4
i . . . . r - . - - - - -
'WE OO WHERE DEMOCRATIC PRINCIPLES POINT THE WAY ; WHEN THEY CEASE TO LEAD, WE CEASE TO FOLLOW."
BY JOHN G. GIVEN.
EBENSBURG, THURSDAY, MARCH 28, 1850.
dWT -; '"A ;rl ......
U II III I ' ri Ins TS lvi T ns i t I I
.. .... v
KXSOEL1 ANEOUS
1 . ' The Two Empresses.
It was the middle of the year 1812, that
.yar the latter months of which witnessed
the annihilation of the French army on
the plains of Russia. Such a catastrophe
-was far from th ' thoughts of the single
inhabitant of Paris, when one morning in
.the month of June, the celebrated artist,
"Redoute was on his way to Malmaison to
present to the Empress Josephine some
paintings of lilies. He was a great favor
ite with her, from his having devoted his
pencil to flowers, of which she was pas
isonately fond. In full enjoyment of the
'lovely morning, he was gaily crossing the
garden of the Tuileries to get to'the Place
de la Concorde, where hjjintendeu t iking a
coach, when he saw a crowd eagerly hur
rying iii the direction of the walk by the
.waterside. The general cry "the King of
Rome! the Empress!" soon told him the
object of attraction; and the artist quicken
ed his steps, glad of the opportunity, thus
by chance afforded him, of seeing the son
of the Emperor, the yet cradled, child of
fifteen months, whom so proud a destiny
seemed to await..
It was indeed the King of Rome, in a
little carriage drawn by four snow-white
coats, and the Empress Maria Louisa
walking by its side. She was wrapped'
in a blue shawl of a peculiar shade, known
to be her favorite color. I he crowd hail
gathered outside the grating, around which
they pressedclosely; and as Redoute slop
ped to'gaze with the rest, he siw standing
near him a young woman with a child in
.her arms. , The garb of both bespoke ex
treme poverty; but the child's face was
clowinz with health, while the cheeks of
the -mother were pale and emaciated,'
, r t I. IV. 11 nn n !
' anu irom ner suuiveii ecs- ich imis,
1 which she cared not either to wipe away
or conceal.
'My poor little one! my darling!" she
.whispered as she pressed the child still
closer to her bosom, "you have no car
riage, my angel; no playthings no toys
of any kind. For him abundance, pleas
.ure, every joy of his age; for thee, desola
tion, suffering, poverty, hunger! What is
he that he should be happier than you, dar
; ling? Both of you born the same day the
. same hour! las young as his mother,
. and loving you as fondly as she loves him.
But you have now no father my poor babe;
you have no father!"
The artist overheard these words of woe
and stood with his eyes fixed, upon' the
poor young mother, in utter forgetfulness
of the King of Rome
"Madame," said he, after a moment's
. hesitation, ' and in a low voice, "why do
you not make known your situation to the
empress!" .
"To what purpose, sir?" cried the
young woman, somewhat bitterly. "Small
compassion have the great ones of this
. world." ,
-., .. "J3ut why not make the attempt?"
"I have done so, sir, already. I wrote
to the empress and told her that my son
, was born the same day, the same hour
with the King of Rome. I told her, alas!
that he has no father,, that my strength
is failing,, that we are utterly destitute.
But the empress has not deigned' to an
swer." .
"You will have an answer rest assured.
Perhaps the memorial has not been yet
. placed before her majesty. Give meyour
. adress I beg of you." And after taking a
memorandum of it, and slipping into her
. hand all the money he had about him,
Redoute was soon rapidly making his way
to the Place de la Concorde, where, just
as he was stepping into a carriage, he dis
covered that his purse was empty.
"It is of no consequence." he-said; "I
have only to walk a little fast.", .
Josephine, meanwhile, had been eager
ly expecting the promised visit of the, Usu
ally punctual artistj and was beginning to
feel uneasy lest some accident had occurr
ed o occasion; the prolonged. dely, when'
he was announced.
; "I ought to scold you," she said, as she
; received f. with her . wonted gentle grace
the , artist's . offering, "for delaying ' the
pleasure I feel in' seeing this admirable
. drawing." :.-,. ' ' . V .' " '
"I must thro w myself upon your majes
ty? goodness' to excuse me," answrred
, .Redoute rather inconsiderately. "I had
never seen the King of Rome, and "to-day
I have been fortunate enough to catch a
glimpse of him.". Josephine started and
Rodoute," instantly aware of the awkward
. ness of mentioning the' meeting stopped
suddenly in confusion. " '
- "I am' very glad' said Josephine," ma
rking a" strong effbrj. to repress her emo
tion, "that'you have'seeh the son of the
Emperor. ; Pray tell, me where you saw
him, and who was. with , him." ' Rodoute
hesitated. ,., ' V .' : , -
"Pray, go on," said she, gently but earn
estly. He obeyed; and told her every
particular he had observed, as well as what
had delayed his arrival by obliging him to
walk to Malmaiscn. -;
"I see the great artist as always hap
pens, has a feeling heart," said Josephine,
her sympathy aroused lor the poor woman.
"If Napoleon did but know the destitution
of this child, born the same day, the same
hour with his son! Be with me to-morrow
morning at nine o'clock; wewill to
gether visit this poor creature." And the
next morning at nine o'clcok Redoute was
at Malmaison. and an hour after,' Joseph
ine, undeterred by the dark narrow, mud
dy passage, and the equally dark, damp
stairs, increasing in steepness every step,
had entered the wretched apartment, ut
terly bare of furniture, in the fifth story,
inhabited by the widow of Charles Blan
ger. "Madame," said Redoute, to whom Jo
sephine had made sign3 to introduce her
and the object of their visit, "you may
rest assured that if the Emperor knew
your situation, he would give you relief;
but there is now no necessity to trouble
him. y This lady, whom I have the honor
to accompany, is good enough to say she
will take you under her protection, and her
protection is all sufficient."
"What a lovely boy!" cried Josephine,
as the little orphan sat up in his cradle, and
smilingly stretched out-his arms to his
mother "Redoute," she said, as she took
the child and kissed it, "did yor not tell
me that he was born the same; day with
the King of Rome?" 1
"The same day and hour, madame,"
answered the young mother.
"Was it mentioned to the Emperor at
the time?" s ' -.
"No, .madame; we weie happy then,
and my poor Charles had too independent
a spirit to ask any thing from any one
while he could work, lie was an engi
neer; and though employment fluctuated,
yet still we were' never reducad to want.
At his leisure time he used to' construct
model-machines, from one of which novel'
and ingenious in the invention ne expected
both fame and pecuniary advantages; but
he has been suddenly taken from me,' and
I am left alone to strogjle with misery and
wretchedness. I am sinking ; lower and
lower, and gradually every resource has
been "exhausted. Alas, I need not tell
you!'' and she glanced sorrowfully around
the miserable little apartment.
"To-morrow you shall quit this wretch
ed unwholesome abode," said the empress
as she gave the child to his mother, after
fondly caressing him,' and putting her
purse into his little- hand. "I will; send
you my own physician; his skill, and the
comforts with which I hope to surround
you, will restore yourfheaith. I rely on
you my good friend," added she, turning
to the artist, "to arrange all this for me."
She was rising to qui the room, amid
the tears and blessings of the widow, whose
heart she had "made to sing for joy,"
when the door opened, and a young
lady entered, at the sight of whom Re
doute stood motionless with astonishment.
It was Maria Louisa, accompanied by a
newly-appointed chamberlain. As Maria
Louisa was never known to visit the poor
man in his abode of poverty, Redoute had
some excuse for the uncharitable judg
ment he formed on the instant that' this
unusual proceeding on her part was inten
ded either as an attempt to rival Josephine
in the popularity gained by her active and
unwearied benevolence, or to please the
Emperor, a9 proving the lively interest she
took in a child bom the sarne-lay and
hour with the King of Rome. But what
ever might have been her motive, certain
it is that she was now standing in the
widow's humble abode without deigning'a
salutation to any one in it. ;
Josephine was sweetness and gentleness
itself; but there was something in this want
of common courtesy that grated upon the
pride of caste which, as a Creole of an il
lustrious race, the wife-the greatest capt
ain of the age, and as one still feeling her
self the empress, she retained amid deser
tion and the disgrace of her reputation.
It may be,' too, that she recognised Maria
Louisa, though she had only seen the por
traits of her who now filled her place; and
she therefore resumed her seat, as if fear
ful that her standing might have been con
strued into homage. Maria Louisa, on
her part, was far from suspecting that the
female so simply dressed, so quietly seat
ed in the miserable garret, was 'her still
envied rival. . . .
' As the artist glanced from Maria Louisa
to the beautiful face of Josephine for it
was still beautiful, though bearing the im
press of grief even more than of ''years -he
observed that an unwonted expression
of haughty disdain now clouded that brow
usually so radiant with benevolent kind
ness,' and he half dreaded the result of this
unexpected encounter. And now Maria
Louisa, without one' caress to the child or
noticing it in any way, explained in a few
words the object of her visit.. i ' 1
"Your intention is most laudable, doubt
less, madme," said Josephine, still keep-
ping her seat, "but you are rather late;
the young mother and the child are un
der my protection." Maria Louisa, with
a haughty glance at her whoi thus -presumed
to address the empress,, said .col
dly, "I have some reason to believe that
my patronage will be a little more ad van
tageous." Here the chamberlain quickly
interposed, "It is quite cettain that, you,
madame, have the power of elevating the
boy to any position you. may chcose for
him, however high." With a momen
tary bitterness of feeling, excited oy the
involuntary retrospect of what' she once
had been,. Josephine's : disdainful eye
seemed to measure the speaker from head
to foot, as she said, "And pray, sir, what
leads you to conclude that I am notable to
raise whom I will still higher?" .
"The lady doubtless intends," said
Maria Louisa, in; a tone of irony., "to
place her protege on the steps of the
throne."
"Higher stili, madame, if such were
my pleasure," warmly retorted'Josehine,
now rising to withdraw; "for aught you.
can tell, 1 may have given kings to the
world.". . . . , . . . ,
"Beware, madame," hastily .whisperd
Redoute; your majesty will . betray your
self, and the Emperor will be displeased."
Josephine was silent; and the artist, who
was upon thorns,' hastily added, "1 do not
see why either, of these ladies need give
up her share in the happiness of doing
good. 1 shall feel honored in accepting
lor my happy proteges whatever kindness
it may please either to bestow upon them."
Josephine made no answer, but with head
erect left the room; and Redoute, respect
fully bowing to Maria Louisa, was fol
lowing, glad to have prevented, an" out
break which might have had serious con.
sequences, when a -hand laid upon his
arm; made him turn round; it was the
chamberlain. . ,
, "Sir," said he in a low whisper, "da
you know that the lady whom I have had
the honor of attending lime is' her majes
ty, the impress Maria Louisa?"
."Sir," answered Kedoute in an equally
low voice, "the lady that 1 have had the
honor of attending here is the Empress
Josephine."
In less than two years after this' meet,
ing Josephine had sunk under the never
healed wound that Napoleon's desertion
had inflicted, and died at Malmaison; and
Maria Louisa had, it may be joyfully, quit
ted a co untryjvhich she had never loved,
and in which she never succeeded in
making herself beloved. During these
two years the widow had lived upon the
daily bounty of her royal patronesses,
and was consequently now as destitute as
when they first entered her abode of pov.
ertv. In vain had Redoute often placed
before Josephine his views of what pat
lonage, to be really useful, ought to be
the helping others to help themselves
In vain had he urged her to establish the
widow in some way of earning her inde
pendence. "Time enough for this when
the boy is grown up." But death, came
and reverse of fortune, and no friend now
remained to the widow and the orphan
but the artist, ' and noughi remained to
him from the wast wreck but his talent
his reputation. Circumstances might in
deed render the productions of his pencil
less a source of emolument, but these cir
cumstances were but temporary; the ar
tist would again rise to fame and fortune,
while Napoleon and Maria Louisa had
fallen irretrievably. " , :
Redoute acted on the principle he would
have had the widow's royal patronesses
to act; he procured employment , for the
widow; and, thanks to his "influence, she
was enabled to earn sufficient to place
her above want, while he took upon him
self the education of her child, . But the
mother's health was failing; a.id when
Redoute, previous to a short absence from
Paris, went to take leave of her, she ex
pressed her Lelief that he would not find
her alive at. his return, and with tears she
soiemnly commended her boy to his care.
Though he had not attachd much weight
lb her presentiments, yet it' was with a
somewhat uneasy feeling tlia'tj immedi
ately on his return, he went to the house.
The door was: open, and, as he ran up
stairs, a sound reached him which struck
upon his heart; they were fastening down
the coffin of the widow, and in a corner
of room was the little Charles weeping
bitterly. . Some distant relations stood by
the coffin in cold and audible debate as to
what was to be done with the child.
, ' "I see nothing for him' but the orphan
asylum, said one.'4 " v.r -
"Olv, no, ho!' pray do 'riot : send me
there," cried the child. 'My own dear
mamma worked for her, bread, and so cart
I; . , You do not knowjiow much I can do
if you; will, but " try me.!' At this instant
he caught V glimpse of Redoute, nand
throwing himself into his arms; he ' ex
claimed, "You are come back,deari good
friend, end vou will not send mc to the
asylum!" The artist pressed the .poor
boy to his bosom. ... -
'Have you no hearts?' r he said, indig
nantly turning to the relations. "This
boy shall be my care." -And' what the
most powerful among the powerful had
not donej he did he, . the coVnparativey
obscure and humole artist. lie secured
to his protege present 'comfort and future
respectability, by teaching him, as 'soon
as possible, to help himself. Charles
Clanger became not only his .; best, pupil;
but a celebrated painter, making the same
use as'his noble-minded master of that
knowledge whTcH" is power, and of that
talent which is one of those possessions
described by Aristides in his . celebrated
maxim, "Heap up no'treasures save those
which, should shipwereckcome, will float
with the owner."
TOWN QUARTERS.)
From the ftcrmaii.
When young men have been for a long
time confined to ihq dull monotony, .of
barrack life, with its never ending labor of
cleaning spotless trappings and accoutre
ments, its daily drills, and the mingling
with men ;whose tastes and habits are not
congenial to .their own, it is a relief to
tliem if, on march, they are 1 allowed to
spend a short time at a town where a di
vision of quarters abstracts them from the
surveillance of petty officers, and allows
them a little larger liberty. Thus we
were happy to reach a provincial town
early on an afternoon, where we were to
remain until next morning; and it cannot
be called a heinous wrong if we went to
excesses of merriment, . which otherwise
would have been avoided. . '; .
No sooner were the horses stabled at
our respective quarters, and our persons
cleaned from the dust of the road, than a
party of choice spirits met for an after
noon's -sport. First, . we measured the
town iii ; nil its dimensions, playing off
many an innocent joke on unsuspecting
peasants on the way, and in the evening
we adjourned to my 'room,"where the time
was spent in merry-making. About nine
o'clock we issued forth, in the merriest
humor in the world, to take an evening
walk.
Unluckily, one of the party suggested
to us the acting of a joke, which we car
ried into execution with considerable ef
fect. As the front doors ot the houses in
town were mostly open, we .would enter
and walk up into the topmost story. Here
we would begin to make a noise, and,
when any one came to see what was the
matter, one of the party would ask mcek-
"I beg your pardon, but is this the resi
dence of a Mr. Miller?" ,
The answer, of course, was always, No;
and then we would descend, dragging our
sabres after us, and clinkiug with our
spurs on the stairs as noisy as possible.
Emboldened by our success, we paid a
visitation to some dozen of houses or
more, and entered now a splendid man
sion in the heari of the town. Some of
us, and I for one, hesitated on the thresh
old; but then, as Col. Von Thalberg, with
his staff, had taken quarters near the out
suirls of the town, our fears were allayed
and we entered. -
As we reached the top landing, a ser
vant met us and inquired, somewhat rude
ly, what we wanted.
It being my turn to be spokesman for
the party, I put the usual query, and was
answered briefly in the negative.
'Beg your pardon" said I; "face about,
boys! forward, march!"
And away went the party, making a
noise in their descent like bedlam ; let
loose. Doors opened in every direction
as we passed, and ladies, gentlemen, and
servants, looked out too see what was the
matter.
I did not feel quite comfortable, and
lagged behind the rest, so that they were
a full stairs' length ahead of me. Sudden
ly, as I was entering on the second stairs,
I heard a voice below
"Zehntausend Donncrwetter! what is
that? - Why, you young scapegallows, I'll
have "you shot: like a parcel, of dogs!
What a noise is this ;to make in a gentle
man's house!"
It was the voice of our colonel! ;
Here was a predicament. I knew that
the violent temper of-the old man would
subject us to a. severe punishment, and as
I had not been seen by him, the. thought
struck me .ofescapiug if. I could. There,
was a door, by. my side; the temptation
was too great; I opened it and entered.! '
This was, apparently, . j urn ping ' from
the frying pan into' the fire,' for in the room
were two young girls just in the act of
undressing for the "night. As I eutered,
they; botlr jumped behind a '-screen that
stood at the other end of the room,'which
hid their figures from view; although their
pretty little heads were still visible,
The one seemed speechless with af
fright, while the other appeared on the
point of screaming for assistance, when,
by an imploring gesture and some further
pantomimes, in which I endeavored to ex
plain my. situation to them and invoke
their silence, I somewhat allayed their
fears. , .
I felt embarrassed beyond description.
Young, inexperienced. ?nd possessed of
exaggerating fears. I knew not what to do.
Two lovely girls, on whose privacyI had
inadvertently broken in an indelicate man
ner, on the one hand, and a very hot
headed superior officer down stairs on the
other! Was ever mortal so perplexed?
While I was standing at the door, un
decided how to act, (and the young girls,
no doubt, were in the same predicament,)
I heard the colonerswear terrifically down
stairs, his first having been that of sending
for a sergeant: and ten men to arrest the
delinquents. 'The servant who answered
my question up stairs, declared that there
had only been five.' The colonel, how
ever, knew too , well ..what a young sol
dier's assertion was - worth in a matter of
this kind, and he ordered a search to be
made of every room in the house. ; This
was done, and I heard one door after an
other open and shut, and, last of all; steps
approaching the door of the young ladies' ,
chamber. It was not of course suspected j
that I would be in there; but the servant ;
had been, as an extra precaution, sent to
ask the ladies if they had seen anything of .
a man secreting himself about the, house.
This was a critical moment . for me, and
my heart beat violently as the servant ap
proached the door. . '
I had now been so long in the room
that my first flustration had. passed over,
and, knowing that the very act of intru
ding upon the ladies sanctum would in-j
crease my punishment." it made me bolder i
ia imploring the assistance of the ladies. '
-When the servant put them the ques
tion at the door, they looked at each other
dubiously.
"What shall we say, Bertha?" said the
bolder of the two, a lovelv blondine with
curly hair and the sweetest countenance
that had ever set the heart of a young
trooper in a flutter. ;
"Do as you like. Emily," . replied the
other.
1 looked at the blondine imploringly,"
and she said ' - !
"It is a most perplexing thing; but after
all it was only a joke of theirs, and hard
ly deserves to be so severely punished."
The other consented to this with a nod.
I cast a look of gratitude on the lovely
Emily, and she smiled slightly, even
through her perplexity.
The sergeant, having arrived with his
escort, my unfortunate companions were
brought to the watch-house; the colonel,
who had been spending the evening here,
returned to his 'own quarters, aud the
house was quiet. '
Meanwhile I still occupied my position
at the door, and became more embarrassed
than ever. The front door was locked
and bolted, and how should I escape?
"What is to be done?" said Emily, af
ter a while to her companion.
"Vou must dress, and lead him out the
back way," replied the other. ,
"How can I?" whispered the other;
and she cast a furtive glance at some cloth
ing which reposed on a chair that was
standing near me. I understood, the diffi
culty, and said, in as delicate a manner as
possible
"Ladies, if there is anything here that
you desire, allow me to hand it to you."
They blushed, but did not reply; and,
taking their silence for an affirmative, I,
with my face half averted, transported the
chair to the side of the screen, and return
ed to my place at the further end of the
room, where 1 turned my back upon them.
A cough by my side, after a while,
caused me to turn, and the lovely Emily
was standing by my side, simply dressed,
but lovely in the extreme.
"If you follow me," said she, "I will
lead you out; but for Heaven's sake make
no noise, for everv room we pass is occu
pied." J
, She look the light and' led me down
stairs. I held up ray sabre, and followed
noiselessly. In the garden we' stopped.
"Co straight on," said she; "then turn
to the rijrht, where you will fine a gate; it
is merely kept shut with a latch, and will
admit you into the back street." . . ,
Sllow shall I,thank you?" exclaimed I,
pressing her hand in mine, and detaining
her a moment. . ' ...
1 7 "For Heaven's sake be nrudeht." said
she, "and be more careful in future." "
: She tore away from my grasp, and, ere
I had time to reooverj from the;, stupor in
which I found myself, had vanished from
my. sight. . 1 stood forborne, moments
rooted to'the spot, aud then, with a deep
fetched sigh, followed her ' directions
Dear Emily! she isimme" riow; and as
yc sit in the chimney corner together;
with our sleeping infant by our side, we
often speak of our fir3t meeting.,
As to ray companions, - they were all
pardoned by the kind hearted colonel,
through the intercession of Emily's uncle,
the owner of the house in which' they
were taken. The colonel always suspect
ed me of having r been one of the party,
but he did no: find out the truth till after
we had both left the service. ,
; " Lawyer Balltrworth's AdTcsJsrr. 1 .
W. R. Butterworth, Esq., is one of
those 633 young attorneys who do a flour
ishing business in the Philadelphia 'courts
of pie poudre. Mr. B. boards in a fami
ly, which for delicate considerations ws
shall call .Mitchell, the real name being
something quite differeut. In this family,
there are two daughters,- Sarah and Mary
neither of theni very young nor very
handsome, but oue of them considerably
younger arid handsomer than the other.
Mary, the yonngcr, uses a great quantity
of Cologne, and Sarah, the elder,'uses an
equal quantity of .snuff, Lawyer Butt&r
worth is partial to Cologne, but" abomi
nates snu(T he is engaged in a flirtation
wifli Mary, and has reason to felicitate
himself on .the progress he has made in
her favor. Coming home rather late on
Sunday night, he- was let in by som.
body whom he took for Maiy, (the entry
being quite dark,) and his gallantry
prompter, him to give the lovely portresa
a kiss. Perceiving that the salute was
flavored with snufl", and riot with Cologne,
as he-expected, het discovered his .mis
take. Bless my soul!' cried he, it is
Miss Sarah! Ibcg a thousand "pardonst
I really, thought it was Mary,', The
apology, made in thc.'simplicitj' of Mr.
Butterworth's heart, -was infinitely more
offensive than the kiss itself." -- Miss Saran
took the : kiss .very! submissively, but
when the excuse was offered,, she, showed
temper, and signified her intention to hava
redress. The next day, Lawyer But
terworth was notified that his services
were required ' at the office of a certain
Alderman. He went, expecting 16 find a
client, but ascertained that lie. was de
fendant in a suit for an assault committed
on Miss 2Sarah, . complaint hating, been
made by that young lady's brother, Sam
uel Mitchell, who was then 'in attendince.
Mr. Samuel seemed to think he had per
formed a very cunning trick, by deluding
the lawyer with the hopes of a profession
al job. Mr. Butterworth, however, took
the whole matter quite cooly, " 'In this
case, said he to the Alderman, I am the
party accused. I am also retained as
counsel for the plaintiff. My double po
sition is" somewhat embarrassing, but, I
will endeavor to do justice to all parties
concerned. .As defendant in the case, I
plead guilty of an assault on ihU young
lady; (pointing to Miss Sarah,' who was
present as a witness,) but I say, in miti
gation, that I assualted, or kissed her by
mistake. Had I known what I was about
the event never could have taken place.
This is my defence, Now, as counsel
for the plaintiff, I admit the circumstan
ces of mitigation, and in consideration
thereof, claim only one dollar damages for
my client. 'Here is the. money,' said
Butterworth, planking the dollar, 'and here
are the legal costs, sixty-eight cents.
Matters being arranged thus far, Mr.
Mitchell, the plaintiff was about to leave
the office, when Butterworth hanaed him
a bill for $3 professional fees. Mitchell
saw that be was 'in for it;' he had sent
for Butterworth as a lawyer, and was le
gaily bound to satisfy the demand. : With
an agonized 'expression of countenance,
he produced the V and took B's receipt.
Butterworth, on posting the account, found
that he had gained three dollars and thirty
two cents by the transaction, and had a
kiss thrown in for a bonus. Fenn'n.
5 Horse" s Opinion of a Plank lioad.
The North Carolinian tells the following
anecdote of an old farmer of that region,
who had tried the plank road: 'He was
at first much opposed to the plank road,
and thought it would be a waste of money
to build it: But he came to Fayetieville
with his wagon and produce, and drove
on it some miles. When he got back to
Chatham, our merchant friend asked him
if he had seen the plank road? Yes,1 he
said, 'he had seen it.' 'Well, did you
drive on it?' Yes.' Well, don't you
think vou can carry four times as much
weight on it, ith -your four horse team,
as on a common road?' Oh, yes, says
he,- 'it is ' first-rate; and it. is a fact, that
when the, wagon . got to the end of the
planks and; struck the heavy dirt road,
every Horse stopped rind looked ' round.'
-rMrs. Grummy, in looking oyer the ad
vertisements the other day, saw one head
ed V Radical Cures." ' W'el!,'; Vafd she,
"I'm nlad'if they have got'a way to cure
thetu' Radicals, for they've' been turning
the world up fide down er-'r since I w