The star of the north. (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1849-1866, July 22, 1857, Image 1
THE STAR OF THE NORTH. R. Vf. Weaver, Proprfe^jl VOLUME 9. THE STAR OF THE NORTH IS PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY MORNING BY R. W. WEAVER, krt^FlCE—Up stairs, tn the new britk bittid ing, on Ike south ride oj Main Street, third square below Market. Ell 111 8 .—Two Dollars per annnm, if paid within six months from the time of sub scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not 1 paid within the year. No subscription re ceived for a leas period than aix months; no discontinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editor. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square will be inserted three times for One Dollar, and twenty-five cents for each additional in- 1 Settion. A liberal discount will be made to j (hose who advertise by the year. v Choice floetrg. A LO R Ei BY MARY EMMA GILLIES. 'Twas midnight, and he sal alone— The husband of the dead ; That day the dark dust had been thrown Upon her buried head, tier orphan'd children round him slept, But in their sleep would moan, Then fell the first tear he had wept— He fell he woa alone. The world was full of life and light, But, ah, no more for him ! His little world once warm and bright- It now was cold and dim. Where was her sweet sod kindly face ! Where was her cordial lone! He gazed around the dwelling place, Aud felt be was alone. The wifely love—maternal care— The self-denying zeal— The smile of hope that chased despair, And promised future weal; The clean bright hearth—nice table spread— The obarm o'er all things thrown— The aweetness in whate'ersbe said- All gone—he was alone ? He looked into his cotd while heart, All sad ind unresigned ; He asked how be had done his pari, To one so truo —so kind! Each error past he tried to trick, In torture would alt tie- Would give his life to bring her back- In vaiu—he was atone. He slept at last; and then he dreamed [Perchance her spirit woke,] A soft light o'er his pillow gleamed, A voice in music spoke— "Forgot—lorgiveri all neglect— . Thy love recalled alone, Thy babes I leave; oh, love, protect! I still am all l l'lace Chatham, the workmen have discovered a great number of human remains, amounting in the whole it is said, lo nearly fifty. The skeletons were discovered at a depth of scarcely three feet below the rurfsce of the ground, nearly the : whole ol them appearing as if having been \ bnried in coffins. The discovery of such a , number of skeletons has caused a vast Amount of interest in the neighborhood, audi speculation is rile how they came to be buri ed at the spot in question, which is far re moved from anything like a churchyard.— Local antiquarians seem lo be of opinion that (he bodies have been there about two tian -ilred years, and it has beec suggested that it | is more than probable that they are the re- i ■mains of those persons who died during the | great plague in 1666 as it is a well known fact, from the parish record that Chatham suffered severely on that occssion ; and from fear of infection, it appears feasible that the bodies of the deceased persons would be de- , posited as far away from tho town as possi- ! ble. The bodies were lying eas'. and west, in ibe ancient way of placing the corpse in ' the grsve. The skulls of inany of the bodies are very perfect, some of the teeth being en- { lire. Miaa Stock Sales In New York. j On two days of last week, Tuesday and , Wednesday, there were aold at the New York Board of Brokers nominally 18,000 Reading Railroad shares amounting in value at par to £900,000 when ttlto city holds under 50,000 •hares, one half of which have not changed hand* in the last eighiedt! months, and at least 10,000 of the other half is held in trust for buyers on the other aide of the ocean.— The people believe this of coarse; they be lieve too that notwithstanding this condition of the stock that during the last forty days 194,325 shares have Been sold as reported, ' which at 850 per share amounts to $9,666,- 100, and if kept up at the same rate until the year is completed it would amount to over $77,000,000, which is over 826,000,000, wore than Ibe ehtiie bankiog capital of that •city I This extraordinary basinets, at which •we can anticipate the eyes of resdert not •killed jn financial operations, stretched to the size of goggles, is only the operations in Seeding with a stock limited to 228,668 •hares. On the 7ih, the total operations for that day only amounted to the snm of $3,- $78,358, and if kept op at that rate during the yeat, would aggregate 8776,655,880 —a beautiful return for the eapital employed I On the Bth the sales reported were 82,981,- <OO, which is evidently a mistake ol the prin ter, or may have been omitted in the entry of the ohattef mortgage of 81,500,000 npeo the Rolling atoofc of the New York end Erie. With this we have nothing to do. We have reverted to this state of tbinge to show that there are only 80,846 sbaree of Ibe Reading Railroad left;—all the rest have gone. Iy The aeeounta of the crops over tho ctuitry coniinoe to be moat encouraging. I}L'6 oils ßUßG, C6LI;WBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 22,1837. • ADDRESS ON EDUCATION. BY ROSACE GREELEY. At the Anniversary of Wyoming Seminary in Kingston, Tuesday, June 30, 1857. Reported fir the 'Record of the Timet.' ( Mr. GREELEY stood behind a large melo deon, on which six immense folios, volumes of the Biographia Britannica, were piled at a aland for his notes; end. with a voice and meaner which seemed as if his muse were pitchforking great loails of thought out of his interior, with tremendous effort, but which grew gradually esaier, began as fol lows :) I come before you to-day wil)j no elaborate address prepared; for 1 think the speech which will beat suit the occasion will be one inspired by the occasion. The theme is of course the one, the only one, which would be filling here and now; I need scarcely name it; EDUCATION. Yet not as an advo cate of Education am 1 hers to address you; she needs no advocate here, or you would not be here to day. Ail this vast multitude, gathered from distant homes, have came as her advocates. There is surely no need of dwelling on the value and importance of that which is the engrossing theme of thought and interest with all I see before me. The intelligence, beauty and attention here col lected, the halls in view of which we are assembled; the addresses we have already heard, all the memoriea our young friends bear from this place, and all th hopes which becken them lo the future, are so many les pmoniils to the importance of Educalioo.— • But, that we may bring our thoughts to some practioal issue to-day, indulge me with your attention, and while my feeble voice can j make you bear, and so long as your patience ] ought to be taxed, 1 will offer some remarks as the fruits of my reflection and experience,! on EDUCATION, —ITS MOTIVES, METHODS AND ENDS. The word Philosophy, in its proper and derivative meaning, denotes a love of wis dom or knowledge. But it is more common ly used iu an accommodated and inaccurate ser.se, as indicating a system or circle of whatever pertains or ministers to the intel- j lectual needs of man. Taking the word in i this, now its almost nnitgyal sense, we may i say the world I *-ef cknswHlMKt I among soholars, i in our colleges and academies, our systems of education, and the literary wot Id at large, the philosophy of Plato still wields a para mount authority. We may say that nine tenths ol the thinking world bow lo him.— These two names then, raised on high, stand to-day as landmarks to all who go forth upon the sea of thought. Plato's philosophy begins by conlemplat in<>the soul rather than the body, man more as a pure spirit than as an agent in the material world. It deems the noblest work of eduoation to be, not so much the ( workman as the man. Its objects ate in ward, and its means, therefore, are chosen I for their reflective action on him who em- I ploys them, not for their power in the world. I But while Plator.iam thus builds on intuition, Baconism seeks its foundation in reason.— It begins with facts, and aims at fruit*. It rejects everything from the beginning but clear, proved facts, and calls forth all the energies of its disciples in the search for practical; useful results. The Baconian idea , regards man as placed on earth to be a 1 worker; and the true education as that which best fits man for his work. It therefore cuts i ofl from youthful training everything which I gives no promise of being turued lo account I in manly work. j The civilized wotld, as I have said, sat for i more than fifteen centuries at the feet of < Plato; receiving his words with as implicit faith as was given them in his own school at Athena. And still his- ideas prevail in our! scholastic system. Ask an old school pro- i lessor of to day why be insists so much on the general study of the higher mathematics, the dead languages, and such other branches as have no praotical work to do iu the bands of these pupils; and be ia sure to answer yon as an orthodox Platonist; To discipline the mind. This is the great aim of oor college and academy systems. But since the gen eral diffusion o f the art of printing, the op posite or Baconian idea has been steadily gaining ground. And now the great ques tion in which the educational mind of our own age ia engaged, ia whether this idea akall be adopted in the training syrtem of the coming era* Baeunism, then, commences withacare •ful, intelligent observation of facts. It as sumes nothing; proceeds by strict education; takes nothing for granted; and postpones all theorizing UQtil by an adequate interrogation of facts, we shall be poicted irresistibly to tbe conclusion. The model Baconian ol our own nation, m>3 of what we may call our own age, in comparison, with the vast extent of history, was Benjamin Franklin. He was not, indeed, a model man; as a man his char acter had many faults; but we speak of him now only as a tbinker, and in this light, be was a model Baconian. Other illustrious disciples of this school, however, belong to these times; such as Fulton, Watt, Whitney, Morse, Daguerre, snd many more. For this is the school of practical men, who do tbe work. Now I too, in my poor way, avow myself a follower of Bacon. 4,would apply his Troth and Rigbt™Cod our Couutry. touchstone lo allour processes of education. I would affirm that the min4 i disciplined best bj its own proper work; and not by ma king this discipline the great end. I would say to the farmer's son, poring orer Greek verbs and Hebrew roots and accents; to the damsel of sixteen, wasting her sweeluess on algebra and geometry, what do yoo propose to do with this, when joo shall have master ed ill What i its use, its purpose, its end, so lar as you are concerned ! If you pro pose to tnrn it to some practical account, very well; but if you only acquire it with an eye to mental discipline, then I protest against it as a waste of time and energy. Action, action disciplines the mind; the acquisition of what we need to know, better than that we don't need. Yes; I demand of education, tad of every part of it, fruits. 1 test its vefue by the standard of practical utility. Let us learn first, at least, what we personally and posi tively need to know; afterwards, if ever, that which we can profit by only as exercise or discipline. Let all our education recognize that we are here as dodrs, not as dreamers. Yet does this Bacontsm not really affirm, as some say, the subordination of the man to the workman, the mental to the physical It affirms for the latter a precedence in time only, not in importance. "First the blade, then the ear; afterward the full corn in the ear." The child must creep before it can walk, however decided the superiority of the latter mode of locomotion. We insist, then, that education should first qualify its work for his subject;—that is, for a career of as sured usefulness and independence; because, in delault of this, there is scarcely a chance that he can be ncoralljiSgood or intellectually great. Bread is not so noble as thought, but iu the absence of food, the brain is paralyzed or absorbed in the consciousness of hunger. I Let every human being be first trained lo an assured ablilily usefully to earn at least a livelihood, and thus shielded from the all but inevitable moral degradation of the de- J pendent and the beggarly. Every man who has bad, with myself, the sad experience and observation affoided by a residence for upwards of a quarter of a century in a great city, will agree with me, when I say no sight is more pitiable than the educated men, having no means of support by their hands, either through ignorance, weakness or pride, who huddled in its crowded populations.— host of such waifs, intellect- We want a more | dustrial eduoation, for many urgent reasons. Ist. To advance physical health, strength and longevity. 2d. For the proper cuhiva tion of the earth, and the development of its mineral and vegetable treasures. We have but begun in this age lo know the wealth of nature. What is the present state of ag riculture, the first of arts in time, the first in necessity! 3d. For improvement in ma chinery, in manufactures, and in household economy. 4th. To diffuse leisure and taste (or study amoug the uneducated. It is a very common complaint that thrifty, un taught farmers grudge the cost of a thorough education for their sons aud daughters.— Hodge industrious and independent in his ignorance scorns his educated noightor, who is but a drone and a beggar with it all. "1 have succeeded well enough," says be, "without education; why shouldn'tjny chil dren do the same." Now 1 realize and re gret Hodge's contempt for learning, but I cannot pretend to be surprised at it. On the contrary it seems to me most natural, and not very blameworthy. For do but consider that the educated son or daughter too often returns to the paternal home with and ill diaiuised contempt for its homely root, and a positive aversion lo its downright labor.— Wfto would expect a sensible homebred parent to relish and value such education! That son is not truly educated who cannot grow more corn on an acre than his unlearn ed father, and grow it with !ess labor. That educated daughter has received a mistaken and superficial training if she cannot excel her mother in making soap or cheese or but ter. All these are chemical processes, ii which her education should rendot her an adept, far beyond any untaught person. Tbe educated lawyer, doctor or clergyman, whose garden is not better, (I do not say larger,) and his fruit trees more thrifty snd productive ihnn his illiterate neighbor's, sadly discredits and dnmages the cause of education. The prejudice agnnat muscular, physical labor is a product of barbarism and slavery. It ought long since to have vanished in the light of liberty and civilization, of course, he who oan earn ten dollars per day aa a lawyer should not desert this to toil for a dollar par day as a plowman or canal.digger. This would be folly. But tbe lawyer or phyaioian who cannot earn the ten dollars per day, nor one of them, amh who stands idle, and runs io debt for bis board, rather than plow or dig, has been very badly taught, and ia a poor creature. Let each do bis best; but let no man make his presumed ability to do something better an excuse for doing noth ing. "Six days shall tbou labor," says tbe BOOK; and there is hardly a command ment worse underwood or worso heeded.— Each of us is under a perpetual obligation to usefulness; and thia is not discharged by the fact that we cannot find just the work we would prefer to do. Every one lounging around taverns, or idling in office, or wait ing foi some one to. employ him as a lawyer, a doctor, or in some such capacity, and meantime doing ibe world uo good, but liv- I ing on th* earnings of others, is a scandal I and a clog to the cause of education. | Perhaps the great mistake is nowhere more gerieial or more pernicious than in the education of woman. It ia the destiny of woman, we carelessly asy, to preside over a household aa wife and mother; and so it is the destiny of most women, but by no means of all. It is right thai all should be educated to fulfil nobly the duties of matronage; but it is not well that any should be educated so as to fit her for no other sphere but this, so as to render her life as a maiden necessarily a defeat and a failure. Choice with some, disappointment with others, necessity perhaps with more; —these consign thousands to sin gle life. All must fill this sphere at least for ■ season. Why then should not all be fitted to exalt, and adorn it! > position and sphere of woman is One pf- she themes which the thought of Our age is pondering; and its meditations will not be fruitless.— Greater freedom ar.d wider opportunities for usefulness in maidenhood, a juster and more eqoal onion in married life, these are the essential demands of the clear-sighted, and tbey cannot always be answered by misrep resentation nor silenced by sneers. Pecuni ary independence and self-support in single life are essential to woman, that she may spurn the degrading idea of marrying for a home and a livelihood. For, however prop er the marriage state may be, surely an ill assorted union is worse than none. To this end, woman must be taught and encouraged to do many things she now shuns;—must be called out into God's sun shine; and made a free producer of those fruits which are its noblest embodiments.— The fine arts in all (heir phaaet, gardening, the vineyards, the manufactures, all nr.ust be annexed to her industrial domain, until it should be impossible, as well as shameful, to exact of her teaching and other service at half Ibe price which man receives for 1 equal ability and equal efficiency. This is among the achievements immediately before us, arid it is to be attained through a wiser and more practical education. But iu thus basing education upon industry, activity, efficiency, I do not of course mean to confine it to material ends. Its feet are planted-firmly on the earth, only that its head may be exalted lo the skies. Let our edu csted youth be first cspable, skilful, efficient, independent workers, in order that they may develop and evince a nobler manhood, a truer and sweeter womanhood, than we, Let them be skilled in i.l! • .nn- nt inn-r• ' .r exertion, so that They shall work ont for themselves a genuine leisure for conquests in the dominion of mind. Let them be in ventors, 'hinkers, philosophers, poets, not merely that they may coin their brain-sweat : into bread, but thai, having secured ample ; bread, they shall now be ready to labor in teljectually for the good ol their race. But would you have every one a mere delver! you ask. Yes, let every one delve till a way shall open before him to do some thing better. Lei men be called to intellect ual work, because needed there, not because needing to be there. Let the relationship of literature to life be placed on a truer, more earnest basis.. Not*, we heji a young man, trained in the prevailing system of educa- i lion, cry, "Why may I not be an author, and thus earn my bread.'! And so he makes an earnest effort to enter the reslms of Author ship, as Novelist, Essayist, even as Post.— But alas / no Post ever deliberately sat down to write a poem for either bread or fame.— Poetry, lo be reel, is the overflow of-life, not its mean quantity. True Poets only write because they must; and Jenny Lind's Bird in her beautiful song, that ories, "I must, I must be singing." Only to think of Homer or Dante going about with, "Please, air, buy my poem, that my wife and my children may have bread!" I often think with pleas ure of' an anecdote of Uehler, the great Ger man Poet. When a friend visited him. at a time when he had published nothing for many months, and asked him, "Have you anything in band now, any great poetical effort not yet finished, continue so long withdrawn from ibe publio eye!" he answered "No, I have not feh the necessity of writing 'alely." A true Poet must be si lent when he does not feci the necessity of writing. But lo write because yoo have no other means of snpport, because you cannot live without it, Ibis is to debase your faoulty. Yet the world is full of appeals for patronage and employment, which amount to jnst this. Now the world is not bettered by the book thai is written for money; nor by any intel lectual lobor of wbieb hunger is the inspira tion. And alt education whioh makes s man necessarily a lawyer, a physician, a cle'gy man or an author, is degrading to literature and intellect. The writer ought to be always the perfected worker. The curse of our time, as I suppose of all times, is inordinate selfweeking. We ac quire that W6 may serve, not mankind, bnt ourselves. We seek not twYeep step in lb* even march of life, but to steal a ride on the baggage wagon. Tbe spirit of the NEW AGE on which we are entering is different; it speaks only of, and seeks for, the equal rights of all. It says to the Legislator, pun ish, pnnish crime; but only a* the Guardian of Justice and the Protector of the Common wealth; for the prevention of future crime, and, if-it may be, tbe reformation' of tbe offender. It says to the Thinker, Hate, but bo careful to hale only that whioh is hateful, which opposes and impsdsa human good.— And it cries, as it hails the rising generation, Yontb, study! Study with all your energies, but study only ibaLyou may be a more effec tive worker! It sayV to men every where, Work, that you may be more unselfish and effecfiTO students. And to all, Live, with all yonr powers and all your life, that the haughty may be abased, the humble exalt ed, and God glorified. I feel that I have reached the limits ol my voice and ol your patience. I have thrown out these thoughts, thus imperfectly, hoping tbsl they may reach your minds and dwell in them, and become your thoughts; and thus, so far aa they are just and right, in fluence your lives. You know our thoughts are always, if allowed to develop themselves rightly, better than our lives. What then 1 Shall oufthoughts be brought down 10 the lower level of our lives, or shall the latter be exalted ? Let us strive to make education the seed of good thoughts; a sure and faith ful teacher that aoul is moro and better than body. Let it train the young so to use every power that man may be ennobled, and life may be higher and holier. Tho Mother's Influence. I can always tell the mother by her boy. Tho urchin who draws back with double fiats and lunges his playmate if he looks at bim askance, has a very questionable mother.— She may feed him, and clothe him, and cram liirn with sweat.neats, and coax him with promises; bnl if she gets mad, she fights. She will pull him by the jacket ; she will give him a knock on the back; she will j drag him by the hair; she will call him all sorts of wicked names, while passion plays over her face io lambent flames that curl and writhe out at the corner of her eyes. And we never see the courteous little fel low, with smooth locks and geulle manners —in whom delicacy does not detract from courage and manliness —but we say, "that boy's mother ia a true lady." Her words and her ways are solt, loving and quiet. If she reproves, her language is "my son," iiol"you little wretch, you plague of my life, you tor ment, you scamp!" She hovers belorc him as the pillar of light before the wandering Israelites, and her beams are reflected in his face. To bim the word mother is synonymous with everything pure, sweet and beautiful. Is he an artist! In after life, the face that with holy radiance shines on his oanvas is that of his mother. JtHji-IJ.SjJILQj soft, low, voice, will bring her urc my Wljtmlt .jps'til -in. KIsJ : to rn a the ruffian mother— al.isl Hint there arc such —will form the ruffian character of a man. j There is no disputing the fact; it shines iu the face of every little child. The coarse, \ brawling woman, will have coarse, vicious, brawling, fighting children. She who cries on every occasion, "I'll box your ears—l'll J slap your jaws—l'll break your neck," is known as thoroughly through her children as if her unwomauiy manners were displayed iu the public street. AN INCENTIVE TO PLUCE. —A hopeful youth who was the owner of a young bull terrier was one day training the animal in the art of being ferocious, and wanting some animated object to set the dog upon, his daddy, alter considerable persuasion, consented to get down upon ail fours and make fight with Mr. Bull. Young America began lo urge on the dog—"sis-ler-boy,—seize liim, &c.;" at last the dog "made a dip" and got a good hold upon the old man's proboscis, and get tho dog off he couldn't. So he began to cry out with the pain caused by the fangs of the dog. "Grin and bear it, old man!" shouted the yonng scapegrace! "Grin and bear it— 'twill be the mahin' of the pup. Itr At an examination of the Collage of Surgeons a candidate was asked by Aberne thy— I "What would you do if a tnan was blown up with powder!" " Wait until be come down," he coolly re plied. "True," replied Abernethy, "and suppose I should kick you for such an impertinent reply, what muscles would you put in mo tion !" "The flexors and sxlensors of my arm, for I would knock you down immediately." He received a diploma. ONLY ONE O'CLOCE.— Mr. M., coming home late one night from 'meeting,' was met at the door by his wife. " Pretty time of night, M., for you to come home—pretty time, three o'clock in the morning , you, a respectable man in the community, aud tho fattier of a family I" "'Tisn'l three—its only one; I heard it Itriko; council always sits till I o'clock." "My soul IM. you're drunk—as true as I'm alive, you're druuk. It's tbrea in the morning." "I say, Mrs. M., it's one. I heard it strike one as I came around the corner, twoor three times'." 0T A fast man undertook the (ask of teas ing an eccentric preacher: "Do you believe," said he, "in the story of tbe'Fatted calf!'" "Yes," eaid the preacher. "Well, then, was it a male or female calf that was killed. "A female," replied the divine. "How do you know that "Because, (looking the interrogator in the face,) I see the mtle is still alive. From ''The Compass, With Variations." BY TOM HOOD. Down went the wind, down went the wave," Fear quitted the most finical; Tbe saints, I wot, were soon forgot, And hope was at the pinnacle ; When rose on high the frightful cry— " Tbe devil's in Ibe binnacle." "The saiuts be near," the helmsman cried, His voice with quite a falter, "Steady's my helm, but every look The needle seems to alter; God only knows where China lies, Jamaica or Gibraltar." The captain stared aghat at mate, The pilot at III' apprentice; No fancy of the German sea Of fiction the event is; But when they at the compass looked, It'eeainad turn compos mentis. Now north, now south, now east, now west, The wavering point was shaken, 'Twns past the whole philosophy Of Newton and of Bacon. Never by compass, till that hour, Such latitudes were taken. No Use for Trowers. On the morning of the meteoric shower in 1833, Old Peyton Roberts, who intended ma king an early start lo his woik, got up in the midst of the display. On going to his door, he saw with amazement, the sky lighted up with the falling meteors, sod he concluded at once that the world was on fire, and that tbe day of judgment had come. He stood for a moment gazing in speech less terror at the scene, and then with a yell ol horror sprang out of the door into the yard, right into tbe midst of the falling stars, aud here in his effort to dodge them h6 commen ced a series of ground tumbling that would have done honor to a rope dancer. His wife being awakened in the meantime, and seeing old Peyton jumping and skipping about in the yard, called out to know what in the name o' sense be wasdoiti' out char,dancing 'round without bis clothes. But Peyton beard not—the judgment, and long back account lie would have lo settle, made bim heedless of all terreslial things, and his wife by this lime becoming alarmed at his behavior, sprang out of bed and running to the door, shrieking to the lop of her lungs— "Peyton, I say Peyton, what do yon mean, jumping about out that! Come m and put your Irowsers on." Old Peyton, whose fears bad near over powered him, faintly answered as he fell sprawling on the earth— "Trowsers, Peggy! what the h—U' it> tr-twhan worhP* fire." IJV PASSION. —A passionate person is al ways in trouble—always doing that which he regrets and is ashamed of, in his calm re flecting moments—always nn annoyance lo his best friends, and confessedly bis worst enemy. The indulgences of passion, by pa rents especially, has a far reaching, a most pernicious influence. A parent who cannot govern himsell is totally unfit lo govern his children. A fretful, peevish mother will make her children like herself, and nothing less than a miracle can prevent it. An angry word, followed by a blow, goes far to fret and provoke, and sour the temper of your children, aud such a course should ever bo avoided. GENTLEMEN AND TIIXIR DEBTS— The late Rev. Dr. Sutton, Vicar at Sheffield, once said to the late Mr. Peecb, a veterinary surgeon, ' Mr. l'eech, how is it you have not called ' upon me for your account!" "Oh, said Mr. Peeeh, "I never ask a gsn- , tleman for money." "Indeed," said the Vicar, "then how do you get on if he don't pay!" "Why," replied Mr. Peech, "after a certain lime I conclude he is not a gentleman, and then I ask him." tsr At a concert in Wisconsin, at the con clusion of the song, "There's a good time coming," a country farmer got up and ex claimed, " Mister, couldn't you fix the date, that is what we want—just give us the date, Mister." The farmer was right; we hnve been promised (his consummation for many years, but like the rainbow, it recedes as we advance towards it. OR MR. PRENTICE, of the Louisville Jour nal is the author of the following:— " We see that the sprightly, though naugh ty authoress, who calls herself George Sand, has expressed herself very strongly in favor of being burned after her death. If there is any truth in the scriptures, we guess she will have her wish. XW "Well neighbor, what's the most chris tian news this morning I" said a gentleman j to his friend. "1 have just bought a barrel of flour for a poor woman." "Just like you ! who is it > you have made happy by your charity this time! "My wife I" tF Two travelers having been robbed in a wood, and tied some distance from each other, one of tftern, in despair, exclaim ed— "O, I'm undone!" "Are youl" said the other, "then I wish yon'd come and undo me." 17" Mile* Darden, seven feet six inches high, and weighing over a thousand pounds, died recently in Tennessee. It took 4 men to place him iu his coffin. The largest man in tbe world. 87 Reputation is often got without merit, and loat without a crime. [t* Dollars Jter Mau. NUMBER 28. THE L*TK WILLIAM L. MAHCY HIS UOMT—HIS STUDIES, AND IIIS CLOSISQ LITE. A correspondent of the New Vork PmJ, writing from Albany, N. V , communicates tie following in regard lo the late William L. Marry: " During a po-tibn of the ijay, I had lime 10 visit the two bouses ait different times oo cupied by the late Secretory—one in the row of booses so mueh occupied by the Gover nor*, on the east of the Capitol Square, the other, the "Knower Rouse," owned by Mr. Marcy, on S'ate street. They are both large substantial brick buildings, pi .tin in sppear auce, and noticeably principally from their association with their former illustrious oon.tit pant. The sight of ;hem6rings back to hie old friends a thousand reminiscences of .his genial hospitality aj.d (tailing analitie°, that endeared him to so large a circle, including men of every sliadb of political opinion.— Indeed, it was in social and domestic life that Mr. Marcy appeared in bis most inviting aspect. He loved bis family, his children, his friends, and was never ao happy as, when away from the harden of official cares, he could freely enter into the pleasures which their presence afforded. Hence, during the last Tew weeks of his life, when be had a world-wide and honora ble reputation, when his circumstances were such as to allow him to rest upon tbe honors wnlch he had acquired, he was in the happi est condition. His old books and bis old friends were his constant solace, and when he stopped at the antique, (haded hotel at Ballaion where he died, it was noticed bow he would lake his chair out under the wide spreading elms and entertain his landlord, and tbe plain,old fashioned people who gsth ered about him delighted with the pleasant stories which be told, and philosophic humor, and shrewdness, and social feeling which twinkled in bis keen, bright eye. At other times he would return to his room, as his custom was, and taking up some favorite old author, (he rarely read modern litoratore), Milton, Shakspeare, Hetvey. among the po ets, South, Barrow, or Robert Hall, among divines ; his French edition of Machircvel, (a favorite work, by the way, with Senator Seward,) or Bacon, among philosophic wri tings, and would read until he fell asloep.—■ And this, indeed, was the way in which he fell asleep on tbe neon eflndependence Day. He had retired to bis chamber, put his boots in the usual comer, pnt on his dressing gown, and laying down with Knight's edition of Baconjs Essays—a small red quarto volume, with illustrations. When he was (bhnd, ho was) still on his bed, his wera Aqniotly closed, or. one side were the spectacles, on (he other tbe well remembered snuff bos, ami open on his breast lay the book he so much loved—that immortal epitome of human wis dom—the Essays of Bacon, and over it were clasped his hands, hugging it To his heart.— Such was his final sleep—peaceful, serene, and worthy of so great a life—in the midst of the thunders which commemorated the birth day of the nation wtrese fume and power he had done so much to uphold and eslend. What page it was on which the volume was opened I know not. Perhaps it was on that most appropriate passage, where the great philosopher thus discourses on 'Death:' "A mind fixed and bent on somewhat that is good, doth avert the dolors of death ; but above all believe it, the sweetest oanticle is 'nunc dimiltit,' when a man hath obtained worthy ends and expectations." The following loiter, far which we are in debted to Col. Barret, of Washington, one of Mr. Marcy's most intimate friends, will show tbe cheerful and pleasant frame of mind in which the veteran statesman passed bis clo sing hours. TIM numerous illusions to spir itualism, to his friend Thomas, who had re ceived a nomination as Governor of U'tb, to tbe silver service which he was about to re ceive from the merchants of New York, will be readily appreciated. MB. MARCY TO COL BERRETT. " BALLSTON SPA, July 2. 1857. *' My Dear Colonel: Ido not know when I shall be likely to find myself so much st leisure as now to write to yoss; I bave, there fore, concluded lo bring up my arrears in our correspondence, though I do not expect you will be at Washington when my letter will arrive there. " 1 hire been at this plaoe more than a week. Tnere is very little company here, but in fifteen minutes' 1 can bo in the midst of that at Saratoga. "Very much to my surprise and gratifica tion. Gen. Thomas (Assistant Secretary of State,) appeared in this place on Saturday morning. We spent Sunday at the Springs. Ho will, I do not dohbt, give you a surprising and wonderlul account of the performance of a young Italy in a trance whom he heard at the Springs. The visit he made was, I as sure you, a very agreeable one. * * You were not uuremembered in our two days' conversation. "1 make but slow progress in adjusting my aflaira preparatory lo my European ex cursion, snd I have doubts whether/ shall bo ready to take my departure ao koonss the Ist of August. No man more suddenly withdrew his thoughts from politics than I have mine. I scarcely look at tbe newspapers. * • • I hardly care to lax my memory with the fact that there is such a plaot in this country as the White House, 1 am right glad that our friand Governor [P. P.] Thomas thinks he can do hotter than he would have dona in exile among the Mor mons. I have received a day or two since a bill from Mr. J£., silvorsmitb, at Ballston. If jrou car. tell what amount you paid him for mo, and ishsn you paid it, I wish you would make a note of it when yon next write lo me. Take my purchase snd my presents, I shall abound iu uncoined silver. * * Yours truly. W. L MARCY Col JAMES G. BARRETT, Postmaster, Wash ington, D. C."