1, W, p eater Proprietor,]
VeSLUME 3.
LI
™WU OF TIB NORTH,
U f%m*d tufty TbmrtAay Mornsng, by
R. W. WEAVER. .
OFFlfS—Upstairs is the tfew Brick buxUm t
On the south side of- Main street, third
Huare bdvw Maria, •
wsSfS^^fv D ? llW,! < er if P^ l
T ° r * 1 ™ time ° f Bub Cri
fifty cent* if. not pait
for a leaa<n No subscription receive)
,■ °|s P cr odthan si* months: no disc-on
Jr"■ c 0 permitted until all arrearages an
" -*d Unless at the option of the editors.
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til be inserted three times for one dorter, ant
twonty-five cents for each additional insortiot
■A \iberal discount will he made to those who a'
artlie by the year
CP* The following is an extract from an
cxceilest humorous poem in the last num
tier oi Grain's Magazine. The poem i:
too long for our columns, but we give the
best pgrt of it, and those" who have a curi
osity for more must consult "Graham."
TIIE UNrtAPPY EOT OF SIR. KJIOTT,
BY JAULS B. t.OWELL.
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knntt,
Krom business snug withdrawn,
Was much contented with a lot
Which would contain a Tudor cot
' Twin twelve feet square of garden-plot,
.And twelve feet more of lawn.
"Hohad laid business on the shell
To give his taste expansion,
And, since no man, retired with pelf,
The building mania can shun,
Knott, being middle-aged himself.
Resolved to build (unhappy elf!)'
A mediteval mansion.
. He called an architect in counsel;
"I want," said he, "a—you know what,
(You are a builder, I am Knott,)
A thing complete Irom chimney-pot
l)own to the very grounr-el;
Here's a half-acre of good land;
Just have it nicely mapped and planned
And make your workmen drive on ;
Meadow there is, and unpland too,
And I should like a water-view,
B' you think you could contrive one ?
(Perhaps the pump and trough would do,
If painted a judicious blue ?)
The woodland I've attended to
(He meant three pines stuck up askew,
Two dead ones and a live one.)
"A pocket-full of rocks't would lake
To build a house of froo-stono,
But then it is not hard to mske
What now a-days is the stone;
The cunning painter in a trice
Your house's outside petrilios,
And people think it very gneiss
. Without inquiring deeper;
My money ltever shall be thrown
Away on such a deal of stone,
When stone of deal is cheaper."
And so the greened of antiques
Was rearod for Kuo t to dwell in:
The architect worked hard lor weeks
In venting all his private peaks
Upon the roof whose crop of leaks
Had satisfied Kluellen ;
Whatever any body had
Out ot the common, good or bat,
Knott had it all worked well in
A donjon keep, w ticro-clnihes might dry,
A porter's hnlge that was a sty,
A campanile slim and htgh,
Too smull to hsng a bell in ;
All up and down and hero and there.
With Lord knows-whats of round and sq.iart
Stuck on at random everv where.
It was a house to make one stare.
All corners and all gabloa ;
Like dogs let Ipose upon a bear,
Ten emulous styles, staboyd with care,
The whole among them seemed to tear,
And all tlio oddities to spare
Were set upon the stables.
Knott wni delighted with a piJo
Approved by fashion's leaders;'
(Only he made tho builder smile,
iiy asking, every little while,
Why that was nailed the Twodoor style,
Which certainly had three doors')
Yot better fot this luckless man
If he had put a downright ban
Upon llio thing in limine;
for, though to quit affairs his plan,
Ero ml"" ''avs. por Knott began
ferfoice accepting uiu S ...r, " 1!tl rurt
All ways—except up chimney ;
The house, though [fainted stone to mock,
With nice white linos round every block,
Some trepidation stood in,
When tempaals, (will petrific shock,
So to speak) made it really rock,
Though not a whit less wooden ;
And painted stone, howe'er well dono,
Will not take in the prodigal sun
Whose beams are never quite at one
With oui terrestrial lumber;
Bu the wood shrank around tho knots,
And gaped in disconcerting spots,
A'nd there were lots of dots and rots
And crautiioe without number,
Wherethrough, as you may well presume,
The wind, like water through a Hume,
Came rushing in ecstatic,
Leaving, in alt three floors, no room
That was not a rheumatic;
And, what with points and squnrea and roum
Grown shaky on their poises,
The house at nights was full of pounds,
Thumps, bumps, creaks, scratcliings, raps
till—'Zounds!"
Cried Kuolt, "this goes beyond all bounds,
I do not deal in tongues and sounds,
Nor have 1 lot my house and grounds
• To a family of Noyeses!"
Bu' though Knott's house was full of airs,
He had but one—a daughter;
And, as he owned much stocks and sharer
Many who wished to render theirs
Such vain, unsatisfying cares.
And needed wives to sew their tears,
In matrimony sought her;
They vowed her gold they wanted not,
Their faith would never falter,
They longed to tie this single Knott
In the Hymerneal halter;
So daily at the door they rang,
Cards for the belle delivering,
Or in the choir at her thoy sang,
Achieving eut-h a rapturous twang
As aether nerves athivcring.
Just at this-time the Public's eyes
Were keenly en the watch, a stir
Beginning slowly to arise
About those questions ami leplies,
These raps that unwrapped mvsieiies
BLOOMS BURG." COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 13, 1851,
• Seratiitky at-Rochester,
And Knott, already nervous grown
By lying qauch awake alone,
And l^tenVig.'sometimes to a moan,
Ant? sometimes to a clatter,
Whene'er the wind at night would rouse
The gingar-bread-wurk on his house,
Or when some treaty-tempered mouse,
Behind the plastering, made a towss
Aboui a family matter,
Began 16 wßhde# if bis wife,
A paralytic hajf her life,
Which made it more surprising,
Might not, to rule him from her urn,
(lave taken a peripatetio turn
For want of exorcising.
Knott knew that cocks and sprites were foes
And so bought iip, Heavon only knows
flow many, though he wanted crows
To give ghosts cause, as I suppose,
To think that day was breaking;
Moreover, what he called his park,
He turned into a kind of atk
For dogs, because a little bark
Is a good tonic ifi the dark,
If one given to waking:
But things went on from bad to worse,
His curs were nothing but a curse,
_ And, what was still more shocking,
Foul ghosts of living fowl made scoff
Ami would not think of going off
In spite of all his cocking.
Changhais, Bucks-counties, Dominiquoe,
Malays (that did n't lay for weeks), i
Polandcrs, Bantams, Dorkings,
(Waivingthe cost, nb trifling ill,
Since each brought in his little bill,)
By day or night were r.ever still,
But every thought of rest would kill
With cacklings and with quorkings ;
Henry the Eighth of wives got free
By a way he had of axing;
But poor Knott's Tudor benery
Was not so fortunate, and he
Still lotind his trouble waxing ;
As for the dogs, the rows they made, |
And how they howled, snarled, barked and
bayed,
Boyomf all human knowledge is;
All night, as wide awake as gnats,
The terriers rumpused after rats,
Or, just far practice, tadghl their brats
l'o worry cast-oft shoes and hats,
The bull-dogs settled private spats,
All chased imaginary cats
Or raved behind the fence's slats
At real ones, or, from their mats,
With friends, miles off, held pleasant chats,
Or, like some folks in white cravats, ]
Contemptuous of sharps and flats,
Sat up and fang dogsolngies.
Of course such doings, far and wide,
With rumori filled the country.side,
And (as it is our nation's pride
To think a Truth not verified
Till with majorities allied,)
Parties sprung up, affirmed, denied,
And candidates with questions plied,
Who, 1 ke the circus riders, tried
At once both hobbles to bestride.
And each with his opponent vied
fit being inexplicit.
Earnest inquirers multiplied;
Folks, whose tenth cousins lately diod, I
Wrote letters long, and Knoll replied;'
All who could either walk or ride',
Gathered to wonder or deride,
And paid the house a visit;
Hutscs were at his pine trees tied.
Mounters in every corner sighed,
\Y idows brought children there thai cried,
Swatms ol loan Seekers, eager-eyed, ]
(People Knott never could abide,)
Into each hole and cramny pried
With strings of questions cut and dried j
From the Devout Inquirer's Guide,
For the wise spirits to decide—
As, for example, is it
True that the doomed are fried or boiled ? J
Was the Earth's axis greased or oiled?
Who cleaned die moon when it was soiled ? 1
llow baldness might be cured or foiled ?
How heal diseased potatoes ?
Did spirits have the sense of smell ?
Where would departed spinsters dwell? j
If the late Zanas SBtiih wijfc well ?
If Earth were solid or a shell ?
Were spirits fond of Doctor Fell?
Did the bull toll Cock-Robin'* knell ?
What-remedy would bugs expel?
If I'aino's invention were a sell ?
Did spirits by \Veb.sSer's system spell ?
Was it a sin to be a belle ?
Did (lancing sentence folks to bell?
If so. thon where most torture fell-
On little toes or great toes ?
If lile's true seat were in tig) brain ?
Did Ensign mean to marry Jane ?
By whom, in fact, was Morgan slain?
•Jould matter Aver "jf*' pwu ?
What would take out a cum,"' B, '" '
Who picked the pocket of Seth Crane,
Of Waldo precinoi, State of Maine ?
Wab Sir John Franklin sought in vain ?
Did primitive Christiana ever train?
What was the tamily name of Cain ?
Them spoons, were they by Batty la'en ?
Would earth-worm poultice cure a sprain?
Was Socrates so dreadful plain ?
What teamster guided Charles wain J
Was Undo Ethan mad or sane,
And c.ould his will in force remain ?
If not, what counsel to retain?
Did Lc Sage Bteal Gi. Bias from Spain? i
Was Junius writ by Thomas Paine ?
Where duoks discomforted by rain ?
How did Britannia rule the main?
j Was Jonas coming back again ?
I Was vital truth upon the wane ?
| Did ghosts to scare folks, drag a chain ?
| Who was our Huldah's chosen swain?
; Did none have teeth pulled without payin',
j Ere ether was invented ?
i Whether mankind would not agree,
' If the universe were tuned in C.?
What was it ailed Lucimly's knee ?
Whether folks eat folks in Feejee?
! Whether his name would end with T. t
If Saturn's rings were two'fo three,
And what bnmp in Phrenology
They truly represented ?
These problems dark, wherein they groped,
Wherewith man's reason vainly coped,
Now that the spirit world was oped,
In all humility they hoped
| Would be resolved instanter;
I Each of the miscellaneous rout
! Brought his, of her, own little doubt,
I And wished to pump the spirits out,
; Through his, or her, owp private spout,
Into his, oi her, decanter.
IT" A poor corset maker, out of work
and starving, thus vented- her miserable com
plaint—"Shatne that I should be without
bread ; I that have STATED the stomachs of
thousands." . t1
17* The actual debt of Pennsylvania is
, *et down at ?40.313,36!t.
Widow Stokes and the Ceasas Taker.
Our next encounter was with an old lady
notorious in her neighborhood for hergarrul
ity and simple-mindedness. Havihg been
warned of her propensity, and being, some
what hurried when we oailed upon her, 'we
were disposed to get through business as
soon as possible, Striding into the houee,
and drawing out our papers—'Taking the
census, ma'am!' quoth we.
'Ah! well! yes! bless your soul, lake a
seat. Now do ! Ara|you the gentleman
that Mr. Fillmore has sent on to take the
: sensii ? I wonder ! well, how was Mr. Fill
more and famiU when you seed him V
We told her we had never seen the Presi
dent; didn't know him fjrom a 'side of sole
leather;' we had been written to to take the
census.
'Well, now, there agin I lover your soul I
Well, I 'spose Mr. Fillmore writ youa letter,
did he? No! Well there's mighty little here
to tako down—times is bard; but it looks
| like people can't get their jest rights in this
I country ; and the law is all for lha rich and
I none for the poor. Did you ever hear tell of
that case my boys has got agin old Simpson?
J Looks liko they will never git to the eend on
I it. The children will suffer, I'm mighty
; afeard. Did you ever see Jndge B . ? Yes I
j Well did you ever hear him say what he's
j agwine to do in the boys' case agin Simpson;
INo I Well,'squire, will you ax bim the
t next time you see him, and write me word ;
j and tell him what 1 say ; I'm nothing but iv
j poor widow, and my boys has got no larnin,
| and old Simpson tuk 'em in. It's a mighiy
hard case, and the will oughtn't never to a
' beon broke, but '
1 Hero we interposed and told the dd lady
j that our'time was precious. After a good
i deal of trouble, we got through with a de
] scription of the members of her family, and
I the 'statistical table' as far as the article
I 'cloth.'
j 'How many yards of cotten cloth did you
j weave in 1850, ma'am ?'
'Well, now!—less see I You know Sally
\ Higgir.s that used to live in the Smith set-
Itlement? poor thing, her daddy druv her off
—pcor gui, she couldn't help it. I dare say.
I Well. Sally she come to stay wi' me when
j the old man druv har away, and she was a
■ powerful good hand to weave, and I did
: think she'd help me a power. Well, arter
\ 'he'd bin here awhilo, her baby hit took
I sick, and old Miss Stringer she undertook to
: help it; she's a powerful good baud, old Miss
j Strings*, on toots. and jeerbs, and sicb like!
j Well, she made a aort'of a tea, as I was
j saying, and stnrgki it to Sally's baby, it got
j wuss—the poor creetur—and she gin it tea,
; and looked like, the mote she gin irlea, the
1 more '
J 'My deftf madam, lamin a hurry; please
| teil mefiow many yards of cloth you wove
tin 1850. I wffnt to got through and go on.'
| 'Well, well, who'd a thought you'd been
so snappish I Well, as I was sayin', Sail's.
| child hit kept gittin wuss, and old Miss
j Siringer, sha kept a givin it the yearb tea ;
; til! at last the child hit looked like it would
| die any how. And 'bout the time the child
I was at its wtist, old Daddy Sykes, he cum
j a ' on g) and he said if we'd git some night
shed berries, and slew tliera with a little
cream and some hog's lard—now old Daddy
i Sykcs is a mighty fine old man, and he gin
j the boys a heap of mighty good couusel
• 'bout that case—boys, says he, I'll tell you
j what you dpi you go and ■
'Old la said we, 'do te'l about your
cloth, and let the sick child and Miss Strin
! ger, Daddy Sykes, the boys and tho law suit
;go to grass. I'm in a hurry.'
'Gracious bless your dear soul ! don't git
aggravated. T wns jist a tellm' you how it
come I didn't weave any cloth last year.'
'Oh, well, you didn't weave any cloth lasl
year. Good I we'll go on to the next .irii
cle.'
I 'Vos! you sco the child begun to swell
and turn yaller, and hit kep a we.il in' its eyes
nnd a moaniii' and I knowed—'
'Never miod about the cliild—just tell
mo the value of the poultry you raised last
| year.'
I 'Oh, well—yes; tho chickens you mean.
I Why, I reckon you uevr in your born days
, see a poor creetur Imve the hick that I did—
i and looks like we never shall have good
i luck agin ; for since old Simpson tuk that
j case up to the Chancory court '
I 'Never mind the oase; tot's hear about
| the chickens, if you please.'
I 'liless you, honey, lha owls destroyed in
and about the best half that 1 did raise.—
Every blessed night they'd come and set on
the comb of the house, and hoo, lion, and
one right in particular, I remember, I had
just got up for the night-shed salve to 'int the
little gal with '
' Well, well, what was the value of what
you did raise?'
'They got so bad—the owls did—that they
tuk the old hens as well's the ohiokens. The
night 1 was telliu 'bout, I heard somethin'
s q u-a 1-1, s-q-u a-l-l, and says I, I'll bet
that's old Speck, that uastv oudacious owl's
got; for 1 seen her go to roost with her I
chickens, up in the plum tree, fornenst the
smoke house. So I went to whar old Miss
Stiinger was sleepin', a"d says I Miss Strin
ger I Oh Miss Stringer I sure's you're born,
that stinkin' owl's got old Speck out'n the
plum tree I Well, old Miss Stringer she
turned over upon her side like, and 'aye|ehe,
what did you say, Miss Stokes? and says
1 '
We began to get very tired , and signified
the same to tho old lady, and begged she
i would answor us directly, and without cir
cumlocution.
Trath tad W*UU--od coaatry.
'l.o*fe your dear hbarf, fidney, I'm tellin'
you as-fast as I.kin. The owls they pot
worse and worse; and after they'd swept old
Speck and all her gang, they went to work
Oh 'tolher; and Birytnt (that's one of mf
boys) he 'lowdu hifd shoot the pester Some
creators—and so one night arter that, we
hwarn one holler, aed Bryant, he tuk the ole
musket and went out, and sure enough,
there was owley, (as ho thought) a settin'
on the comb of the house: so he blazed
away, anrf down cotbe I what on airth
did come down, do you reckon, when Bry
ant fired ?'
•The owl, I kuppose.'
'No sich thing, to sich thing I tho owl
warn't thar. T* at my old house oat came a
tumblin' down,*(HMini sputterin, and scratch
in', and the fur a (lyi'i*ey time she Jump
ed, like you'd ■ busted a feather feed open !
Bfyant he said, the wUy he. sons to shoot
the cat instead ofthe owl, he seed somethin
white '
*'Mrs. Stokes I give me the value of your
poultry, or say yeu wilLnot! Do one thing
or the ether.,
'Oh, well, dear love your heart, I reckon
I had last year, nigh about the same as I've
got this.'
'Then tell mo how many dollars worth you
have now, and the thing's settled.
'l'll let you tee for your self,' said the wid
ow Stokes ; and taking an ear of con\ out
of a crack between the logs ot the cabin,
and spelling off a handful, she commenced
scattering the grain, all the while screaming,
or rather screeching—'ch'ck—chick—chick
- chick-ee—chick ee— chick-ee chick ee—
ee I' <
Hard they dame, roosters, hens; pullets,
and little chicks—eroding, ckckling, chirp
ing, flying am] fluttering against her sides,
pecking a' har hands, and creating a din
and confusion altogether indescribable. The
old lady seemed delighted, thus to exhibit
her feathered 'stock,' and would occasiona
bly exclaim—a nice passal, aiut they a
nice passal!' But she never would say
what they were worth ; no persuation could
bring her to the point ; and oUr nnpers .at
Washington contain so estimate or the val
ue of the widow Stefces' poultry, though, as
she said lierself, she had 'a mighty nict pat
tel.'
r
The late .Mrs. Stephen Girard.
A colemporary, says the Ledger, calls
public attention to tie propriety of having
the body of Mrs. tlirard interred in tho col
lege grounds vijjnMsMof tier husband, to
marking, that the ismarit* of >lrs. Franklin
were consignetHoii* same tomb in which
rested those of t)f.~T*ranklin. and observing
also that the sage otnncils of the wifo may
have contributed fortune of the foun
der of die ' College for Orphans." Tho al
lusion to Mrs. Uirtrd is every way unfortun
ate, and can meet with no responsive gym
pathy front tHoaa—Wbo admire the social
character of her spelto, <0 whoso jealous
temper she fell a member victim, in tho
heyday of his prosperity; cruel treatment
it is alleged, having allocated her reason,
and as a consequence of which she became
an inmate of the irifeane department of the
Pennsylvania Hospital, in whosa grounds
she was buried, for the consideration of
S2OOO, paid thai institution by her opulent
husband. The bookagjLlhe Hospital show
that Mary Girard yrzs admitted an insane
psliont on tbe sisi August, 1790, where she
died on the 13th Septfmber, 1814. Mrs. Qi
rard's maideu name was Lum Seven
months after her admission into the Hospi
tai she gave birth to a duughter, who was
baptised by the nemo of Mary, and this was
the enly child of 6is*d, who died in its ir
fancy. Tho deranged mir.d of the wife was
alleged to have been produced by cruel
treatment, as wittmssed by many of his
neighbors. It is certain that slander pursued
her to her grave, and that this slander was
invariably traced to a jealeus husband, who
ha I married one only too beautiful.
Riseof-Meu of Eminence.
Mr. Disney, member of Congress from
Ohio, was formerly a house-painter; Sena
tor Dickinson worked at a mechanical trade
until after he aitablWi his majority; H. L.
Turney, U. S. Senator from Tennessee, and
Andrew Johnson, Representative fom the
same Slate, were and are tailors; and there
are in Congress many others who are me
chanics. uen. Houston worked at his trade
as a hatter until after he was twenty one.
Justice McKinley, ot the U. S. Supreme
Court, was a carpenter and joiner. The his
tory of Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman,
Gen. Greene, Gen. Putnam, ami hundreds of
others who Uavo been elevated to stations
of honor, are full of instruction, and worthy
of emulation by the youth of the present
generation.
BT A talkative member of Parliament
was reproaching one of his colleagues for
not having opened his mouth during the
whole session.
"Von are mistalwn," he replied, "for I
yawned through all Your speeches."
Pcmmvlvania has kept her rank in the
1 Union better thaiwiuy other State. She was
1 the second State in sho still holds
> the same position' white all around her have
1 bean phasing.. <[(|
Judge Chapman hae pronounced eentence
t of death an Goorge Pbareah, *t Chester, for
- the murder of Mie* Sharplers. The day pi
execution is not fixed.
e—e—e—ot
Extreme U action;
| Ot the Horse Jockey's Spiritual Adviser.
t A noted horse jockey in Connecticut, who
f had, by his profound knowlodge of Horse
-9 ology, and various arts and sciences 'adja
9 ceat thereto,' accumulated a considerable
9 property, was a great hypochondriac, and
, exaggerated every slight disorder that altack
> ed him, into a dangerous disease.—Some
j of his neighcors were uncharitable enough
, to assert that his conscience made him trem
. ble at tho slightest menace of ileatq. It is
certain that whenever he was laid upon his
bed with sicknes, lie began straightway to
I talk loudly of his approaching dissolution,
and bored bis friends and neighbors with -
querclous complaints—Onco when sick, an
old confederate who had travelled with him
and aided him in spoiling the Egyptians in.
jtSO county of the State, called to see him.
This friend comprehended the nature of his
complaint at once, and requested the family
to allow him to manage matters in his own
way a day or two. He changed the tacttcs
which others hail previously employed, and,
instead of prophesying in smooth things, he
out-Ileroded Herod in croaking over his
friend's maladies, and soon prouounced him
a dying man. From time fo lime he drop
ped in, and so worked upon his feeling that
he brought the diseaso to a cri>is.
He called upon him the second day about j
noon, and taking his sick friend's wrist be
tween his fingers, he shook Ins head mourn- j
fully, ami with a tear in his eyo he murmur j
®d, —'Poor fellow, it will soon be over.' j
' This is hard, Earn,' said tho sick profes ]
sor of and he groaned in bitter- t
ness of spirit.
'Hard enough,' said Sam : 'just as you've
, go this nice farm paid for. Your boys'll
i raise tho devil with it when you are gone.'
i 'Oh—oh!'
t 'What's the matter?'
'Oh, suclt n pain shot through mo !'
i 'Hain't you got anything on your mind
- I that you want to say—pretty soon. l Tlia t last
[ horse you sold for a colt was as old as a man, 1
1 you know.'
Oh, no! Sam, I've nothing to say—that is, I
i I've got so much to say that it's no use to I
try.'
'Sam !'
'What.'
'Can't you—can't you pray for me?'
'Well, It's something that ought to be dtp*?
' and I think I'll try.'
'Sam knelt down, and the /nek one cov
ered his bead with tho blanket,, and fairly
writhed in agony of soul. Sam began,
keeping due co'rcor of an eve upon the
bed.
'Oh Lord, thy servant that's now lying tick ]
| on the bed, having burnt out the cundle of
■ life in the service of the devil, (groans from
j the blanket) is now desirous of throwing
j the snuff into his Maker's face, (sick one
I peeps out.) He lies here a broken down
| nag, spavened, ring boned, and heavy, and
j Thou knowestthat he has fit"" 1 tho hardest
1 colls in this neighborhood—(blanket jsrkcd t
! down convulsively. Thou kitowest, Lord,
that ho has been one of the greatest liars,
(heightened color in the sick man's face,)
and cheats, (fist doubled under the blanket,)
. and the d—est horse jockey that ever trotted
over thy footstool.'
'lt's an internal lie, you scoundrel!' said
the reviving patient. 'You're a cus-ed sight
worse than I ever could be !' and he leaped
trom the bed. 'You cheated me twice your
sell, you cussed hypocrite ! ( roarviFtlte furi
ous invadid, ami he fairly turned his friend
, out of doors.
i The horso-jockey was abroad the next day
ud soon commenced sending his boys to
i school, and reforming his own manner of
I life. He was changed from the very hour
i that the prayer was made a t his bed side,
[ and lived and died a bettor man.
) ' The fruits ofthe Protective system.
I One of the men to whom the destiny of j
the Union is committed, has eulogized tho I
English system ns the perfection of all so- j
cialgovernment. "Where is tho workshop;
of the world—there is the heart of woalth
commerce, nnd power." This is not the |
I etude sentiment of Mr. Corwin. it is a can- !
on of public faith with the party who now i
govern our country. Ftir if they puff and
pray, and become sanctimonious and lie. It
is the Shibboleth of their worship, the cor
pus to their state crall, and the limit to their
oapacity. Twice the Union waß perilled by
it before, a-.td now again it disputes tho pre
dominance in the chaldron of cant and fa
naticism, which menace a similar rosult.
Let us have workshops; workshops in Illin
ois; workshops by the Columbia; work,
shops on the Blue Mountuins; workshops on
the Alleghaniea; workshops by the Bait
Lake ; workshops everywhere, no matter a:
whafcost, no matter how much to the det
t rimeut of other interests! Workshops,
r workshops! Let as, in a word, be Anglo
, Saxon—Anglo Saxon in language, in blood,
in race, in customs, in feelings, in heart, in
[ furnaces, in bellows-blowing, in spinning
jennies ! Grind ! grind ! grind ! Let the
world go round, be the hinges ot the engine
oiled, and the cogs kept iri limber order. In
B i the bowels of the earth let manhood and
8 j womanhood in barbarous nudity be bound
' down to perpetual toil, perpetual tgnoranoe,
° and nerpetual beastliness. Maim, distort,
rerippis, dwarf lb* young and the old, tout
a and body; but make money—create for
r I yourself the "heart of wealth, commerce
if | and powerimitate Foglsnd Democratic
I Rmnu
I • •
From Ike Albany Dutchman
<"Tls Distance Lends Enchantment to the
View."
Marriage is very often like a now country
—more pleasant for the miqd to dwell on
than fertile parlies to dwell in. What ap
pears at a distance a> merely a relief to the
landscape, too frequently turns out to be bar
ren wastes aud uncultivated morasses. The
eccentricity of tho lover often becomes
hatefuluess in the husband, while the love
of music in the mistress is discovered in the
wife to ba only a fondness for idleness, and
a dislike of kitchen dmies. Now as what
ever disappoints our 'expectations increases
our hato, it would be wise for those who
contemplate white vests and wedding rings
to look well to the pertnor that they aro se
lecting for "the voyage of Tho young
man that is "everything nice'" in a cotillon,
may be so.changed by tho tea and sugar
statistics of house keeping nS to become
1 "quite another individual;" while the same
young lady that is a perfect angel in a polka,
may subside into the sulks the moment she
gets the minister to tie your hands together.
It has often beon said that disscntions be
tween married people generally take their
rise from very inconsiderable circumstances ;
to which we will add, that the better bred
the parties are, the more extended will be
the effect of their dissections. The same
j impropriety that a pair of ®vulgar jieople
j would settle with two smoothing-irons and a
I broomstick, will so estrange agentleman and
i lady of refinement that nothing but a divorce
I can reconcile lliem, either to themselves or
I society. Mrs. Forrest lost her husband's af
| factions by calling him a liar, —an offence iri
■ Mrs. Matlony thai her husband would have
adjusted by throwing the table at her head.
This touhytiess of well bred people may
seem odd, but the difficulty is easily solved
Persons of this character look upoi the tie
matrimonial with so much delicacy, that the
smallest possible offence becomes magnified
into a mountain, while trifles, light as air, is
j sufficient '.o embitter a whole life with die
■ sentiuus and resentment. Again we repeat,
jbe careful in your selections. If yon don't
. wish your wife to call you a liar, be more
j particular in the selection of your mistress
| Remember, people never improve after
■ marriage. The gill that's insolent to her
I parents, will be very apt to give "sass" to
her husband.
The Suicide of one-eyed Thompson.
The followiag letter is published in the
N. Y. Herald :
.Letter from Thompson to hit Wife. —Wife of
my soul. Divinity of my affections, my pa
tient, enduring, gentle and aflaclionates Ma
ry, ere this meets your eye, I trust that eter
lal repose will have settled upon your unhap
py husband. Were this new charge my on
ly trouble, I oould certainly overcome it. Of
all the complaints made to my prejudice, it
could be the most easily defeated, for at the
Very lime, half past seven o'clock, when
Gates sweats lie saw me in New York, 1
was in D.\ Rice's store, as he recollects, end
previous thereto, for an hour you end others
know me to have been in Brooklyn. But,
my Mary, I am sick of life, so much so that
lam incapable of longer continuing it. I
have lost all hopes of being a benefit to yon
and our little ones—a hope that alone has
sustained years of wretched existence, and
made mc capable of meeting and defeating
more than most men similarly circumstanced
conld have done I know, dearest Molly,
that you will suffer for a lime by my loss
Not only, sweet one, through your affection
for me, but upon you will devolve the care
of our family. Cheer up—waste no time
mourning for one who is unworthy of you.
To you, it was a hard fate that joined our
fortunes. Once away, and kind friends will
protect you. Your repuation has nevor been
assailed, aid no woman ever possessed a
purer or belter nature, as all who know yon
: will bear witness Do not increase your suf
j feriegs by supposing my last moments to bo
j peculiarly miserable. lam almost restrain,
j ed. sweet wife, from giving wo-ds to my af
fection. and disposed to write coldly, for fear
|of too powerfully affecting you. I have
more regard for your tears than for my own
blond ; and. if f could, would welcome ai'e
ternily of torture, if by so doing I could se-'
cure yonr hapffiness. Again, I say, death
for me. apart from considerations of you and
our children, has no terror. I have no fear
of it, and a hereafter I leave to the Divine
Mystery that crented me, and to whom I
can owe no responsibility. My destiny is
fulfilled, and the Great Creator cannot mis
take the purposes of his mechanism.
On my breast, nearest the heart that has
beat for you alone, place a look of your hair, j
with the one I preserved of my father's, to ,
gether with our children's, so that with my I
dost may assimilate a portion of the dust of
those whom I have loved so well.
I should like to be buried in New Jersoy,
in the burial ground of my uncle, but do not
Rar e—spend no means unnecessarily on my
body—for remember that all places sre a
like indifferent to it But lam getting fool
ishly proijx upon a subject tha.t must be pain
ful to you.
Sweet wife, recollect that the duration of
a human life it but a smull drop in the buck
et of eternity. A few years, and all now
living will cease to be—your dearest self in
cluded. Then spend no time in use'ess re
pining ; live for your children—and the chil
dren of eucn a mother will be a blessing to
het.
My last aet may appear selfish—do leave
j vou alone to fight your way through a rude
"'^l*
mjwEfm?.
■ ' . . *V" *?: '
world; but it i not so—l know ano 1 fe"
that ultimately it will bo to y >ur advantage
Lovo in strength, and the power of ki;iJirese
most cflicieut. Witli thrust for cut I hove
t fought the world, and been A loner, even
when victorious. My judgment ho* been at
fault, ami my philosophy erroneous. b wot
the fault of my organization and education;
, your nature it fortunately different—it is mjld.
( aid affectionate. You conciliate and make
, friends of all who appioaoh you ; and when ♦
j the dragon is out of the way, friends wil|
I not fear to prove themselves so.
The little of happiness that I have known,
s I owe to you. In your presence alone hqve
, 1 found lifo endurable. My offences against
, you I will not ask yuu to forgive or fojgo|—
yog have dono so.
, Our children, my hoys,.hear the words and
heed the advice of a dying father—be oaro
'r fnl of your mother; obey and be directed
. hy her. My sweet Rebecca, make your
, mother your model. My children ail, re
member that I have used every effort to in
, sil into your minds a lovo of truth—that no
matter how the world estimates me, you
know me to be an affectionate and oareful
. father. To you I have never uttered an un
truth, and if you prove wor.hy ol the care I
have bestowed upon you, I have not lived
in vain. Love one another. I never allow
ed you to tell tales of each otnor, for It en
genders hatred ami ill will; when disposed
to be ugly or qnarrelsr me, let a remem
brance of mo recall you to yourself. The
world will, for a time, persecute you on my
account; but care not—endure it patiently :
prove that you are honost ami truthful, and
all good moil will sustain you ; recollect that
I know every departue from the virtuousand
correct to be attended'with punishment—in
some \ray it is sure—either by encouraging
injurious habits, wrong thinking, or by brin
ging upon you the condemnation of you
fellow beings; all this 1 have frequently ex
plained to you; if you love me, prove that
you have not forgotten it. With you am*
your mother is my last breath. Anxiety on
your accounts is the only bitterness I feel,
flood bye, my Richard, Billys sweet Rebec
ca, and my brave little Josey. God-help and
protect you !
Sweet Wife—as I wrote, a passing whim
made me speak of Jersey. I entreat you, •
as you love me, to heed it not—dispose of
my body in the most economical way. You,
the living, require all the little means you
inay possess—l, nothing. Sweet panner,
good bye—fare you well. Think of me as
little as possible; with the eflort you can do
tr. occupy yonrrmiitrwirn uum suujmis.
[IVe omit a few lines containing a me
nioiandum of a 'cu* sums amounting to less
than a hundred dollars, due hirn mostly for
pamphlets, &c. After mentioning tho names
of several Brooklyn friends, the letter contin
ues] —
For you I entreat their friendship: and
one other act of kindness to me—that they
will forgive one whose folly has not been
Irom a bad heart, but from an unbalanced
bra '°- WM. B. THOWPAO*.
ty Jerry Cartstakes was one evening re
tailing his day's experience to a cluster of
delighted neighbors—among other things,
said he, 'Squire Brown has been down here
to see me to-day, and he fetched that little
black dug of his'n along with him. Why
that critter ain't bigger than my two lists.
Well, jou see, the Squire wanted me to go
out to the corn house, and 1 wau't minding,
you see. and when I came out I locked the
little critter in. Well, if you'll believe me,
that little rogue vat up a ham of bacon that
weighed thirty pounds, and a leaf of bread
that hud a perk of meal in it, and then
crawled out through a knot hole.'
r ATIONAL —A man residing in a New
England town, at some distance from a near
relation, received a message one cold eve
ning in November, to hasten to his resi
dence, as he was in a dying state. When
he arrived, he was told.lhat his reason jhacl
entirely left itim. The sick man presently
turned his head, saying iu a faint voice,—
'Who is that
He was informed that if was his relative
who had been sent for.
'Oh !' said he, 'he must bo cold. Make
him a good warm toddy—yes, hot toddy.'
'I guess he ain't crazy,' said *.he visitor,
'he talks very rational.'
| ty A certain traveller was recounting
I with an air of truth several incredible things-
I when acute Vnrmouter present, exclaimed,
| '-Dew tell! But it ain't much nrter all.
! Why. a euckemslauce happiu'd up there "in
! our village, that takes il down all holler."J
| "What was it, Seth?" asked one of the
| company.
"Our organ," replied Seth, with a face so
I sober that every one know something rioh
I was coming, "our organ, the organ of our
i meetin'ous, it imitated thunder so nuteral
j one day, that it curdled all the tuilk for five
I miles round!"
T3TMA. MOUSE. M. C., from Louisiaua,
l thinks newspapers have deteriorated for the
. 1 last ten years, and if high postage will stop
their circulation, (i will bo better .lor the
public. Mr. M. livos away down ou the
Bayou Teobe, where the only newspapers
are printed ou the skins of dead alligators,
where whiskey is two cents a quarr, where
the gospel don't shine but once in seven,
years, and where every man who can read
, and write is sent to Congress, to the Legis
, lature, or to the Penitentiary.