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BY W. 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. ,
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ta ; dir.: 61 ~"'•' ,•1 50 225 3; 00
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5 ,k 4. . “ • -15 00 25 00 38 ,00
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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."