THE STAR OF THE NORTH. R. W. H"aTr, Proprietor.] VOLUME 8. THE STAR OF THE NORTH IS PUSLISHEII EVERY THURSDAY MORNINU BY R. W. WEAVER, OFFICE —Up stairs, in the new brick build ing, on the south side of Main Street, third square below Market. TERMS Two Dollars per annum, If paid within six months from the lime of sub scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not paid within the year. No subscription re ceived for a less period than six months; no discontinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editor. Advertisements not exceeding one square wilt be inserted three times fot One Dollar and twenty-five cents for each additional in sertion. A liberal discount will be made to those who advertise by the year. THE PURGATORY OF SITItT DEN. BY T. B. REED. "1 drained the enp thai kills with sleep, And pillowed my head on the breasi of Death: He closed the lids that ceased to weep, And kisted the lips at their latest breath ! That moment I had untimely birth Out of the chrysalis of earth! Then 1 saw that by the horrible deed The chain was sundered, yet I was not freed; I had burst awsy from u windowed Cell Into a dungeon unfathomable— Into utter night—where I only could hear ! The 6ighing of cold phantoms near ! 1 shrank with dread; but soon I knew They also shrank with dread from me; And presently 1 began to see Thin shapes of such a ghastly hue That sudden agues thrilled me through! "Some bore in their hands, as signs of guilt, Keen poinards crimson to the hilt, Which, ever and anon, in wild despair They struck into their breasts of air: Some pressed to their pule lips empty vials Till frenzied with their fruitless trials : Some with their faces to the sky, Walked ever searching for a beam : Some leaped from shadowy turrets high, And fell, as in a nightmare dream, Halfway, u.id slopped as some mad rill, That leaps from the top of an alpine hill, Ere it reaches the rocks it hoped to win, Is borne away in a vapor thin : Some plunged them into counterfeit pools— Into wa'.er that neither drowns nor cools That horrible fever that burns the brain, Then climbed despairing to plunge again : And there were lovers together clasped, [ed, O'er fumeless bruzures; who sighed and gasp- Staring wonder in each other's eye, And tantalized that they did not die. "Then as I passed, with marvelling siare They gazed, forgetting their own despair, Oh ! horrible I their eyes did gloat Upon me, till at my ashen throat It felt the fiery viper thirst Which pver in that dry air is nurst. And ere I was aware 1 1 had raised the cup it was mine lo boar : My pale lips cleaved to the goblet dim, And tountl but dust on the healed ritn ; And then I knew—oh, misery ! 1 was the same I had pledged to thee— To absent thee, and to present Death, l'ledged anddrained atone long-drawn breath, Drained to Ihedregs! Then a hot windsighed Close in my ear —"THOU SUICIDE!" And those two words flew Into my heart, and pierced it through; And my eyes grew blind with pain As a serpent which, with rage insane, Strikes himself with venomed fangs, And writhes in the dust with sell-deal! pangs. A LITTLE COAT. —In the life of the Rev. S Judd the following striking thoughts occur: He preached a sermon from the text, "His mother made him a little coat." Sam. 11. 19. Passing from the letter to the spirit, he speaks of clothing for tbe mind and the soul, and endeavors to impress mothers that they should be more solicitoui about such little coats than for the fashions and frock-jackets, or other garments of the body. I meet a man in the streeu literally cloth ed in rags, clothed also with tokens of a de praved life. I ask, "Did his mother, when young, make him a little coat ? When 1 see a man clothed in humility, entertaining a modet sense of himself, rev erent of truth—his mother made for him a little coat. These coals last a long time. Children ahall wear them when parents are dead ; they shall wear them in distant lands; the old family style will show itself in many places and limes. What sort of clothes are you making for your children ? Is their ves ture wisdom or folly ? Is it the true goodness of beauty, or a poor imitation from the dra pers? IW Why, my dear brother, will you put a thief in your head (osteal away yonr brains?" said a temperance disciple to a person with a glass of brsndy and water at his lips. "Because I have plenty to spare—but il a thief were to enter your skull for brains, he wouldn't find booty enough to pay his trav eling expenses," waathe rude reply. W A country schoolmaster, happening to be reading of a ourious skin of an elephant •—"Did you ever see an elephant's skin t" he asked. " I have," shouted a little six-year old at the foot ol the class. "Where?" he asked, quite amused at the boy's earnest ness. "On the elephant, I'* 1 '* said he, with a most provoking grin. t3T A gentleman asked a friend in a knowing manner—"Pray, air, did you ever see a cat fish ?" "No, sir," was the response, but I have seen a rope wslk." Wonder if he ever saw a horse fly ? OTA deaf and dumb pupil in Paris was naked—Dotb God reason ? He replied, "To reason is to hesitate—to doubt is to inquire: It ia the highest sttribute of limited intelli-1 pence. God sees all .things; therefore God dose not teaeon." Some persons have anoh a horror of ingratitude that, byway of abolishing the very possibility of its existence, they mske a point of never performing tbe slightest aef of kindness. W Sidney Smith said of a great talker, that it wbuld greatly improve him if he had, now and then, "a few flashes of silence. BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 1856. From the Democratic Review. Why Every Nun should be a Politician. Never be last at a feast-nor first at a fray. : Sound philosophy. Our good folk, our wor- J shippers of {he almighty dollar seem to inter pret the adage thus: Never be first to utider -1 lake a service lo your country, nor last to nn ! imadveri upon thosewhodo. Tothem.mon j ey-muking-isr. perpetual. Ast; politics a per petual fray. I Slop and think, gentlemen. Is not your money-making so intimately bound up with I your politics that, as a mere calculation of | business, it would be well for you io tfnnk of it—well for you to try and get at the princi ple of the thing 1 We mean no disrespect to the men who are powerful upon 'Change —no slur at the spirit of trade. To that spirit we owe our unparalleled march of empire.— But we are forced to speak the truth. Some thing more powerful than our will, always compels us to say,what wo believe or know. It is, therefore, n remarkable fact, gentle men, rich men, great merchants, mognificos, that the mechanic, the tradesman, 'he labor ing man in America is commonly a better rea soner in politics than you—any of you—are. Shall we hint the reason ! He stops and thinks. He reasons out things for himself.— By a shrewd, though often rude logic, he ar rives at great truths which altogether escape your finer sense. Thus be is almost invaria bly a Democrat; for Democracy is the logi cal sequttur of all just political reasoning.— Thus, too, the hard fisted are no lovers of "isms;" no followers of new prophets; no sticklers for small distinctions. They stand upon broad ground. Their Democracy is na tional; it is American; it embraces the conti nent; it ignores imaginary geographical lines; it is universal and catholic. As truth is the first, the last, and every part of real greatness,, and the people always discover it in the end, its counterfeits never long impose upon them. So it happens that the great men of the peo ple—their idols—such, for instance, as An drew Jackson, are intheii lifetime commonly haled by you, rich and busy traffickers. You are in too great haste lo be rich at the ex pense of the people, and he, or such as he, put stumbling blocks in your way, -by "re moving the deposits" from your "United Stales Bunks," or setting up "Sub-Treasur- i ies" wherein the people's money may be kept for the people's uses, instead of Mr. i Riddle's and the "financiers'." But, lo you I when ho is dead, when he has had "quiet consummation," and malice domestic" can not harm him further, how you renown his grave! Ii becomes one of your Meccas.— You make pilgrimages to it. You applaud his virtues to the echo. You would even give five dollars lo raise a monument to him, so liberal is your lale-learned admiration. What! have you forgotten Dives, that he was a Democrat, a very Titan of Democracy, scal ing the heaven of your exclusive privileges, and pulling its Jupiter from his marble Olym pus in Chestnut street I Have you forgotten "Perishcredit, perish commerce," but let the Republic live pure and undefiled: the great principles of man's eternal right 6 live oil im mortal! Come, those times are worth think ing of. It is worth while, 100, to inquire cu riously how you came lo miss the light which was in them, and never see it till its aure ole bung above the quiet grave of the Her mitage 1 You missed it by being poor poli ticians. To be a good one, it deeds that you should love your fellow-man, and have a little re spect to the golden rule of him who gave the I charge, "Little children, love one another." To be a good one, it needs that you should be interested in the political movements of the day for some great object, some pur pose sanctified by principle, and not "to be stirred in without great argument." The lime we live in, the country we inhab it, the duties we owe her, the complications, foreign and domestic, in which the turh of the die may involve her, call for activity of thought and action. He who sits down by the way-side to-day to enjoy life as an amuse ment, and drink his wine and gossip pleas antly of the gracefulness of life, may be dis agreeably aroused from his day dream by the tramp and noise of the great crowd, sur ging past him on the march, under new lead ers, and rushing to possess the world in the intoxication of new ideas of victories to be achieved over all established principles of human association. Who knows? Do you> great man ? Do you, dallier by the way side? Do you, whose desite is to be let alone in the enjoyment of your pleasant things— who knows how far the mine has penetrated beneath the soil whereon ye walk ? Have you read the signs of the times, or are they more occult than the symbolism of the Pyra mids to you ? You flatter yourself that all Ibis will last your day. That you shall wslk securely till the last scene of all closes your | peaceful history of enjoyment, and six feet of that earth, a little mine of your own, is all you need to lie in. But there is a secret mine there, and mystery is still reverend in the vul gar eye. Do you doubt it ? Howelsecould the vulgar mystery and the claptrap of Know Nothingism have deluded eo many honest men? Has if not appealed to that purient craving after the secret, the mysterious,which is a law of man's being? And on thie mine you have walked placidly. You have never looked beyond the hour; you have never worked into the heart of this mystery. It has been to your thinking only a machine for ohanging men, for turning oat one set of of fioe-boldess and putting io another. Bat yon have never thought how it was sapping the foundations, and drinking tha life-blood of that old Saxon frankness, the generous bold ness of action and thought which has mode us the conquering and absorbing race in (be modern world. You have never paused lo reflect how nearly allied to each other the stern virtues of the old Roman stock ol Bruti and Gracchi, and the slock of American vir tues were. It is worth the trouble of a pause nevertheless. It is worth while comparing the character of diflisrent races and peoples, to see what the effect upon the one hand of openness, bravery, frankness, decision of character, determination to declare, in Heav en's face and all men's sight, principle and purpose, and fight an enemy with open man ly steel—foot to fool—eye to eye—in the broad daylight—live or die for it; and on the other ol treachery, deceit, manceuvering. plot ting.. midnight skulking, oathj of secrecy,dis trust, conspiracy; the stealthy step creeping ghost-like to its design; the assassin's dag ger, the coward's life of faith alone in all men's villainy as he knows his own ! The first will go to make dp the chatacter of a Democrat; the last a Know Nothing. Dii avertite omenl Is it not time thut every man was a politician ! And now, indeed, when every other party has pandered to the hideous lust of these night-prowling defllers of their country's name—is it not time that every man should ask himself, why is this > What virtue is there in this principle of De mocracy which keeps it unspotted from the taint ! Is it not time that every TRUE man should be a Democrat! The abstract and the concrete are governed by the same rate. Apply it, then. How many—how, indeed, do all pretend to ad mire the beauty and perfection of our inslitu- i tions. With what unction they describe the , sweetness of their fruit! How they prate of I civil and religious freedom—your rankest Know Nothing the loudest mouther! And, lo you ! whilst they are exhibiting it with the stimulated glow of patriotic pride, and telling you how here first in the history of man it has been permitted to ripen full for "the heal ing of the rations," they are laying deep plans to steal that glorious fruit, smuggle it away into a Know Nothing lodge-room, and serve it up to a select and virtuous party of the friends of Mr. Senator Seward. Gener ous and immaculate conservators of the Con stitution ; felicitous exponents of liberty of conscience; patriotic admirers of the virtues of our misguided ancestors, who spread their table, and invited the oppressed of every clime to come and eat that delicate and lus cious fruit of freedom; pious defenders of the faith once delivered to the Americans by the mouths or her Republican t)y Jef ferson, and Madison, and Jackson—how shall, we find words lo magnify your services to your country t Shall we not pull down the Washington Monument; preach a crusade against all Dutchmen, Irishmen and others who were such unheard of villains as to go beyond sea to get themselves Lorn; slaugh ter them at once, and on the site raise a pyr amid of their bones higher than that of Che ops—and crown the whole with a dark lan tern ? Look you now, this is what you aim at, or you aim at nothing. So our modern patriots, our wise philoso phers, our professors of the science of hu manity, our devout believers in political mil lenniums, and devout skeptics as to the Bib lical one, go about to manufacture political microscopes. They direct through them the sunshine of the press. They throw upon the wall monstrous exaggerations of the choice atoms, such as the triple crown of the unfor tunate gentlemen who sleeps upon French bayonets in. the Seven-Hilled City; and all to convince the poor dear people that what they have been .considering a fine Bepubli can, American fruit, is nothing more than a terrible collection of distorted and pernicious animalcules; that the real fruit has been i munched up by Jesuits, and other frightfully I wicked persons, and this awful conglomerate left to poison them. Is it not monstrous that such inconceivable I lies should find men stupid enough to believe them ? But they do; they have done so ever since the days of Guy Fawkes, and Sir Ed mondsbury Godfrey. Now you who areplay ing the lookers-on here in America, is it not time that you asked s few sensible questions about these political combinations? Sup pose you take the trouble to inquire what has the Democratic party of the Union done to forfeit its character? Is this new system, which proposes to take its business out of its hands, and given it to a mongrel and hybrid aggregation of Whiggery, Black-Republican ism, and Exeter-Hall philanthropy, all paired, not matched, in the precious Union of Know Nothingism, a true system? Is it good phi losophy ? Is it true political science? Does it tend to promote the moral health and di gestion of the people ? Or is it not rather a miserable empyricism and charlatanry ? Ah! yon are too comfortable to be a politician, perhaps. You care for none of these things. For your time ambles withal. These ques tions, you say, shrugging your shoulders, will find their solution without us as soon as with us. Don't disturb os. We are very com fortably as we are. Let us alone. Not so, gentlemen. We commiserate you ; but we must disturb you. If you will not listen to Thomas Jefferson or Andrew Jackson, hear at least a good Whig; accept a word from Daniel Webster: "We are not to wait till great pnblio mischiefs come; till the govern- 1 ment is overthrown; or liberty itself put in ex treme jeopardy. We should not be worthy sons of our fathers, were we so to regard grsat questions affeoting the general freedom."— Does not that teach the lesson, that in every thing which affects any, all should be inter ested? that for lbs rights of all, all abould watch, and work, and pray? The price of liberty is not only eternaLvi gilance;. it ia eternal activity alao. It i* not enough to know truth, or foresee danger. II Truth and Right God and our Country. is necessary to act (be one, and to confront the other. It is our province !o support a parly, and discuss political issues; but we do so because it is the solemn conviction of our reason and our hearts that the Democratic party is wor thy of alt good men's support, and the issues which it makes with all other parlies such as will bear the nicest scrutiny, and come out the more strongly fortified and built up in their integrity by the widest latitude of dis cussion. The question of the administration of the Federal Government is already before the country. Not many months, pnd it will he decided upon,what govern: ment shall be condifctedlo^mefensuing four years. Already Know Nolhirgism, Aboli tionism, Black Republicanism.fnnd all their intermediate shades and types if dangerous heresies, are beginning to stir 'the passions, and attempt to warp the judgments of the people. Should either succeed to power, farewell lo the greatness—ftrewell to the happiness of America. Shall these poisonous fruits be grafted upon the old American tree ! Or are you better satisfied with the flavor of the good fruit it bore our fathers, and upon which we have thriven and grown fat as a nation ! You must look at these things. You can not escape them. Beware, therefore, in time. Until this fatal proclivity towards me diaeval errors—this crab-like movement back wards—is arreslod, let every American citi zen be a politician. S. VV. C. lUAUHIAGE 1./irSiSBCiFE. Our papers are just at this momeut filled with accounts of a certain Marriage in High I Life. We ourselves, as the organ of fash- j ionable society, or of the hod ton, have been > favored with the report of another of these j extremely elegant affairs, which our readers 1 will no doubt peruse with breathless inter est. On Saturday evening the sth o! Decem ber, the Hotel de Biddy Rourke was a scene of unusual splendor. That magnificent struo- ; lure, conspicuously situated on the very sum- ! mil of the romantic heights of Dutch Hill, was brilliantly illuminated throughout the whole of its vast extent for the festivities of | the night. The resources of the neighbor ing establishment of Paddy Miles & Co. (Mrs. Miles,; were entirely exhausted in fur- . nisbing the means for puvjifciii"the almost ! ' paintdrejinbtFrance "no | less than four of the best penny dips. But j even the vast expenditure of material would not have been sufficient, had not the ingeni ous Mrs. Rourke, the ladylike proprietress of the Hotel, hit upon the ingenious scheme of cutting each candle into tlfree parts. Then the walls became gay with hollowed turnips, mock oranges, and gorgeous bottle necks which served as sconces. The pig was turn ed out pro tempoie—pro mor ease, the pensive porker wandered sadly away to the pen of a Mr. Macglathery, the sides of which strange to say, he scaled without the least assistance, remaining inside of it nearly a i week before he was discovered by the agent of the disconsolate Mrs. Rourke. At least so says Mr. Macglathery, who kindly fed the animal during his voluntary confinement, i The delicious arena of salt cod was waft [ ed by the evening breezo tbraogh the cracks of the slabs of Mrs. Kou/€Vs slab-sided mansion—and the scent ol the fragrant her ring might be caught at intervals, and there j were unmistakeable signs that the potent onion and the pal riotic potheen were also present to add to the culinary and bilbulary wonders and attractions. Indeed the excite ment both io the hotel and in its immediate vicinity was intense. Two yoong Rourkes were discovered in the early part of the eve ning engaged in a violent altercation with the young Malonye their next neighbors, and flopping them energetically over the head with two heavy codfish, which they had sur reptitiously abstracted from the Hotel for the purpose. At one period it was feared that the scions of Malony would become mas ters of the field and the fish, and thus de stroy the hopes of the entertainers, but Mrs. Rourke rushed promptly foilh with half an onion in each hand and rubbing the same violently into the eyes ol the'antagonists of her noble boys—rescued the codfish and her hopes. The event for which all preparations were made, was ■ matrimonial one. Miss Judy O'Callaghan led to the halter tie unwilling but weak Dennis O'Rafferty, Esq., late of Hodalopshouier, County Tyrone, Ireland.— The bride was splendidly arrayed—a wreath of potato peelings lay upon her chiselled brow, a necklace of pickled onions encircled her snowy throat, while two bracelets of cotton velvet twined themselves around her sculptured wrists, add her dress flashed with the lustre of accumulated kitchen grease | Mr. O'Raffsrty was also dressed as became him, but as our account is already too long, let it suffice the reader to say, that the cere mony went off with much a claw—(the evi dence being Mr. O'Rafferty's scratched face in the morning)—and that all the gnesls parted early in the morwii£ #Rh tears in their eves and their fists doublet up.— N. Y. ficayune. BP" "Sambo, what kind of keys would it take to oner, the gates of Sebastopol 1" "Well, I guess it's Tor keys." "No, (Ist ain't it, Sambo," "Well, what is it den, Julius !" "Why, Yankees—yah! yah I X3T The use ofa fiotitious name by a pei-. ton corresponding with a lady is an isault. When love is the theme, it is an outrage on her modesty. THE following are the last words of distin guished persons, with whom the World is well acquainted:— j" Head of the army."—Napoleon. " I must, sleep now."—Byron. " I*. matters little how the head Itelh."— Sir Walter Raleigh. " Kiss me, Hardy."—l,ord Nelson. " Dou't give up the ship."—Lawrence. "I'm shot if I don't believe I'm dying."— Chancellor Thurlow. "Is litis your fidelity?"— Nero. I " Clasp my hand, my dear friend, I die."— Alfieri. "Give Dayrnles a chair."—Lord Chosler , field. .. " God preserve the Emperor."—Hayden. 1 "Thearterj censes to beat."—Haller. " Let the light enter."—Goethe. "All raj possessions for a momentof time." —Queen Elizabeth. '•What I is there no bribing death?"— Cardinal Beaufort. " I have loved God, my father and liberty." —Madame de Slael. " Be serious."—Grotins. " Into thy hands, O Lord."—Tasso. "It is small, very small indeed." (Clasp ing her wrist.) Anne Boleyn. " Will you think of me as Ido of you, my friends?"— Miss Latulon. " I pray you see me safe up, and as for my coming down, let me shift for myself." "(Ascendingthe Sc.aflbld.)-Sir Thomas Moore. " Don't let the awkwar.l squad fire over my grave."—Robert Burns. " I feel as if I were to be myself again." —Sir Walter Scott. "1 resign my soul to God, and my daugh ter to my count-y."—Jefferson. . ''lt is well " —Washington. "Independence forever."—Adams. "It is the last of earth, I am content."— John Q. Adams. "I wish you to understand the true princi ples of the government. 1 wish them car ried out. I ask no more."—Harrison. "I still live."—Webster. "I have endeavored to do my duty."— Taylor. '• There is not a drop of blood on my hands." Frederick V., of Denmark. " Let me hear once more those notes' which have been my solace and delight."— Mozart. "A dying man can do nothing easy."— Franklin. " Let not poor Nelly starve."—Charles 11. ■ yhsK'bilrnrawWTK grout Though,."—Her den. " I feel the daisies growing over me."— Keats. " Let me die to the sounds of delicious music."'—Mirubeau. Telegraphic Progress, —lt is but eleven 1 years since the first telegraph line, of 40 miles in lenoth, of I'iofessor Morse, was built, and now there are no less than 38,000 miles of telegraph wire on our continent. In Europe lines of telegraph have been con structed to an extent rivalling those in Amer ica. The electric wire extends under the sea nf the English Channel, the German Ocean end the Mediterranean. They pass from crag to crag on the Alps, and run through Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany and Russia. They may yet extend ttftough the Atlantic Ocean.— Ledger ur A good story is told of a Philadelphia judge, well known for his love of jokes. He had advertised his farm for sale with a fine ' stream of water through it. A few days af terward, a gentleman called on him to speak about it. "Well, Judge," said he, "I have been over that farm you advertised for sale the other day, and find all right,except the fine stream , of water, you mentioned." ~1l runs through tlie piece of woods in the lower part of the meadow," said the judge. "What! that little brook ? Why, itdoesn'l holJ much more than a spoonful. lam sure if you would empty a bowl of water into it, it would overflow. You don't call that a fine stream, do you?" "Why, il it was much finer you couldn't see it ut all," said the judge, blandly. t7* It is said that a convention of hus bands is to be called shortly, at Syracuse, N. Y., to adopt some measures in regard to fash ion. They say that since they have to sup port the expenses of fashion, they have a right to regulate its caprices. It is also said that a proposition to raise boys only, in fu ture, is to come before the convention. The members are to resolve themselves into a Husbands' Rights party. T3T A young lady from the country, being invited to a parly, was told by her city cous in to fix np, and put her best foot foremost, in order to catch a beau—sbe looked so green in tier country attire. The country damsel looked comically in to the face of her rather faded relative, and tepiied: "Bettergreen than withered." 13?* An inveterate bachelor being asked by a sentimental young miss why he did not secure some one's company in his voyage on the ocean of life, replied, "I would if I were sure such an ocean would be pacific." TV The exportation of gold from Europe still continues. So scarce indeed has the precious metal beoome there, that in a short time it is hoped not even a "Sovereign" will be seen. tST A little boy being asked bow many Gods there were, replied "One." "How do yon know that?" be was asked. 'Because,' be replied, "there is no room for any more, for He fills everywhere. From the Home Journal. THE NIGHT FUNERAL OF A SLAVE. Traveling recently, on business, in the in terior of Georgia, I reached, just at sunset, lite mansion of the proprietor, through whose estate for the last half hour of my journey, I bad pursued my way. My tired companion pricked his ears, and with a low whinny in dicated his pleasures, as I turned op the broad avenue leading to the house. Calling to a black boy in view, I bade him enquire of his owner if 1 could be accommodated #lh lodg ings fot ths night. My request brought die proprietor himself 'tOJhe door, and from thenc| to the gate, wnett, after a scrutiniSKig glance at my per son and equipments, he inquired my name, \ business, and destination. I promptly res ponded to his questions, and he invited me lo alight and enter the house in the true spir- | it of Southern hospitality. lie was apparently thirty years of age, and ' evidently a man of education and refinement. | I soon observed an air of gloomy abstraction about him; he said bat little, and sven thai little seemed the result of an effort to obviate the seeming want of the civility to a stran ger. At supper, the mistress of the mansion appeared, and did the honors of the table, in her particular department; she was exceed ingly lady-like and beautiful, only as Sonth ern women are, that ia beyond comparison with those of any other portion of this repub lic I have ever 6een. She retired immedi ately alter Bupper, and a servant handing some splendid Harannas on a silvpr tray, we had just seated ourselves comfortably before the enormous fire of oak wood, when a ser vant appeared at the end of the door, near my host, hat in hand, and, uttered in subdued but distinct tones, the, to me, startling words: •'Master, de coffin hab come." "Very well," was the only reply, and the servant disappeared. My host remarket! my gaze of inquisitive wonder, und replied to it— "l have been very sad," said he, "to-day. I have had a greater misfortune than 1 have experienced since my father's death. Most this morning tile truest and most valuable friend I bad in the world—one whom I have been accustomed to honor and respect since my earliest recollection ; he was the play mate of tny father's youth, and the mentor of mine ; a faithful servant, an honest man, and a sincere Christian. I stood by his bedside to-day, und, wit!) liis^Bda clasped in inine, I heßrd the last worif^^Wftred; ihey were, 'Master, meet me in heaven.'" His voice faltered a moment and he con tinued, after a pause, with increased excito merit— "His loss is a melancholy one lo me. If 1 left my home, I said to him, 'John, see that all things are taken care of,' and I knew that my wife and ch.ii, property and all, were as safe as though they were guarded by a hund red soldiers. I never spoke a harsh word to him in all my life, for he never merited it. 1 have a hundred o'hers, many of them faith ful and true, but his los is irreparable." I come from a section of the Union where slavery does not exist, and I brought with me all the preludices which so generally pre vail in the free Stales in regard to this "insti tution." I had already seen much to soften these, but the observation of years would have failed to give me so clear an insight in to the relation between master and servant ss this simple incident. Ii was not the haughty plaifter, the lordly tyrant, talking of his dead slave, as of his dead horse ; but the kind hearted gentleman, lamenting the loss, and eulogizing the virtues of his old friend. Alter an interval ot silence, my host re sumed : "There are," said he, "many of the oIJ man's relatives and friends who would wish to attend his funeral. To afford them an op portunity, several plantations have been no tified that he will be buried to night; some, 1 presume, have already arrived ; amtdesir ing to sse that all things are properly prepar ed for his interment, I trust you will excuse my absence for a few moments." "Most certainly sir; but," I added, "if there is no impropriety, I would be pleased to accompany you." "There Is none," he replied; and I follow ed him to a long row ol cabins, situated at a distance of some three hundred yards from the mansion. The house was crowded with negroes, who all arose at our entrance, and many of them exchanged greetings with my host, in icnies that convinced me that they felt that lie was an object of sympathy from them ! The corpse was deposited in the cof fin, attired in a shroud of the finest cotton materials, and the coffin itself paintgd black. The master stooped at his head, and*lay ing his hand upon the cold brow of his faith ful bondsman, gazed long and intently upon features with which he had been so long fa miliar, and which he now looked upon for the last lime on earth; raising his eyes at length, and glancing at the seriona counte nances now bent upon his, he said solemnly and with much feeling; "Ha was a faithful servant arid a true Chris tiau ; if you iollow his example, and lire aa he lived, none of you need fear, when the time comes for you to lay here." A patriarch, with the snow of eignty win ters oc his bead, answered : "Master, it is true, and we will try to lire like him.'' There was a murmur of general assent, and after giving some instructions relative to the burial, we ventured to the dwelling. About nine o'clock a servant appeared witb the notice that they were ready to move, and to know If farther instructions were necessa ry. My host remarked to me that, by step ping into the piana, I would probably wit- [Two Dollars per Annum. NUMBER 1., | nes#, to me, a novel scene. The procession ■ had moved, and its route led within a few I yards ol the mansion. There were at least l one hundred and fifty negroes, arranged four ; deep, and following a wagon in which was i placed the coffin. Down the entire length of the line, at intervals of a few feet on each side were carried torches of the resinona pine, and here, called light wood. Abon: the cen tre was stationed a black preacher, a roan of gigantic frame and stentorian lungs, who gave out from memory the words of a hymn suit ; able for the occasion. The Southern negroes ! are proverbial lor the melody and compass of j their voices, and f though! that hymn, mel i towed by distance; the fnoti solemn and ye| the sweetest music that had ever fallen upon my ear. The stillness of the night and strength of their voices enabled me to distinguish the air at the distance of half a mile. It was to me a Grange and solemn scene, and no incident of my life has impressed ine with more powerful emotions than the night funeral of the poor negro. For this reason I have hastily and most imperfectly sketched its leading features. Previous to retiring to my room, I saw in the hands of the daugh ter of the lady at whose house I stopped for the night, u number of the Home Journal, and it occurred tome to send this to your pa per, perfectly indifferent whether it be pub lished or not. lam but a biiel sojourner here. I hail from a colder dime, where it is our proud boast that all men are free and equal, I shall return to my Northern home deeply impressed with the belief that dispensing with the name of freedom, the negroes of the South are the happiest and most contented people on the face of the earth. A UlktiAlGHr WI I'll \VII,|j BEASTS. On the 4th of November, 1855, Arvine Clark, of Jersey Shore, was exploring the route for a new road to the settlement of the " Farming and Land Association," a ucw colony near the site of the famous Ole Bull settlement in Potter county. When eveuing drew on, he commenced retracing his steps, but lost his way, in a dense forest at least eight miles from a settlement. • An old man, tired ot walking, he sat down on a log to rest a moment, and contemplate his situation. His attention was suddenly arrested by a rustling in the bushes close by, and on look ing around, he saw a huge bear coming to wards him. To draw up his trusty rifle and gave a fearful roar, which awoke the echoes of the gloomy solitude, and then was still. Fearing that ha was only wounded, Clark hastily re loaded his gun with two balls, the last in his pouch, and discharged them into the body of the bear, when he cautiously approached and found that he was dead.— He describes the bear's roar, as he received his death-wound, as terrific and calculated to make the stoutest hea't quail for fear. A dark night was settling down on him— he had no bullets—was far in the wilderness, without lood or shelter. He had no matches to kindle a fire—and, to add to his further discomfort, it commenced raining. What was to be done ? To remain there, was ex ceedingly dangerous. He continued to grope hie way through the laurel, hoping to find a path that might lead to a hunter's habitation, but in vain. The howling of a pack of wolves greeted his ear. He soon became exhausted, and found that he would have to remain there for the night. Coming to all aged hemlock, he seated himself at its root. Could he but obtain a fire, he wou'd be comparatively safe. The effort wa9 made by collecting some dry materials, and, load ing his gun with powder, tired the charge in to a dry cotton handkerchief. It was a fail ure! As the gun was discharged, another bear, apparently within twenty feet of him, gave a hideous roar, that made Clark's hair stsnd on an end. Bruin was terribly fright ened by the discharge ot the gun, and hast ily scampered ofT, much to the relief of Clark. Here he remained, not daring to fall a sleep. About two o'clock in the morning, to add to the horrors of his situation, the yell of a panther was heard. The beast ap proached—oanie nearer, every few minutes uttering a screech that froze the blood in his veins! As a last resort to defend himself front the attack of the savage animal, he re loaded bis gun, puttiog in some three cent pieces and steel peas, (for he hid nothing else,) which he hoped might do some exe cution. The animal came so near that the glare of his eyes in the darkness resembled two balls of fire! There Clark remained, without dariug to move—with the fiery eyes of the panther fixed upon him. In this dreadful situation, expecting every moment to be torn in pieces, he remained till break of cay, when he was relieved from danger by the animal disappearing. Hungry, wea ry, and excited, he left for the settlement, where he arrived abont noon, and related his thrilling adventure. A party proceeded to the place where the bear was shot, and biought in Lis carcase, which proved to be a large one. It wae dressed and forwarded to New York. It was several days before Clark fairly recovered from the fatigne, the fear, and excitement of that night which will never be removed from his mind. JOHN or LXNCABTEK. EF The editor of-the Albany "Express" says he once kissed a damsel's cheek that was covered with paste of verraiilion and chalk, and as a consequence had the paint er's colic for a week. Young men will take warning. ... Iy The life of a fool could no more go en without excitement than a pantomime could without music.
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