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
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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.