THE STAR OP THE NORTH, W. B. JACOIIV, trsprialor. ] VOLUME 13. &-2AW @5? miß I'UBLIHHSD BVERT WKtIIVBSDAY BY WM. 11. JACOBY, Office on Main St., Ird Square below Market, TERMSTwo Dollars per annum if paid hwithin six months from the time of subscrib ing: two dollars and filly cts. if not paid wilh '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. Tie leims of advertising unit be as follows : One square, twelve lines, three times, SI 00 Every subsequent insertion, 23 One square, three months 3 00 'One year, 8 P0 (Hl)oite Poctrn- A IfJOER'S SO AG BY P. D. REYNOLDS. We envy not the priucely man, In city or in town, Who wonders whether pumpkin vines, Run up the hill or down ; We care not for his marble halls, Nor yet his heaps of gold ; We would not own his sordid heart For all his wealth thrice told. We are the favored ones ol eardi, We breathe pure air each morn, We sow—we reap the golden grain— We gather in the corn ; We toil—we live on what we earn, And morelhati this we do, We hear of starving millions 'round, Aud gladly feed thetn, too. The lawyer lives on princely foes, Yet drags a weary life, He never knows a peaceful hour— llss attnosphere.is strife. The merchaniithumbs his yardstick o'er— Grows haggard at his toil— He's not the man God meant him for— Why don't he till the soil ? If he'd but dig the generous earth, Aud breathe pure air of Heaven, And sleep all night anu wake at dawn, He'd know what God hath given Of health and comfort, peace and joy, Outweighing glittering ore— And silks, and prints, and lace, and tape, All numbered o'er and o'er. The doctor plods through storm and cold, l'lods at his patient's will, When dead aud gone he plods again To get his lengthy bill. The printer, (bless his noble soul!) He grasps the mighty earth, And stamps it on the living page To cheer the farmer's hearth. We sing the honer of the plow, Aud honor to the Press— Two noble instruments Of toil, With each a power W bless. The bone—the nerve of this last age— True wealth of human kind- One tills Ihe ever generous earth, The other tills the mind.* ■Our Umlry ! Right or Wrong ! There is at least as much justice and pro priety in another exclamation—viz : our friends—our childreu ! right or wrong 1 for if patriotism, or the love of-country, renders , the first feeling admissible, surely the na-I tural and stronger love of one's own off-. spring, and the intimates of our domestic , circle, offers an abundant excuse for the j ■other. We well know it is not wise, or j perhaps consistent with the teachings of J religion, to give our sanction to what is j positively wrong—what we know to be wrong; and yet in a choice of evils, may we, and should we not, select the least. A child, in spile of our best efforts, by educa tional influences and home discipline, such as we have been able to maintain, may reach adult age an ungovernable, foolish or vicious persons; arid besides the pain and anxieties caused at home by son or daugh ter, under these circumstances, society, eventually, perhaps, the law, becomes of fended by one huving the strongest natural claims upon our inteiest and affection. If, t such a moment, we join with the world, aud in an unforgiving spirit of stern justice, .drive this child from home and our protec tion, running the risk of bringing greater misconduct and perhaps ultimate ruin, on all sides we hear loud exclamations of "heartless parent 1" "unnatural brute !" II on the contrary, we still allow our natural love to govern, and stand by the erring, re newing our private efforts to correct the #vils of a life that is precious to us—then, it is "blind indulgence 1" "parental infatua tion, and encouragement to wrong doing !" What course is lelt for the parent, but to endure the world's reproach or scorn, and still obeying the best impulse of the heart, exclaim—"my children and my irieuds, right or wrong !" Impartial or indifferent judges will freely condemn and abandon, perhaps punish the mistakes or misdeeds of our children ; it is an unforgiving word we live in spite ot the heavenly injunction— "yea, seventy limes seven shall thou forgive thy brother." We Are, perchance, the last, the only hope trom which erring humanity may derive the opportunity to mend; and at the very period when Ihe ignorant and condemning world jjMnoet severe and unforgiving, it may be that penitence and intormation have reach "sUytar heart, where folly and wickedness WflßLlately ruled. This is especially true oflTOtottng aud inexperienced, in whom '* ever undergoing change, and wlUftf error and vice startle us., it is most lyMfejt. apt teaohings and evil influ r"cfKMnjji sinners—of wicked and de- then our oountry is wrong let us still protajfc and defend her, until she gets old enouglllffehajjght; arid so too with friends and family—-Iqjf tw be slow to aban don those that are netfkemr to us, when er ror clouds their path. J Neve: marry a man iin is hand some ; lie will think 100 his own t eauty to take notice of yours^H BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA.,'WEDNESDAY. AUGUST 3, 1859. From Ike San Francisco Golden Era. THE OLD CARTMAN. BY BLUNDERBUSS. I have a mind to tell a little story. That it is brief, may be seen at a glance ; that it is true I moßt emphatically avow. If the reader despises it because of the first, or the editors of the Era reject it for the reason of the last, then will I eschew truth in the future, and devote myself to the elaboration of lies into chapters and the purest fiotions | into volumes of seventeen hundred pages each. With this understanding, I proceed at once to remark, that five years ago or there abouts, John Ainsley—or "Pap Ainsley," as he was familiarly called—Was ttio owner ol a handcart, and earned a living by convey ing miscellaneous parcels from one section of the city to another,and receiving therefor the reasonable remuneration of fifty cents per load. To designate the occupation in the prosiest language possible, he was a hand cartman, and when not employed, could always be found during working hours at the corner of Montgomery and California streets. His hair and long beard were quite gray and his limbs feeble ; and if be could not shove as heavy a load thro' the deep sand or up the sleep grade above him as the stalwart Teuton on the opposite corner, thereby losing many a job and many a dollar, all the light loads in the neigebor hood fell to his lot, and kind hearted men not nnfreqeenlly traveled a square or two out of their way to give an easy job to Pap Ainsley. Four years ago last September, (I recol lect the month, for I had a note of $4,000 to pay, and was compelled to do some sharp financiering to meet it,) having 2 or 3 dozen volumes of books to transfer to my lodging I gave Pap Ainsly the task of transportation. Arriving at my room just as he had deposit ed the last armful on the table, and observ ing that the old man looked considerably fatigued, after climbing three flights of stairs five or six times, I invited him to take a glass of brandy—a bottle of which 1 us ually kept in my room, lor medical anu soporific purposes. Although grateful lor the invitation, he politely declined. I urged, but he was inflexible. 1 was astonished.— "Do you never drink ?" said I. "Very sel dom," he replied, dropping into a chair, and wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Well, if you drink at all," 1 insisted, "you will not fiud in the next twelvemonths as fair an excuse for indulging, for you appear fatigued and scarcely able to stand." "To be frank," said the old man, "I do not drink now. 1 have not tasted intoxicating liquor for fifteen years—since—" "Since when ?" I inquired thoughtlessly, observing Ins hes itation. The old man told me. Sixteen years ago he was a well-to-do farmer near Syracuse, J N.-Y. He had but one child, a daughter.— j While attending a boarding school in that city, the girl, then but sixteen years ( of age. formed an attachment for a young 1 physician. Acquainting her father with the ' circumstances, he flatly refused his consent • to her union with a man he never had seen, i and removing her from school, dispatched 1 a note to the gallant, with the somewhat j pointed information, that his presence in the neighborhood of the Ainsley farm would not meet with favor. The reader of course t surmises the result, lor such a proceeding I could have but one result. In less than a j month there was an elopement. The father loaded his double barrelled shot gun, and swore vengeance, but failing to find the fu gitives, he look to the bottle. His good wife implored him not to give way to dis pair, but he drank the deeper, and accused her of encouraging the elopement. In three months the wile died, and at the expiration : ot a year, when the young- couple returned j to Syracuse from Connecticut, where they j had remained with Ihe parents of the hus band, they learned that the old man, after j the death of his wife, of which they had ot J course been apprised, had sold his larm, , squandered the proceeds, and was almost destitute. Learning of their arrival, Ainsley drank himself into a frenzy, and proceeded to the hotel where they were stopping, at tacked the husband, wounding him in the arm with a pistol shot, and then attempted the life of his daughter, who, happily, escaped uninjured through the interposition of persons brought to the spot by the report of the pistol. Ainsley was arrested, tried and acquitted on the plea of insanity. The daughter and her husband returned to Con necticut, since which time-the father had not heard from them. He was sent to a lu natic Assylum, which he was dismissed af ter remaining six months. In 1851 he came to California. He had followed mining for two years, but finding his strength unequal to the pursuit, returned to this city, pur chased a handcart, and—the rest is known. "Since then," concluded the old man, bow ing his face in his hands in agony, "1 have not tasted liquor, nor have 1 seen my poor child." 1 regretted that I had been so in quisitive and expressed to the sufferer the sympathy I really felt for him. After that, I seldom passed the corner without looking for "I'ap Ainsley," and never saw him but to think of the sad story he had told me. One chilly, drizzling day in the December following, a gentleman having purchased a small marble top table at an auction room opposite, proffered to the old man the job of couveying it to his residence on Stockton street Not wishing to accompany the car rier, he had selected the face, probably, giving the best assurance of the careful de livery of the purchase. Furnished with the number of the house, | Ihe old cartman, after a pretty trying strug gle with the steep aßcent oi California street, | reached his destination, and deposited the | table in the hall. Lingering a moment, the I lady did not seem to surmise the reason, unld he politely informed her that her I husband \for such he look him to be) had probably by accident neglected to settle for the cartage. "Very well; f will pay you," said the lady, stepping into an adjoining room. She returned, and stating that she had no small coin in the house, handed the old man a twenty dollar piece. He could not make the change. "Never mind—l .will call to-morrow," said he turning to go.— "No, no!" replied the lady, glancing pity ingly at his white locks and trembling limbs: "I will not permit you to put yourself to so much trouble ;" and she handed the coin to Bridget, with instruction to see if she couid get it changed at one of the stores or markets in the neighborhood. "Step into the parlor until the girl returns ; j the air is chilly, and you must be cold," continued the lady kindly. "Come," she added, as he looked at his rough attite and hesitated ; "there is a good fire in the grate, and no one there but the children." "it fs somewhat chilly," replied the old man, following her into the parlor, and tak ing a seat fire. "Perhaps I may find some silver in the house," said the lady, leaving the room, "for I fear Bridget will not succeed in getting the twenty changed." "Come here little one," said the old man, holding out his hands coaxingly to the younger of the two children—a girl about six years of age. "Come—l love little chil dren," and the child who had been watch ing him with curiosity from behind the large arm chair, hesitatingly approached. "What is your name, dear?" inquired the cartman. "Maria," lisped the little one." "Maria V he repeated, while the great tears gathered in his eyes ; "I once had a little Maria, and you look very much as she did." "Did you V inquired the girt, with inter est ; "and was her name Maria Eastman, too 1" "Merciful God !" exclaimed the old man, starting from his chair, and again dropping into it with his head bowed upon his breast. "This cannot be ! and yet, why not t" He caught the child in his with an eager ness that frightened her, and gazing into her face until he found conviction there, suddenly, rose to leave tUs house. "1 can not meet her without betraying myself, and I dare not tell her 1 atn that drunken father who once atiempted to take her life, ai d perhaps left her husband a cripple," he groaned, as he hurried towards the door. The little ones were bewildered. "You aeo not going ?" said the mother, at that moment te appearing, and discovering the old man in the act of passing into the hall.: He stopped, aud partly turned his face but seemed to lack the resolution 'o do aught else. "He said he had a little Maria once that looked just like me, mother,"' shouted the child, her eyes sparkling with delight. The knees of the old cartman trembled, and he leaned against the door for support, 'ihe lady sprang towards him, and taking him by tho arm, atiempted to conduct him to a chair. "No, no !" ho exclaimed ; "not till you 1 tell me 1 am forgiven. " Forgiven ?—for what ?" replied the mother, in alarm. "Recognise in me your wretched father, j and I need not tell you !" he faltered. "My poor father 1" she cried, throwing her arms around IUB neck ; "all is forgiven —all is fogotlen 1" All was forgiven, and the husband, when he returned late in the afternoon, was scarcely less rejoiced than his good wile at the discovery. Whether Bridget succeeded in changing the double eagle, I never learn ed ; but this I do know—it took the honest female two mouths to unravel the knot into which the domestic affairs of the family had tied themselves during her absence. Pap Ainsley still keeps bis cart, for money would not induce hira to part with it. I peeped into the back yard of Dr. Eastman, one day last week, and discovered the old man dragging the favorite vehicle round the in closure, with his four graudchildrou piled promiscuously into it. TF COOL IMPUDENCE.— "WiII you oblige me with a light, sir ?" I "Certainly, with the greatest of pleasure," says stranger, knocking off the ashes with his little finger, and presenting the red end of his cigar with a graceful bow. Smith commences fumbling in his coat pocket, takes out his handkerchief; shakes it; feels in his vest with a desperate energy; looks blank. " Well, fdo declare, haven't got one, true as the world. Have you another you could spare ?" "Certainly," says the stranger with a smiles, "and I beg you will accept it." Smith coming up to his friend, " said there ! didn't 1 tell you 1 would get it ? That's the way to gel along in this world.— Nothing like coql, polite impudence." A 'Tough' subscriber to a county paper was struck from the list because he wouldn't pay 'Up. The delinquent wife' insisted wrathfully that the knew what was news paper law—that she did—the proprietor wa obliged to send the paper until "all arrear ages were paid." Suffer rather than make suffer. Truth aud Right God our Country. TABLE TALKERS. From Roger's Krcollectioas BURKE. "Dull prosers are preferable to dull joTce*. The first requires only patience; but the; last harass the spirits, and check their spon taneous actios. Quizzing is a system of terror—the ruin of all social intercourse.— More indulgence should be sllown to story tellers. A story to be good should be a lit tle long sometimes, aud in general, when a man oflere you his story, it is the best thing he has to give you. There should be a variety of styles 100, in conversation as in other amusements. A great admirer of Swift's Immor, particularly in Lis namby pamby letters to jghicji hp always praised for their genuine gracefulness and ease. It being observed that many could not relish them in early life, but had grown to like them afterwards, he said : In early life we have generally a serious turn. It is in youth that the masoning powers are strong est, though the stock is then too small to make any show with. The imagination becomes sirongest after yoath ; for however ready it is to come forward, it cannot be ex ercised without a stock of -knowledge. QRATTMAN. Were you twenty years old, and Capt. Cook setting sail, would yon go round the world with him ? No, I have no wish to see such countries as he saw. 1 wish to see Rome and Athens and some parts of Asia ; but little besides. My Uncle Dean Marlay was famous for the best little dinners, and the best company in Dublin—but when made a Bishop he enlarged his table, and he lost his fame—he had' no more good company—ar.d there was an end of his enjoyment. He had at firs; about lour hun dred pounds a year, and his little dinners were delightful; but he had an estate left him, and afterwards came to a Bishoprick —he bad lords and ladies to his table—peo ple of fashion—foolish men and foolish wo men, and there was an end of him and us He (Marlay) had much of the humor of Dean Swift. Upon one occasion when the footman was out of the way, he ordered the coachman to fetch some water from the well. The coachman objected, saying that "it was bis business to drive, and not iun on errands." "Then bring the coach and lour," said he, "and put the pitcher into it, and drive to the well"—a service which was performed many limes, to the great entertainment of the village. Which would you rather pass a day wkh,. Alexander, Ceesar or Bonaparte. 1 atu much interested about his time. I would ask him (and here he enumerated many questions about his campaigns) what were the real characters of many of his cotemporaries— I and i would ask liirn (he might answer it ! or not, as lie pleased) what part lie took in I the Casliline conspiracy. * * * * J in traveling, I should like the lower orders , of the people better than the middle ones I for my companion*—l would rather be in a heavy coach than in one that carried four, j * * # Of alt men, if 1 could ! call up one, it should be Scipio Africanus. I Hannibal was perhaps a greater captain, but not so great and good a man. Epaminon-1 das did not do so much. Themistocles was I a rogue. In modern times, Washington, 1 1 believe, was the greatest man, and next to ' him, William the Third. Burke was so fond of arbitrary power, he could not sleep upon his pillow, unless the King bad a right to take it from him. Stella used often to visited my aunt, and sleep with her in the same bed, and weep all night. She was not very handsome. Miss V was handsome. Milton I like best of them all. He is much more poetical than Shakes peare, and if anybody would be a public speaker, let him study his prose and his poetry—his prose is often an admirable model for the mujestic style of speaking.— To be a good shot is useful. It makes a Brave man braver—a timid man ball braver; and all men are born cowards. But it makes a bad man worse that it found him—a bully. BORSON. Had 1 a carriage, and did 1 see a well dressed person on the road, I would always invite him in and learn of him what 1 could. Louis XIV. was the son of Anne of Austria by Cardinal Richelieu. The man in the iron mask was Anne's eldest sou—l have no doubt of it. Two parties must consent to the publication of a book—the public as well as the author. Mr. Pitt conceives his sentences before he utters them. Mr Fox throws himself into the middle of liis, and leaves it to God Almighty to get him out again. When God made man, he used up all the water in making other animals , so he mingled his clay with tears. Of Mack intosh, he means to get interest for his prin cipal. Of Sheridan : He is a promising fel low All wit true reasoning. History of the Grand Aum in a 100 volume folio. 1 love an octavo ; the pages are soon read— the milestones occur frequently. If I had £3,000 per annum 1 would have a person constantly dressed, night and day, with fire and candle to attend upon me. (He is an uncertain sleeper.) • * I had lived long before I discovered tbat wit was truth.- Wit is in general the fines? sense in the world. . . . We all speak in metaphors.— Those who appear not to do it only use those which are worn out, and are over looked as metaphors. The orignal fellow is therefore regarded as only willy; aud the dull are consulted as the wise. Jerry Diggs remembered his miserly un cle in his will, for he bequeathed "to my mother's brother a gun flint, apd a knife to skin it with." Sleeping Together. If a main Were to see a quarter of an inch of worm put in his cup of co'lfeo, he could not drink it, because he knows that the whole cup would be impregnated. If a very small sfmount of some virulent poison be 'introduced into a glass of water, the drinking of it might not prdbuce instant death, but that would not prove that it whs not hurtful, only that there was not enough of it to cause a destructive result immedi ately. We sicken at the thought of taking the breath of another the moment it leaves the mouth, but that breath mingles with the air about the bed in which two persons lay ; and it is rebreathed, but not the less offensive is it in reality on account of the dilution,'except that it is not taken in its concentrated form, but each breath makes it more concentrated. One sleeper cor rupts the atmosphere of the room by his own breathing, but when two persons are breathing at the same time, twelve or four teen times in each minute, each minute ex tracting all the nutriment from a gallon of air, the deterioration must bo rapid indeed, especially in a small and close room. A bird cannot live without a large supply of pure air. A canary bird hung up in a cur tained bedstead where two persons slept deid before the morning. Many infants are found dead in bed, anil it is attributed to having been overlaid by the parents;|but the idea that any persons could lay still for a moment on a baby, or anything elsb of the same 'size, is absurd. Death was caused by the want of puro'air. Besides, emanations, ferial and more or less solid, arejthrown out from every per son—thrown out by the processes Or na ture, because no longer fit for the life pur poses, because theyfare deed and corrupt— but if breathed into another living body, it is just as abhorrent as if 4 we) took'Jinto our months the.matteriof a sore or any other excretion. The most destructive typhoid and putrid fevers are known to arise directly from a number of persons living in the same small room. Those who can aflbrd.it should therefore arrange to have each member of the family sleep in a separate bed, they should be about the same age, and in good health. If the health be much unequal, both will suf fer, but the healthier one the most—the in valid sufleiing for want of entirely pure air . t So rtiany cases'are'mentioned in stand ard medical works where healthy, robust infants and larger children have dwindled away, and died in a'few months from sleep ing with grandparents, or other old per sons, that it is useless to cite special in stances in proof. It would be a constitutional and moral good for married persons to sleep in ad joining rooms, as a general habit. It would bo a certain means of physical invigOration, and of advantages in other directions,which will readily occur to tho reflective reader Kings and Queens and the highest person ages of courts have separate apartments It is the bodily emanations collecting and concentrating under the same cover which are the most destructive of healtn—more destructive than the simple contamination of an atmosphere breathed in common. LADIES HAVE LESS VANITV THAN MEN.— Alhougli woman are accused of being much more vain than men, my experience has proved to me, at least, the contrary. Only in a few instances have I found the ladies as exacting as the men. Sometimes I have heard girls gifted by nature with all the charms of Hebe, say that they thought 1 had flattered them. Now, a truly beautiful woman cannot be douo justice to either by painter or poet, so that in these cases, in stead of flattering, I was falling far short of the originals. Once, indeed, a lady sat to me who considered that her figure was not good ; so she asked a friend who had a fine figure to sit for her. The effect of the | combination may De imagined. To an art. ist's eye, at least, it was putting the por- I tails of two different persons in one stereo -1 scope, for the figure, whether handsome or otherwise, always harmonizes with the head. Once a Spanish lady said to me,when he had absolutely made up her face to such an extent with varnishes, cosmetics and paints, that she looked more like China doll than a human being. Her own complex ion was of an exquisite olive brown, as I saw one day when she was not sitting to me, and it was a sin to spoil it in that way. I longed to tell her so, but that would have been a mortal olfence; for, ot course, hor ob ject was to make me aud every one else think that was her complexion." A Kiss IN THE DARK. —Holcroft,the well ktjown dramatist, supped one evening at Opie's. After the cloth had been removed, numerous stories were told, among which was one of a gentleman, who, haviug put out his candle on going to bed, read in phosphorant characters on the wall, "Con fess thy sins." The gentleman fell on his knees, and, as expected, began to confess his sins aloud—not from terror, however, for aware that it was a trick to terrify bim, devised by a waggish young lady iu the house, and hearing a little bustle on the stair-head, he guessed rightly that she and her comrades were there to enjoy his dis comfiture. He confessed as the last and greatest of his sins, that he " had kissed Miss frequently in the dark," and so ! turned the tables on his his tormentor with a vengeance—a lesson she never forgot. A PRETTY FOOT. There's magic in a lady's foot, And well'the ladies know it— And she who has a pretty one Is pretty dure to show it At times yon, 100, are martyred by The nicest little ankle, That shoots an arrow through life eye, Within your heart to rankle. But when it trips along the street, Through wind and mud a vapor, By sheerest accident you see, How beautiful the taper, And as it steps upon the walk, Amid the crowd to mingle, Two roguish eyes look up and say, "I wonder if she's Single V Saturday Night. The week is past; its latest ray Is vanished with the closing day; And 'tis as far beyond our grasp lis now departed hours to clasp, As to recall the moment bright When first creation sprung 16 light. The week is past ! if it has brought Some beamsofsweet and smoothingtbonght, If it has left some memory dear Of heavely raptures tasted here, It has not winged iis flight in vain, Although it ne'er return again. Romaucc Extraordinary. On Friday of last week, two individuals, calling themselves Jack and Charlie, made their appearance in Chambersburg, Pa, and while sauntering through that town the latter attracted much attention—appear ance, voice and manner seeming 10 indi cate that he could not justly claim to be of the sterner sex. Hiscompaion, Jack, had drank very freely, and become uproarious in a saloon, incurring the displeasures of the barkeeper, who compelled htm to leave. Charlie immediately followed, having been advised by some one that "Sis" had bet ter leave too, and he retreated, declared that lie was no "Sis." Shortly afterwards, Jack was arrested on the street for swear ing. Charlie became indignant at this, de clared a "knock down" would be the con sequence, and that he Would "stay" with Jack under any circumstances. Both Jack and Charlie were arrested, and complaint having been made by a constable, the mag istrate was about to commit them to prison. Charlie became boisterous, threatened all sorts of violence with different (kinds of weapons, and was finally searched. Noth ing dangerous was found on his pefson, or with which lie could exocnte his threats.,— Jack and Charlie went to prison, and there being some doubts of the sex of Charlie, the jailer considered it his duty to make an in vestigation. The regalia of the Daughters of Malta was found in her posession, and the fact was disclosed that he was a wo man. She gave a history of herself. It would appear that she was born and raised in the town of Sommerset, in this State. Her name is Maiilda Rushenberger, and she is about twenty four years of age. About seven years ago, Dan Rice's Circus was in Som erset. Her father, who is a blacksmith, did considerable horseshoeing lor the cir cus, and from the visits of Kico to the shop, she became acquainted with him. Rice endeavored to get her brother to travel with him, but he refused, lie then, she alleges, persuaded her to accompany liim, and up to a short period, she has been in his em ploy. She donned male attire Irom the lime she started, and has been wearing it ever since. Her occupation in the circus was equestrianism and vaulting, and no doubt she figured among Rice's 1 stars" as "the celebrated Equestrian, Signor Some body, from Franconi's in Paris, and Astley in London." She says that she is not the only female in male attire traveling with circuses in this country. Of course, she is rough in speuch, and from her degrading and brutal associations, seems to have lost all respect for the proprieties of her sex. A MITGHTY SOUND—A very smart lawyer in Washington, N. C , had the misfortune to lose a suit lor a client, a plain farmer, was astonished by the long bill of costs, and hastening to the Iwyer's ofiice, said : "1 thought you told me we should certain ly gain the suit." "So I did, but you see when 1 brought it up there before the Judge, they said it was quorum non judice." " Well, if they Fay it was as bad as that I don't wonder that we lost It," aud he paid the costs and a big fee besides, without another murmur. IF" "Please give me dad's pipe" said a ragged urchin of the keeper of a rum shop. "No," was the reply, "I don't know him Get out." "Oh' yes you do," returned the boy; "he's the man with the red nose and rag ged trousers, who gets drunk here overy Saturday night. "Oh, that's your father, is it ? Well, here's a nice pipe for him, with a bit of wax on the end." "Pa, didn't I hear you say the other day you wanted a cider press !" "Yes, daughter, where can I get one 1 "Why, you try Zeke Stokes, he hugged me the other evening at the party, an' I tell you he made me grunt." "CHARLIE, my dear," said a loving moth er to her hopeful son, just budding into breeches. "Charlie, my deaf, come here and get some candy." "I guess I won't mind it now, mother," replied Charlie ; "I've got in some tobacco." [Twe Dollars per tutai. NUMBER 30. Wouldn't Get Mad. Old Harry Brewer, or " Hot Corn Harry." as he was more familiarly known aboul the east side of tow n, was for many 'years a shining light in one ofonrjAfrican churches; and was, by long most powerful exhorter of the congregation. Old Harry whs most undoubtedly, a good Christiah ; and proved it by living up to the precepts he taught. His extreme good nature was proverbial, and many a bet was lost and won by the young men of Grand street and the Bowery, In vain attempts to make liar ray lose his temper. '-Go way, boys, ,go way, !" was his answer, when they played their wild pranks upon him. "De good book says: When any smiles on de one cheek, you must turn him de oder." The nearest approach taet Harry was ever known to make towards losing his temper, was about ten years ago. He had a plan whereby he preserved his corn perlectly fresh and green till December or January ; and as '.hat season of the year he would go out and make the streets resound frith his cry of "hot corn, hot corn ! pipin—jus come out de bilin pot !" and he realized a handsome profit from its sale. During the year in question, Harry was unfortunate, and his corn decayed ; and out of a large quantity he had put away, he only saved enough to go out frith one or two nights. In the eatly pin of December, ttarry'e voice Wag heard in the Bowery singing his well-known song ; and in one of the bar rooms abet was mado that Harry could be thrown off his guard In a few moment* Harry entered the bar and set his bucket on the floor; but before he could get ready for business, lie was pulled around in all sorts of ways. One pulled him by the whiskers, another by the coat tail, And altogether he was being made Any thing but comfortable. But all that coqjd bo got from Harry was : "Go way, boys go way !" < All attempts to provoke him farther,failed; and, as a last resort, one of the young men took np his pail of corn and said : "Harry, I've a good notioVi to throw alt your corn out into the street!" "Hush! hush!" said Harry, "don't talk dat way, for you make me feel bad ! lor if you frow my corn in de street now, you must ruih de ole darkey. Ain't had no wood to saw hardly this fall, and no while washing. hfy wife been sick dis two month and my corn is all rolled ; and I ain't got nuffiu' to 'pend on but de Lord !" "Well, Harry !" said be who held the bucket, "you have got a good backer, so here goes the corn !" ar.d suiting the ac tion to the word, he threw the corn into street. Harry looked very sadly after his propet ty ; and as he picked up his empty bucket, he said : "De I.ord will be done!" and then start ed on a. brisk trot from (lie scene of hi* temptation, as lie resolved not to give way lo the wra'h he felt rising within him. In Elizabeth street, a new building was in the course ot erection, and into the cellar of this building they decendeJ, while the young men who had followed him, crept stealthily after, to see what ho would do. Away back in a far corner Harry went, out of bearing from the street, and there, upon his knees, he gave veut to his feel ings in this wise : 1 Oh, I.ord ! I'se most tempted to git mad but I won't do it for the sake of a pail of corn. Dem was de wickedest boys dat [ eber got amongst; but you made 'em, and I wont complain. It's a hard case, nhd you know 1 ain't hab no work more dis fall, Ha nnah's sick ; and 1 only hab a little corn,ami dem wicked boys throwed it most all away. But 1 won't git mad at 'em justice, and make 'em repent for dere evil ways. Take 'em, oh Lord, and hold 'emoberde bottom less pit, and shake 'em ! and if your amind to singe 'em a wery little ; but, oh ! good Lord, be wery careful, and don't let 'en hill in ; and when it feels so hot dey 'gin to repent, den let 'em go agin, and dey'll be better men !" His prayer ended, Harry came forth, look ing as good natured as ever; and the young men, who were in wailing lor him, took him back into the bar-room, and the pro ceeds of the bet, five dollars, was handed over to him, which amply remunerated him for the loss of his stock in trade. A SLIDING SCALE OF POLITENESS.— Count de Nieuwerke is celebrated for the tact with which he marks by word and gesture the degree of esteem or consideration do to the rank of his guests. To indicate his success in this particular it is familiarly said that Prince Talleyrand must have taught him his beel lesson, the siofy connected With which ruus thus. One day Talleyrand had a dozen guests to dinner, and after thU Soup he offered some beef to his visildrs. "My Lord Duke," said he to one frith an air of defence selecting the best piece, "may I have the honor of offering you some beef!" "My Lord Marquis," he said to the second, with a gracious tmile, "may 1 have the pleasure of offering you some beef 1" To a third he said, with an affable air, "Dear Count may I offer you some beef!" With an amiable smile he asked a fourth, "Baron, | will you take some beef !" To a fifth, who had no title of nobility, but was an advo cate, he said, "M le Conseiller, will you have any beef!" Finally, to the gentlman at the bottom of the table, Talleyrand, point ing to the dish with his knife, called out, with a jerk of the head and a patronizing smile, "A little beef !"
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