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LEWIS. , - ,' :THE HUNTXNGDON GLOBIE, Per annum, in advance, . $1 50 - ,t 14 if not paid in advance, ~ 200 No paper discontinued until all arrearages ure-paid. - . • •• - . . A failure to notify a. discontinuance at the'ex. Viration of the term,eubseribed for will be con tfdered a new engagement -. TERMS OF ADVERTISING. , 1 insertion. 2 ins. 3 ins. i:s.‘,iines or less, 25 37. 50 1 - squa.re, 16 lines, brevier, 50 75 .1 00 kol ~. ~ " 1 00 1 50 2 00 ta ; dir.: 61 ~"'•' ,•1 50 225 3; 00 .3m. 6rn. 12m. •.1. 'Square, brevier, . $3 00 $5 00. $8 00 ,2 ! 9 11. ~ - 5 00 8 00 12.00 3 4.:! it ' „ 7 50 10 00; 15.00 4 e, ,,, . 1, , : .9 00 14 00, 23.00 5 ,k 4. . “ • -15 00 25 00 38 ,00 10 • 4 SA • 25 00 40 00 e 60.00, 11' Professional and Business CardS not x. needing 6 lines, one year, . - ••: ,- $4 00 - Executors' and Administrators' Notices, .1 - 75 ' Auditors' Notices,;-: - .. . . .: :1.25 THE NEER. HY' HEART. ' 4 Tis well to hav'e a Merry heart, ' However short we stay ; • There's wisdom:in a 'merry heart, Whatever the world may say. 't Philosophy may lifflfs head And find out many a flaw, But give me the philosopher That's happy with a straw. En If life but brings us happiness, - It brings us, we are told, What's hard to bily; tho' rich ones try With all their heaps of gold ; Then' laugh away, let others say Whatc'er they will of mirth ; Who laughs the most may truly boast He's got the wealth of earth. 'There's beauty in the merry heart, A moral beauty, too ; - It shows the heart's an honest heart,: That's paid each man his . due,: , • And lent a share of what's to spare, Despite of wisdom's fears, And makes the check less sorrow speak, The eye weep fewer tears. The sun may shroud itself in cloud, The tempest wrath begin ; It finds a spark to cheer the dark, Its sunlight is within : Then laugh away, let others say Whate'er they will of mirth ; Who laughs the most may truly boast Hers.got the wealth of earth. THE BLANK HOME. A NEW YEAR'S STORY. • • BY C. N. LUCKEY. '-Here; James,' said Mr. it is five 'o'clock, and no busy body will trouble us af ;ler this hour. Take this, my boy, and a happy New Year to you, and your sister and mother. And Jaliies, you• needn't come down at all to-morrow. Don't thank me.- - fs the shutter heavy ? Here, let me help you ;' and John 'Urner bustled about the shop until everything was closed and barred; and after bidding James good night, with alight heart the man 'of honest soul wended his way to his little home. .. - . His little borne yes, it was a little home, but; id the'same manner that his five-feet-ten frame contained a _heart large enough to fill the . universe, and dispense happiness every where,-the soul of that little home was his life, and more than the gaudiest palace to him. What were the outside movements of the world to him, save so far as that he heaved a sigh of sympathy for the distressed, and smiled with the happy, when that little home •engrossed his heart, his head, and hand. And his heart is honest, and his brain is thoughtful,•and his hand is labor-loving, for the repose and peace of that little home. And now, on New Year's eve, with a bun dle under his arm, he is hastening homeward to hide the present-from Mary till morning dawns, when he heard a plaintive voice, at his side, trembling and nervous, ' Charity, sir 2/ John Urner's hand is always open in answer to that appeal, and as he places a coin within 'the hand of poverty, he turns to look upon the beseeehinc , sufferer, and passes. - - 'Just about : Mary's size, poor creature.— Shan't I turn back and ask her:'-if I can't serve her farther 1 Oh, no ! she's gone.— Poor girl. 'Thank Heaven, is my selfish vein, - she, the little woman of the soft eyes, will never suffer. Never, at least, while 'God spares my health;' and he swung his arm as though • confident that he was well able to protect the gentle, , faithful, loving creature, who depended upori 'him for care and nourishing love. _ And how proud. John was of her utter de pendence and entire confidence in hikn, and he wondered how he could ever doubt that she had loved . him, when he looked into her sweet, pensive eye; and what a thrill of joy he felt as he pressed the fond kiis upon her gentle brow, Isannot tell you; but suffice it, John was.very, very.happy. 4 Mary;' he softly said, as 'he entered the - - It was ,strange! Mary had always flown into his arms before he, had fairly entered the house. Mary!' he spoke again; as he stopped at the door of the'sitting room. Still no 'answer. He entered the neat little kitchen. Mary!' lie again said. Silence, dull silence. Tie . sat down. The fire was iazing bravely on the hearth. The table was set, with its neat:white cloth, but no-Mary. - have,it,?' ‘ - muttered, and running to the closet, .‘ she has gone target something for our. merry , New Year: -But,l wish the dear, good little woman would come back.— W.II be dark before long.' , • • He took hold of the irons and heartily shook the dwindling faggots. • The-'flames burst forth again, more lively. Blaze away ! It's like my feelings now.' And Urner looked through the mirror of the peat.' It was three years ago, and he had said to the daughter of his dear friend ' Mary, dear, I love, you truly, honestly, and constantly. lam comfortabl'y situated in life, though not able to pffer to . you,all the allurements that a more favored suitor might. I ask you to take my heart and hand, and I will do everything in my, power - to make you happy, so long as Heaven, shall spare us together. Will you be my little wife P And.her blue eyes gazed up into his, while her lovely countenance beamed with a blush of truthful modesty, and' she answered him, will.' . . „ Hip heart throbbed with soul-felt love and gratitude._ ,He- pressed a virtuous kiss upon her brow,, aid Po--4hey were. married. He had been so happy ever .since, and she appeared so, too, till within a day or two, and now some event, of which_behadino knowl edge, appeared to • have east .a slight shade over her countenance. 1-le.knows.that if it were proper he would haie learned from her own lips,What had oc ctirred "to cast a ray of gloom over the sun of his life. Oh, there was no doubt here—no room for , doubt ! 1 1,wonder if Henry will ever join himself in wedlock to some dear woman. Ah !if he knew how happy Lwas, he would not live the rambling, reckless life he, does:! He is a noble felloW, though, and I,wish him all good forthne. Alt . what is that 1. A note—and directed to me? I suppose some business letter and Mary has pit.. - ;3ed it:on my plate that I may get it immediately on my arrival. Good, careful' soul ! Who ,can it be from 1 It's unusual for a business letter to be directed to my residence.'. He breaks the seal and reads. -As haperu ses the note his face-flushes, then turns pale, and for a moment sits like a. statue, gazing upon the hand that held the letter. The let ter has fallen on the floor. Great God ! spare me ! ft cannot be P And,he strives to reach the missive ) but is unable to move. The note reads thus : have gone. God knows that lam wretch ed. Do not mourn for me. lam unworthy your thought or remembrance. But 1 love him, your cousin, and have gone to share his lot. Pray.for the erring, MARY.' Gone ! fled ! from the heart that had almost worshipped her—the hand that had constantly been lifted upward in prayer for her peace and perfect happiness. It cannot be I.oh, no He rises, goes up stairs, returns, and ialls into the chair. Her wardrobe was stripped. This is no place for me.' He started from his chair and seized his hat. A knock, came at the door. It is she l—sliehas - returned t Oh, Heaven, thank thee He again fell back and buried his face within his hands. • ' Oh ! can we do anything for you. dear, Mr Urner The voice-was sweet and plaintive—so like hers ! James and 1 have called on you because -because'—the light form approaching to his side—' we had a note from bee— The wretched man groaned. ' It was a short note; it only-said you had met with an afftiction—that we must come and .comfort you, because you loved us; and I am sure we love you, do we not, James The boy, who had stood with hanging head and cap in hand, mumbled Yes.' And so we came to comfort you.' She passed her tiny arm around his neck. 'May we not love you You have been so good and kind to us and mother; let us do some thing, kind for you now.' She spoke, so beseechingly, as though her heart and not her tongue gave utterance to her prayer. John Urner raised his head. The fire still burned brightly. The table was there, so neatly , arranged by her hands, as though fate was determined to make his wound more grievous. He brushed back his hair, and taking the tiny girl upon his lap, he kissed her. ' Oh, thank you, thank you,' she said, and laid her head trustingly upon his breast. It Was so like her, in olden days—days of brightness gone forever. 'Look up 1 There's Heaven and Faith,' said John Urner's soul to him. he answered and he did. They Went to the table, and little Ellen brought forth the supper. There was anguish in his soul. He tried to appear calm, but he would mechanically gaze around, and her form was not there. A time passed—to him a very, very long time; and one night it appeared to him like Christmas again—he was sitting in that same prace with Ellen upon his knee. There was a knock at the door; and as Ellen opened it, he beard a voice : • ' Charity,. sir P He had heard those tones before, but he could not tell where—and using the same words. 'Bid her come in, Ellen dear,?: he said. The woman trembled as she spoke. — She uttered : have come .a long, long way ; and I am cold and weary: A. sumer b like me is always cold and weary._ I am on an errand of penitence,' and she advanced towards him and stood by him. _ . ' I left, nay home—a ,happy home, and a good husband, long, lon. , ago. (He' felt a thrill of anguish through his whole frame.) Another person poured evil words into . my ears—one whom my honest husband had loved and esteemed highly, and I fell. F have travelled far, to ask hini to forgive me, and let me die at his feet'..l 'Mary !' .ejaculated John, rising, conva• sivelylifesEiing his hand to his forehead. She fell at his feet. Oh,. hearine I' she wailed forth, pitious ly,.as her ringlets of glossy aunurn leaped from beneath her'hood; as - if, in their loveli' nese, to mock the abject misery of their car rier, and touched the floor. I have suffered so long--,--so terribly,-pity me. I know I. have wronged you. I know I have plunged a dagger into your noble heart, and destroyed your peace forever. I haverjourneyed many, many miles to beg your forgiveness and your blessing, and then to dte. She ceased for a moment, and he nervously grasped the hand of the frail child who stood by him, looking up into his face, as though to join her pleadings with those of the sup. HUNTINGDON, FEBRUARY 13, 1856. plicating unfortunate before him. 'She spoke again :. . . g lie was so treacherous to you, his best and confiding friend, lured me from you, and then deserted me.; 1, have begged Any way here. You, cannot refuse rrin. : _ He still looked upward. : This was once my happy home. Here, a long, long time ago, your arm protected me = your love nourished me,-and I was happy in doing good. I banished the happy spirit from your hearthstone; but lam miserable and want to die. Will you not forgive me ' Mary !'.he ejaculated. He looked, and before him stood her, he loved so well—hts darling wife. On:; the chair by his side was the • hood and cloak-,.and the basket set upon the table. , 'Here, dear John,' she said, ifee I here is a nice pie and cake have brought from my friend Hetty's, who insisted upon my.calling for them for our supper, aud • they are so nice.' She laid them upon the, table. John stood motionless. Had it been all-a -dream, then V The door opened, -and EII en: an cl James- en tered . „ • 4 See t. dear husband ! Bere.are your por teges. I insisted upon your joining us, and my calling for item was what kept me so late. You did.. not get anxioug,.., did you, ,dear •' _ _ , He answered nothing, but pressed, a IL I A3S upon, her lips. It was a happy 'supper to John Urner, , for the light of his life was there. God bless them both ! • He never realized his dream of the BLANK Horan. IL 'Young Man's Character. No Yining man who has a_ just sense of his own value, will not sport with his own char aCter. 1 A watchful regard to his character in early ybuth, will be of inconceivable value to him . inall remaining years of his life. When tempted- to deviate from 'strict propriety of deportinent, he should ask himself, Can I af ford this ? Can I endure hereafter to look back upon this . ?- It is of amazing worth to a young man to have a pure mind; for this is the- foundation of a pure character. The mind, in order to be kept pure, must be employed in topics of thought which are themselves lovely, chas tened and elevating. Thug the mind hath in its own power the selection of its themes of meditation. If youth only knew how dura ble and how dismal is the injury produced-by the indulgence of degraded thoughts; if, they only realized howfrigh t: tin-1 were the-deprav ities which a cherished habit of loose imagi nation produces on' the soul—they would shun them as the bite of a serpent.; - The power of books to excite 'the imagination is a fearful element of moral death when em ployed in the service of vice. The cultivation of an amiable, elevated, and glowing heart, alive to all the beauties of nature and all the sublimities of truth, invigo rates the intellect, gives the will indepen dence of the baser passions, and to the affec tions that power of adhesion to whatever is pure and good and grand, which is adapted to lead out the whole nature of man into those scenes of action and impression by which its energies may be most appropriately employ ed, and by which its.high destination may be most effactually reached. The opportunities for exciting these facul ties in benevolent and self-denying efforts for the welfare of our fellow-men, are so many that it really 'is worthwhile to live. The heart 'which is truly evangelically benevolent, may luxuriate in an age like this. The prom ises of God are inexpressibly rich, the main tendencies pf things so manifestly: in accor dance with them, the extent-of moral influ ence is so great, and the effects of its employ ment so visible, that whoever aspires after benevo:ent " action and reaches forth for things that remain for us, to the true dignity of his nature; can find free scope for his in tellect, all-aspiring themes for the heart. The Death of a Child. . It was a bright morning when we followed her to her rest, but w4i brought back .witli us only darkness. The home which she sunned and made musical, was as gloomy at a cav ern, and so it remains. A few days ago, it seemed like heaven—but now the stars have faded out; and the lark that sang at the =gate has fallen with an arrow in his breast. . And When the night came on, how it brought a new measure—fully heaped—of lonely agony. How we sought to sleep, and were awakened by her blessed voice—her pattering foot' falls—her thrilling touch! It did indeed seem as if she were there. But when we looked mound and saw her not, then, the truth returned like:a sudden - blow, and we sank again into the troubled waters. She lies in her little coffin. There are rosebuds in her hand, and a:, wreath of myr tle encircle her brow of alabaster. The leaves fall solemnly, the wind moans like a chained beast about' her dismal den. It is hard to leave her there—it seems so cold and dreary for 'the child, and yet we know it must be—and because it must be, it is. THE' WILL . AND THE WAY.-I, learned gramniar when . ' was a soldier on the pay of six-pence a day. The edge of _my seat to study on, my, knapsack, my book-case, and a bit of board, lying on my lap was my wri ting table. I had no money to purchase a candle or oil; in winter it was • rarely that I could get any light, but of the fire, and only my turn even at that. To buy a Peri or a piece of papef; I was compelled to forego some .portion of my food, fhOugh in a state of starvation. .I had not a.mornent of time that LcOuld call my own ; and I had to read and write amid the• talking; .laughing, singing, whistling, and bawling of at least half a score of the most thoughtless men--Land that tau in their hours of freedom from control. And I say, if I, under tbeie /eircurnslances a could encounter and overcome the task—if there can be, in ,the whole world, a youth who can find 'am excuse for the non performance.—Cabbet. Q :7 - Good company and iaOd conversation are the very sinews of :virtue. 0:7 - Some lazy fellow spellaTennessee after this fashion--10ac. A DROP or WATER. How common, and yet how beautiful, and how pure is a drop of water I See it, as it is sues from the rock, to supply the spring and the stream below. See how its meanderings through the plains, and its torrents over the . cliffs, add to the richness and beauty of the landscape. Look into a factory standing by a waterfall, in which every drop is faithful to' perform its part, and hear the groaning and rustling of the wheels; the clattering of shuttles, and the buz of spindles, which un der•the direction of their fair attendants, are supplying myriads of fair purchaserswith fabrics from the, cotton plant, the sheep, and the silk-worm. Is any one so stupid as not to admire the' splendor of the rainbow or so ignorant as not' to know that it is produced by drops of water, as they break away frOm the clouds which had' confined then; and are making a quick visit to bur earth, to renew its verdure and increase its animation ? How useful is the gentle' dew, in its nightly visits to allay the'scorch ing heat of a summer's sun And the au tumn's frost, how beautifully it bedecks the trees, the shrubs, and the grass; though it strips them of their summer's verdure, , and Warns them that they must soon receive the 'buffeting of, the winter's tempest?. This is but water which has given pp its transparen ey,for its beautiful whiteness and its elegant. ermals. The,snow, too—what is, .that but these same pure drops, thrown into ehrystals by, winter's icy hand ?—and does not the first sommer's sun return , them to the same limpid 'drops 1 The majestic river, and the boundless ocean, what are they Are they not made up of drops of water ? How the river steadi ly pursues its course from the mountain' stop, down the declivity, over the cliff and through 1 the plain, with it everything in its course?— How many mighty ships does the ocean float upon its bosom ! How many fishes sport in its waters ! How does it form a lodging place for the Amazon, the Mississippi, the Danube, the 'Rhine, the Ganges, the Lena, and the HoangHo 1 - How piercing are those pure limpid drops! _How do.they find their way into the depth of the earth, and even the solid rock ! Now many thousand streams hidden from our view , by mountain -masses, are steadily pursuing their courszs.,. deep from the surface which forms our standing place for a few short days! In the air too, how it diffuses itself ! Where can a . particle of air be found which does not contain an atom of water. i,H9sv much wftulki a famishing man give for a few of those pure limpid drops of wa ter And where do we use it in our daily sustenance I—or rather, where do we not use it ? Which portion of the food that we have taken during our lilies did not contain it ? What part of onr body, which limb,• which organ, is not moisteired;with this same faith ful servant'' How: is our blood, that free liquid to circulate through our veins without it"? How gladly does the faithful horse, or the patient ox, on his toilsome journey, arrive at the water's Eriplc . ?- And the faithful dog, pa tiently foll Owing his master's track—how ea gerly does he lap the water from the . clear fountain he meets in his way ! The feathered tribe, also— : how far and bow quick their. flight, that they may ex change the northern ice for the same common comrort, rendered liquid and limpid by a southern sun ! Whose heart ought not to overflow with gratitude to the abundant Giver of this pure liquid, which his own hand has deposited in the deep, and diffused through the floating air and the solid earth I Is it the farmer, whose fields, by the gentle dew and the abundant rain bring forth fatness? Is it the mechanic, whose saw v lathe, spindle and shuttle, _Aye moved by this faithful servant ? Is it the merchant, on his return from the_noise and perplexities of business to the tale of his family, richly supplied with the varieties and the luxuries . of.the four quarters . of the globe, produced by the abundant rain, and transport ed across the•mighty but yeilding ocean ? Is it the physician, on his administering to his patient some gentle beverage , or a more -alive healer of the disease which threatens 1 Is it the clergyman, whose profession it is to make others feel—and that by feeling him self that the slightest Savor • .and the richest blessings are from the same source ? and from the same abundant and constant Giver Ventilation and Early Edupation. _ SIR :—Believing that many teachers evince an almost criminal indifference in regard to the health of their scholars, and knowing that many parents as well as teachers, are ignorant of the most simple physiological facts, I have had the following extracts prmtedfor circula tion. I wish to kndw if you, will be kind enough to have them printed in all the papers of your county, and to desire the editots to republish them every three months, unless you find in their papers articles upon the same subjects more worthy of consideration. I believe that some good can be done in this way, and although . it may cost you con. siderable trouble, that you will be willing to attend to this matter; as I have reason to think that the Superintendents generally feel a great interest in whatever ,conduces to the advantage of the-scholar. *. ."School-rooms should be ventilated.— When pupils breathe for a series of years vi tiated air, their health is affected, and very frequently the seeds of consumption and oth erfatal diseases are sown. A school-room thirty feet square; and eight feet high, con tains 7200 cubic-feet of air. This room will seat 60 pupils, and, allowing 10 cubic feet to each pupil per rairiute r all the air in tbe will be vitiated in 1Z Minutes ; or allowing 7 cubic feet, (the least allowed by any . physi= ologist,) all will be -vitiated in 1.71 minutes. In alt school rooms• where there is not ade quate•ventilation, there should be a recess of a few minutes every-hour. During this time the doors and windows should be open so thatthe air of the school room should be com pletely changed. We Carefully remove impurities from what we eat and drink; filter turbid water, and fastidiously avoid. drinking from a cup that may - have been. pressed to the lips of a friend, yet we go into places of assembly and draw into our mouths and thence to our lungs, air loaBed with the effluvia from the lungs, skin, and clothing of every individual in the room, —exhalations offensive to a certain extent, from most healthy, but particularly injurious and • loathsome when coming from those afflicted with disease. 'No room is well ventilated unless as much pure air is brought into it, as the occupants vitiate at every respiration. While occupy ing it we are insensible of the gradual change of the air, nevertheless the change is not the less certain. Interest and humanity require that we should attend to the subject of ven tilation. Doubtless the teachers of our land - could do much to stay the progress of disease and 'suffering by attention to.this matter." "The change that is effected in the blood while, passing through the lungs not only de pends upon the purity of the 'air, but - the amount inspired: Scholars and persons who sit much of the time should frequently during the day, breathe'fiall .and deep, so that the smallest air-cells may be fully filled with air; while exercising the lungs,- the shoulders should be thrown back 'and the' head' held erect." • "An equal temperature-olall parts of the system promotes 'health. Currents ,of air that reach small portions of thebody, as from small apertareS or from a ' window - slightly raised, should be avoided. They are more dangerous than to expose the whole person to a brisk wind, beCause the -current of air 'removes the air frana the part exposed, which disturbs the circulation of the blood, and cau ses di ease usually in the form of a cold.— Very bad colds are often indUced by sitting surrounded by damp' clothes, and teachers are often to blame for allowing it; their ne glect is criminal. • "Coughs and colds may be speedily cured by abstaining from food and drinking no mare than a gill of fluid in 24 hours, or by putting The body in a profuse perspiration)' "The evils arising from excessive timed exercise of the brain,'or any of its parts are numerous. At any time of life excessive mental exertion is hurtful; but in early youth, when the structure of the brain is still imma ture and delicate, permanent mischief is more easily produced by injudicious treatment than at any subsequent period. The greatest sufferers in this way are remarkable for great precocity Of understanding and delicate bod ies. Instead'of straining their- already irri table powers and. leaving their dull competi tors to ripen at leisure, a systematic attempt ought to• be made to rouse to action the lan guid faculties - " of the latter' ivhile no pains ought to be spared to moderate the activity of the former." " There is great necessity for varying the occupations of the young, and allowing fre quent intervals of exercise in the open air in stead of enforcing the continued confinement so common." “Scheating each Oder.” "A DUTCHMAN describes New Yorkers, as berry fine peeples,' who 'go about de streets scheating each oder, and dey call dat pissi ness."—Ex change. Duchy' wasn't far from right; his residence in this country has Yankeefied him some, hence his cuteness. New York streets are full of "berry fine peeples;" judging from feathers and broadcloth—and alas! they go "about de streets, scheating each oder."-- She who sails before us with the majesty of Eve, conscious that she is "cutting a dash;" her head high, her looks haughty, cheats herself and others into the idea that she is happy. Her satin is the richest, her cloth the finest, her colors the choicest. There is a, smile upon her up turned face which the heav,ens do not reflect ; and never will, till the heart is honest and the conscience right before God. And at our side steals another who is " scheating." That glorious form comes of cotton wadding—those tinted cheeks and the rich complexion, of cosmetics. Her husband moves by her side—and every mo ment of the time she is "cheating" Other's have her smiles—others ;her honeyed words—Oh ! what a cheat she 'is ! You would hardly believe that these three gay girls, yonder, clothed in all the might and power of fashion, breakfasted or. a herring, and slept under a carpet, for lack of comfor table clothing. Yet so they did. They are cheating, desperately. • They'mean to make some poor fellow imagine, that they have plenty, and are rich and genteel. Poor things ! they cheat themselves of comfort, and honesty at .the same time. They live on husks,and cling to shadows, and, their presence is one continual lie. Dutchman, you were right. tom Dick, the merchant wears an imperial, faultless gloves arid un approachable boots; is congratulating him self as he moves along Broadway, that his sugar_ is sanded—his brandy watered—his floor marble dusted. and 'every eatable thing multiplied by subs . traction-.—a new process known only to cheats.- It is the,' business of most people's lives, thus'to cheat themselves and others. They love to live under a delta sionrand cover themselves with a veil of de ceit. .. - M. A. D. Skirts. Oh ! Vertue .de - Medicis ! such skirts and waists ! How: can we embrace them at all ?-- Positively.there.isn.o getting around them in one effort ! Skirts have swollen to that ex tent of fashion, no door is : wide enough for them to :pass through without considerable squeezing.- Real .'belles' of the fashion now seem like moving _bells, literally, so that mullets and men have• to steer well in the streets else they will run against ropes, hoops, bag-matting, crinoline, and the deuce knows what, which now• inhabit the ladies dress, and completely' takes up the side-walks. As for the girl—by Jove—she seems no where! The: other day we, happen to see two of the 'dumpy' kind of moving bells of fashion, sail ing along the street a la 'pointer' sty-le— bands-close and skirts out. At forty paces distant they seemed like miniature pyramids of silk.; at twenty paces a strong smell of cologne water and other essences ; at ten pa ces a little lump like a bonnet was'discerna ble on the top of the skirt pyramid ; at three paces distant the imbedded voice of a female VOL. 11, NO. 84. in the dress could be heard j at two paces; four ringlets of slim appearance resembling two cat tails dipped in molasses were dis covered—two eyes of weak and consuin"ptitee expression resembling boiled onions--lips like unto .thin sandwices with a bit of dm colored beefsteak sticking out, thin and dry— and cheeks 'rouged' with nien fun, - (Chinese colored.) This was all that could create:in us the impression or- imagination, that the 'above things, dry goods, etd., formed—a wo man ! We moved aside to allow canvass ropes and hoops to pass, and went t 7 -1 our way rejoicing that such was not our share of what happy husbands like to term, '0 ! my honey l• Letter *Ora General Cass. The following letter from the venerable Lewis Cass, was Written to the recent festi val in Boston, in honor of the birth day of Daniel Webster-: WASHINGTON, httg. 1858. DEAR SIR: I cannot accept your invitation to meet the friends of Mr. Webster on. the 18th inst., the anniversary of his biith day s in orderlo interchange recollections of the patriot and orator and statesman, because my public duties will necessarily detain me here; To these and other high claims to distinctiOn in life and to fame in death, he added for rue the association of early youth, arid the kind -ness and:friendship of mature age, as Well as 'of declining- years. I have'read with deep and mournfnl . interest the extract from - his letter to you, which you were good enough to enclose,- written at the termination of the struggle which attended the comprothise measures of 1850, in which he says -that "General Cass, General Rusk, Mr. Dickinson, &c., have agreed that since our entrance up on the stage of public action no crisis has oc curred fraught with so much danger to - the institutions of the country as that through which it has just passed, and that, in all lA man probability, no other of so great moment will occur again during the remainder of. our lives, and therefore we will hereafter, lid friends, let our political differences on minor stibjects be what they may." This tribute of affectionate regard to coed jutors in a common struggle against a com mon peril from him whose' services were - so pre-eminent will be cherished, I am Sere, with proud recollection by - all of ns, - to whom these words of kindness now come from the tomb. You say that this engagement on the part of our lamented friend was, to your per sonal knowledge, faithfully .kept. it was so. I know it and rejoice at it. And I believe f may' add, with no less assurance, that 'the conviction you express of the same - fidelity to this bond of union and esteem on the part of those who co-operated with him is equal ly well founded, and that, though death has dissolved the connexion, yet his name and his fame are dear to them, and Will ever find in them zealous advocates and defenders.' - The grave closed upon this great statesniart and American before another crisis, fraught evil passions and imminent danger, had come to shake his confidence in the permanency of the wise and healing measures of 1850. What - he did not live to see, his associates in that work of patriotism—the whole country, indeed—now sees that we have again fallen upon evil times, and that the fountains of ag 7 itation are broken up, and the waters are out over the land. There is no master spirit to say Peace, he still, and to be heard and heed ed. Our trust is in the people of this ,great republican confederation, and yet more - IA the God of their fathers and their own- God, who guided and guarded us through the dreary wilderness of the revolution, and brought us to a condition of freedom and - pros. petty of which the history of the world fur niShes no previous exaniple. Would thai,the eloquent accents, which are now Mute death; would that the burning words of Whose birth you propose to commemorate, and of his great compeer of the West, though dead, yet living in the hearts of his cmintry men, could now be heard 'warning the Amer ican people of the dangers impending - over them, and calling them to the support of that Union and constitution which have done so much for them and' their fathers, and are .des tined to do so much more for them and • for their children, if not sacrificed upon the altar of a new Moloch, whoSe victims may he the institutions of our country. If this. sectional agitatiorreoes on, 'this 'eve eepressipg,effort to create and perpetuate the divisions between the North and South, we shall find that we cannot live together in peace, and shall have to live together in war. And what such a condition would bring with it, between independent countries, thus situ ated; once friends, but become enemies, fhe iMpressive narrative of the fate of the Gre cian Republics teaches tis as plainly as the future can be taught by the . lessons of 'Abe past. Your own State took a glorious ,".part in the war of 'independence, and it contribti; ted ably'and faithfully to the adoption of the constitution. Her great deeds and . great names are inscribed upon the pages of our history, and upon the hearts, of our • coinitry. men. How would he who loved and served her so well and, whose. love and service Were so honorable'to her--:-how would tie deplOre the position she has , assumed towards the gOvernment of-our common :country,` and 'the solemn provisions of its constitution, Were he now living to witness the triumph' of 'A_OC tional feelings•over the dictates of duty and' patriotism? Let us hope ,that thisis - hut,' A' temporary deluaion, and that it.will:somi pass' away, leaving our institutions unscathed. and the fraternal-tie which still binds, uelOge.ther unimpaired. um, dear sir,.with'.niuoh • Gard} respectfully yours, - LEWIS 'CASS% PETER 'HARVEY, Esq., Bostion. • - [l:7' There are but two reasons whywo don't trust a man: one because we don't know him, and the other because we do-. p:7-"Overcome evil with b 000d," as the gentleman said when he knockeddown - abur= filar with-the faimily Bible. [l:7".A.'lady who is a strict observer of et? quette, being unable to go to church on Sun" day, sent her card. • 13:7-Savibones the celebrated German Mita geor., has succeeded in amputating "a- limb of the law."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers