THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
R. IV. Reaver, Proprietor.]
VOLUME 9.
TUB STAR OF THE NORTH
ts PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNINU BY
It. W. WEAVER,
OFFlCE—Upstairs, in the new briek build
ing, on the south side oj Main Street, third
square below Market.
EH Rt S: —Two Dollars per annum, if
paid within six months from ihe time of sob
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reived lor a less period than six months; no
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ere paid, unless at the option of the editor.
ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square
will be inserted three times for One Dollar,
nnd twenty five cents for each additional in
eeition. A liberal discount will be made to
those who advertise by the year.
Choice [Joe fry.
HOOFS V. OOATEES.
Talk not to us about our hoops
Or of our skirls, nor what ol loops,
We'll wear just what we please,
For every body now doth need
I'roteotion from the woolly breed,
If she regards her ease.
Was ever earth more crushed with trash
Than you who grow the vile mustache,
And, with a sparing hand,
Deal out to ns in endless rhyme
That wearing '"hoops" is all a crime!
But this wo understand.
There's somo of you look quite feline,
While others look somewhat canine,
And sorre seem both combined;
Jnst as it seems to suit the taste
Of would-be MEN in hottest haste,
If they but had a mind.
Then, too, in this progressive age,
A woolly lace is all the rage,
A human head to mask;
Which makes one look so very prim,
I.ike every other woolly-tim,
But here just let me ask,
Is there a hole about your head
In which to put your daily bread !
If so, where is the place?
For, 1 declare, no one can see
Wheroauch a spot can fairly be,
About your woolly face.
And if you have it ir. use,
And filled with vile tobacco juice,
All ready lor a squirt
Upon some Lily's fancy dress,
Or in the face of lovliness—
What don't fall on your shirt.
To smoke, and chew, and raise a crop
Of fag-end wool and act the fop,
With time and money spent,
Just fills you clip of uselulness,
While, 100, you are lo filthiness
A walking monument.
And as you walk Ihe streets about,
Like some great awkward, lazy lout,
With a long nine to puff.
You think yourself most wondrous wise,
And like the load quite large in size—
But liold, I've said enough.
.■ .
From Litut. Harbersham's "My Last Cnuse."
LIFE IN JAVA.
We have made the acquaintance of a Air.
L. M. Squires, an American resident of elev
en years, and who subsequently joined the
Hancock in the capacity of assistant natural
ist. We were smoking our cheroots in the
porch of the Amsterdam Hotel.
"While we were thus smoking in the cool
evening brepze, we were joined by several
gentlemen, acquaintances of Mr. Squires,
and who were presented to us. The usual
comments upon the Btate ol the weather
were got off with happy success, and then
every one began to wait for his neighbor to
say something else. Finally, one of the
new arrivals, an Englishman, asked me ab
ruptly, if I bad ever seen a native under the
influence of the 'muck.'
"The what?" I asked.
"The muck! the running muck."
"I replied in the negative, adding that I
had never before heard the expression.
•*He expressed great surprise at this, and
proceeded to tell us that the running muck
was often productive of many deaths.
"I thought this a rather singular piece of
information to come by itself, but contented
myself with observing, "You don't say so !"
"The Englishman cleared his throat, swel
led very large, called for a glass of "arf-and
arf,' and continued as follows:
"Some few of the natives here consume
quantities of opium in various forms: and
the result is that, in due course of time, tliier
features become sharp, the skin ia drawn
ever them like parchment, and losing their
minds, they become more ferocious and
bloodthirsty than tigers themselves. Armed
with the long and flexible kreiss (a sharp
dirk knife, whose edges are wavy and ol a
beautiful temper,) they rush frantically Irom
their houses—and run as swiftly as their
limbs will carry them —sometimes naked—
sometimes clothed, always mad. Rushing
through the crowded streets in this way,
their only aim seems to be to destroy life—
tubbing, biting, cursing, kicking every one
whom chance throws across their path.
"As soon as he is seen in this state, terror
proclaims the news far and wide. 'Amoak!
atnoak !'is screamed by the whole popula
tion, just as 'fire! fire !' is in our own cities.
Kvery man grasps the first weapon that
V comes to hand, and follows the flying path
of the common enemy. Very long spears,
arc, however, preferred to the shorter kreiss ;
and with these they pen him up in a corner,
and lance him to death with as much or
more gusto than they would a tiger. As
many as forty persons were once killed by
one of these maniacs before he could be
'cornered,' and yet there is no law against
the use of opium."
The word "muck" is a corruption of the
Japanese -'amoak" to kill; and this latter is
seldom heard, except when some poor
wretch is ranging the frighteiiod town with
strained muscles and starting eyes, and with
death closing around bis path at every stride.
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY. PA., WEDNESDAY. JULY 15, 1857.
From the Public ledger.
"THE VALUE OF A UUUD WIFE."
A Sermon preached in Pino S'reet Church,
1 hiladelphia, on the Midden death of a le
niale member of the Church.
BY REV. THOMAS BRAIN KM), D. D.
" The heart of her husband doth safely trust
in her. So that he shall have no need of .-.pod."
—l'rov. xxxi, 11.
The richest blessings are not always the
most obvious. It is the hidden moisture
which ref-eshes the flower. It is the hidden
spring which supplies the well. It is tho nu
triment, buried ic the earth, which feeds tne
fibres of the vine and tree, and thus devel
opes the nourishing grape and the shady oak.
The ooisy cataract is not so beneficent as
i the gentle rill that glides almost without a
[ murmur, and is best known by the lively
green of its border, and the flowers which
deck its meandering course. In tho light
ning's flash there it sublimity, but in useful
ness it yields to the gentle taper, that lights
up a cottage evening. Mankind are moved
;by exhibitions of power. They are affected
by social changes, which leave their mark
in lite world. Hence they pauso to moralize
over the death of statesmen and heroes—over
scholars and millionaires—but few have uver
devoted time and thought and eulogy to murk
their estimate of the value of a good wife—a
good mother—a good woman.
In this respect, as in most others, tho Bible
is in advance of human wisdom, and above
human aptitude and tendency. It selects
for its most elaborate, carefully wordod
nnd emphatic eulogy, the domestic vir
tues of a faithful wife and mothor. As the
light of l.otno is almost the only radiance
which cheers the darkness of man's earthly
lot, King Solomon turns aside to pronounce
a benediction upon her who presides as a
guardian angel at that altar.
There was sufficient reason for this. What
sre the outside revelings of pleasure worth to
him who is compelled to return to a filthy
and disordered home ? What is fame worth
to him who meets discord and reproach at his
own door and in his own chamber! What
can wealth do for him whose household is
dovoid of taste, order and comfort? What
can the admiration of a crowd avail to him
whose own fireside is heartless and desolate?
It is not wonderful, then, that tho wisest of
men, King Solomon, estimating things at
their real value, should ask, •' Who can find
a virtuous woman ? for her price is far above
rubies."
Elsewhere, it is said, "A prudent wife is
from the Lord," and the gift is worthy of the
giver.
The text, speaking of such a wife, says:
"The heart of her husband doth safely trust
in her." There is a peculiarity in this lan
guage. Ordinarily it is the office of divine
truth to weaken onr confidence in earthly
blessings. Thus it is said; "He that trustoth
in his own heart is a fool." "Trust not in
man, whose breath is in his nostrils." "l'ut
not your trust in princes." "Tiust not in un
certain riches." Human friendships are
treacherous. Wealth is toocold to fill a warm
heart. Fame hangs on a breath of air, and
comes and goes, rises and fails, by the ca
prices of a crowd. God ordinarily represents
all earthly things as vanity.
But in the text lie seems to 'make an ex
ception in favor of a virtuous woman—of a
true and faiihlul wife. He says: "The heart
of her husband doth safely trust in her."
And for what may the husband trust in
such a wife ?
I. He may trust in her unselfish and perma
nent affection. I say it with reverence, God
cove's the love ot his creatures; and man,
made in God's image, craves the love of oth
ers, as essential to his own happiness. The
man that asks no love is a monster. The
matt who expects none is a child of despair.
There may be hearts so frozen by selfishness,
or ossified by pride and egotism, or paraly
zed by disappointment, as to be indifferent to
affection.
1 But these are icebergs, drifting in darkness,
on Polar sea; cold, barren, desolate. In
them no tree or shrub plants a root; no flow
er sheds its fragrance there. No melody of
living joy is chanted there. God found that
it was not good for man to be alone, chiefly
because he needed the consctons affection
of a female heart, to soften the asperities of
his own, and thus give completeness to his
being.
In the deep, full aflection of a wife's heart,
the husband finds that appreciation and in
terest which every soul covets. This stimu
lates his etcrprises. This makes him brave
in petil. This cheers his hard labor. This
comforts him under irritation, slander, re
proach, in the outside world.
To meet this craving of man woman is
adapted.
She is not ambitious of wealth or fame.—
She shrinks (rom great changes and great
perils. She is not fitted for tho straggles of
the forum, tho conflict of arms or the labors
of the field. Her home is her earthly Heav
en ; and she holds a loving heart to cheer
him, to whom God has given a loftier ambi
tion, a deeper craving of earth's wealth, a
stronger arm and a higher courage.
Subjected, by the ordinance of God and the
laws of the land, to abide a sterner will than
her own ; she is furnished with a wealth of
affection which makes her burden of subor
dination light, and melts and moulds to ten
derness (ho controller of her destiny.
" I am loved at home," says the husband
or the son; and this thought nerves his priu
eiple in the hour of temptation, and givos
solace to hardships on the land or on the lone
sea.
The treasure of a wife's affection, like tho
grace of God, is given, not bought. Gold is
puwer. It can sweep down forests, raise oil
ies, build rnada and deck houses. It can
bribe silence or noisy praise. It can collect
troops of flatterers, and inspire awe and fear;
but, alas! wealth can never purchase love.
Bonaparte essayed the subjugation of Europe
under the influence of a genius almost in
spired—an ambition insatiable—and backed
by millions of armed men. Ho almost suc
ceeded in swaying his sceptre from the straits
of Dover to the Mediterranean ; from the Bay
of Biscay to the Sea of Azofi. On many n
bloody field his banner floated triumphant;
but you will all bear witness that his greatest
conquest was the unbnught heart of Jose
phine—his sweetest and most priceless treas
ure, hor outraged but unchanged love. II
man have failed to estimate the affection of
a true-hearted wife, he will be likely to mark
the value of his loss, when the heart which
loved him is stilled by death.
11. The heart of her husband doth safely trust
in a faithful wife for companionship. The fam
ily relation gives retirement without solitude,
and society without the rough intrusion of
the world. It plaids in the husband's dwel
ling a friend who can bear his silence without
weariness—who can liston to the detail of his
interests with sympathy—who can appreciate
his repetition of even's, only important as
they are embalmed in the heart. Common
friends are linked to us by a slender thread.
We must retain them by ministering in some
way to their interest or their enjoyment.
As we cannot always give novelty and in
terest to our conversation ; as wo cannot al
ways make it for the interest, convenience
and pleasure of our friends to adhere to us,
as we are liable to those pecuniary and social
vicissitudes which may lux their patience or
Jheir purses, our ordinary friends, like sum-
Tner birds, aro liable to come and go—to bo
coldest when we most need sympathy—und
absent and indifferent, when we most need
their suppmt.
What u luxury it is for a man to feci that
in his own home there is a true and affec-
Donate being, in whose presence he may
throw off restraint without danger to his dig
nity ; lie may confide without the fear ol
treachery ; and be sick or unfortunate without
being abandoned.
If in the outward world he grow weary of
human selfishness, his heart can safely trust in
one whose soul yearns for his happiness, nnd
whose indulgence overlooks his defects. No
wonder ho says:
" My every earthly joy to blond,
And harmonize my life,
Give me a mio, a tender friend,
And bo that friend, my unfe."
lir. The heart of a husband (loth safely trust in
a faithful wife for personal comfort.
Who is it that gives care to the neatness,
order and tidiness of our dwellings, our
halls, our parlors, our bedchambers'? Who
is it that consults our tastes, our affinities,
our repellances; and so regulates our tables,
our couches, our apparel, as to minister to
our comfort?
Who is it that supplies our lack of inter
est in ordinary things, and sends us out into
society prepared to meet the claims of de
cency, taste and propriety ? Who caters for
our appetites and swelters in heated kitch
ens for our indulgence; and often, untliank
ed and unblessed, plies the needle, ill the
lone evening, for our benefit?
Who is it that schemes by rigid economy
to get the most elegance and comfort from
the least tax 011 our incomes? Who fur
nishes the ready pin, the napkin, the band
age for our wounds, the cup for our thirst,
the friction for our aching head, the medi
cine for our pains ? What angel of mercy
is it that watches by our sick pillow, bears
all our complaints and irritations, and moves
with muffled step when we slumber ?
The assiduities of a faithful wife are so
common, so various, so cheerful, so uncx
acting, that husbands arc likely to regard
her kindness as they do the sunlight and
the dews of heaven —matters of course—to
be received without gratitude. But the con
| stancy which makes them familiar—to a
rightly constituted mind—deepens the sense
of obligation. While the husband safely
trusts in the companion of his years for his
personal comforts, she has a right to expect
that her beneficence shall be appreciated.
If not, he will be likely to find her worth in
, her loss. Her absence or death, is, to tho
I little world of home, like the loss of the
I glowing sun, which alone protects our cartii
from eternal darkness and frost.
IV. Tlic heart of a husband doth safely trust
in a faithful wife for counsel.
It is difficult to find a friend who is so
deeply interested in our welfare as to take
the trouble to study our perploxity—so con
versant with us and our affairs as to under
stand our wants and dangers—so morally
brave as to venture to tell us unwelcome
thuihs—so perfectly disinterested as to as
sure us that no selfishness prompts his ad
vice—and so persevering as repetitiously to
urge that which is for ourbenelit.
A wife is such a friend, and a wise man
will often seek licr counsel.
Her lovo casts out fear. Her confidence
inspires boldness. She is always at hand
with her aid. ller eyes have seen all. ller
oars havo heard all. Her heart has felt all
that pertains to our interest or our reputa
tion. She is tho husband's other self at a
different angle of vision, watching with
earnestness for his welfare.
And there is something in tho ready, in
stinctive impressions of an intelligent wife
which no sano husband should ever de
spise She does not pause to collect facts,
weigh arguments, and draw inferences.—
Her impressive nature which rendors hur
indisposed slowly to reason, is furnished
with an iustiuctivo perception of tho right,
which is better than logic. •
Truth and Bight God IMI oor Country.
It is wonderful how often, in nicely balano
ed cases, when we appeal to the judgment
of a wife, how instantly she decides the
question lor us, and how generally she is
right. In ordinary affairs within her province,
the judgment of a wife is almost an instinct
of propriety; or, rather an inspiration from
Him who ordained "that by her counsel she
should be a helpmate for man." I'ilate was
embarrassed in the struggle between his
sense of justice and his desire of popularity;
but his wife said at euce, "have thou noth
ing lo do with that just man." Had he heed
ed her counsel Pilate's bands would not have
been stained with the blood of the Son of
God.
In the question* affecting the health of a
husband—his good name—-bis morals—bis
companionships—his business enterprise—
his religion—how often I'.aa tho ready coun
sel of a wife held him back from danger,
disaster and ruin. Am! how sad must be the
brother here Irom whom such u counsellor
hath been reeer.tly removed by death.
V. The heart if tier husband dmli safely trust
in (i faithful u'ifc for competence.
It is true, there aro soma wives who can
not thus he trusted. Actuated by n foolish
vanity of dress, furniture nnd equipage, and
reckless ol a husband's toils, anxieties and
pecuniary embarrassments, they will sustain
a certain style in tho present, even if they
havo to trample on a husband's broken hoarl
and ruined reputation in the process. These
aro the wives that dove husbands to wild
speculation, to fraud and embezzlement, lo
debts never to be paid, to lottery gambling,
to desperation nnd a premature grave.
But 1 am happy to believe that such cases
are lew. As a general Let, the principle of
justice, economy and thrift is strong in the
heart of a woman. Her home destiny qual
ifies her for a minute regard to Ihe details of
domestic economy, and her love for Iter hus
band and regard for the welfaro of Iter chil
dren dispose hor to use wisely and well the
earnings entrusted to her con'rol. Bite is
the one that obeys Christ in "gathering up
the fragments that nothing be lost." Ilers iv
no hireling's eye and hand. The husband
lays his purse in Iter lap, assured that the
comfort and respectability of his house, and
the interest of his property are safe in her
keeping. He hath, says the text, "no need
of spoil." lie has no need of false pretence
—of tricks ol trade—of grasping speculation
—of over-trading and debt—of over-tasked
energies and feverish dreams; for his wife
regulates his family expenditures b- bis lair
income, and is contented with hftr lot. How
crushing is the augmented responsibility,
when a husband realizes that such a care
taker is no moro at the head of his house
hold!
VI. The heart of a husband can safely trust a
faithful wife in the care utul training of his
child)en.
A father rpgards his children as a heritage
from the Lord. His sense of parental resposi
bility, his yearning and absorbing affection,
their dependence, (heir perils, their inexpe
rience, their confidence—all combine to press
them on his heart. But while these little
ones, dearer to him than his own life, tie
mnnd constant tenderness and cuic, this fath
er must bo abroad for their support. He is
a soldier, and must dwell in camps. He is a
captain, and must for months and years make
his home on the deep. Ho is a merchant,
and ftom morn to night must go where mer
chants congregate. He is a banker, and
must be found at the desk. He is a me
chanic, and must ply his trade. He is much
abroad; when he returns he is too absorbed,
too weary, 100 impatient, to sympathize with
his little ones, to tench them their prayers
and smooth the pillow of their slumbers.
He may be rich; but can money buy a
heart to love these little ones as he loves
them? Who will listen to their hundred
grievances? Who will be unwearied by
their clamor? Who will settle their little
controversies? Who will answer their thou
sand questions? Who will watch their in
cipient ailments, and patiently abide their
nights of fever? Who will gttide their open
ing intellects and train to strength their form
ing minds? Who will impress daily and
hourly lessons of taste, 'efinement, self-con
trol, benevolence and piety? Wltn will leach
their lisping tongues to pray? Who will
bear them, in tears and entreaty, to the alter
of Him who on earth took little children in
his arms and blessed them?
Tlie beart of a husband safely trusls all j
ibis to a faithful wife and mother. She rep
resents all his affections, and more than all
his patience and care.
Ttie highest confidence ever implied by J
one human being in another, is exhibited iu
the satisfied, confiding security with which
a father gives up his children—his greatest
treasures, to the sole guidance of a mother.
When such a mother is removed by death,
when the eyes that watched are dim, when
the lieait that yearned isetill and cold, where
can the husband und father find solace but
in resignation to the mysterious will of God?
Such a wife and mother hath been sudden
ly cut down in this chutoh. An intelligent,
amiable, sincere, true-hearted wife and moth
er, is a treasure not alone to her family, but
to the world; and in the loss of such an oue,
we have all occasion to mourn to-day.
In view of this subject, I would asks wives
and mothers now present, to remember that
life is uncertain. Valuable as tbey are to
their husbands, their children, they are liable,
like their siater, at any nine to lie down and
dio. How carefully and prayerfully ihould
they ihon live. How much do they need a
I practical and earnest piety, that their respou
aible duties may be all doue and well done.
I As their children are liable lobe handed over
lo the care of strangers, how necessary that
they be led early and safely to Christ.
1 view o f this subject, I would ask hus
bands here, to appreciate those who make
the joy of their dwellings. Are not Ihe kind
ness of wives olten unnoted, uuthauked, un
regarded? Remember, that these compan
ions of your existence fill offices of dignity
and high usefulness. They are shut out
from the world's applause; let litem rest in
the assurance of your gratitude and consid
eration. When you see litem still and cold
in death, it will not grieve you lo remember
that your love lias thrown sunshine into the
shade of their allotment, that your prayers
and example have given them aid ill the
right training of your children.
In view of this subject we soe how much
necessity exists lor personal and family re
ligion. Wives are torn from llieir fiu.bands,
mothers are separated from Ihoir (tailing chil
dren. The wand of death leaves the most
cheerful faintly circle cold and desolate.
There is but one teltef. The pious dead
are not lost, and in our deepest sorrows we
an allowed to look up and say—
"There is a world übovc,
Where parting is unknown;
A long eternity of love,
Formed lor the good alone,
And faith beholds the dying hero
Translated to that heavenly sphere."
At the grave of the good, wo may well
adopt the language of the Apostles: "Lord,
to whom shall we go, lor thou alone hast
the words of eternal life!" Life here is a
shadow—Heaven is a fixed and immutable
reality; and "Blessed are the dead that have
died ill the Lord, for they rest from their la
bors, and their works do follow them.""
In respect lo her whom we all mourn,
wo may say—
"Now lake iliy rest in thy shadowy hall,
In thy mournful shroud reposing;
There is no blight on thy soul to lull,
No mist on its light is elosiug.
It will shine in glory when time is o'er,
When each phantom of earth shall wither,
When the friends that deplore llieo sigh no
more,
lint lie down in the dust together.
Though sad winds wail in the cypress bough,
Thou art resting calm and untroubled now."
TUB lilt I DLL'.
" Don't go without n bridle, boys," was my
grandfather's fuvorate bit of advice.
Do you suppose wc are all teamsters or
horse jockeys. No such thing.
II lie heard one cursing and swearing, or
given to much vain and loolish talk, "that
man has lost his bridle," he would say.—
Without a bridle, die tongue, though a little
member, "boasted) great things." It is "an
unruly evil full o( poison." l'ul a bridle on,
and it is one ol the best servants (he body
and soul have. "I will keep my mouth with
a bridle," said King David, and we can't do
better than follow his example.
When my grandfather saw a man drinking
and carousing, or a hoy spending all his
money lr cakes and candy, "poor fellow,"
he would say, "he's left off his bridle." The
appeiite needs training; let it loose, and it
will run yon to gluttony, drunkenness, and
all sorts of disorders. Be sure and keep a
bridle on your appetite; don't le> it be mas
ter. And don't neglect to have one for your
passions. They go mad if they get unman
agable, driving you down a blind and head
long course to ruin. Ksep the check-rein
tight; don't let it slip ; hold to it steady.—
" Never go out without your bridle, boy*."
This was the bridle my graudfaiher meant
—the bridle ol self-government. Parents try
to restrain and check tboir children, and you
can generally tell by their behavior what
children have such wise and faithful parents.
But parents cannot do everything. And some
children have no parents to care for them.—
livery boy must have his own bridle, and
every girl must have her.*; they must learn
to clfti k and govern themselves. It becomes
easier every day, if you practice it with a
steady and resolute will. It is die foundation
of excellence. It is the cutting and pruning
which makes the noble and vigorous tree o(
character.
Lcarti nil Yon Can.
Somebody has given the following excel
lent sdvice, which is worthy of being treas
ured up by everybody. ' Never omit an op
portunity to learn all you can. Sir Walter
Scott said even in a stage-coach he always
found somebody to tell him something he
did not know before. Conversation is gen
erally more useful than books for the purpo
ses of knowledge. It is, therefore, a mistake
to be morose and silent when you are among
persons whom you think are ignorant ; for a
little sociability on your part will draw them
out, and they will be able to teach you some
thing. no mutter how ordinary their employ
ment. Indeed, some of the most sagacious
remarks are made by persons of this descrip
tion, respecting tbeir particular pursuit.
Hugh Miller, tba famous Scotch geologist,
owes not a little to die fame of observations
made when he was a journey man stone ma
son, and worked in a quarry. Socrates well
said that mere is but one good which is
knowledge, aud but one evil which is ignor
ance. Every grain of sand helps to make the
heap. A gold digger takes the smallest oug
! gets, and is not 100 l er.ongh to throw theui
I away because he hopes to find a huge lump
| sometime. So in acquiring knowledge, we
j should never despise an opportunity, how
j ever unpromising. If there M a uiomem s
| leisure, spend it over a good book, or in
structive talking with the first persou you
meet.
OT The corner stone of the National Clay
Monument, at I-exington, Ky , was laid on
the 4th inst, with imposing cereiuouies.
I'll K Wil li-
She who sleeps upon my heart
Was the first to win it;
Site who dreams upon my breast
Ever reigns within it.
She who kisses oft my lips,
Wakes their warmest blessing;
She who rests within my arms
Feels itioir closest pressing.
Oilier days than these shall come,
l>ays that may be dresry—
Other hours shall greet us yet,
Hours that may be weary;
Still this heart shall be thy throne,
Still this breast shall be thy pillow;
Still these lips shall meet thine oft
As billow meelcth billow.
Sleep, llien, on my happy heart,
Since thy love hath won il—-
Drea n, then, on thy loyal breast,
None but thou lias done il;
And wlisn age our blqom shall change,
Willi its wintry weather,
May we in the self-same grave
Sleep mid dream together.
Roy Af< A N EC DO I'K-
As Joseph 11., Emperor of Austria, was
driving his one-horse cabriolet, dressed in the
garb of a private citizen, lie was accosted
by a soldier, who mistaking him (or a man
of the middle class, requested a seat in the
vehicle.
"Willingly," replied the Kmporor; "jump
in, comrade, for Pin in a hurry."
The soldior was soon sealed alongside of
the Emperor, and tweamo very loquacious.
"C'omo comrade," said he, slapping the
Emperor familiarly on the back, "are you
good at guessing 1"
"I'ehaps I am," said Joseph, "try me."
•'Well, Iher., my boy, conjure up your
wits, and tell mh what 1 bad for breakla-il!"
"Sour krout!"
"Come, nono of that, comrade, try it
again."
"Perhaps a Westphalia ham," replied the
Emperor, willing to humor his companion.
"Hotter than thai," exclaimed the soldier.
"Sausages from Bologua, and llocktieimcr
from the Rhine."
"Heller than that—d'ye give it up?"
"I do."
"Open your ej us and ears, then," said tho
soldier, bluntly. "I had a pheasant, by Jove,
shot ill the Emperor Joe's park, ha, ha!"
When the exultation of the soldier had
subsided, Joseph said quietly:
'•I want to try your skill in guessing, com
rade. See il you can name the rank I hold."
| "Vou'r a—no—hang it! you're not smart
enough for aeornet."
I "Better than thai," said tho Emperor.
"A lieutenant V
"Better than that."
"A captain f"
"Better than that."
"A major V
"Belter than that."
"A general t"
"[letter than that."
The soldier was now fearfully agitated; he i
had doffed his hat, and sal bare-headed; he
could scarcely articulate.
"i'ardon me, your excellency, you are field ;
marshal ?"
"Heller titan that," replied Joseph.
"Lord help me,"cried the soldier, "you're
the Emperor V
He threw himself out of the cabriolet, and
knelt for pardon in the mud. The circum
stances were not forgotten by either: the Em
peror often laughed over it, anil the soldier
received a mark of favor which he could
not forget.
THE SECRET PULICK OF PARIS.
Three days ago, says a correspondent wri
ting from Paris, whilst walking in the Ron de
liivoli wilh a friend, my atlentioti was called
by the latter gentleman who was walking
leisurely some paces before us. 'Do you
know who he is!" was lti3 ques ion put to
me ; and to my negative reply, ' If you t.uve
any curiosity about him," added tny friend,
"we will join him, and make him" talk upon
a subject very familiar to his understanding.
He is no other than 11 . one of the per
fects of police of the republic of IS 17, who
held the position for the longest period o!
lime, an J best discharged that very difficult
office." Of course, 1 profited by my friend s
proposal; we joined M . and, the mutual
presentation effected, we journeyed on, all
three together, up to the Champs F.tysees,
and on lo the ouier side of the Arc de Tri
omphe; after which we re-descended the
Champs Elysees, by the side opposite to that
by which we entered them. Our subject of
conversation soon became die anxiety of the
j government touching the Emperor's salcty.
I Yes," remarked our new companion, " I
1 do not need lo be apprised of that: 1 only
need look around tne as I walk and this
| phrase our inteilocutor c.vpleined in the tol
j lowing terms:
" If it is of any interest to yon, I will point 1
out to you, as we go along, the iudividuals,
under every imaginable disguise, who,some
few years since, were lite soldiers ot my ar
mv. They are everywhere, aud by twenties,
thirties, huudreds ; they are lounging or walk
ing quick, apparently hurried by business :
old and young, rich or poor. sek or healthy,
listening to you and me as we converse, pry
ing, spying, watching around.'' And, in
truth, it was beyond measure curious to see
the meu M—— pointed out to us, and with
whom he every now and theu exchanged an
imperceptible sign of recognition.
Out of those that struck me most, I wilt no
tice a few. One was a lame beggar man,
who west haultittg along with a most piteous
mem, aud whciu out informant told us was
remarkably clever at hie trade. "Obsstve,'*
said he, "bow 1M always contrives to stop
[Two Dollars per Annas*
NUMBER 27.
10 rect himself whenever two or three men
meet upon the foot pavement ami beglh to
talk : he is listening to what lliey say."—
Ano'lier was also very ingenious. Thla Was
nil elderly looking invalid, closely wrapped
up, aitetided by a livery servant, and who
had ensconced himself ill the very middle ol
a gtoup of sitters of boih sexes, whom the
first rays of litis prematura sunshine had se
duced )lo what are uslially the haunts of a
month later. Others again (and a great many)
were dressed as workmen—some in blouses,
some in working jackets ; several were attir
ed in "shabby genteel" cottnmo, looking
like poor professors, or employees ; whilst
some were as elegantly dressed, and appear
ed as gentlemanlike as the generality of den
cera in l'aiia ball-room".
"Tho place where you may see lite most
of these gentry," said M—, "i—if you
wilt come as far as the round point of the
Chumps Klysees—tho fountain. !t is their
gathering place; they know that, hi the course
of the day, they can always he sure to find
each other iliere." Sure enough, when we
reached the fountain, we found a small circle
nl these police liapci; and as wo approach
ed, nnr informant designated them to us.
"Von see the seedy looking man with a
bur.dle of papers under his arm, the journey
man palmer lolling against the edge of a ba
sin, the dandy examining the play of the
water through his eye glass, and that tall,
raw, ragged youth trying to make a bit of a
■ boat sad along. Well, I know every man of
them. They are all moiulutrds! (police spies.)
1 As we passed qnile close to these individu
als, we noticed that our companion was evi
dently known tothern;but, as he himself
remarked, "they did not venture to bow" to
him. Further on, however, close to the Tri
umphal Arch, we met an elderly man dressed
extremely well, anil carrying "respectability"
in every feature. "To this one. if you like,"
said M , "I will speak ;" ami he accord
ingly accosied him thus:
" Well, so and so, then you carry on your
trade still? 1 should have thought it was
j pretty nearly lime to reiire from business."
| "Ah ! Monsieur la Perfect!" wss the an
swer of the mac, who could not make up his
mind to treat as an ordinary mortal htm who
hud once been his immediate superior, " I
really runnul consent to give up my young
inen and the lair ladies; they interest me—l
; have the habit of them!"
1 This needs explanation. Tits mart in rpiee
lion is especially charged to watch over a
j certain ila of ladies in their relationship
I with young men of family : his observations
i all went to prove that never, in any time, had
| the youth of France been sc intraoral, so de-
I graded ; but he always ended by saying he
l could not give them up yet. because h had
I "the habit of them "
I confess that this little nut-of door instgh'
I into the "manners and customs" of the I'ar
j iian police amused me macb ; and I have
i thought that, sketched as it is from "the life,"
I it might not be without interest to your read
ers.
TIIE C'AltftlV AI. (IF ADj FCTIV ES.
Foremost amort? the freaks of language is
llie capering of adjectives. They skip and
bound and surge and roar in such various
ways, and with such grotesque effect, as to
keep up a constant carnival. Not unfrequent
ly they arc made to confound qualities, ap
pearances and senses, as in the case of the
old lady who said that she loved oysters be
cause they left t; a pretty taste in her mouth,"
and who insisted moreover thai she hated
"an ugly smell" and was very fond of
'■handsome music."' Sometimes those which
properly relate to size or form are applied
incongruously to mental efforts, such ais ''a
tall speech," "a big sermon," "a (at thought,"
"a huge argument." At othet limes they
are tumbled together with significations so
nearly synonymous as to render language
vapid, of which these are specimens: ''.He
is acontenird, satisfied and happy ntan,' 1 "a
talkative, voluble and loquacious fellow,"
;l a plea-ant anj agreeable companion," "a
brutal and savage monster."' Very often the
finest adjectives in the vernacular, rollick
about with sad company "a magnificent
pig," ''a superb shad," "a splendid cat." ami
the lik, are examples of the free compan
iodship. Ou the o'herhand those which are
best suited to ordinary purposes are often
I found io the company of extraordinary things,
affording a liters! but not philosophical ful
fillment of the rule, that ' adjectives belong
to the nouns which they describe." Thie
thought is suggesied by the remark of the
Cockney, on viewing (he Falls of Niagara—
I "decidedly, 1 may say very pretty,"' and by
the observation of the Yankee— "a Urge
water power, 1 reckon.'' What man of feel
ing is there who could have stood by and
listened to such nonsense, whhout being un
-1 polled lo thrash the simpletons who uttnred
iit ? But k must be remembered that the
harlequins in this earmvai enjoy a perfect
freedom from restraint, and talk, and act jest
as they please, and we must therefore for-
give the Cockney aud the Yankee, as well
as numberless oiher ctieuders whose jotiity
would be disturbed by hacsii treatment. So
long as the world goes ease it does, the
sport will be coanuued aud enjoyed by a
: curtain son of peoyne. Yet, Is the moan
t.me, we would suggest that "Adjectieiee* r
is a new 'heese, and one which may some
Idav be done up wilii embelishmeole ess
public lecture with amazing eilltet f**n
syfamara.
1 OT" It is a truth not ttuwotthy ot oousider
■ atiori, that those who ofiettiiatuly refuse to
J give up abuses, will inevitably be celled up
' on to Marremter uses.