H. t i\rt F\ G - :-'1H11: N - LLIj R :\ -- '.T i'_-,1
OtUotai to Ocutrat *ntrtlincii cc, antrttoinu, tiottti Eitcrature, irtc)tcro, Martrulturc,aottocutent, Scc., Szt.
`Qlecolic, '1,1:11:1Z1 9 573(213. IZEIGID.
PYl,Lran.o B Y
THEODORE H. CREMER.
r'rXciozrz.L:ls:s - asoc,
The —.IO ,, RNAL" will be published every Wed
nesday morning, at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance,
and if not paid within six months, $2 50.
No subscription received for a shorter period than
six months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar
rearages are paid.
Advertisements not exceeding one square, will be
inserted three times for $1 00, and for every subse
quent insertion 25 cents. If no definite orders are
given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu
ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac
cordingly.
010 INVALIDS. .Cll
How important it is that you commence
without loss of time with BRANDRETH
PILLS. They mildly but surely remove all
impurities from the blood, and no case of
sickness can effect the human frame, that
these celebrated Pills do not relieve as much
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are more benefiitted by the Brandreth Pills
than by Lozenges anti Candies. Very well,
perhaps, as palliatives, but worth nothing as
ERADICATORS of diseases from the human
system. The Brandreth Pills cure, they do
not merely relieve, they cure. Diseases,
whether chronic or recent, infectious or oth
erwise, will certainly be cured by the use of
these all-sufficient Pills.
CURE OF A C ANCEROUS SORE.
SING SING, January 21, 1843.
DR. BENJAMIN BRANDRETII:
Honored Sir,—
Owing to you a debt of gratitude that mo
ney cannot pay. I ain induced to make a
public acknowledgment of the benefit my
wife has derived from your invaluable Pills.
About three years this winter she was taken
with a pain lin her acle, which soon became
very much inflamed, and swollen, so mach
that , we became much alarmed, and sent
for the doctor. During his attendance the
pain and swelling increased to an alarming
degree, and in three weeks from its first
commencing it become a running sore. She
could get no rest at night the pain was so
great. Our first doctor attended her for six
months, and she received no benefit what
ever, the pain growing worse and the sore
larger all the time. He said if it was healed
up it would be her death, but he appeared
to be at a loss how to proceed, and my poor
...vile still continued to suffer the most terrible
I°Tr-ebwwWilt titdCrefrr—Mrs-111rinfhlirli7
first saw it that he could soon cure the sore
and give her ease at once. To our surprise
lie gave her no relief, and acknowledged that
it quite baffled all his mill.
'Thus we felt atter having tried during one
'whole year the experience of two celebrated
physicions in vain, in absolute despair. My
poor wife's constitution rapidly failing in
the prime of her years from her continued
suffering. Under these circumstances we
concluded that we would try your Universal
Vegetable Pills, determined to fairly test
their curative effects. To my wife's great
comfort the first few doses afforded great re
lief of the pain. Within one week to the
astonishment of ourselves and every one who
knew the case, the swelling and the infla
mation began to cease so that she felt quite
easy, and would sleep comfortable, and sir,
after six weeks' use she was able to go thro'
the house and again attend to the manage
ment of her family, which she had not done
for nearly fourteen months. In a little over
two months from the time she first commen
ced the use of your invaluable Pills her ancle
was quite sound, and her health better than
it had been in quite a number of years be
fore. I send you this ttatement atter two
years test ot the cure, considering it only an
act of justice to you and the public t.t large.
W e are with much gratitude,
Very respectfully,
TIMOTHY & EI.IZA A. LITTLE.
PS.— The Botanical Doctor pronounced I
the sore cancerous, and filially said no good
could be done, unless the whsle of the flesh
was cut off and the bone scraped. Thank a
kind Providence, this made us resort to your
Pills, which saved us from all further mis
ery, and for which we hope t T o be thankf L. ul.
. &E. A.
Dr. Brandreth's Pills are for sale by the
following Agents in Huntingdon county.
Thomas Read, Hutingdon.
Wm. Stewart, Huntingdon.
A. & N. Cresswell, Petersburg.
Mary W. Neff, Alexandria.
Joseph Patton, Jr. Duncansviile.
Hartman & Smith, Manor Hill.
S. Miles Green &('o. Barree Forge,
Thomas Owens, Birmingham.
A. Patterson, Williamsburg.
Peter Good, Jr. Canoe Creek.
John Lutz, Shirleysburg.
Observe each of Dr. Bredreth's Agents
have an engraved certificate of Agency.—
Examine this and you will Mild the NEW
LABLES upon the certificate corresponding
with those on the Boxes, none other are gen
\ nine
B. BRANDRETH, M. D
Phil'a. Office S. North Bth St.—ly.
Snyder's vegetable Concrete.l
lip do certify that my wife was afflicted for
‘l,ll, some time with a very severe cough,
with a pain in the breast, and after many
other remedies had failed I was induced to
procure a bottle of J. Snyder's Vegetable
th
Concre
use te.
part and she a
baott ws
le perfectly restored by
e of of full,
HUGH KELLEY,
For sale by Jacob Snyder, Hollidaysburg.
Jan. 18, 1843.
NOTICE.
A LL persons who know themselves in.
110.1 debted to the subscriber for subscrip
tion, advertising or job work, are ri-questrd
to make payment immediately, f not sooner,
as I expect to leave these diggins" boons a
short time.
E. V. EVERHART.
Huntingdon, August 9, 1843.
1.....5%23'1U5ZYC:03.13DC:D 0 Upen. o CEXIZIRLPUDIMUEIIII 42%1 9 4:1E13418 3.
POMITRT.
The following thoughtful little poem is from the
pen of Charles Swain, and appears in a late number
of Frazer's Magazine:
" 'Twas Yesterday."
"'Twas yesterday!" familiar sound,
Heard oft as idle breath;
Yet, prophet-like to all around,
It spoke of woe and death !
A mourner by the past it stands,
In mistic mantle of decay,
Shrouds in the night of years its hands,
And grasps all life away !
High from the boundless vault of Time
The stars of empire veer ;
"'Twos yesterday" they hearted sublime,
The mightiest in their sphere!
"Fwaa yesterday revealed to Fate
The rival crows of centuries flown,
Show'd where a phantom sat in state,
Upon the Comes throne!
Sceptre and robe were cast aside!
The ghastly bones stood bare ;
The rust fed on the gauds of pride,
The worm held council there.
Nor answer would the phantom give,
But to our constant prayer replied—
<, Thus 'twill be said of all that live
That < yesterday' they died !"
Where is the Grecian conquests now,
The triumphs of her lute?
Dust rests on the Homeric brow,
Her genius is mute !
Where the glorious heart that fought
For freedom in the «pose of Gorve ?"
Gone—where the mightiest names are sought—
With yesterday of yore!
We hope—but what we hope the shroud
Wraps from our weeping sight:
Wo aim at stars, and clasp the cloud,
Seek day, and find but night!
Ah ! who with Life's dread woes would cope,
If 'twere not for that Faith sublime,
Which sees the Ararat of Hope
Above the floods of time?
What, then, is "Yesterday ?” a key
To wisdom most divine!
It is the hall of Memory,
Where Fame's brief trophies shine !
The spiritual home of things,
Where Intellect immortal beams,
Which lends to thought its holiest wins.
Inspires the noblest themes !
A rtnnr - unrrersibl i tlrrtr&frt;
Then mingles with the earth;
A star front Time's vast empire hurled,
Slow falling from its birth,
A presence with the sacred past
To warn our spirits of delay,
Which saith, " Proud man, to-day thou haat—
Use well thy little day !"
The Printer.
Who is it-- ,, gentle reader," who
That labors hard in pleasing you,
By telling all that's strange and new!
The Printer.
Who is it brings you from afar,
Intelligence of bloody war,
Or feats of some immortal tail
The Printer.
Who tells you of th' affairs of state,
Whilst legislators legislate,
And are engag'd in warm debate?
Tho Printer.
Who is it, that with stick and rule,
Chastises well tho knave and fool,
And keeps in awe the party tool
The Printer.
By whom is it that !canting's got,
And genius to perfection brought—
O ! reader, say—say, is it not
The Printer ?
Say, ye who always wish to know
Ilow the concerns of nations go—
Who do you for that knowledge o he Pr
T we?
inter.
Ye politicians, too, can tell
Who makes you understand so well
Th' affairs on which you love to dwell—
The Printer.
Then, in no case, should you delay,
('rho' many do, from day today)
With punctuality to pay
The Printer.
TYPOGRAPHICUS,
From the Cincinnati Gazette.
North Bend.
He sleeps, the quiet sleep of death
Upon yon grassy mound,
While the low soft breeze of evening sweeps
Thro' the forest trees around !
He calmly sleeps ! Oh, ye who dared
Assail his honor'd name,
Who strove with impious hand to tear
His well-earned wreath of fame,
Go view his sacred resting place
And kneeling on the sod,
Pray with a voice of fervent prayer
Forgiveness from your God.
Pilgrims from out the " Sunny South"
And from his own lov'd West,
Sons of the far New Englands soil
Meet round his place of rest—
And yet no marble there has risen
To tell of all his worth—
The noble forest trees bend o'er
Nought but a mound of earth!
Oh, Genius of this western land
Blush now with shame and grief,
That not one stone should " mark the spol
Whore rests thy favorito chief!
ccy They who talk degradingly of women have
not sufficient taste to relish their excellencies, or
purity enough to court their acquaintance.
MISZSLT.I.A.N.3OtrEI.
From the Lady's Book for September.
TUE INNER. ONAMBER.
BY N. P. WILLIS.
, En se ratrouvant pros d'unefetnme qu'on a beau
coup aime, ou sent toujaura une Bounce cludeur,
route du feu quo nous bruleait autaefois.
Tis not the white and red
Inhabits in your cheek, that thus can wed
My mind to adoration."
I found myself looking with some interest at the
back of a lady's head. The theatre was crowded,
and I had come in late, and the object of my curi
osity, whoever she might be, was listening very at
tentively to the play. She did not move. I had
time to hold a lifetime romance about her before I
had seen a feature of her face. But her ears were
small and of an exquisite oval, and she had that
rare beauty of woman—the hair arched and joined
to the white neck with the same finish on the tem
ples. Nature often slights this part of her master
piece.
The curtain dropped, and I stretched eagerly for
ward to catch a glimse of the profile. But no !
she sat next one of the slender pilasters, and with
her head leaned against it, remained immovable.
I left the box and with some difficulty made my
way into the crowded pit. Elbowing, apologizing,
persevering, I at last gained a point where I knew I
could ace my incognita at the most advantage. It
turned—pshaw !----how was it possible I had not
recognized her !
Kate Crediford!
There was no getting out again, for a while at
least, without giving offence to the crowd I had
jostled so unceremoniously. I sat down—vexed—
and commenced a desperate study of the figure of
Shakspeare on the drop-curtain.
Of course I had been a lover of Miss CrediforiPs,
or I could not have turned with indifference from
the handsomemost woman in the theatre. She was
very beautiful—there was no disputing. But wo
love women a little for what we do know of them,
and a great Ans. , toss alai. w o j)ar:.
led as easily as a reader and a book. Flirtation is
,Ireulathig liberty, in which we
for the seine volume. no pretty even le the me.-
lint 1 math, in tier perusal. A little quarrel sufficed
as an excuse for the closing of the book and both of
us studiously avoided a reconciliation.
As I sat in the pit, I remembered suddenly 11 mold
on hor left cheek, and I turned toward her with the
simple curiosity to know whether it was visible at
that distance. She still leaned immovably against
the alight column, and her dark eyes, it struck me,
were moist. Her mouth, with this peculiar expres
sion upon liar countenance, was certainly inexpres
sibly sweet—the turned down corners ending in
dimples which in that particular place, I have al
ways observed, are like wells of unfathomable mel
ancholy. Poor Kate!—what was the matter with
her. _ .
As I turned back to my dull study of the curtain,
a little pettish with myself for the interest with
which I had looked at an old flame, I detected half
a sigh under my white waistcoat ; but instantly per
suading myself that it was a disposition to cough,
coughed, and began to hum "mord tromba." The
i curtain rose and the play went on.
It was odd that I had never seen Kate in that
humor. I did not think she could be sad. Kate
Crediford sad! Why, she was the most volatile,
light-hearted, care-for -nothing coquette that ever
held up her finger to lie kissed. I wonder, has any
one really annoyed you, my poor Kate ! thought I.
Could I, by chance, be of any service to you—for,
after all, I owe you something! Looked at her
again.
Strange that I had over looked at that face with
out emotion. The vigils of an ever-wakeful, ever
passionate, yet ever-tearful and melancholy spirit,
seemed set, and kept under those heavy and mo
tionless eye-lids. And she, as I saw her now, was
the very model and semblance of the character that
I had all my life been vainly seeking! This was
the creature I had sighed for when turning away
from the too mirthful tenderness of Kate Crediford!
There was something new, or something for the
moment miswritten, in that &manor countenance !
I made my way out of the pit with some dillicul
ty, and returned to sit near her. After a few min
utes a gentleman in the next box rose and left the
seat vacant on the other side of the pilaster against
which she leaned. I went round while the orches
tra were playing a long march, and, without being
observed by the thoughtful beauty, seated myself in
the vacant place.
Why did my eyes flash and moisten, as I looked
upon the small white hand lying on the cushioned
barrier between us! I knew every vein of it, like
the strings of my own heart. .1 had felt it spread
out in my own, and followed its delicate blue trace
ries with a rose stem, for hours and hours, while
imploring, and reproaching, and reasoning over
love's lights and shadows. I know the feel of every
one of those fingers—those rolled up rose-leaves,
with notes like pieces cut from the lip of a shell!
Oh, the promises I had kissed in oaths on the little
chef d'..cuvre of nature's tinted alabaster I—the
psalms of sermons I had sat out holding it, in her Ol
ds pow I—the moons I had tired out of the sky.
making of it a bridge for our hearts passing back
ward and forward! And how could that little
wretch of a hand, that knew me better than its own
other hand, (for we had been more together,) lie
there, so unconscious of my presence ! How could
she—Kate Crediford—ait next to me, as she was do
ing, with only a stuffed partition between us, and
her head leaning on one side of the pilaster, as mine
on the other, and never start, nor recognize, nor be
at all aware of my neighborhood. She was not
playing a part, it was easy to see. Oh, I knew
those little relaxed fingers too well! Sadness, indo
lent and luxurious sadness, was expressed in her
countenance, and her abstraction was unfeigned and
contemplative. Could she have so utterly forgotten
me, magnetically, that is to say? Could the at
mosphere about her, that would once have trembled
betraying at my approach, like the fanning of an
angel's invisible wing, have lost the sense of my
presence.
I tried to magnetise her hand. I fixed my eyes
on that little open palm, and with all the intensity
I could summon, kissed it mentally in rosy centre.
I reproached the ungrateful thing for its dullness,.
and brought to bear upon it a focus of old memories
of—pressures and caresses, to which a stone would
scarce have the heart to be insensible.
But I belie myself in writing this with a smile,
1 watched those unmoving fingers with a heart ache.
I could not see the face, or read the thought of the
woman who had once loved me, and who sat near
me, now, so unconsciously—but if a memory had
stirred, if a pulse had quickened its beat, those fine
ly strung lingers I well knew would hay* trembled
responsively. Had she forgotten me altogether !
Is that possible—can a woman close the leaves of
her heart over a once loved and deeply written name,
like the waves over a vessel's track—like the air
division of a bird's flight !
I had intended to speak presently to Miss Credi
ford, but every moment the restraint became greater.
I'felt no more privileged to speak to her than the
stranger who had left the seat I occupied. I drew
back, for fear of encroaching on her room, or dis
turbing the fold of her shawl. I dared not speak
to her. And, while I was arguing the matter to
myself, the party who were with her, apparently
tired of the play, arose and left the sb.stre, Kate
f o llow e dlo , b 5,15 unspoken to, and unconscious al
-1,....ans been near any one way t h ere
or
VO nee all night ,
, i thisnew
heart. — And In the morning I took the
' leading thoughts front my heap of
and embodied them more coolly in a letter.
You will think, when you look at the signature,
that this is to be the old story. And you will be
much mistaken as you are in believing that I was
ever your lover, till a few hours ago, I have declared
I love to you, it is true. I have been happy with you
and wretched without you; I have thought of you,
streamed of you, haunted you, sworn to you, and
devoted to you all and more than you exacted, of
time and outward service and adoration ; but I love
you for the first time in my life. Shall Ibe so hap
py as to make you comprehend this startling con
tradiction ?
'There are many chambers in this heart, Kate;
and the spirits of some of us dwell, most fondly
and secretly, in the chamber of tears, avowedly in
the outer and ever-open chamber of mirth. Over
the sacred threshhold, guarded by sadness, much
that we select and smile upon, and follow with
adulation in the walks of life, never passes. We
admire the gay. They make our melancholy
sweeter by contrast, when we retire within our
selves. We pursue them. Wo take them to our
hearts—and if they aro gay only, they aro content
with the unconsecrated tribute which we pay them
there. But the chamber within is, meantime, lone
ly. It aches with its desolation. The echo of the
mirthful admiration without jars upon its mournful
silence. It longs for love, but love toned with its
own sadness--love that can penetrate deeper than
smiles ever como—love that, having once entered,
can be locked in with its key of melancholy, and
brooded over with the long dream of lifetime. But
that deep hidden and unseen chamber of the heart
may be long untenanted. And, meantime, the
spirit becomes weary of mirth, and impatiently
quenches the lire even upon its outer alter, and, in
the complete loneliness of heart that has no inmate
or idol, gay or tearful, lives mochanicaly on.
'Do you gums at my meaning, Kate I Do you
remember the merriment of our first meeting! Do
you remember in what a frolic of thoughtlessness
you first permitted me to raise to my lips those rest
less fingers I Do you remember the mock conde
scension, the merry haughtiness, the rallying and
feigned incredulity with which you received my
successive steps of vowing and love-making—the
arch look when it was begun, the laugh when it
was over, the unthing follies we kept up, after vows
plighted and the future planned and sworn to !
That you were in earnest, as much as you were ca
pable of being, I fully believe. You would not else
have been so prodigal of the bestowings of a mai
den's tenderness. But how often have I left you
with the feeling, that, in the hours I had passed
with you, my spirit had been alone! How often
have I wondered if they were depths in my heart,
which love could never reacts! how often mourned
that in the procession of love, there was no place
allotted fur its sweetest and dearest followers—team
and silence!—Oh, Kate, sweet us was that sun
gleam of early passion, I did not love you! I tired
of your smiles, waiting in vain for your sadness. I
left you, and thought of you no snore !
But, now—(and you will be surprised to know
that I have been so near to you unperceived)—l
have drank an intoxication from one glance in your I ELoarewcs.—The following is an extract
eyes, which throws open to you every door of my I an oration of a gentleman in Missouri, &liven ,
. . . .
heart, subdues to your control every nerve and feel- I the meeting house on the glorious 4th of July
ing of my existence. Last night I sat an hour, I "Follow Citizens:—Shouts of victory conies u ;
tracing again the transparent and well remembered I from the neighboring mashes—the cry of freed,.
veins upon your hand, and how the language writ- deafens the voice of nature, and all nature ship
ten in those branching and mystic lines had changed aloud for joy ! On this glorious occasion I has,
in meaning and power. You were sad. I saw you not words to express the sentiments of my mind—
from a distance, and, with amazement at an expres- when I think of the great doings of my posterior
sion upon your face which I had never before seen, how they licked the British, and my father was
I came and sat near you. It was the look I had the army, and I wasn't horn, and my mother war!
longed for when I knew you, and when tired of courted yet, and the country was free from Briti,.
your mirth. It was the look I had searched the slavery, by the glorious arms of Thomas Jet Terser.
world for, combined with such beauty as yours. It and Andrew Jackson. On this day I call upon you
was a look of tender and passionate melancholy, to gird on your swords and beat your spears into
which revealed to me an unsuspected chamber in plough shears and cry aloud and spare not. On this
your heart—a chamber of tears. Ah, why were day let the cannons roar aloud—let the flags be
you never sad before. Why have we lost—why wasted on high—let the gleaming of your swords
have I lost the eternity's worth of sweet hours when flash in the rays of the sun—let shouts of freedom
you loved me with that concealed treasure in your fill the air—and let the gentleman who borrowed
bosom ? Alas ! that angels must walk the world, my umbrella bring it back to me as soon as poe
unrecognized, till Les late! Alas, that I have hold sible."
in my arms and pressed to my lips, and loosed
again with trifling and weariness, the creatures A TEMPEIIANCE &max.—Two young men,
whom it was my life's errand, the thirst and pea- with humming in their heads,' retired late at night
sionate longing of my nature, to find and worship! to their room in a crowded inn; in which, as they
.Oh Heavers ! with what new value do I now enter, are revealed two beds ; but the wind extin
number over your adorable graces of person! How &ailing the light , they both, instead of taking, us
spirituralixed is every familiar feature, once so de
plombly misappreciated I How compulsive of re- they supposed, a bed apiece, get hack to back in one,
which begins to sink under them and come around
spectful adoration is that flexible waist, that step of I at intervals in a manner very
Eerie' lightness, than swan-like motion, w hi c h I quite impossible of explanation. Presently one ob
circumambient, but
once dared to praise triflingly and half mockingly,
serves to the other,
like the tints of a flower or the chance beauty of a say, Tom, somebody's in my bed.'
bird! And those bright lips! How did I ever look Is there!' says the other; 'so there is in mine,
on them, and not know within their rosy portals d—m him! Lets kick 'em out!'
slept, voiceless for a while the controlling spell of The next remark was:
my destiny—the tearful spirit followed and called Tom, I've kicked my man overboard.'
in my dreams, with perpetual longing! Strange Good!' says his fellow-toper; 'better luck than
value given to features and outward loveliness by I; my man has kicked are out—right on the floor!'
qualities within! Strange witchery of sadness i n Their relative positions' were not apparent until
a woman ! Oh, there is, in mirth and folly, dear next morning.
Kate, no air for love's breathing, still less of food
for consistency, or of holiness to consecrate and MARRYING WI now.—An incorrigible old bath.
heighten beauty of person. else of our acquaintance, was askekl a day or two
'
What can I say else, excep t to'
inie I oskh or ' da " -if .hg.i/IMMICIVRAVTIE;dIsw-net,'Hile 'Omar be
mmittua..h. ••....,•• ........-.... In )OW Ull••
me if I have written abruptly and wildly. I shall continually making comparisons between us. I
would never marry a widow unless her husband
......in .our answer in an agony of expectation. I , ,
on , n ot , ; m• I „ nu , ' never
do not willingly breath° till I ace you--till I weep p io " or hi. :::......cninia.; .. , u , .. , ... "
at your tees o,v, ~,,, mi...i.sss sod forgetfulness.--
r Adieu! but let it not be for long I pray you!"
Tar ox BeNSIIINE.—One of the carriers of the
I despatched this letter, and it would be difficult , Baltimore Sun, S in making his usual collections,
to embody in language the agony I suffered in wait- 1
, announced to a servant girl who opened the door in
ing for a reply. I walked my room, that endless !
Lexington street, that he wanted , elevenpance for
morning, with a death pang in every step—so fear- i
the Sun.' The demand was discharged by a gen
ful was I—so prophetically fearful—that I had for- '
demon who stepped into the passage front an ajoin
felted forever the heart I had once flung from me ! ing parlor, and the servant girl was heard to exclaim
It was noon when a letter arrived. It was in a as she re-entered the kitchen —' Well bless de land!
handwriting new to me. But it was on the subject I tinks it's hard enough to pay for de water, let
which possessed my existence, and it was of final alone de sun. On de Eastern Sho' we get its fur
import. It follows: nun.'
~ nun Sin, --My wife wishes me to write to -------
you, and inform you of her marriage, which took Husnalco.—Tlio etymology of this word may
place a week or two since, and of whirls she pm- . not be generally known. The head of a family is
sumes you are not aware. She remerked to me, ! called husband from the fact that he is, or ought to
that you thought her looking unhappy last evening be, the band which unites the house together—or
when you chanced to see her at the play. As she the bond of union among the family. It is to be
i seemed to regret not being able to answer your note regretted that all husbands are not house bands in
herself, I may perhaps convey the proper apology reality as well as in name.
by taking upon myself to mention to you, that, in
consequence of eating an imprudent quantity of
unripe fruit, she felt ill before going to the theatre,
and was obliged to leave early. To-day she seems
seriously indisposed. I trust she will be well
enough to see you in a day or two, and remain,
Yours, truly,
SAMUEL SMITUEBS:
But I never called on Mrs. Samuel Smithcrs.
WOMAN VS. "LAIlf. " - We have several times in
conversation, been corrected by the fastidiously re
fined for using the word Woman, instead of lady.
"Woman," say they "is a coarse common word."
It's no such thing. It is the bast word in the En
glish language. Suppose Scott, in his noble tribute
to the sex, for their devoted tenderness to us when
under affliction, had written
"Oh, ladies in hours of ease," &c.
would he not have destroyed the richness of the
passage? We think so.
"Ladies," arc, to our mind, creatures of educa
tion, fashion and refinement; made up by the
school-mistress, the dancing master and the dress
maker; things of elegance and grace, which we
may admire without feeling a warmer sentiment.
Accomplished and lovely "woman," however are
beings with warm true hearts, and pure, holy, and
gushing affections, whom to know is not only to
admire, but to revere and love. We tax all our
powers of pleasing a lady—we would if need be,
pour out all our blood like water fora Wom AN:
Memphis Enquirer.
c - A lady, whose maiden name was Lamb, but I
who recently got man'ied, met an acquaintance, who
thus addressed her :
Ah, Eliza! so you have got married and chan
ged your name, I find'!"
Yes, indeed,' replied she ; and in getting mar
ried, instead of being still a Lamb, I find I have
made a sheep of myself!'
(1- , Top your jaw dare,' said Cuffee to two
companions who were wrangling, • top your jaw.
or you will be as bigbladvjuards, as de Corgr,ts
• men.
\;Z?'lltla:Dacii• aL). cCiCE)
NOVEL CONTRIECTIONS.-A very energetic
Methodist preacher, in Arkansas, is collecting funds
in aid of the Missionary Society. He takes pigs
and poultry, and, it is said, meets smith largo en
couragement.
ImenrsosmErcr con DEBT--
Of old, to debtors that insolvent died,
Egypt the right of vcpullfire denied;
A different trade enlightened Christiana drive,
And charitably bury them alive.
PROGUESS or PUSETIBM.—The Allegheny Ban
ner says, it say a beautiful young lady of the Epis
copal Church, walking along Federal street with a
a Bishop on her back, and a Cardinal on hor
shoulders.
00.. Lord Morplict says the Pennington, of Con
necticut, the negro preacher, would adorn any
station of life. The N. 0. Picayune adds- 4 We
know one which he would ornament—a tobacco
nists door.'
LAvon.-- , A laugh,' says Charles Lamb, is
worth a hundred groans in any stato of the mar
ket.'
A WORTH!' MAN.—One who screws the widow
and orphan out of their last cent, because his his
just due.
Q. 3 - As soon as a person takes pleasure iu bear
ing slender, he is to he ranked in the number of
slanderers.
O Why are teeth like verbs? Because they
are regular, irregular and defective.
(0 - Intembentnce produces cramp in the pocket,
and sorrow in the heart.
c - The glitter of false wit, like the shine of false
jewels, serves at once to show the vanity and pov
erty of the possessors.
A contemporary says, young girls, like kit•
tens, ure pretty play-things, but as they grow up,
lock out for their date 3.