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.