe, within the churchyard of old St. Joseph's. Among stran gers in a strange land her last farewell had been breathed, but her soul went just as joyfully to rest in the Presence of the loved one in heaven. Reader is my story sad ? Aye, you. would not call it too sad could you lift the veil and read the history of the hearts beating around you. There is many a life drama being en acted around us, as sad as this. And now farewell. The curtains of night are gathering around, and the azure vaults are thickly gemmed with stars, admonishing me to seek repose ; the day-light rays have faded all, and so dear readers, again good night. WRITE OFTEN Cut out the following and place it in the next letter you write to a dear friend. A moro appropriate poem for ouch eer vice was never written. Write to me very erten, IVrite to too very soon, Letters to me are dearer Than the loveliest flowers in June; They are affeetion':i tenches, Lighting of friendship's hunt., Flitting around the hearLstringe, Like lire-flies in the dump. Write to the in the joyous morn, Or lit the Ouse of evening, When till the day is gone. Then While the t•turs tire braining bright en the until , slit', When thro' the fading forreht, Cold the wild wind sigh. • ltraw up thy little table, Clt,e to the fire, and write: . Write to Inc M,Oll in the morning, writo to me late ut night. 11 . i .10 1110 eery LettcrA nye links that hind Truthful to enell ether, Fettering mind to mind, (..living to kindly Spirits Lusting nod true delight. If ye would Strengthen friendAtip sever forget to write. (Front the Cincinnati Counnerciul.) The 'Devotion of a iVith One of the most remarkable instances on re cord of the unfaltering devotion of a wife to her husband, under the most trying and dreadful circumstances, is given in the history of the Monroe tragedy, in Coles county, Illinois. A. Monrre killed his father-in-law—Ellington --in a field, in which Ellington struck the first blow. Public opinion was so savage against Monroe that the Court, and even the attorneys for the defence were overawed, and a change of venue, which was begged by the prisoner, was not obtained. The attorney of Monroe feared to apply for it, apprehending murderous de-. signs. on the part of the people.' The trial pro ceeded and the Jury did not dare to find the prisoner guilty of anything but murder in the first degree, and he was sentenced to be hanged, , The Governor impressed that something was Wrong in the case, granted a respite of ninety days, and the mob broke into the jail and drag ged Monroe out and hung him. Amid all this terrible storm of infuriated public opinion, though his wife's father was the victim in whose name the cry for vengeance was raised, and he had been a fast man, having drank hard and kept bad company, Monroe retained the love of his "Nannie" to the .last. When he had been murdered by the mob, she begged for his re mains, had them transported to a burial place, a few miles above Newport on the Licking riv.- er; and there, with her child in her artns, stood the only mourner by his pave. Three days before his' death she wrote to her husband as follows. The person whom she mentions as Pole, is N. b. Aulich, a distant relative of her husband : CumuxsTox. Feb, 12th, 1850 My EyFut DEAR HUSBAND :—llow miserable you must be. My very heart aches for you.— I have not given up yet—l still have hope. I sin now at Mr. Bail's with Pole and Ma. Pole has been a brother to me and a friend to you. I intend to make his home my home, wherever that may hope a good way from here— the farther from here the better. I mth/ rather die to-night, than to stay here among my ene mies, for those who tire your enemies are mine, and your friends are my friends. As soon as I can make arrangethents and get the means, I will leave this town, never to re turn again. May is well. Farewell, but I hope not forever. /subscribe myself your true and devoted wife, NANNIE MONROE, And proud to own it. EWIDAY NOT AN UNLUCKY D.Y. This day, which has been long superstitious ly regarded as a day of ill-omen, has been an eventful one in' American history. On Friday Christopher Columbus sailed on hik great voy- age of discovery . ; on Friday he, though un known to himself, discovered the Continent of America. On Friday, Henry 111., of Eng land, gave to John Cabot his commission, which led to the discovery of North ! Amerida. On Friday, St. Augustine, the oldest town in the ! United States, was founded. On Friday, the; May Flower, with the Pilgrims, made the har- ; bur of Princctowh, and on the same day they signed that august compact, the forerunner of the present Constitution. On Friday, George Washington was born. On Friday. Bunker 11111 was siezed and fortified. On Friday, the surrender of Saratoga was, made ; and on Fri thty, the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown occurred. the crowning glory of the American arms. On Friday, the motion was made in Congress that the United Colonies were, and of rig4ought to be, free and independent. Amer icans surely need not be afraid of Friday. a'Afits. PARTINGTON says that she did not marry her second husband because she loved the male sex, but just because he was the size of her first protector, and would come so good to wear his old clothes out ! HOW THEY MAKE GUNPOWDER. A correspondent of the New York Tribune, in a letter from Wilmington, Delaware, gives the following interesting sketch of the process' by which powder is made at the celebrated mills of Du Pont, in that city : Of course, of the details of the business of the Messrs. Du Pont, even if known to me, I could not make mention, unless by their consent; but the : process of manufacture is in reality no secret ; every book of chemistry treating of it to some extent. All know that gunpowder is composed of saltpe tre, brimstone and charcoal,—though but few have any idea of the .trouble and labor gone through to have these materials of a proper quality. The saltpetre as received at the yards, has the appearance of dirty coarse salt, filled with a short fibrous matter: by a process of refining, 2 or 3 tittles repeated, it assumes the appearance somewhat of fine table salt, in which state it is fit for the powder mill. Great care is also taken to have 'the sulphur pure. But the most labor and forethought seems to be' necessary in procuring the charcoal, which is made of the willow and poplar, the former be-' ing used for the best kinds of powder. To procure suppliv of these woods, the pro- prietors set out yearly,- in every nook and cor ner, trees, which aro hewn down every three years, and the branches are converted into charcoal. This method of procuring the wood gives a singular appearance to the country ; for in many places alongside the roads, or by the ' streams, may be seen old tree trunks standing but little higher than a man's head, and topped only by a bunch of small branches. I saw some trunks that appeared to be forty or fifty ' years old, without a limb bigger than my wrist. The mill buildings in which the materials are ground and mixed, are scattered along the t banks of the stream, each containing a mill. They are built of stone on three sides, with hea-1 vy walls strengthened with piers ; the other side facing the stream, is of wood, and the roof I also slopes toward the stream. The plan of construction is to lessen the damage from explosions ; for, should an explo sion take place, the force would be diverted to ward the stream. The mills consist of two heavy iron rollers on wheels, movinig in a trough. I saw a pair, each of which weighed 15,000 pounds—about seven tons. The mate rials being well mixed up and pulverized in these mills, is slightly moistened, when it is pressed into cakes, till in becomes almost as hard as plaster of Paris. These cakes are then broken up into small pieces and taken to the granulation mill, an op- I oration which, on account of its danger, I was not permitted to see. After granulation the powder is taken to the glazing mill. Here 000 or 700 pounds are put into a wooden'cask, re volving moderately fist for twenty-four hours, there being six or eight of these casks. and close by each were 700 pounds more, ready for ano ther charge. From the glazing mill the powder is taken to the drying house. Here at the time of my vis it, were nearly four tons of powder spread out on trays,—while close by were two furnaces roaring away at the rate of a tom of coal each, in twenty four hours. Danger there was not, yet I could not but think of Sebastopol and the story of its mines. Front the drying house the powder is taken to the packing house, where it is put in barrels or canisters, and thence taken to a magazine, of which there are several, built with the same re gard to non-damage in case of an explosion as the grinding mills.. While standing in one of the packing houses, and just as I had given a kick to a hundred pound keg of powder. intend ed for his excellency Santa Anna, Mr. Du Pont called to a man to bring him some powder in a scoop-shovel, and therein I inspected about a half a peck of powder, destined to knock out of this world some enemy of his said excellency-- Great care is exercised, theyards and the build ings being under the direct and constant su pervision of the firm, and to such an extent is this supervision carried, that one of them vis its the yard every night at one o'clock ; the discipline is more efficient than in the army or navy. BIG GUN Joe Billings, a romancing Yankee, was ono evening seated in the bar mom of a country ta vern in Canada, where were assembled several countrymen discussing various matters connect ed with the • pomp and circumstances of war.' In the course of his remarks, one of them sta ted that the British Government possessed the largest cannon in the world—and gave the di mensions of one he had seen. Joe's Yankee pride would' not allow him to let such an assertion pass uneontradicted. ' Poh, gentlemen,' said he. I won't dony that is a fair sized cannon—but you are a lee tic mistaken in supposing it to be named in the swine minute with ono of our Yankee guns which I saw in Charleston last year, Jupiter that was a cannon, Why, sir, it was so infer nal large, that the soldiers were obliged to em ploy a yoke of oxen to draw the ball in ?' The duce they were !' exclaimed one of his hearers, with a smile of triumph, pray can you tell me how they got the oxen out again • Why, you fool, returned Joe, ' they unyok ed 'cm and drove 'em through the touchhole !' A Sad Warning A young gentleman who had been educated for the profession of a dandy, not having the means to set himself up in business, had turned his attention to loafing, with considerable ability as an ,amateur in that line, was found dead, a short time since, at Gallatin, having evidently died under particularly shocking circumstances. In swallowing a lump of molasses candy, the sticky edible had caught the end of his mous tache and pulled it down his throat, and a pain ful death was the consequence, though the jury could not agree as to whether it was the result of strangulation, or poison by the nitrate of silver in the hair dye with which the moustache was colored. ()7lt is supposed by Dr. Francis that the first person that had the itch was the Devil— hence the title " the old Scratch." Fashionable Women Fashion kills more women than toil and sor row. Obedience to Fashion is a greater trans gression of the laws of woman's nature, a great er injury to her physical and mental constitu tion, than the hardships of poverty and neglect. The slave-woman at her tasks will live and grow old and ,see two or three generations of her mistresses fade and pass away. The washerwoman, with scarce a ray, of hope to cheer her in her toils, will live to see her fash ionable sisters all die around her. The kitChen maid is hearty and strong, when her lady has to be nursed like a sick baby. It is a sad truth that Fashion-pampered women are almost worthless for all the great ends of human life. They have but little force of character ; they have still less power of moral will, and quite as little physical energy. They live for no great pur pose in life ; they accomplish no worthy ends. They are only doll-forms in hands of milliners and servants, to be dressed and fed to order. They dress nobody ; they feed nobody ; they instruct nobody ; they bless nobody, and save nobody. They write no books ; they set no rich examples of virtue and womanly life. If they rear children, servants and nurses do it all, save to conceive and give them birth. And when reared what are they ? What do they even amount to, but weaker scions of the old stock ? Who ever heard of a fashionable wo man's child exhibiting any virtue of power of mind for which it became eminent ? Read the biography of our great and good men and wo men. Not one of them had a fashionable mother. They nearly' all sprung from plain, strong-minded women, who had about as little to do with Fashion as with the changing clouds. MECHANICS. There never was a doctrine more untrue than the now, we trust, almost absolete one, derived from a false distinction of monarchies, that me chanical professions are menial and beneath the station of a true gentleman. The truth is, they are the only professions that have substances and reality and practical utility. All else seem, on reflection, to be mere speculation—ideality— dredming—leather and prunella. The greatest men in the annals of the world—the men that have done most to enlighten it and advance the prosperity of the, human race--have been me chanics. Its directness of mind—the plain good sense these pursuits inculcate, which has led to those immortal discoveries that have enriched and meliorated the condition of the whole human race. Name but an Arkwright, a Fulton, a Watt, a Franklin, a Whitney, eta., and where among the closet men, the academians, the doc trinarians, do you find their equals ? True, Newton, Laplace, Gray, Lussac, etc., have dis covered great principles, but nothing that com pares with the usefulness that has come from the inventions of mechanics' minds. Let the sickly races of a pampered nobility turn up their noses at mechanics as they do at merchants. 'lt is to the working men only that the rod' of empire has been given ; and the revolutions on the globe from which mechanic inventions of steam and the. press, and which is hourly ad vancing with a pace that excites astonishment. proves incontestibly that the progress of mind, of human liberty and civilization, are of me chanics' labor, and indissolubly wedded. PRINTING is a glorious art. It is the sun of the moral world. What would have been our condition without books or newspapers? The Almiiihty was a printer from the beginning. Look up at night at the blazing editorials in the huge sheet spread over the skies. You may read and read again, and still learn new thought and brilliant ideas. Burning stars are types which have been read and instructed all people and kindred from the birth of existence to the present hour. The earth, too, is printed all over. We can not rend the language of the mountains, the oceans, trees, and beautiful flowers ? The pen of the Almighty is traced on them. Is not printing a glorious art? What art can boast of greater antiquity ? Who wouldn't be a printer or an editor, and a working man with God in interesting, elevating and regenerating the human family. Yes, friend, it is a beautillil antique and glo rious cause, one in which none should be asham ed to enlist ; ono which should be encouraged, sustained and reverenced by all. It is a cause in which some of our greatest and most talent ed forefathers and patriots, have labored.-- They, through the instrumentality of this great ind•noble art, the preservative of all arts haye been enabled to hand down to us traces of the bold, untiring and successful effort to free us froth the bonds of tyranny, and serve as bea cons to allure us on to any greater and noble deeds. [JOur devil says that getting in love is some_ what like getting drunk, the more a feller does it the more he wants to. nirlt is a good horse that never stumbles, and agood wife that never grumbles. The Phlen TlmeN. In 1637, there were but thirty ploughs in Massachusetts, and the use of these agricultu ral implements was not familiar to all the plan ters. From the annals of Salem it appears, that in that year it was agreed by the town to. grant Richardson Hutchinson twenty acres of land in addition to his share, on condition that ho " set up ploughing." 1635. A sumptuary act of the General Court prohibited short sleeves, and required the gar ments to be lengthened so as to cover the arms to the wrists, and required reformation in im moderate great breeches, knots' of ribbon, broad shoulder bands and tayles, silk rases, double cults and ruffs. 1639._ For preventing miscarriage of letters, it is ordered that notice be given that Richard Fairbanks, his house in Boston, is the place ap pointed for all letters which are brought front beyond the seas, or are to be sent thither, are to be brought unto him, and he is allowed for every such letter hi : and must answer all miscarriages through his own neglect in his kind, provided Butt no man shall be obliged to bring his letter thither unless lie pleases. 1647. The Court ordered, that if any young man attempt to address a young woman with out.the consent of her parents, or in case of their absence, of the County Court, he shall be fined .£4 for the first offence, £lO for the second, and be imprisoned for the third. 1640. Matthew Stanley was tried for draw ing in the affections of John Tarbox's daughter without the consent of her parents, convicted\ and fined fees 2s. Od. Three married wo men were fined ss. each for scolding. 1653. Jonas Fairbanks was tried for wear ing great boots, but was acquitted. PO C K lETS. What about a youngster's dress is he more proud of than his pockets ? Does his mother forget to insert a pocket in his apron, she is quickly reminded of it and obtains no peace un til the omission is supplied. What mother ever finished her boy's first pantaloons without a pocket on either side. And with his legs encas ed iu the little cloth tubes, as ho struts off, where are his hands ? Has his mother lost her thimble, where Gan she find it? Is anything ever suffered to lie loose on the floor, small enough to go into his pocket ? And at a later stage of life, when the world's goods begin to ntt) ac't his attention, and that decidedly human nature commences stealing over him, and his pockets arc larger, and he has more of them, are they less used ? Let the following exposi tion answer. A mother, in a neighboring vil lage, says she emptied her hopeful son's pocket, the other day, and the following articles were' brought to light: Sixteen marbles, ono top, an oyster shell, two pieces of brick, one dough nut, a piece of curry comb, one paint brush, three wax ends, a handful of corn, a chisel, two broken kniveS, a skate strap, three buckles, one ball, two primers. five hen's eggs, and a bird's nest. (Obbli flub er&z. -. Enjoy the little you have while the fool is hunting for more. (0" There is no better looking-glass than an old true friend. 3J Lau g h at no man for his pug nose—you can't tell what may •turn up. • 07'' Come in children, out of the wet,' as the whale said, when he sucked in the little fishes. r;f'Young men should bear it in mind that coat tails, cigars, profanity, tall shirt collars and bluster do not make men. Young ladies should' also remember that feathers, furs, dress, sofa lolling, scandalmaking wearing kids, and talking nonsense do not make the true woman. Pa-The story of a man who had a nose so long that he couldn't blow it without the aid a gunpowder, is said to be a hoax. IJ 7.l 3 novoKixn.—To dream you are hugging an angel; and wake up with the bolster in your arms. (a'A fellow "out West," being asked what made him bald replied that " the gals had pul led his hair out pulling him into their win dows." 11:rAn inventive genius intends applying to patent a machine, which he says, when wound up and put in motion will- chase 'a hog over a ten acre field, catch, yoke and ring him, or by a slight change of gearing, it will chop him into. sausages, work his bristles into shoo brushes and manufacture his tail into cork screws! . (I . lle remember being in a conference meet ing once, in Yankee ltpd, when, one of the dea cons came around, asking the people if they wanted salvatian. . Near us sat a butcher's boy, nineteen years old, about as arner,i'tble to salvation as a lamb in his hands would be to mercy. . Do you want salvation 7. 4 said the deacon, looking into his brutal face. No darn yer--I want Sal Skinner, and the sexton won't let inc take her out till IIICOLIE2:i Over. 0 9 6
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers