THE STAR OE THE NORTE '' 1. IF. Weaver Proprfctor.] : VOLUME 3. roc STAR 0E TUE NORTH Is puUitktd every Thursday Morning, by R. W, WK.-VV Ett. <XFFICE—Up stairs in thcNnc Brick building on the south side of Main street, third square below Market. Term* : —Two Dollars per annum, if paid within six months from the time of subscri ' Aiing ; two dollars and fifty conts if not paid within the year. No subscription received for a leas period than six months : no discon tinuance permitted until all arrearages arc paid, unless at the option of tho editors. Advertisements not exceeding one square will bo iflßerted three times forone dollar,and twenty-five cents for each additionl inser tion. A liberal discount will be made to those ttko advertise by the year. SONG OF LABOR. The workshop must be crowded Thai the palaco may be bright; H die ploughman did not plough, Then the poet could not write. Then let every toil bo hallowed That man performs for man. And have its chare of honor In tho universal plan. , See, light dar'.s down from heaven, And enters wheio it may ; Tho eyes of all earth's people Are cheered with one bright day. And let the mind's Hue sunshine lie spread o'er earth as tree, And fill the souls of men As the waters fill the sea. Ye tnen who hold tho pen. Rise like a band inspireJ, And poets, let your lyres With hope for man be fired : Till the earth becomes a temple, And every human heart Shall join in one grea' service, Each happy in his part. 55AP0 L E 0 X. IJV J. T. HEAM.E*. ONE MortJflSO as I strolled from tho Hotel do Meurice C*ho As'.or House of Paris,) in search o? rooms, I stumbled on an object which for a moment held mo bv a deeper spell than anything 1 had seen in France. In tho Rue Victoire, close beside tho principal baths of the city, stands a small house seve. ral rods from the street, and approached by a narrow lane. Il is situated in the midst of a garden, and was the residence of Josephine *.vhn tho young Napoleon first yielded his heart to her charms. Tho young soldier had then never dreamed of the wondrous ( drsriny that awaited him, nor had surrendered his aoul to that waisting ambition which consu med ovnry generous quality of his nature, and everv pure feeling of his heart. Filled with other thoughts than those of unlimited dominion, an I dreaming of other things than lierco battle-fields, he would turn his foot steps hither, to pour the tale of his affections in Josephine's ear. His heart throbbed mote violently bofore a single look and a single voice, than it ever did amid tho roar of ar tillery and the sound of falling armies. Tho eyo belore which the world quailed at last, and tho prido of kings went down, fell at the gaxe of a single woman, and her flute like voice stirred his youthful blood wilder than the shout of " Vive /' Empereur!" from the enthusiastic legions that cheered him as he advanced.—Those were tho purest days of his existence, and we bcliovo the only happy ones ho ever passed. When tho crown of an emperor pressed his thoughtful fore head, he must have feit that it was beuer to be loved by one devoted heart, than feared by a score of kings. As 1 stood before the humble dwelling, and thought ol the monu ments of Bonaparte's fame that coveted Franco and tho world, I could not but toel how poor a choice ho made afwr all. Sur rendering tho pure joy that springs from aff ection, and tho heaven of a quiet home for the tumult of armies and the crown of thorns which unholy ambition wears, ho wrecked hts own happiness and soul together. He made life one great battle-field, and drove his chariot of war over heaps of slain, and up to the axletrues in human blood, to gain at last—a grave. He could havo had that with out such labor, and one, too, over which does not hang such darkness and gloom as rest on bis. How often, in tho midst of his power, must that voico of singular melody, whose tones, it is said, would arrest him in the midst of tho guyest assembly havo fal. len on his ear like a rebuking spirit, telling him of his baseness, and bringing back faint eohocs of that life ho novor could live again. The Christian cannot tnuso over his many fields of blood without tho deepost execra tion of Bonaparte's character. Tho warrior may recount the deods wrought in that tnigh "• "onfliet, but the Christian's oye looks far ?*" , 1 hearts it has made- and ther—to the ts-. , . to tho fearful retributions - 110 - AVe will not speak of the phyeio.. j crowded into this otiu day, for we cannot proeiate it. The sufferings of one ainglo ! man with his shattered bones piercing him as ho etrugglos in his pain ; his suffocation, and thirst, and bitter piayers drowned amid the roar of battle , his mental agony as he thinks of his wife and cbildron ; his last j death-shriek, are utterly inconceivable. Mul- | tiply. the sum of this mail's suffering by 1 twenty thousand, and the aggregate who j could wild Then chargo all this over to one j man's antinfion, and who shall measure his j guilt, or say how dark and terrible his doom | should be 1 Bonaparte wits * mart of great; intellect, bul he stands chargod with crimes that blacken and torture the soiil forever, ao&his accusers and their witnesses will rise lrom almost every field in Europe and come in crowds from, the banks of the Niljj. Ho met and conquered many armies, but never stood faco tq face with such a terrible array BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1851. Jas when ho shall bo summoned from hU j grave to meet this host of witnesses. The ' murderous artillery, the terrific charge, and the headlong courage will then avail hun nothing. Truth, and Justice, and Mercy, are I the only helpers there, and they cannot help him. Uo troJ them down in his pride and | fury, and they shall tread him down for over lie assaulted the peaco and happiness of the earth, and the day of reckoning is sure. He put his glory abovo all human good or ill, and drove his chariot over a pathway of hu man hearts, and the God of the human heart shall avenge them and abase him. I care not what good he did iu founding institu tions and overturning rotten thrones ; good was not his object, but personal glory.—Be sides, this sacking and burning down cities to build greater, has always been a favorite measures with conquerors and the favorite apology with their eulogizers. It is false in fact, and false il true in the inference drawn from it. It is uot true that improvement was his purpose, nor does it exculpate him if il was' God does not permit man to pro duco happiness this way without a special command. When he wishes a corrupt na tiou'or people to be swept away, he sends his earthquake or pestilence, or if man is to be his unointed instrument, he anoints him in the presence of the world. He may, and does, allow one wicked tiling to scourge an- ' other, but the scourger is a criminal while he fulfils the design, for he acts not for the Deity, but for himself. The grand outline of Bonaparte's mental character—tho great achievements he performed—mighty power he wielded, and the awe with which he in spired the world, have blinded men to his true character, and ho remains half apotheo sised to this day, while the sadness of his fate—being sent to eat his heart on a solitary rock in mid ocean—has created a morbid sympathy for him, anything but manly or just. The very manner of his death we think has contributed to this wrong feeling. Dying amid an awful storm, while trees were falling and the sea flinging itself as if in convulsions far up on tho island, have im parted something of the supernatural to him . And then his fierceness to the last, for though the night was wild and terrible, a wilder night was over his heart and spirit in its last fillul struggle, was watching the current of a heavy fight, and his last dying words were tetc d'armee., 'head of the army.' Uo has gone, and his mighty armies w!gh him, but the day shall come when the tvorTCT stjuil read his history as they read that of Ctcsar Borgia, and point to his tomb with a shud der. ConJemn as wo may the character of Na poleon, and who does not?—read the record an outraged world has written against trim, | till be stands a criminal before heaven and j earth, still, one cannot find himself beside l the form that once shook Europe with its j tread, without the profoumlest emotions. Bul , tire arm that ruled the world lies still, and j the thoughtful forehead on which nations ga ! zed to read their destiny, is now only a with | cred skr.il, and the bosom that was the I homo of such wild ambition, is full of ash ! es. j Tho grave is a reckless leveller, and lie who 'met at last God's thunder,' is only one of the thousands he left on his battle-fields. His tierce onsets, aud terrible passages, and waliug carnage, and Waterloo defeats arc all over. Crumbling back to dust amid a few old soldiers, left as a mockery of the magnificent legions he was wont to lead to battle, ho reads a silent, most impressive les son on ambition tft tho world. I turned a | way in tho deepening twilight, feeling that I ; would uot sloop in Bonaparte's grave for Bo naparte's fume. Extraord.uniy, Very. "Ah ! Mr. C , when did you return from 1 Rockaw.ay ?" "Just arrived, sir." "Any news 1" I "None of importance—caught a shark to -5 day." I "Ah ! how long was it 1" ''Twenty-five feel, sir." "How m itch did it weigh !" "Eleven tons and a halt !" j By this time the listeners crowded close ; nround C., but not a smile was to be obsorv ! cd upon li s countenance, or anything else to ! denote that ho was telling ought but the i truth. ! "By the'way, Major," continued C., "I [ have not forgot to tell you we have found I tho New York Bras* Band. You recollect when I came up last week I told you they had took their instruments with them, and went out iu a sad boat. The boat was seen to capsize, and they were supposed to be lost, but r*hen wo opened the shark we caii"ht :r- d yi we f ° unU ,hcm M alive an(i hearty, their HqdC botir'e .<nply, d Peter son, tho bugler, sitiing nfiM the gP' a J ' n l' j "como rest in this bosom 1" ——' I tSF* Tilts is a dangerous period of tho year for colds—people should k bo caroful—Mrs. Partington says sho has got a romantic affec • tion iii her shoulders, the nevlerology in her head, and the embargo in tho region of hor jocular vein pall from the opening of the window, to throw a bottle at a couple of bel ligerent cats on the shed. ty The son of Quintius Fabius Maxi m'us advised his father lo seize on a po*t, sayiiig. "It will only cost a few men."— Ftbius answered dryly, "will you, be one of tho fow " Choate, the Lawyer, Jack Humphries, the piquant Boston cor respondent of the Albany Dutchman, gives I the following oti-hand description of llufus Cboate: "Rufus Choate—famous for throwing som ersets. flip flaps, making mouths and ugly ''mugs" at judges and juries—is jawing away at that same old Rev. Fairfield case. You probably never saw Rufus, but you've heard of him ? Well, lie's great on saving hard cases from getting their dues. Ho saved Tirrel, the murderer of Ellen Bickford, from hemp stretching ; and that fact has had mads him in great demand, whero things are doubtful, ever since. He has saved ma ny a scoundrel from well meiiled punish ment, and, perhaps, has obtained, for some, justice. Rufus Choate is a picturo to look at, and chowder to spout. He is about sev en feet six, or six feet seven, in his socks , supple as an eel, and wiry as a cork screw.— His face is a compound of wrinkles, "yallo r janders," and jurisprudence. He has small, keen, piercing black eyes, and a head shap ed like a mammoth goose-egg, big end up; his hair black and curly, much resembling a bag of wool in admirable disorder, or a brush heap in a gale of wind. His body has no particular shape: and his wit and le gal "dodges" have set many a juJge in a snicker, and so corfounded jurors, as to make it almost impossible for them to speak English, or tell the truth, for the rest of their natural lives. Rufus is great on twistiuir coiling himself up, squirming ar^u^d ( an j prancing, jumping and kicking l)p ,ha ' dust, whon steam s up. His Oratory is first rate, and his arguments ingenious and forcible, "f generally makes a ten strike—judge and jury down, at the end of every sentence. He is great on flowery expressions, and high foolalin "flub dub," Strar.gers mostly think he's crazy, anil the rest scarcely understand what it's all about. He invoices his time and elocution, 4,000 per cent, over ordinary charges, for having one's self put through a course of law. Rufus Choate i 3 about fifty years of age; perhaps over. lis is consid ered the ablest lawyer in Now England, or perhaps—the United States. His hand wri , ting can't be deciphered without the aid of a pair of compasses and a quadrant. His autograph somewhat resembles the map of Ohio, and looks like a piece of crayon sketch ing, done in the dark, with a throe prongeil fork, He has been in tho Senate, and may be, il hi n.lll 11111:1 111 rish for il, f'm-iilrnt <4 the United States. If the Itev. Mr, Fair field don't lick his adversaries (libel caso) with Kuftis Choate to "talk to the jury, his case isn't worth the powder to blow it up." * Nice People. The lady who carried her rticeness to such an extent that she scrubbed the parlor floor and fell into the cellar, is generally supposed to be a fictitous person ; but we assure our readers wo have more than once met with those who could equal her. There is a lady of our acquaintance yet living at no great distar.ee from this city, who is worthy to be a member of the same fami ly. Kich and childless, with no great talents or desire for society, her house is her hobby, and cleanliness a monomania. Room by room she has abandoned her mansion to si | lcnce, darkness, and slip-covers, and permits i herself the use only of the basement, from i the half open door of which she can keep an eye upon the servants, and issue sudden ly out upon them in constant little forays, pouncing upon a little dirt or a speck of dust with the bitterest exultation, and predicting the destruction of the world, and dissolution of all social ties upon a discolored dish-cloth. Not long since, she discharged a chamber maid, who had lived with her six years, be cause the dirty wretch did not gather her pet ticoats around her coming down stairs, but actually permitted them to brush against the wall irt her descent—a course of conduct which must evidently result, sooner or late, in the paint being utterly disfigured. The husband, poor fellow, was lorrnerly a florid, hearty, jovial fellow of a decidedly social turn. To-day ho passes you in tho street with a nervous half nod of recognition, for fear you ntay remember where he lives and call; when undoubtedly you would bring mud into the hall ou your boots; or hang i your damp hat oil the polished hat-stand ; or lay Mrs. B under the necessity of light ing the 'taboed, parler; or commit or pro cure to bo committed, some other epormity, from which the house would not recover in a year's lime, l'oor B. has become thin he is quite pale, and has a nasty little cough. Vott can also perceive about him always a faint odor of Castile soap , and what from sitting on recently scrubbed chairs, in rooms the paint of which has just been wiped down with a damp cloth, and passing the rest of his time between hearing complaint* of the servants, a severe course of bathing to cleanse the outside, and aloes and gamboge to perfot m the same good office for the in, he is rapidly ' uo'.'tg away to a shadow, tho victim of one of li'aP fi' c e st women to the world. ty A noble saj'ifg ' 8 recorded of a mem ber of the British Houw Commons, who iby his industry and and per^ evera " ce i has won his way to that high position .--A proud scion of the aristooracy one day taunted u.'m with kis humble origin, saying* "I remem ber when you blanked my father's boots," "Wejl, sir, was the noble response, "did { not do llfcm well.' K7* Barnum wants to get a look of hair 'rom tho head of a cabbage Truth and Right—God and ur Country. From the Pennsylvanian. She would be a Soldier. Miss Emily Hutcheson is a young lady who has the advantage of a boarding school education. She plays encbantingly on the piano and speaks Italian like "von natif" Besides, she has seer, more plays than she has heard sermons, and read more novels than she has said prayers. In short, she is ' a "highly accomplished" young lady. "Seve j ral weeks ago, she made a trial of the 8100- I mer costume, but-ii did nau.come quite up jto hor expectations. In cue of tier roman'.io | reveries, it occurred to h?r that Ehe would show to particular advantage in a military dress, and she had no sooner concoived the idea than sh began to put it into execution. Her brother belongs to a volunteer company; she furtively arrayed herself in his uniform, and found to her great satisfaction that she made almost as manly and soldierlike a fig ure as tho right ownor of the regimontald. She then stole out of the house, and made haste to exhibit herself by gas-light on Cites* nut street. Unluckily she met with her brother, himself, as he was coming out of a place of immuaemoitl Ho recognised first the uniform of his company, and, making a I closer examination of the coat, he ascertain ed it to be his own property, and came the conclusion, of it hid been stolen. Ho seized thb eujqiosed thief by the collar, and called for tho police. Emily did n< "'llioosj to make heiself known to her rel ative, but preferred making an attempt to ' out-swagor him. She swore a few big oathsi j therefore, to keep up tho character, threat* | ened to make brother Sammy smell gun j powder, and probably would have carried J the joke all her own way, and frightened off her accuser, if she had uot over-acted her | part, and, in storming a little too violently, J dropped her military cap, when her long hair streaming out, ma.te the spectators aware of ' her sex. Such was the density ol the j crowd which had collected around to wit j ness this attxious scene, that before the mis j querading young lady could be extricated | from die throng, her military coat, made for j holiday occasions, looked very much like it had seen actual service. Miss Emily, how ever, professed to be delighted with the "ad venture," observing to the officers who at : tended hvr, that such a lively incident was n great relief from the "Jnsqmo monotony of every day lifo" Ah T a nice thing it is for a damsel to have ejTltsio fSrexiSlemeiit, Widl cultivated by drag alio and romantic literatiife ; lion and Steel. 1 Steel is iron passed through a process which is called cementation, the object of I which is to impregnate it with carbon. Car bon exists more abundantly in_chareoal than in any oilier fusible substance, and the smoke that goes from a charcoal forge is curbon in a fluid state. Now, if you can manage to confine that smoke, and pnt a piece of iron into il for several days and heat the iron at the same time, it will become steel. Heat ing the iron opens its pores, so that the •moke, or carbon, can enter into it. Toe turnaoe for this purpose is a,cynical building of brick, in the middle of which are two troughs of brick or stone, which hold about four tons of bar iron. At the bottom is a large grate foi the fire. A layer of charcoal-dust is put upon tho bottom of the troughs, then a layer of bar iroe , an d so on alternately, until the troughs are full. They are then covered over with clay, to keep out tho air, which, il admitted, would prevent tho cementation. Firo is then com municated to alio wiji)d,aftd coal with which the furnaco is filled, and coutiuuej until the conversion of the iron into steel is completed which generally happens in about eight or len days. This is known by blistors on the bars, which.thu workmen occasionally draw out in order to determine. When the con version is completed, the fire is then left to go out, and tho bars remain in the furnace about eight days to cool. The bars of steel are then taken out, and either sold as blistered steel, or drawn, to a convenient size, when it is called titled steel. German steel is made out of this blistered steel, by breaking the barr into short pieces, and welding them together, drawing (hem togother, drawing them down to a proper size for use. , try The profoundly wise do not proclaim against superficial knowledge in others, so much as the proloundly ignorant: on the contrary, they would rather assist it with their advice than overwhelm it with their 1 contempt, for they know that there was a i period when even a Bacon or a Newton wero superficial, and that he who lias a lit tle knowledge is lar more likely to get more than he that has none. When the great Harvey was whipped at scool for an expe riment upon a cat, his Orbilius could not foresee in tho little urchin that he was flag ellating the future discoverer ol the circula tion of tho blood. And the progress of the mind in science, is not very unlike the pro gress of science herself ia experiment. When the air balloon was first discovered, some one flippamly asked Doctor Franklin what was the use of it I The doctor answered this question by asking another : "What is the use ol a new born inland Il may be come a man." Humility is a virtue all preach, none prac tise, and yet everybody is content to hear. | The master thinks it good doctrine for his I servant, the laity for the clergy, and the cler* [ gy/or the laily.— Stlden. A THRILLING INCIDENT. n T CI'IIMIK. My feelings were very poetical, as I walk ed slowly towards the door ol the villago church. I entered. A popular preacher was holding forth, and the little meeting ! house was much crowded. I however, pas sed up the aisle until 1 had gained a position | where I could have a fair view ol tho faces ]of nearly all present. I soon perceived I I iv.s nu object of attention. Many of tho i congregation looked seriously at me, for I was u stranger to them all. In a few mo ments, however, the attention of every one j present appeared to be absorbed in tho am [ bassador of grace, and I also began to take !an interest in the discourse. The speaker ; was fluent, and many of his lofty flights 1 were oven sublime ; but almost any thing j was calculated to aflect my mind then. The preacher spoke of hcavou, and its joys, at the blissful scenes with which we were sur- I rounded on every side. The music of the wood, and tho fragrance of the heath, seam ed to respond to his eloquence. Then I', was no great fclretch of tho imagination, to fancy that ike white handed creatures around hie With their pouting lips and artless inno ; Cence, wero beings of higher sphere. Whilo I my feelings, tlrus divided between the beau | ties aud blessings of the two worlds, and | wrapped in a soil of poetical devotion, 1 de tected one fair lass, with large black eyes, stealing several glances at me of a most ani mated character. I need not describe the sensation experienced by a youth, when the eyes of a beautiful woman rest for any length of lime on his countenance, and when he imagines himself to be an object of interest to her. I returned her glance with interest, aud threw all tho tenderness into my eyes which the scene, my meditations, and the preacher's discourse had inspired in my heart. I doubted not that this fair young damsel possessed kindred feelings with my self; that we wero drinking together at the fountain of everlasting inspiration.—How could it bo otherwise ? She had been born and nurtured amidst theso wild and roman tic scenes, and she was made up of romance of poeiry, ot tenderness. -Ihen 1 thought of woman's love—her de ' votiou—truth—l only prayed that I might meet her whero we cmil-1 etijoy a sweet in terchange ol ul Wer ter anil Charlotte, not doubt ttial the village maiden and myself were capable of enjoying in each others society. Her glancea continued; several times our eyes met. My heart ached with rapture. At length the benediction was pronounced. 1 lingered about the premises until I saw the dark*eyed girl set out for homo on foot. "O that the customs of so ciety yyjirtfl permit, for we are surely one in soul ! Cruel formality, that throws up a harrier between hearts made for each other!' Vet I determined (u take the same path. I followed after her. She looked behind ; 1 thought slip evinced some emotion at recog nising me as being the stranger of the day. I quickened my pace, and she actually slack ened hers, so HS to let mo come up with her. "Noble croa'.ure 1" thought I, hor heart is superior to tho shackles of custom. At length I came within stone's throw of her. She suddenly halted, and turned hor face towards me. My heart swelled to overflow ing, and my eyes filled with tears of rap ture. I reached the spot where she stood. She began to speak, ar.d I took off my hat, as if doing reverence lo an angel. "Are you a pedlar I" "My dear girl, that is not my occupation.' "Well, 1 don't know,"continued she, not very bashfully, and eyeing me sternly, "I thought when 1 saw you at the meeting house, that you looked like a pedlar who passed off a pewter dollar on me about three , week.4 ago, so I determined to keep an eye j upon you. Brother John has corns home now, and he says if he can catch the fellow, lie 11 wring his nose for him ; and I aint sure but what you'ro the good for nothing fellow after all ! The last words she uttered, were at the veryjtop of her voice. Readers, did you ever take a shower buth ? Never (j|*e Up. Who are your rich men ?—our distinguish ed men ?—our most useful men ? Those who havo been cast down but not destroyed —who when the breeze of adversity swept . away rheir hopes, sought new standards— pushed on—looked tip and became what you see them now.—A glorious sentence and worthy to bo inspired—never give up—Men are not made—they male themselves. A stea dy perseverance—a determination never to sink, ihough mill-stones were hanged about their neck—is the true doctrine. It is this ' that has made the wilderness to blossom that has given wings lo the ocean, filled val- ' leys, leveled mouniains, and built up great I cities of the world. Who then is a I'ool, and : yields simpering before the blast '—Who is 1 a suckling, and cowers before a cloud ? Is j it you, Shame—shame on you, You are 1 big enough to possess an irou heart and to ) break down mountains at a blow. Up, and ■ let this be the day of your redemption. Re- j solve to be a fool no longer—even if you i are cbtiged to stand with a red hot iron upon | your brow—never give up. W A girl in 0110 of our river 'counties, who has a swivel or screw eye, looked so long and affectionately on a gin bottle, that she actually drew out the cork. An apt >l - of the power of true lova. lIOOM, HOYS, ROOM. DY C. F. HOFFMAN. There was an old hunter, Camp'd down by the rill, Who fisli'd in this water, And shot on that hill. The forest for him had No danger, nor gloom, For all that he wanted Was plenty of room ! Says he, "The world's wide, Thore is room for-tts all ) RJOIII enough in the green wood, If not in the hall. Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon, For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room 1" He wove his own nets, And his shanty was spread, With the skins he had dress'd And stiech'd overhead ; Fresh branches of hemlock Made Iragrant the floor For his bed, as he sung When the daylight was o'er ; "The world's wide enough, ' J here is room for us ult; Room enough in the green wood, If not in the hall. Room, boys, room, by the light ofthe moon, For why Shouldn't every man enjoy his own room V That spring now half choked By the dust ot the road, Under boughs of old maples Once limpidly llovv'd, By die rocks whence it bubbles His kettle was hung, Which their sap often fill'd, While the hunter he sung, "The world's wide enough, There is room for us ail ! Room enough in the green wood, if uol in the hall. Room, boys, room, by the light of tbo moon, I For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room V j And still sung the hunter— When one gloomy day, He saw in the forest, What sadden'd his lay, A heavy wheel'd wagon lis black rut had made, Where fair grew the greeusward, In broad forest glade— "The world's widu enough, There is room for us all; Room enough in the green wood, If not in the hall. Room, boys, room, by ihe light of the moon, For why shouldn't every man enjoy hia own room 7" He whistled to his dofr, And says he, "We can't slay ; . , I most shoulder my rifle, Up tracks ami away." Next day, 'mid those maples, Tho settler's axe rung, While slowly the huutef Trudged utr as ho sung, "The world's wide enough, There is room for ue all; Room enough in the greon wood, * If not in the hall. Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon, For why shouldn't every man onjoy hia own room 1" ~ The h'cwsptiper- Read wnnt Willis save :—"As you feel the sunshme; as we breathe the balmy air ;as wo draw our life of life from household af fection—all unconsciously—so we drink in the pleasures and blessings of tho newspa per : careless, yet eager, and, though de pendent, unthankful. Ho must be an ima ginative man who can tell the value ol the newspaper, for only he can fancy what it would be to bo deprived of it. Another By ron might write another "Darkness'' on the statu of a world uevvspaperless. If we should attempt to personify such a world, it would be under the form of n blind man holding in his Land the empty string from which his dog has escaped; or the good la dy in Hood's picture, with her foot advanced to step on board a steamer which she sud denly observes to havo moved six feet Irom the wharf. Or, again, a stranger in tho bot tom of i mine, who, after blowing out his "Davy," runs to the sha't and finds that somebody has taken away the ladder." CP" A French gentleman, apprehending himself on his death bod, earnestly entreat- j ed his young wife not to many an ofiioer nfi whom he had been jealous. 'My dear,' said i j she, 'do not distress yourself; I have given 1 my word to ano.her a great while ago.' | | CP" There is a man who says ho has been j | at evening parties out West, where the boys I and girls hug so hard that their sides cave I in. He has had several of his ribs broken in that way. Thero is a young man in Toledo, who has a stoop in his shouldhrs on account of bending over so much to kiss the girls, who are rath er short in his neighborhood. 'SIIT 'KM UP '—Wo notice in an Illinoi ß paper the marriage of Edward C. Pirn to Miss Mary Pinn. Timo will be pretty likely to make tenpins out of this couple. Man is a bundle of habits. What, then, is a woman I — Sun. 'Wnxey' says she is an armful of sighs, bran and wMTalebono. CP" The man who had to lower his shirt collar to pass under the Wheeling Bridge, arrived in Cincinnati! lust week. CP" Be-tears—that's what the potter said to the lump of clay. A down-east farmer uses grtus-lioppers in his grist-mill instead of tho common kind. [Two Dollars per Anna®. NUMBER 44. TIIE Flit NT IIABY. In a new novol, "The Glens," recently published, occurs tho following strik ing pic ture of domestic felicity which crusty old bachelors will read with much inteie.st : "If "ho baby' was asleep, no one was "al lowed to speak except in a whisper, o.i pain of instant banishment ; the piano was clos ed, the guitar was tabooed, boots wore inter dicted, and ilio brll was muffled. If Mr. Vincent wished to pnjoy a quiet cigar, he must go out of the house, lest the smoke tnigh hurt 'die baby'—and, lest the street door might disturb us alumhers, ho must make his exit by the back way, and reach the sireet by the garden-gate. The Doctor was scarcely ever out of the houre ; not be cause'the baby'is ill—for indeed it was most alarmingly liea.tliy—but becauso slid was 'afraid it might U taken wish eomo dreadful disease, and no doctor near.' It" coal was placed on tho gram, either Mr. Vincent must put it in lump by lump with hi" fingers, or Thomas must come it: on tip toe, leaving his boots below, lest the noise . should di-turb 'tho baby. 1 Mr. Vincent might lio in one posture until he was full of aches from the crown of his head t) the sob of his foot; he must not move or turn over —for fear of waking 'the baby.' And yet he must not take a bed in another pari of the house, becauso 'the baby' might ho at tacked by tho croup, or might cry to havo some one walk up and down the floor with it n his rrmr, and then he would not be wi'.ldn call. In short when 'the baby' slept, tho whole house was under a spell, whose enchantment consisted in profound eiler.ee and unbrokou stillness* and all who came within the magic circle were at once laid un der its influence. "On the other hand, when 'the baby' waa awake, the household was equally subject to the tyranny which seemed to be a condniou ot its existence. If Mr. Vincent's watch chain attracted its attention, the watch must come forth, and be delivered over, ot the imminent risk, and to the frequent smashing of crystals and face. If 'the baby' cried for the porcelain vaso on the mantel, or ihe lit tle Sevres card basket on the table, they were immediately on the floor, or in the 'crib' beside it, and were soon afterward* in many pieces. If it wanted papa's papers, either they must bo forthwith given up, or buth baby and mother wonttl ooncur iu cai sing a domestic storm. If an important pa per, or aDything else of peculiar value was missed, when inquiry was made for it, a ftnr chances were twenty to one that it had been given to 'the baby,'—and on all occasions, Mr. Vincent's chagrin or vexation was treat ed with merited indiTerence. If, as often happened, alter obtaining everything within its mother's reach, and breaking everything that could be broken, 'tho baby' still crioq immoderately and annoyitigly, it was quits as tnuch as Vincent's life was worth to ex press the least vexation or impatience.— Ha might be loused flora a sound sleep, and forced to get up in tho cold ten times in the j night for something for ' tile baby,' and yet a muimur or a natural wish expressed to know the necessity o 1 all thesn things, was high treason to the household sovreignty. The lawful master ol tho premises had sunk 1 like a deposed monarch, to utter insignifi cance, and become tho lowest servant to tho young usurper. The mother was the Grand Vizier of the Sultana, and in her name luled every one, herself included, with an iron rod. There was no law but the will and. pleasure of the deposit, an I no appral from her determinations. And this was the wo man whom Abraham Glenn had lovud !" (Measures of illntrimony- I was married lor my money. That was ton years ago, I havo had bad luck as a wife, for my husband and I havo scarcely one laste in common. Ho wishes to live in the country, which I hate. I liko the the ther mometer at 75 degrees, which ho hates. Ho. like; to havo tho children brought up at home inyiead of at school which I hate. I ; 'ike music ar.d wish to go to concerts, which he hales. He likes roa->l pork, wlii.h I huts; and 1 like minced veal, which ho nates. i There is ono thing which wo both like, and I that in what we cannot both have, though iwe aro always tryina tor it—the lart word, j I have had bad luck as a mother, for two such huge, selfish, passionate, unmanagea ble boys never tnrmented a feeble woman since boys began I wish 1 had called them both Cain. At this moment they havo just quarrelled over their marble* Morlt-. iner has torn off Orville's collar, and Orville has applied his coit like hands upon Morti mer's ribswhile the baby Zettobia, in my lup, who never sleeps more than an hour at a time, and cries all the time she is awake, and has been aroused by their din to scream in chorus. I have had bad luok as a house, keeper for I never kept a chambermaid more than three weeks.—And as to cooks, I look back bewildered on the long phantasmagoria of faces flitlinfgnorraly through my kitchen, as a mariner remembers a rapid succession of thundor gusts and hxrrioanen in the Qulf of Mexico. My new chambermaid bounced out of the room yesterday, flirting het dust ers and muttering, "real old maid after all!" just because 1 showed her a table on which I could wrilo "slut" with my finger in the dust. 1 nevor see my plump, happy sisters, and then glance in tho mirror at my'own'ca davorous, long doleful visage without" Visit ing myself an old maid. IJo it everyday of my life. Yet half of my sex marry its I did—not for love, but for fear ! for fear of dying old maids.—Jfrs. E. B Hall.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers