The star of the north. (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1849-1866, November 25, 1857, Image 1

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B. W. Wearer, Proprietor.]
Ol'FlCr—Upstairs, in the new brick build
ing, on Ihe south side oj Main Street, third
square below Market.
TE H 111 S :—T wo Dollars per annum, if
paid within six months from the lime of sub
kcribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not
paid within the year. No subscription re
reived for a less period than six months; no
discontinuance permitted until all arrearages
ere 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
seition. A liberal discount will be made to
those who advertise by the year.
From ihe New York Ledger.
Bui mores komiuum muUorum vidit et URBAM.
Bill Brown resides near a countty village,
And has filled his till by honest tillage
Of good mother Earth;
Who kindly gives birth
To whatever, in lact, has market-worth,
Or real value, or general use,
.From the largest ox to the fattest goose—
Whatever is gnod to eat or wear,
To keep ua warm or make us fair—
All comes alike from good mother Earth.
In sooth, but trace the process out,
And you'll find beyond a rational doubt,
That almost everything we see,
However high in its degree,
However flue, or rich or rare,
Ja but a kind of Earthen-ware!
And so Bill wrought
As a farmer ought,
Who, doomed to toil by original sinning,
Begßn—like Adam—at the beginning.
He ploughed, he harrowed, and lie sowed;
He drilled, he planted, and he hoed;
He dug and delved, and reaped ant! mowed.
(I wish 1 could —but I can't—tell now
Whether he used a sub-soil plough;
Or whether Bill had ever seen
/i. regular reaping and raking-machine.)
He took most pains
With the nobler grains
CI higher value and finer tissues
Which, possibly, one
Inclined to a pun
*Would call—like Harper —hie "cereal issued"
TViilt wheal his lands were all a blaze;
f I'waa amazing lo see his fields ol maize;
And there were places
That showed rye-faces
jAs pleasant to sea as so many Graces.
And as for hops,
H>s annual crops
(So very extensive that, on my soul,
Tbey fairly reached from pole to pole!)
Would beat the guess of any old foie,
Or lbs longest season at Saratoga !
Whatever seed did roost abound,
lu the grand result that Autumn iound,
It was his plan,
Though a moderate roan,
To be eaily ruining it into the ground;
That is lo say,
In another way:—
Whether the seed was barley or hoy,
Large or little, green or gray—
Provided only it was like "to pay,"—
He never chose to labor in vain ,
By stupidly going against the grain,
But hastened awy without stay or stop,
Aud carefully put into his crop.
And he raised tornaioes,
Ar.d lots of potatoes,
More sons, in eoolh, than 1 couM lell;
Turnips, thai always turned up wall;
Celery, all that he could sell;
Grape's by the bushel, sour and sweet;
Heels, that certainly couldn't be beat;
Cabbaite—like some sartorial mound;
Vine, that fairly cu cumbered the ground;
Some pumpkins—more than he could house,
Ten thousand pears; (that'twenty thousand!)
Kroit of all kinds and propagations,
Baldwins, Pippins and Carnations,
And apples of other appellations.
To sum it all up in the briefest space,
As you may suppose, Brown flourished apace,
Just because he proceeded, I venture to say,
in the muUu-rehosvm vestigioos way;
That is—if yon are not University bred-
He took Crockett's advice about going ahead
At all the Slate Fairs lie held a lair station,
liaised horses and cows and his own reputa
Made butler and money; took a Justice's
Grew wheat, wool and hemp; corn, cattle,
n Bui who would be always a country-clown ?
And so Bill Brown
Sat himrelf down,
And, knitting bis brow in a studious ftown,
Ho said, says he:—
It's plain to see
And I think Mrs. B. will be apt to agree,
(If she don't it's much the some to me,)
That I, Bill Brown,
Should go to town!
But then, says he, what town 6haU it bel
Boston town is constd'rably nearef,
And York is farther, and so will be dearer,
But then, of course, the sights will be queerer;
Besides, I'm told, you're surely a lost 'on,
Jf you once get astray in the streets of Boston.
YOIK is right angled ;
And Boston, right tangled,
And both, I've no doubt, are uncommon new
Ahl—-the "Smitht," I remember, belong to
('Twasten years ago 1 sold them pork )
Good, honest trades—l'd like to know them,
And so—'tis settled—l'll go to Gotham!
And so Bill Brown
Sal himself down,
With many a smile and never a frown,
And rode, by rail, to that notable town
Which 1 really think well worthy of mention
As being America's greatest invention !
Indeed, I'll be bound that if Nature and Art,
(Though the former, being older, has gotten
the start,)
in some new Crystal Palace of suitable size,
Should show their chefs-d'ceuvrc, and contend
for the prize,
The latter would prove, when it came lo the
W'hato'er you may think, no contemptible
For should Mr. Nature endeavor to stagger
By presenting, at last, her majestic Niagara;
Misi Art would produce an equivalent work
In her great, overwhelming, unfinished New
And row Mr. Brown
Was (airly in town,
In thai part of the city they used to csll'down,'
Not far from the spot of auoient renown
Aa being the scene
Ol the Bowling Green, '
A fountain that looked like a huge tureen
Piled up with rocks, and a squirt between;
But the 'Bowling' now lias gone where tbey
'The fall of the Ten,' in an neighboring alley;
And as the 'Gieen'—why that you will find
Whenever you see ihe 'invisible' kind !
And he stopped at an Inn that's known very
'Delmonico'e' once—now 'Slovens' Hotel;'
(And to borrow a pun which 1 think rattier
witty, v
There's no better Inn in this Inn-famous city!)
And Mr. Brown
Strolled up town,
And I'm going to write his travels down;
Bnt if yon suppose Bill Brown will disclose
The usual sin arid tollies of those
Who leave rural rkgjpns to see city abowa—
You couldn't well make
A greater mistake;
| For Brown was a man of excellent Sense;
Could aeo very well through a hole in a fence,
And was honest and plain, without shame or
pretence, [ed,
Of sharp, city learning heoouldn't have boast-
But he wasn't the chap to be easily roasted;
Though, like many a "llill," he wasn't well
And here let me say,
In a very dogmatic, oracular way,
(And I'll prove it, before 1 have done with
my lay,)
Not only that honesty's likely to "pay,"
But that one must be. as a general rule,
At least half a knave to be wholly a fool!
Of pocket-book dropping Bill never had heard,
(Or at least tlhe had, he'd fnrotien lite word)
And now when, at length, the occasion oc
For that sort of chaff he wasn't the bird.
The gentleman argued with eloquent force,
And begged him to pocket the money, of
But Brown, without thinking at all what he
Popped out Ihe first thing that entered bis
(Which chanced to be wondrously fitting and
'No—no—my ilesr sir—l'll be burnt if I do!'
Two lively young lellowsof elegant mein,
Amused him awhile with a pretty machine—
An ivory ball, which he never had seen.
But though the unsuspecting stranger
In the ' patent safe" saw no patent danger.
He easily dodged the nefarious net,
Because "he wasn't accustomed to bet."
Ah!—here, 1 wot,
Is exactly the spot
To make a small fortune as easy as not!
,Tjial man with the watch— what lungs he has
It's • Going"—the best of that elegant lot—
To close a concern, at a desperate rate—
Tho jeweller ruined as certain as fate !
A capital watch!—yon may see by the weight,
Worth one hundred dollars as easy as eight—
Or half of that sum to melt down into plate—
(Brown doesn't know "Peter" from Peter the
But then I can't dwell,
I'm ordered to se|l,
And mnan'i stand weeping—just look at (he
I warrant the ticker to operate well—
Nine dollars!—it's hard to be letting the thing
For only nine dollars!—it's cruel, by Jingo !
Ten dollars!—l'rn "flared—the uaa who se
This splendid— ten dollars!—say twelve, and
it's yours!
'Don't want it'—quoth Brown—'l don't wiah
tn buy;
Filly dollars, I'm sure,one couldn't call higt—
But to eee the man ruined! — Dear Sir— I de-
Between two or three bidders, it doesn't seem '
To knock it off now were surely a sin;
Just wail my dear Sir, till the people come {
in !
Allow me to say, you disgrace your profes
As Sheriff—consid'ritig the debtor's condi
To cell such a watch without more competi
And here Mr. Brown
Gave a very black Irowri,
Stepped leisurely out, and walked further up I
To see him stray along Broadway
In the aliernoon of a summer's day,
And note what he chanced to see and say,
And what peop'e he meets
In the narrower streets,
Were a pregnant theme for a longer lay.
How he marveled at those geological chaps
Who go poking about in crannies ami gaps,
Those curious people in tattered breeches.
The rug-wearing, rag-picking sons of—ditches
Who find in the very nastiost niches
A decent living,' and sometimes riches;
How lie thought cily prices exceedingly queer,
The 'buses lo cheap, and the hacks 100 dear;
How he stuck in the mud, and got lost in the
A problem 100 hard for his mental digestion.
Why, in cleaoiug the city, the city employs
I Sucit a very small corps of such very small
How he judges by dress, and, accordingly
I makes,
By mixing up classes, the drollest mistakes.
As if simple vanity ever were vicious,
Or women of merit could be meretricious,
He imagines the dashing Fifih Avenue darnes
The same as the girls with unspeakable
An exceedingly natural blunder in sooth,
But, I'm happy to say, very far Irom the
truth; **
For e'en at the worst, whate'er you suppose,
The one sort oi ladies can choose their beaux,
While us to the other—but overy one knows
Wha' —if -'twere a secret —1 wfiuldu't dis
And Mr. Brown
Returned from town,
With a braa new hat, and a muslin gown,
As he told the tale, wheg the sun was down,
How he spent his eagles, and saved his ctown;
How he showed hia pluck in resisting the
Of an impudent fellow Who asktd his name,
But puid, us a gentleman ever is willing.
At the old Park Gate the regular shilling I
fF Pleasure unattained, is the hare which
we hold in chase, cheered ou by the order
of competition, the exhilarating cry of the
dogs, and shouts of the hunters, the echo of
the ambition of being in at the death. Plea
sure attained, is the same hare hanging up
in the sportsman's larder, wortijess, disre
garded, diepised, dead.
FRED. DOUGLASS publishes a card in the
Watertown [N.Y.] Journal, express ing great
indignation, because the proprietor of a cor •
dir. hotel in that town refuted to entertain
him, on aocount of hit color.
The following sketch of real life so plainly
exhibits a lesson which might be profitably
followed by many of our people, that we
giro it to the readers simply as it occurred,
only ooncealing the real names of the parties
concerned. And as story bears its own
moral, we will not lire you with any "reflec
John Poland snd Anson Lyman bought
farms adjoining each other. The land had
formerly been owned by one man who had
carried .on the whole, employing a heavy
fotce in the work. When the two frienda
bought the land, it waa as equally divided
aa possible; and after the line of separation
had boen run, those who had worked much
on the land declared that they would nntgive
the "toss of g copper" for a choice between
the two larras. The old buildings were al
most useless, so new ones were erected, and
at Ihe same time both men commenced far
ming in earnest. They were poor, having
panl their last pennies for the farms, and be
ing obliged to run some in debt to get stock
and tools. |
In all respects the two men commenced
evenly. They were both married, and while
Poland had one son and two daughters, Ly
man had one daughter and two sons.
"Look ye," said Lyman as the two sat to
gether alter their farming opetationß were
commenced. ' I have set my mark to aim
at. I'm determined, if 1 have my health, to
lay up a tbon*. nd dollars, clear of everything,
in Ave years."
"That is rather a short time for such a pur
pose," returned Poland.
"Not a bit," cried the other, enthusiasti
cally. "I'm not going to wnar my back
bono away foe nothing, i'm gpaig to lay up
"So I hope (o do," said Poland ; "but mo
ney isn't the first consideration."
"What's the reason it isn't I" asked Ly
man. "If you have money yo can have
everything. Money is the key that unlocks
all doors—the card that admits you to all pla
ces. "O ! give ine a thousand dollars and
I'll be conten'l I"
"So I must have a thousand dollars," re
marked Poland; and then the cunveraation
look another turn.
One day-a man came along who had some
splendid young cattle. Tbey were of as
pure English Breeds as ever imported and
came very high. Poland saw him pas
sing and bailed him'. Our friend was- anxi-•
ous to grow a fine slock, and he knew that
lie must commer.ce in the right way.
The owner of the stock said he was will
ing to sell, bnt he must have his price.—He
had a fine young pair, male and female, two
years old, which he would sell for two hun
dred dollars. Poland oflered his note on six
months, together with a bill ol sale of the
cattle as security. The owner was satisfied,
and the bargain was made. The animals
was brong'ht home, and Poland was not dis
appointed in his purchase.
'•Phew !" broke from lips, as he
heard the price which his tteighoor had paid
for the new stock. "Two hundred dollars
for a two year old bull and heifer! Why—
what on earth could you have been thinking
of Poland I Why—l wouldn't have given
seventy-five dollars for 'era no how. My
cows will give as much milk and make as
much butler and cheese. I (ell you plainly
you'll never see that thousand dollars if you
launch out in that way."
"But my dear air, 1 am determined to have
the best stock I can get," returned Poland,
earnestly; "for those farmers who have
made the most monev have made it from
stock. 1 assure you its one of the greatest
tailings our farmers have that they are con
tent with small, poor cattle, when, by a little
trouble and expense, they could have better."
"My stock answers my purpose, at any
rate," resinned Lyman. "I can't afford to
pay two hundred dollars for a pair of two year
olds, and one 'o them a heifer at that, when
tor fifty dollars 1 can buy one of the best cows
in the country."
"You have a right to your own opinions."
"Aye—and I'll have my thousand dollars
too," laughed Lyman, as he turned away.
It was only a week after this that the can
vasser for an agricultural newspaper stopped
at Lyman's house; but the host couldn't af
ford to lake it."
"Hadn't you better t" ventured his wife.
"No. We lake the Village Pickings, pub
lished right in our town, and that's enough.
You know what I told you, Dolly—l must
have that thousand dollars!"
"Then you won't take it?" said the agent.
"No, air. Can't aflord it. But there's my
neighbor Poland—he'll take anything that
auybody offers him."
"I've called on him, sir, and he told me
I'd better stop here. He said you were ta
king no agricultural paper."
"And did he subscribe?"
"Yos-s-and paid me the money."
"I tell ye, Dolly, Poland's thousand dol
lare'll come out miuus,—now you mark
my wotde."
Dolly Lyman said nothing, for she was
troubled at that moment by the thought that
her husband was exercising a spirit of penu
riousttess which looked mean ; but she did
not say so.
"Hallo 1 what ye doiog ?" oried Lyman as
he saw Poland commencing to run a lence
across his field.
"I'm going to throw out just half of this
field into pasturing," returtiAl Poland.
"What?" exclaimed Lyman hardly able to
believe what he had heard. "Throw off half
your fiald? Why—that won't leave yon
with note than twenty aorea to till."
Truth ud Right od and our Coawry.
"[ know it ,—■-11(1 that's alt I want. lam
detern.and not to waste my time and ener
gies in swinging a scythe over forty acres of
land after five and twenty tons of when loan
get forty lons from twenty acres."
"Crazy as a March hare!" muttered Ly
man, as he turned away.
Ere long Lyman was met with another sur
prise. He was at the hotel in the village one
day, and there learned that bis neighbor Po
land bad engaged all their manure for four
years; and that he was to pay lor it with
wood, butter, cheese aid such other articles I
of produce as might be wanted.
"Dolly, what do you suppose Poland has
been and done now I"
"I don't know, I'm aure," returned-the
wife, looking up.
"Well, I'll tell you .—lie's bees and en
gaged all the manure made at the latent sta
bles for the next lour years ! And he's got
to haul wood, and let bit bolter and cheese
go to pay for it!"
On the lime day he saw Poland, and asked
him what he meant.
"I mean to bring my farm up," said the
"But I get manure enough for two acres
of corn every year, aud that's enough,
"For you it may be, but I wish to manure
more, Our land wis well run out when we
took it, and in order to get it up to its fullest
capacity, we must be prodical of rich dress
"Well,''said Lyman, with a sort of pity
ing expression,—"go aheatf; but *( you ever
see your money, let me know." -
"I'll give yon a good account, never/ear,"
replied Poland, laughing. "I musiteed my
land if 1 would have it feed me. We have
got land here like those rich alluyial bottoms
in the west. My lands need nursing now."
But Anson Lyman couldn't see the use of
wasting money in that way. He thought
the man who would first cut down his tillage
land one half, and then go off and buy such
a quantity must be little belter than foolish.
He wasn't such a fool at all event.
During the following winter, while Lyman
was cutting and hauling wood to the village
for two dollars and a half per cord, "poor"
Poland wss hauling his to the tavern to pay
for manure which he hadn't got yet !
It was on the firn day of April that Poland
came to see tiis neighbor. He wanted to
burrow a hundred dollars lor six months, or
for a year it he could.
"What ye going to do with it? asked Ly
"I want to make some"lrft|flP.Bs7iefLs fa
my barn cellar, and also enlarge the building
by pulling on a tie up, thus throwing the
cattle out of my main barn."
•'I declare Poland, it's too bad I" said Ly
mau, pityingly. "Here, I've laid up over
two hundred dollars clear cash, and you are
worse off than nothing—in debt. By tne jin
go, John, 1 don't want to see you fooling
away money so. Your barn is large enough
—as large as mine is with double your land
to emty into it. If I lend you a hundred dol
lars what assurance have I tbst 1 shall ever
see it again f I'd rather let it go where I
know it is safe. I shouldn't want to sue you,
and I might not get it without. Your farm
is as good as mine, ami you have no more
need to be borrowing than f have,—or, you
shouldn't have."
John Poland didn'taay anything aboutthe
two animals lie had bought a year and a half
before, and the calf they had yUad bim,
for which he had been offered, with in the
week, four hundred dollars. He owned that
amount of stock over and above the stock
owned by Lyman. He turned the subject of
conversation as quickly as possible, for he
wanted to hear no reason from his friend for
not lending him the money.
That alteruoon he went over to see the
man of whom be had bought this new stock,
who readily lent liirn the money he needed.
■ "What a fool!" said Ljman. as be saw the
carpenters at work tearing away one whole
side of his neighbors barn, preparatory to ad
ding an apartmeul capable of accomodating
forty-five "bead ol cattle." However, Po.
land worked on, and tried in vain to get his
neighbor to listen to some of his advise.
"Don't talk to me," cried Lyman, at the
end of the second year. I've got four hun
dred dollars at interest. How much have
you got?"
"A thousand orso," returned the other.
"Eb ! What do you mean?"
. "Why, all the xtoney I have laid out on
this place is on itVerest."
"Oho—aha, ha, ha,—and how much intei
est have you realized?"
"So far I've let >t all run at compound in
terest — put the-interest right in with the prin
cipal, and thera it lies.'"
"Yea, and there it will lie. 1 don't bßlieve
you can raise fifty dollars now in cash."
"You are right, Lyman—l could not raise
it without selling something which Ido noi
wish to present to part with."
"I thought 80. Bui, take your own way."
Ere long Anaon Lyman waa astonished
to find that his neighbor bad subscribed tcr a
thirU newspaper, beaides buying a lot of
books for his children.
"What's the use ?" he said, as he sat in
his neighbor's front room, ad saw a large
pile of books on the shall. "I want my chil
dren to learn 10 work—not to be spending
their lime over books. They get schooling
enough when our school is opeu."
"So I mean that iny children shall learn to
work," returned "but that shall not
prevent them fronHiecomiog well eduoated.
I would rather leave them with good health,
good character* and weell eduoated, than
with thousands bf dollars eaob, minus the
I "Oho! That's th* way you meant to lay
up a thousand of dollars; to have it in booka,
& papers, and new tie ups and such like."
"You shall see when the time is up."
"Wo shall," returned Lyman,as he turned
towards home.
Mr. Lyman had not realized how muoh
corn Poland had received from the land he
had manured so heavily and so carefully ;
and on the second year he only noticed that
his neighbor bad extraordinary good luck!
with bis wheat, getting about ninety bushels
from three acres. But he had occasion to
open hie eyes on the third year.
One evening just at sundown, he went over
into Poland'* field, where the men where
just finishing making up ■ three acre piece
where the grain had been the year before—
bhe first pic the present owner had ptowsd
up and dressed.
"Been poling eome hay on hare." said Ly
man, as ha saw the huge bunchea of bay
nearly as thick as they could stand.
"No—this was all cut from these three
acres," returned Poland.
Lyman counted the bundles, and then es
timated their average weight, and upon reck
oning up be found the land had yielded not
lar from four tons toihe\acret He had just
got in the twoaeres which he had firstdressed
upon the new farm, and he had obtained
short of two tons per acre! He knew that
Poland bad gotten busn<-ls more of wheat
per acre thau he had done, and also mora
corn. He began to think, but yet he would
not let hta money go any such "experiments"
upon his place.
The five years came around and Anson
Lyman wept on that day and sold fourteen
bushels ol corn in order to get fourteen dol
lars to put with nine hundred and eighty six
dollars which he had at hotfte.
"Well, Poland, I've got the prize!, said
Lyman, entering the farmers's barn in the
afternoou. It was early spring, just five
years from the day on which they bought,
I've got the thousand dollars; now what have
you got?
"Well—l have not far from four hundred
dollars in money."
"Aha—l thought ao."
"But, Anson Lyman," said Poland, al
most sternly, are your eyes nm opened yet?"
"Opened ! what d'ye mean ?
"Well, I mean that my farm to-day will
sell for one thousand dollars more than yours.
Look at my hay-mow. There are nearly
twenty tons of good hay ; you have not ten.
And, mind you, f have five head of cattle
more than you have. Next season I shall
co*. '-'-J—! -y / •■r. rrr.'B, which I
have now regenerated, than you will cut up
on your whole forty acres; and you know
my hay is worth far more a pound than your
hay is. I told you I had five more head of
cable than you had. For these five creatures
I can within six hours, lake seven hundred
dollars cash; but no eucti money can pur
chace them of me."
"Ah, Lyman, you have been saving mo
ney, but you have taken it from your farm
without returning anything lor it."
"Never mind—l've got my thousand dol
lars, and I've got my farm, as good as it was
the day I bought it.
"Not quite Lyman."
"How so?"
"You've taken off two hundred cords of
good wood."
"Well—so you took off some."
"Aye—but what 1 look from my wood lot
I put baek upon my field. I did uot take it
from the farm."
Mr. Lyman went away with new thoughts.
Time passed on, and at the end of another
five yeais the eyes of Anson Lyinsn were
wholly opened. Poland had raised quite a
stock of noble cattle from his first purchase, j
and commenced to sell to the beef market- {
Two hundred dollars was the least any one of :
them brought when failed ; and one bullock, '
four years old, brought him three hundred
and ten dollars. His twenty acre field was
like a garden, yielding, such as was mowed,
an average of three tons to the acre. In short
his whole farm was under the best of training
aud,, improvement, and now yielding him
back a heavy interest upon all that he had
expended. During one tall he look over a
thousand dollars for slock and produce ; and
he wag offered five thousand for his place,
while L) man could not have found a pur
chaser at fifteen hundred!
"Dolly," said Anson Lyman, sinking info a
chair. "I've been a fool I —a fool 11 say."
•'Why—Anson—what do you mean?
"Mean? Look at Poland's farm."
"I have looked at it from the first, Anson."
"You have ? And what have you Been ?
"Why—l saw that John Poland was ma
king a comfortable home for himself and
family, and increasing the value of his farm
And why didn't you tell me so ?
"1 did tell you so, husband, aud you said
I was a fool."
"I remember. Well.—Never mind—tisn't
100 late now."
On the next morning Mr. Lyman went
over to his neighbor's and frankly said,—
"Poland you must help me. I want to
learn to be a farmer.
"I will help yoq with pleasure, Anson; and
you can begin far more easily than 1 did, for
you have money."-
And Lymon commenced. The thousand |
dollars was nearly expended in the work, but
in the end he found himsei the gainer, and
his dollars came back to him with interest
twice-ldd. He had learned a lesson which
many might follow with profit.
liy To produce the "lock jaw" in a lady
ask her age.
'Off Mlt Ills Head-'
A breathlessly excited individual says a
late number of the San Francisco Morning
Call, rushed ipto the police office yealetday,
and enquired for the chief.
'What do you want with him?' inquired an
impassive officer.
'I vanls,' said ho with ■ Teutonic accent,
'I vanta ein paper to kill a lam log vot bites
roe in te leg.'
'Ah, you wish an order of execution issu
ed against a vicious caoine,' said the officer.
'No, I tussant vant no such ling. 1 vanta
a paper to tell me to kill le tam pup. He
piles my. leg so pad,.l have got te hydropho
pe, und will kill him, or goes mat, too?'
'Ah, now I see,' said the impaaaive tem
perament; 'you require authority lo proceed
with force ol arms against the dangerous an
'Moin Got, no—dot ish not vat I vants. I
vants te jeaf to give me license to kill te log.
I vanls him to make me baber an ven I kills
te tog he can nicht go inter te beiice court
and swear against me.'
'The dog.'
'Nein—not le tog—the man vat owns te
tog. You see if 1 kills hitn—"
'What, the man?'
'Nein—te tog. Tnd te man sues me for te
brice of ta tog, deu I vants ler law on meir.
side, d'yer see?'
'Oh, yes!' said the officer, who was quiet
ly chuckling at Ihe caution evinced by Ihe
German, and intent on exhausting his pa
tience, 'then you wsnt to get a warrant lo ar
rest the man who owns the dog, so the ani
mal may not attack you.'
'No, no! Got for tam, you gets every ling
by te tail!' cried lager beer, who began to
think ihe officer was quizzing him. 'I link
ynu vants to make chokes of me. Tunder
iirid blitzen! I vants to out le lam tog's head
off, and if shastice will not give me a baper,
I cuts Ins bead oil anyhow.'
And ihe lover ofsourkrout started lo leave
the hall; but meeting the "jeaf ol bolice" at
ihe door, he conversed with bim in German
dialed, made known his wants and received
an order to execute the vicious animal.
As he was going out he met the impassive
'All right?' he inquired.
'Yah, all right. I goes straight of! tote
owner of te tog und kills him.'
•What, the Owner.
'No, te tog. You make tam fool of your
self by sayiug tog ven I means man, und
ven I means man you sav tog. Now you go
to ter duyvel!' and the German incontinently
hurried wwjio nuwt vu-".i -VORJfeaurye tcv the
animal who had crossed him in his ''glorious
Kansas le'ter-writer, who recently came
down the Missouri on the steamer Omalna,
"At Atchison, wo took on a young belle,
whose only alieiulant wax a young Missouri
blood. The young lady was apparently
dressed in the latest agony and style of fash
ion; the chaste straw hat, the innumerable
flounces and wide-spreading hoops of her
gay striped silk dress, set ofl her command
ing figure very gracefully. Her stature tall
—as Byron says, I hate a dumpy woman.
But the richest scene in relation to this
young belle was behind the curtain, and is
to come yet. At Leavenworth our fair one
left us, and as she was standing on the bank,
casting a last, 'long, lingering look' back, we
were tempted to admire her delicately turned j
ankles—who can resist a nicely laced gaiter
or a peuping ankle?—when, behold! she
hadn't any sinking* on! I am unable to say
what the fashion is in Kansas—whether it is
fashionable for ladies to go without hose or
not, but certain I am that the finest dressed
one whom I saw in the Territory didn't use
the article.
''The melancholy days are come, the sad-'
destofthe year." A truth in, more senso
than one. As Tom Hood singe:
"Summer's gone and over,
Fogs are falling down,
And with russet tinges
Autnmu's doing brown.
Boughs are daily rifled
By the gusty thieves,
And the book ot nature
Getteth short of leaves.
Bound the tops of houses
Swallows as they flit,
Give, like yearly tenants,
Notices to quit,
Skies of fickle temper
Weep by turn and laugh-
Night and day together
Taking half-and-half.
fit*' Beauty and wit will die—learning and
wealth will vanish away—all the arts ot life
will be forgotten—but virtue will remain for
ever. Planted on earth, in a cold, unconge
nial clime, it will bloom and blossom in
ty Midias was so great a man that eve
rything he touched turned to gold. The
case is altered now—touch a man with gold
and ho will change into anything.
Cy Rest Is a very fine medicine.—Let
your stomachs rest, dyspeptics.—Let your
brain rest, ye wearied and worried men of
business. Rest your limbs, ye children of
toil. You can't! Cast off all superfluities
of appetite and fashion, and see if you can't
BP" A gentleman who had a very strong
desire to be a funny man, sat down upon a
hooped skirt the other day, and with adespe
ration equal to any emergency, he whistled,
| "I'm sitting on the style Mary."
[Two Dollars per Annnau
An lowa paper tells Ihe following good joke
which happened aorae lime ego, out will
lose nothing by its age:
A certain man in search of a wife, being
out on a coutling expedition, as is customary
with young men, came late on Sunday eve
ning, and, in order to keep his aecret from
bis young acquaintances, determined to bo
at home on Monday morning, bright and
early, so that his absence would not be no
ticed. But his affianced resided several
miles from the town in which be tojonrned;
and so, to overcome the distance, he required
the use ol a horse. Mounted on bis horse,
dressed in his fine white summer pants, and
other fixins in proportion, he arrives at Ihe
residence of Itis inamorata, where he ia
kindly received and his horse properly taken
care of by being turned into the pasture for
(he night. The evening, yea, the night,
passed away, hut how to the young man is
nobody's business. Three o'clock in the
morning arrived, Our hero was awake—
nay, he had been so all night—but it matters
not—three o'clock was the time ro depart, so
that he might arrive at home before his com
rades were stirring. Not wishing to disturb
the faindy or his lady love, who were then
wrapped in the arms of Morpheus, he sallied
forth to catcb his horse. But here was a
d (fioulty—the grass was high and covered
with dew. To venture in with his while
pantaloons, would rather take the starch out
of them, and lead to his detection. It wonlJ
not do to go in with his white unmentiona
bles, ao be quickly made his resolution. It
was three o'clock in the morning and no
body stirring, so he carefully disrobed him
self of his whites and placed them in safety
upon the fence, while he gave chase, with
unscreened pedals, through wet grass after
the horse. But the steed was fond of clover,
and had no notion of leaving it. But our
hero was not to be thwarted, although he
began to realize the truth of the old adage
about the course of true love, &c., and final
ly the horse was captured.
Returning to the fence where he had safe
ly suspended hie Idly white unmentionables
—Ol Alirabile Diclu, what a horrible sight
met his eyes! The field into which bis
horse had been turned was not only a horse
pasture, but a rail pasture too, and the
naughty calves attracted by the while flag
on the fence, had betaken themselves to it,
and, call-like, had almost eaten them op;
only a few well chewed fragments of this
once valuable article of his wardrobe now
remained—only a few shreds—just sufficient
to iixKcaio what they had bseu. What
pickle this was for a nice young man lo be
Il was now daylight, and the industrious
farmers were op and about, and our hero,
far from home, with no covering for his
traveling apparatus. It would not do to go
back to the house of his lady love, as they
were now all up, and how could he get in
without exhibiting himself to his fair one
which might ruin the match. No; no that
wouldn't do. Neither could he go to the
town in that plight. Thete was only one re
source left him, and that was to secrete him
self in the bushes until (he next night, and
then get home under cover of the darkness.
This he resolved to do, and accordingly hid
himself in a thick groupe of bushes.
Safely hid, he remained under the cover
of the bushes for some time, and il may be
imagined that his feelings toward the calf
kind were not of the most friendly charac
ter; but ere long his seclusion was destined
to be intruded upon. The family of the fair
one seeing his horse still remaining in the
pasture, enquired of the lady what she had
done with her lover; she was nonplussed.-*
She only knew he had left about 3 o'clock in
the morning; things didn't look right; if he
had gone, why did he leave his horre? Sus
picion uws awakened. Bye and bye the
boys, who had been out to feed the calves,
returned witn lite remnants of the identical
win's garments which adorned the lower
limbs of their late visitor. They were man
gled and torn to shreds. As inquest was
immediately held %ver them. Some awful
late had befallen the unfortunate young man.
The neighbors were soon summoned to
! search for bis mangled corpse, and the post a
with all speed set off with- dogs and arms to
the search. The pasture was thoroughly
scoured, and the adjacent thickets, when lo!
our hero was driven from bis lair by the
keen scent of the dogs, all safe, alive and
well, but minus the linen. An explanation
then ensued at the expense of our hero; but
he was successful in the end. He married
the girl and is now living comfortably in ot.a
of the flJhrishing towns in lowa.
MADNESS CUUED BY Foil.?.—Old Dr. Rush
of Philadelphia, used lu relate a singular
case of monomania in a patient in (be Phila
delphia Hospital. He look it in bis bead that
be was a painter, and resolutely refused for
a long time, possessing fine organs of speech,
to utter a word. The dootor one day entered
his apariment and found hint sketching on a
slip of paper a really beautiful rose; for ha
bad by long practice acquired much skill in
the art pictorial, and was very fond of the ac
complishment. One day a thought struck
Dr Rush that he would surprise him into
voice by dispraising his labours, and resolved
to try. "You are painting a very handsome
cabbage thate, my friend," he observed to
the maniac. "Cabbage I—good gracious,
old gentleman, does that look like toabbage!
Why, air you old fool 1 that's a rose, and it's
a good one, loo." It was not long before the
patient was well. His train of sileat thought
was broken, and ha returned home.