THE STAR OF THE NORTH. . B. JACOB!, Croprklor.J VOLUME 11. ©IF PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY Wit. 11. JACOBY, Office on Main St., Jrd Square below Market, TERMS :—Two Dollars per annum if paid within six months from the time of subscrib ing: two dollars and filly cts. if not paid with in the year. No subscription taken for a less period than six months; no discontinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, un less at the option of the editor. The terms of advertising wilt he as follows: One square, twelve lines, three times, $1 00 Every subsequent insertion, 25 One square, three months, 3 00 One year, 8 00 l£l)oite JJoelrn. HIE RIVER'S BANK. BV FRANK LEE BENEDICT. So many untold years have passed, As birds with bright wings flee, Since we beside that river's edge Sat down in childish glee. The day was beautiful and calm, We happy as the day, The very waters seemed to laugh Like children in their play. You sat and told me fairy tales, And both believed them true, You from your faith in all things bright, I from my trust in you. You told nie that in after years We'd dwell beside that stream, And all the while the waters laughed, So pleasant was the dream, 1 asked you if an elfin queen Had made your eyes so blue— And then the waters louder laughed, As if they thought it true. The sunlight played amid your hair— It loved you as its child— And if 1 had a childish pain, I lost it when you smiled. We launched our barks upon the waves, And marked them dance and shine ; Yours safely gained the other shore— The waters buried mine I Your face was like an angel's then, lis look has scarcely changed, Yon dwell beside that river yet While 1 afar have ranged. You might believe in fairies still, Your life has been so fair— Some vestal nun serenely calm Might have the look you wear. The hopes which blossom o'er your heart, Are like the flowers of yore— You still fling roses on the tide, And still they gain the shore 1 The laughing glee of that bright day Departed trom me long, Perchance those dreaming waters keep j The echo of its song. Ah no ! the throbbing of my heart Would hnsh its pleasant tone. To hear the summer music there Is left for you alone. Country Churches. There is something grand and impressive in a fashionable city church, notwithstand ing the frivolities that are said to prosper in satin and broad-cloth, and under vaulted roofs. The slender and graceful columns supporting the roofs, the pictured windows, and, above all, the tones of the organ swel ling in triumphal rejoicings, or dying away in mournful cadences. The deep hnsh that falls suddenly upon a multitude during the prayer: the grave silence which attends the discourse, broken now and then by a half smothered cough, or the slight shuffling of a foot, grown restless with long quiet, and which increases rather than detracts from its inipressiveness; the eloquent tones of the preacher, and the deep solemnity of the subject which has called them together—all these unite in aweing the attendants and wakening, with sublimity of the surround ing circumstances, a feeling of heartfelt ap preciation of that unnamed Power, whose throne is bounded on morality, which rises with inconceivable magnificence into the vastness of the immortal. Notwithstanding all these, we believe that our hearts turn with far tenderer recollections and more earnest devotion to the Creator, in the little churches that are dropped down, in beautiful places in every village and on every country side. In the former we may be more impressed with the majesty of God, but in the latter we seem to feel his tender care as nearer to us. Me seems the more loving God when surrounded by the every day exhibitions of his hand. It is no long er the Creator to dread, but the Heavenly father to love. Our recollections go back to them, and dwell about them with eve ry sunshinny Sabbath in the city. The per fume of the trees and the growing grass is ; Strangely associated with them. The brook gfilose at hand has a murmur like the soumfr jpf Sunday bells; and we remember the quiet Bhttle aisles, the hard benches, and even the VHbgarmon with a feeling of the tenderest SBL. The balmy air, blowing fresh from "that turned the hymn-books' the bright faces, once so full ofVpes, but now grave and tender, as if a w<fl(Mng thought of deeper feeling had a moment in the heart; and the language of the preacher, are kept memory, while many a worldly d into oblivion. Then, after the gathering of bon nets, the sense of relief, and the are a pleasure of themselves. still call them beaux in the they are friends in the would not ride home with some one ; tlmHpjLdreaded suc cess obtained, and the of conversation, and—there's luoCT^^K. Somebody advertises for j a work entitled, "Hymeneal A cotemporary adds, "The best hyniHai ; instructor we know of is a young widinlH What she don't know, there is no use in! learning."' I BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13. 1859. WHAT SKILL BE HOKE WITH IIUTKAL Now that our Charley is so admirably dis posed of, we have a moment to spare to look after his mother. We shall And her in the nursery, her basket piled with clean clothes from the wash that need mending —her dress is neat, but very plain, for she says she has not time to attend to a more elaborate toilette; the children's sewing must be attended to first. Now, this matter of sewing that Martha speaks of has be come a very serious affair. 'Tis true I has tened to buy her a most approved sewing machine, as soon as such an article was heard of. "Now, Martha," said I, "here is a machine that will do your sewing all up by magic, so farewell to work-baskets, needles, and thimbles—let me see no more of those wearisome things." Martha was delighted with my gift, and soon learned to use it skillfully; but, if you'll believe me, she works as constantly as before; and to all my inquiries and remonstrances only re plies, "Oh, you men have no idea how much filling and finishing there is to be done." Between you and me, I really be lieve my wife has multiplied the number of garments in proportion to her facility for making them. (There's a dozen of shirts beautifully stitched for myself; now those were really necessary.) She points with pride to Charley, Jane and Fanney, and seys she sees no children better dressed on the sireet,ar.d her motherly heart is satisfied; but must she wear out her valuable life for this? She has suffered greatly from neu ralgia during the past year. I consulted her doctor; he said, "It is getting to be a very common disease, very common, partic ularly among females; the nervous disease is easily prostrated, she must be careful— try aconite and belladonna—let her take ex ercise in the open air—have freedom from care—if she is not better, call me in."— Exercise in the open air. Why, that is wholly out of the question. Martha is busy within doors all day long, makes capital pies, cake, and preserves, and will not trust any domestic with this department of cook ing; to tell the truth, I should not fancy these things made by any other hands Then she prefers ironing her own muslin, the children's undersleeves, etc.; servants tear fine things so. So with many other little matters about the house. But these things would be a pleasure if she could rest after them. But there are' our children ; were there ever such noisy ones before ? I suppose so, as they are really an institution. Jane and Charley are so nearly of an age, and both are favored with such remarkable inventive powers, that they aid each other in getting up all kinds of mischief and noise. Now on the back of a chair, reaching over the open grate to the mantel piece, now at the sewing machine, arranging and old stocking under the pad, and hurrying to get thiough before mamma appears; now gal loping up and down the room like wild horses, which last operation, being most harmless, is submitted to by poor weary Martha, who is trying to rest on the lounge. But there goes Fanny! The dear little thing used to be a perfect sunbeam in the house; but she is irritable Irom teething, and ma ma must rise and take her. I tried to get a nurse lor her, but the careful mother dis covered so many defects that she preferred looking after the children herself. In all this I have not touched upon the numerous guests, who, finding Martha's house-keep ing excellent, and her table so abundant, often claims our hospitality. When can she take the fresh air ? When can she find freedom from care ? What shall be done for our Martha? A year or two ago Martha's sister spent some time with us. She was a returned missionary from India, and from constant association with the English residents there, had become thoroughly English in her taste and fellings. Our manner of life evidently disturbed her. She telt no sympathy with our nervous hurry and excitement. "Oh, you Americans do not know how to enjoy life," she would say; "you need to take a few lessons from the English. They sacri fice far less to outward show, but enjoy in finitely more in their families. The money you all expend in equaling or outshining I your neighbors, would purchase for you a host ol simple pleasures." I pondered her words. It is true, thought 1, that I take Martha and children a drive every eve, after business is over, but that is all. The chil dren's noise disturbs me; they are hurried to bed, and are not up when I start for the store, so I seldom see them, and can of course do little for them. Recently I came across a little book, written by Mary Howitt at the solicitation of friends, describing their manner of educating their daughters, and there I had a nearer glimpse of English life. The mother read the life of our Sav ior, and pointed out the lessons of practical wisdom and piety to her child; the father led her out into the grand old woods, and there pointed out the sublime beauty of the prophets; whilst from the book of nature he learned her the voice of every warbler she listened to, and the name of every leaf and tree she gazed upon. And when the little girl's health seemed delicate, the molh'or at once removed to one ol those charming cottages which the English ever seem ready to lend or hire, ready furnished, to one an other; and there in a quiet farm-house, on the shores of a beautiful lake, she drank in the fresh air, and gathered strength from long rides on her little pony, or equally long walks through the woods with her mother. And when her father could find a leisure jgitf, he would'take a friend or two in his ■Mtboat, and stopping for his wife and jßhjtter by the lake, they would row out to some beautiful island,and there under wide spreading trees spread their table and enjoy a few delicious hours, ere their father return ed to the city and the mother and daughter to their pleasant retreat. Do yoa wonder that the daughter recovered her health, or that Mary Howitt is so Iresh and youthful in her feelings? Cannot we Americans do something ol this kind ? I know many do; and if we live till next August, Martha and I will join their ranks. Farewell to Niagara and Saratoga, rich dresses, late hours, and little uncomfortable rooms ;—we will seek ! out some quiet farm house among the hills, or by the sea side; take all the children and let them run wild in their old clothing, whilst we, with books and ponies and picnicing in the woods, will forget for a few brief weeks that there are such things as counting houses, sewing machines, or bad servants.—Aide pendent. Sensible Advice to Young Men. The following article from the Cayuga Chief, contains so many valuable suggestions and such pithy advice to our young men that we publish it, and hope that every per son, both old and young—male and female —will carefully read it, and then cut it out to read the next time they are afflicted and tormented with the blues. Everji word of it is true, and by remembering its injunc tions, you will be greatly benefitted :—That never'll do young man 1 No use to stand on the sidewalk and whine about hard luck, and say that everything goes against you.— You are not of half the consequence your talk would lead us to believe. The world hasn't declared war against you. You are like all the rest of us—a mere speck on the earth's surface. Were you this moment to go down in the living tide, but a bubble would linger lor a moment upon the surface, and even that would vanish unnoticed.— The heart is full of hope and ambiiion, but is not missed when it ceases to beat. One such as yon would not leave a ripple. Yon are a coward—a cowird —in the bat tle. There's no fight in you. You have surrendered without a struggle, and now whine because you are beaten! You are not worthy of a triumph for you have not earned it. In garret, hut, and dripping cel lar are ten thousand heroes who would put you to shame. They must toil or starve The strife is a desperate one with them, for they wrestle with want, while ragged and despairing ones watch at the lone hearth tho IcaYful contest. Strong men look death in the eye when their sinews are strung by the wail of hungry childhood. Shame on you ! In the full vigor of health and manhood, no mouth but your own to fill, and no back but your own to cover,and yet crouching under the first scourgings of ad verse fortune. You know nothing of the storm, for you have seen but the summer. One cloud has frightened you,and you think you are hardly dealt by. You will be lucky, if you find no darker shadows across your path. Stand up, young sir, pull your hands from your pockets, throw off your coat, and take fortune by the throat. You may be thrown again and again, but hang on.— Put away the nonsense that the world is all against you. Tain't so. Your destiny is in your own strong arm ! With an unbending will,and honor and truth for your guide, the day is your own. No capital, eh ? You have capital. God has given your perfect health. That is an immense capital to start on. You have youth and strength—all invulnerable. Add a will to do. put your sinews in motion, and you will win. A man in full health and strength, should never whitie or despair be cause fortune does not pour a stream of gold eagles into his pockets. If you have no money,work and get it. Industry,economy, and integrity will do wonders. From such be ginings fortunes have been reared. They can be again. Will you try it? Or will you wait for the stream of gold to run bv, so that you can walk dry shod into the El Dorado of wealth ? Or will yen meet the waves defiantly, and be the architect ol your own fortune." Try —it is glorious toconquer in the strife. NEVER DO TOO MUCH AT A TIME.— Sir Ed ward Bulwer Lytton, in a lecture recently delivered in England, gave the following history of his literary habits : Many persons seeing me so much engag ed in active life, and as much about the world as if 1 had never been a student,have said to me, "When do you get time to write all your books ? How on earth doyou con trive to do so much work ?" I shall surprise you by the answer I make. The answer is this : "1 contrive to do so much by never doing too much at a time. A man, to get through work well, must not over work him self; or, il he do too much to-day, the reac tion of fatigue will come, and he will be obliged to do little to-morrow. Now since I began really and earnestly to study, which was not till I had left college, and was actu ally in the world, I may perhaps say that I have gone through as large a course of gen eral reading as most men of my time. I have traveled much, and I have seen much, 1 have mixed much in politics, and in the various business of life ; and in addition to all this, I have published somewhere about sixty volumes, some upon subjects requir ing much special research. And what time do you think,as a general rule I have devot ed to study—to reading and writing? Not more than three hours a day; and, when Parliament is sitting, not always thai. But then, during those hours, I have given my whole attention to what I was about." IF a good act benefits no one else it bene fits the one who does it. Trntb and Right i'ad fonutrj. A Midnight Adventure. Females often possess presence of mind, , and the power of self-control under circum stances of imminent peril which seems al most foreign to their nature and beyond the endurance of a delicate physical organize- , lion. A striking instance ol self-command, by a lady whose fears must have been pow- ' erfully excited, and whose life ol affluence had probably never before given her nerves any severer test than is incident to the vex ations of domestic cares is given in Cham ber's Journal of last month. We copy the adventure, premising by the way of ex planation, that the lady was the daughter of i a rector in a quiet English country village, I and was upon the eve of maniuge. "The wedding day was to be upon the ' morrow of that upon which our adventure happened. Grand preparations were made for the wedding; and the rector's fine old plate,and the costly gifts of the bride were discussed with pride and pleasure at the Hare and Hounds, in the presence of some strangers, who had come to a prize fight, which had taken place in the neighborhood. That r.ight Adelaide, who occupied a sep arate room from her sister, sat up late—long after the household had retired to rest. She had a long interview with her father and had been reading a chapter to which he had directed attention, and since had packed up her jewels &o. She was consequently, still dressed when the church clock tolled mid night. As it ceased she heard a low noise like that of a file ; she listened, but could discover nothing clearly. It might have been made by some of tho servants still about, or perhaps it was only the croaking of the old trees. She heard nothing but the sighing of the winter winds for many min utes afterwards. House breakers were mere myths in primitive Thydon. and the bride elect without a thought of fear, resumed her occupation. She was gazing on a glit tering set of diamonds, destined to be worn at the wedding, when her bedroom door soltly opened. She turned, looked up and beheld a man with a black mask, holding a pistol in his hand, standing before her She did not scream for her first thought was for her father who slept in the next room, and to whom any sudden alarm might , be death, for he was old and feeble and suf i fering from heart complaint. She confront ed the robber boldly, and addressed him in a whisper, "You are come IQ rob us Spare j your soul the awful guilt of murder. Mv father sleeps next to my room, and to be ; startled from his sleep would kill him.— Make no noise, 1 beg of you. The fellow was astonished and cowed.— ' "We won't make r.o noise, (he replied sud denly,) if you give us everything quietly." | Adelaide drew back and let him lake her jewels—not without a pang, for they where , precious love gifts, remarking at the same lime that two more masked ruffians stood at the half open door. As he took the jewel case and watch from the table and demand ed her purse, she asked him if he intended j logo into her father's room. She received a surley affirmative. "He wasn't going to run I a risk and leave half the tin behind !" She proposed instantly that she would go her- I self; saying : "I will bring you whatever I you wish, and you may guard me thither, and kill me if 1 play false to you. The fel j low consulted his comrades, and alter a 1 short parley, they agreed to the proposal, and with a pistol pointed at her head, the dauntless girl crossed the passage and en | tered the rector's room. Very gently she ! stole across the chamber, and removing his j purse, watch, keys and desk gave them up |to the robbers who stood at the door. The j old man slept peacefully and calmly, thus I guarded by his child, who softly shut the door, and demanded if Ihe robbers were yet satisfied. The leader replied that they should be when they got the spread of plate spread out below, but they couldn't let her out of sight, and that she must go with them. In compliance with this mandate she followed them down stairs to the dining room, w here a splendid wedding breakfast had been laid to save trouble and hurry on the morrow.— To her surprise,the fellows.eight in number W'hen assembled—seated themselves and prepared to make a good meal. They or dered her to get out wine, and cut her own wedding cake for them; and then seated at the head of the table, she was compelled to preside at this extraordinary revel. They ate and drank, and joked; and Ade-1 laide, quick of ear and eye, had thus time to study, in her quiet way, the figures and voices of the whole set. When the repast was ended,and the plate was transferred to a sack, they prepared to depart, whispering together ar.d glancing at the young lady. For the firsttime Adelaide's courage gave way and she trembled ; but it was not a consultation against her; they told her that they did not wish to harm her— that she was a jolly wench, regular game, and they wouldn t hurt her,but that she must swear not to give an alarm till nine or ten the next day, when they should be off all safe. To this she was of course obliged to assent, and then they all insisted on shak ing hands with her. She noticed during the parting ceremony, that one of the ruffian* had only three lingers on his lefl hand. Alone in the despoiled room, Adelaide faint and exhausted, awaited tne first gleam of day; when, as the robbers did not return she stole up to her room, undressed, and fell into a disturbed slumber. The conster nation of the family, the next morning might be imagined, and Adelaide's story was still more astounding than the fact of the robbery itself. Police were sent for from London, guided by Adelaide's lucid description of hßr midnight guests, actually succeeded in capturing every one of the gang, whom the young lady had no difficul ty in identifying and swearing to the "three fingered Jack" being the guiding clue to the discovery. The stolen property being near ly all recovered, and the old rector always declared; and with truth, that he owed his life to the self-possession and judgment of his eldest daughter. Rualificalioiis of a Schoolmaster. A long time ago, a young collegian, itin erating in the State of Maine, tell in com pany, and also in love, with a very pretty girl, the daughter of an old curmudgeon, whose brains were made of sawdust, hog's lard, and molasses, but who, on account of the spaciousness of his farm, had been for years at the head of the school committee in the district. The collegian's attachment to Sally (lor.fhat was the name of the daugh ter) was so overpowering that all the logic and philosophy he had learned in the schools was, compared to the force of his passion, as chaff in a hurricane. But not having ihe werewithal to winter in Maine without a resort to employment, he intima ted to Sally that he would like to keep the school in that district. The kind-hearted girl informed him that her father was com mittee-mati; and she also informed him what questions he would put to him, and how he must answer them if he expected to gain the good graces of her parenia! re lative. Accordingly, one Sunday evening, the young man of classio lore informed the old ignoramus that he would like to take their school for the winter, and board in his family, whereupon the old fellow as sumed an air of much importance, and looking at the applicant with his usual dig nity while examining candidates for keep ing school, put the same questions that Sal ly had informed her admirer would be ask ed. 'Do you believe in the final salvation of all the world ?' 'Most certainly,'answered the young col legian, 'it is the only belief that the scrip tures justify.' 'Do you believe that God ever made an other man equal to Thomas Jefferson ?' 'Certainly not—and 1 have been of this opinion ever since 1 read his Notes on Vir ginia ?' !Can yon spell Massachusetts?' 'I ought to know how, sir, for it is my j native State.?' I 'Well, spell it.' j The young man spelled the word very j distinctly, when the father turned to the j daughter and said: I 'Did he spell it right, Sally ?' I 'Yes, sir, answered the affectionate girl: when her father, turning again to the can didate, trumphantly exclaimed : 'You may begin school to-morrow.' How the young pedagogue and Sally managed affairs through the wrnter is an other part of the story. Moral Suasion. When a friend of ours whom we shall call Agricola was a boy, he lived on a farm in Berkshire county, the owner of which was much troubled by his dog, Wolf. The cur killed his sheep, and he could devise no means to prevent it. "I can break him of it," said Agricola, "if you will give me leave." "Thou art permitted," said the honest farmer—and now we will let Agri cola tell the story in his own words. "There was a ram on the farm," says Ag ricola, "as notorious for butting as Wolf was for sheep-stealing, and who stood in as much need of moral suasion as the dog. I shut Wolf up in the barn with this old fellow, and the consequence was, that the dog nev er looked a sheep in the face again. The ram broke every bone in his body lit erally. Wonderfully uplifted was the ram by this exploit; his insolence grew in tolerable; he was sure to pitch into whom soever went nigh him. "I'll fix him," said I, and so I did. I rigged an iron crowbar out of a hole in the barn, point foremost, and hung an old hat on the end of it. You can't always tell,when you see a hat,wheth er there is a head in it or not, how then should a ram 1 Aries made at it full butt, and being a good marksman, from long practice, the bar broke in between his horns ana came out under his tail. This little ad monition effectually cured him of butting." TIIB Steuben Courier says that a school commissioner there recently required a class of young gentlemen to pledge them selves not to attend evening parties, nor go home with girls after dark !' before he would grant them the required certificates as teahers. We consider this rather a sen sible condition—but have very little doubt if this would be made a consideration in Columbia county, that there would be a great many pledges broken. We ihink the young men here would go in for having the order reversed. After (lark is the very time when they believe young ladies to stand most in need of their protection. An English Judge being asked what contributed most to success at the bar re plied : " Some succeeded by great talent, some by the influence of their friends,some by a miracle, but the marjority by com mencing without a shilling. A chap walking along the street, seeing a lawyer's office, walked in, and inquired: " What do you keep to sell 1" "Block-! hends," replied the lawyer. "Pretty good business, 1 guess, I Bee you've got only one left." YVepledaed our hearts, my love and 1 — 1, in my arms, the maiden clasping ; 1 could not tell the reason why, But, oh ! I trembled like an aspen. Her father's love she bid me gain ; I went, and shook like any reed ! 1 strove to act the man—in vain ! We had exchanged our heart's indeed. A Romance in Politics. One of Texas' distinguished citizens, name not given, who has figured largely in public life, first as a lawyer, then as a sol dier in the Mexican and Indian wars, and then as a leading politician, has the follow ing related of him in a sketch of his life by the New Orleans Christain Advocate—He had been put op by his parly in 1847 to succeed Gen. Houston in the United States Senate; but feeling called io the ministry, and distrusting his own ability to resist the temptations of Washington life, was unwil ling to accept the nomination. He laid the case before his wife, leaving to her the choice between the United States Senate and destruction to his morals, and the pulpit and salvation : " Taking the letters and papers from all parts o r the State, giving him assurance of e lection,he went to his wife and said: "I can go to the United States Senate. Here are the evidences. If you wish it, 1 will go. But ifl go, hell is my doom. I shall die a drunkard as certain as I go to Washington. I can yet escape. If I pass this point, I never can. I can enter the ministry, which I ought to have done long ago and save my self from a drunkard's grave, and my soul from hell. But you shall decide. His poor wife, unwilling to relinquish the glittering prize in view, replied weeping, that she could not see why he could not be a great man and a Christian too. But after prayerful reflection, she would not incur the fearful responsibility of deciding against his con science, and told him to go into the itinera cy, and she would go with him. To the astonishment of the whole State, a letter Irom him appeared in the papers, just be fore the meeting of the Legislature, decli ning the office, and announcing his retire ment from political life. The next thing that was heard of him was that he was preaching." Effect of Sorrow. Life has long years ; many pleasures it has to give in return for many which are ta ken away ; and while our ears can receive the sounds of revelry, and our eyes are sen sible of pleasant sights, and our bodies are conscious of strength we deem we live; but there is an hour in the lives of all when the heart dies : an hour unheeded, but after which we have no real life, whether it per ish in the agony of some conquering pas sion, or die wearily of sorrow; an hour which they may strive to trace, who say, "ay. I remember,l thought and fell different ly then—l was a mere boy—l shall never feel the same again;" an hour when the cord is broken and the chain snapped on which depended the liartnony of existence. Shout, little children ! shout and clap your hands with sudden joy ! send out the sound of ringing laughter over the face of the grepn-bosomed earth ! From you the an gel nature hath not yet departed, in your hearts linger still Ihe emanations'from the Creator: perfect love and perfect joy.— Shout, I say and rejoice ! for the dark days are coming upon ye, when ye shall see no light, and the hours of mirth will be strange to you, and the time when your voices shall grow so sad that they shall mingle with the wailing of the winds, and not be distingush able from them, because of the exceeding sorrow of their tones ! " Please, marm, and what shall I do with the bits of candles?" " Take them down stairs and burn them in the kitchen, Bridget." Off she started. At night Bridget called the Lady, and asked for a caudle for the kitchen. " A candle ! why, what have you done with those pieces you had this morning ?" " Faith, marm, I put them in the fire and burned them in the kitchen, as you told me this morning." A school boy of about six years of age approached the master with a bold look and self confident air, and the following dialogue ensued: — " May 1 be dismissed, sir ?" " What reason have you for making the request, Thomas ?" "I want to take my woman out sleighing sir." Breathes there a man with soul so dead, who never to himself hath said, I will a family paper take, both for my own and children's sake 1 If such there be, let him repent, and have the paper to him sent; and it he'd pass a happy winter, lie in advance should pay the printer. The great bar to unliappiness is the bar of the grog shop. He who frequents it will very likely soon find himself before the bar of justice. Let us all, then, place a bar againsj,all evils arising from intemperance —the rock on which many young men have been shipwrecked. " Why don't you hold your head up in the world as Ido ?" asked a haughty law yer of a sterling old farmer. " Squire," said the farmer, " see that field of grain; the well-filled heads hang down while those only that are empty stand upright." Tears may soothe the wound they can not heal. [Two Dollars pot Annum. NUMI3ISR 14- Smells Something. A short time since a gentleman and lady were traveling in Michigan, and having missed the stage, were compelled to take a private conveyance from the town of Scud eri to Thomastown The lady had with her a beautiful little lap-dog, which she carried on her lap on an embroidered mat. During the ride the husband discovered that he had no handkerchief, when the lady lent him Iters, which was fashionably scented with musk. About half way between the two towns the carriage broke down, in the midst of a hard rain, and they were obliged to take refuge in the half way house—a "one horse" log tavern, consisting of two roams— a bar-room and a lodging room. The lady laid her lap dog on its mat before the fire, and herself and husband took seats. In a short time the gentleman had an occasion to use his handkerchief, and took it out, leaving it lying on his knees when he got through with it. In a few moments the landlord opened the door, put his head in, looked around, went out, came in gazed at the dog; his nostrils all the while upturned in intense disgust. He finally appeared sat isfied, went to the out side door opened it, came back with a bound,seized the lap-dog by the tail, and hurled him howling through the open door full ten rods into the forest. The wife fainted; the husband rose to his feet, terribly enraged, and wanted to know what he did that for. "That's my dog," continued he furiously. "Don't care a cuss whose dog it is," said the man gruffly and irnpetiously, "I ain't going to have no such blasted smelling varmint around my tavern." The husbard and wife evacuated the house instantly, and proceeded on their way in the rain. THE LAST Hoop STORV.—A Newcastle v,English) paper states that at a fashionable conversation recently held at the Musio Hall in that city, a mischievous wag, short ly after the opening of the entertainment, put into circulation a story to the effect that an experienced electrician had mana ged to conceal a powerful magnet in each of the six beautiful chandeliers by means of uhich the hall is lighted, and that the effect of this arrangement would be such that any lady with steel spring skirts pass ing them, would have the said skirts in j stantly inverted by the powerful attraction, j There was a great many ladies present, and | the consternation created by this mischiev ■ ous story can more readily be imagined j than expressed. There was of course, for I a time, considerable shyness in approach { ing the chandeliers, and some of the fair j ones became so alarmed they immediately i scooted. The fellow ought to have been | ducked in the Tyne. j It is stated that a young lady on Boston j Common, dressed in the extreme of fashion, j was mistaken by some boys jpr a circus ; tent, and they actually crawled some dis j tance under the " curtains" before they j discovered their mistake. How they en j joyed the "show" the report does not state In a school district, a lady having engag ed to teach school for a given time, a'tends regularly at the school-house from 8 A. M. ; to 4 P. M. and keeps up a good fire, although j she has not had a scholar for weeks. She j seems determined to be on hand whether j "school keeps or not." | A GREENHORN took a notion to get mar* ! ried. After the ceremony was concluded, | Jonathan taking a quarter of a dollar from his pocket, deliberately walked up to the parson and handed it to him, saying, "Par son, keep the whole, you needn't give me back any change." TIT FOR TAT.—" Will you give me that ring?" said a village dandy to a lady, "for it resembles my love for you; it has no end." "Ecnse me, sir," was the reply, "I choose to keep it, as being emblematical of mine for you; it has*no beginning." Two centuries ago not one person in one hundred wore stockings. Fifty years ago not one boy in 1,000 was allowed to run at large nights. Fifty years ago not one girl in 1,000 made a waiting-woman of her mother! "•'Tie strange," uttered a young man. as he staggered home from a supper party, "how evil communications corrupt good manners. I've been surrounded by tum blers all the evening, and now I'm a tum bler myself." We have all heard of asking for bread and receiving a slone, but a gentleman may be considered as still worse treated when he asks a young lady's hand and gets her father's foot. DEAN SWIFT, hearing of a carpenter fall ing through the scaffolding of a house which he was engaged in repairing, dryly remark ed that he liked loseea mechanic go through his work promptly. THE worthiest people are the most assail ed by slander; as we usually find that to be the best fruit, which the birds have been picking at. The editor of an exchange says he never saw but one ghost, and that was the ghost of a sinner, who had died without paying for his paper. "'Twas horrible to look upon." " I'm getting /at," as the loafer said when he was stealing "lard."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers