11 - U)TING-Vfi JOURNAL
Dctiota to Coma' latteiltatitcr, attimtitifitiv, Volftico,Eiteritturc,llloralitv, arts„s.riences,3gricttlttirc, amitocmcut, tie.
`P`ccDll. L:E 9 s.'®, a2Clb.
PUTILTRIIED PIC
THEODORE H, CREMER.
cub CID t2aalsaQ
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cordingly.
POSTIVT.
The Coming in of Spring.
The voice of spring, tho voice of spring,
I hear it from afar !
She cornea with sunlight on her wing
And ray of morning star!
Her impulso thrills through rill and flood,
It throbs along the main;
"ha stirring in the waking wood,
And trembling o'er the plain!
The cuckoo's cull from hill to hill
Announces she is nigh ;
The nightingale has found the rill
She loved to warble by ; •
The thrush to sing is all athirst,
But will not till ho see
Some sign of Him, then out will burst
The treasured melody!
She cornea, she comes! Behold, behold,
That glory in the Eost,
Of burning beams, of glowing gold,
And light by light increased !
The heavy clouds have rolled away,
That darkened sky and earth;
And blue and splendid breaks the day,
With universal mirth!
Already, to the skies, the lark
Mounts fast on dowy wings;
Already, round the heavehs, hark!
His happy anthem rings;
Already, earth unto her heart
inhales the genial heat:
Already, see the flowers start,
To beautify his feet !
The violet is sweotning now,
The air of hill and dell ;
The snow-drops, that from winter's brow,
As he retreated, fell,
Have turned to flowers, and gem the bowers,
Where late the wild etorm whirled;
And warmer rays with lenthening days,
Give verdure to the world.
The work is done; but there is ono
Who has the task assigned ;
Who guides the serviceable nun,
And gathers up the wind ;
Who showers down the needful rain,
He measures in hie hand;
And rears the tender-springing grain,
That life may fill the land.
The pleasant spring, the joyous spring!
Her course is onward now,
She comes with sunlight on her wing,
And beauty on her brow ;
Her impulse thrills through rill and flood,
And throbs along the main ;
'Tis stirring in the waking wood,
And trembling o'er the plain.
Machine Poetry.
SPRING
The robins aro singing
The grass is upspringing,.
And April is bringing,
'Mid sunshine and showers;
The belles aro out airing,
Gay (tresses they're wearing,
And the fields are preparing
To put forth their flowers:
The brooks are swift running,
The snakes are out sunning,
The boys aro out gunning,
The fountains are spouting,
The anglers are trouting
Far cemid the hills,
Where the lambkins are prancing,
And the sunbeams are dancing
On the bright sparkling rills :
The partridge is drumming
fly the mountain side rude,
And the hornet is humming
His song in the wood ;
The spider sits eyeing
The insect, that's flying,
To catch him—the scamp I
The owlt is sleeping,
While the bugs are a-creeping,
And the frogs are a-peeping
In yonder old swamp;
The strearolets are flooding,
The lilacs are budding,
And cloud racks are scudding
Athwart-the blue sky ;
The cataract's roaring
While its waters are pouring,
And the hen hawk is soaring
With eagle on high;
The wild dove is wooing,
To his love he is cooing,
(I hope he will win her,)
Bland breezes are blowing,
The cattle are lowing,
And I em now going
------to dinner Brom., O. a
TIMMS TO BE Itesrestaxaso.--lletnentber that
a Printing Ollice is no place for idling, !ordering
boys and loungers; especially when they are not
subscribers.
Remember never to abuse a Newspaper, saying
it is not worth subscribing for—and yet never fail
to run about to borrow the same paper to see
what's in it.
IZIEICMLLAN2,O7O.
From Me U. S. Saturday Post.
OLD FUDGE OF AN UNCLE.
A DOMESTIC STORY
BY SOHN SMITH.
CHAPTER I,
, But there is certainly some mistake.
,a our
master did not intend to send a messago of this pur
port to me,' said Mrs. Burelistead, to an errand boy
at the door.
<He told me to go to Mrs. Buchstead's mann !'
What were you to say V
< Leave the shoes with her,' ho said, < and tell her
to bind them as soon as she can, for I want them ;
tell her when she crossbacks to be careful of her
stitch, for the morocco is tender.'
<lt is a mistake ! Run home and tell Mr. Good
rich I will call and see what he means;' and morti
fied and angry, she rudely closed the door.
< Will it always be soh must I live on to be in
sulted daily I will people never realize the change in
my situation—will they never learn what belongs
to common politeness!' said Mrs. Burchstead to
herself, as she sank upon the sofa and cried like a
child. <Of what use,' she continued, <is the pos
session of the handsomest house in town, of the
most elegant:furniture, and of my expensive parties,
if I am eternally to have the shoe binding flung on
my teeth! I wish I had been deserted in infancy,
wrapped in flannels and laid in a basket at some
rlbh man's door. Then I should have no contemp
tible uncle venturing upon his relationship to insult
me!'
Conscience, in its still small voice, asked her
where, but for this contemptible uncle she would
now have been ? Too old, certainly, for romantic
adventures in a basket—hut not too old fora tenant
of the poor house.
Pride had benumbed, not destroyed her good feel
ings, and as her thoughts reverted to the hour when
an impoverished orphan she was left to the chari
ties of a cold world, the vision of a kind uncle rose
in her mind; this kind uncle took her by the hand,
wept with her and for her—led her to his own fire
' side, kindly watched over and provided for her ;
and taught her how to know what was once her
happiest feelings, by learning her how to maintain
herself. Could the remembrance of that redeeming
friend ever be lost? Where ho and this ogre, that
now embittered her happiness, one and the came?
She asked herself why this attention, and by what
brought about 1 This mental appeal made her feel
ashamed in spite of herself.
But, she argued, •if a captain's wife bound
shoes, what would people think ! 1 [ow would they
!xprese their eentimente, and what would be her
feelings when the °miniseries of the false court, es
tablished by Mrs. Grundy,' reported the result of
their observations?"
With all her false reasoning there was ono thing
she had to admit—one truth she felt. The girl that
in former days sat in the plain furnished rosin with
her work-basket before her, binding shoes, wore a
smile on her face, had a song on her lips, and it
Mattered not how much she was hurried, had time
to be happy, and was seldom otherwise. How was
it now I That answering sigh was no indicator of
happiness. Her eye strayed around the room.—
Elegance met the glance every where save in the
massive glass—there the reflected face said discon
tent and marred beauty.
Mercy,' said Mrs. Buschstead, I look like a
fright! I shall bo nervous all day, but I must dress
and call on uncle Goodrich and expostulate, or ho
will send a bundle of cowhide brogans next. Ido
wish the old man could knows little of gentility, or
what belongs to it.'
Good morning, Undo Goodrich!' in a kind
voice and with cheerful look, said Mrs. Durchstead,
aS in a short time afterward, she entered the build-
ing which served for sales-room, manufactory, and
dwelling-place, for its worthy proprietor. Tho re
membrance of her kind uncle was predominant, and
had converted tho genteel fright to a pretty woman.
' Good morning, Mrs. Buchstead—please to walk
through into the house, my wife will be glad to sea
you ; and Ai am I—looking so well too--I am plea
sed to think you called, for I went to talk with you,
if you can wait a few minutes till I finish oil this
boot.'
Her kind reception imparted a pang, for she felt
she had, in her prosperity, slighted those to whom
she could not express too much gratitude. But the
demon whose vulgar name is gentility, whispered
you could not bo expected to visit here.' Her
Grandfather's portrait still hung over the mantle
piece, where, when a child, she had gazed upon it,
wishing that it could speak, es it seemed then to
smile approval on her infant gambols. The tear
treiltbling on her eye-lid, and upon the heart-felt
embrace of her aunt was but the first , of many to
flow from a mingled feeling of joy and contrition;
nor could the good old dame restrain her tears
either.
I believe women can cry when they we fit,' said
Mr. Goodrich, who had entered unnoticed, and wit
nessed the meeting; and he averted his. face and
hurriedly brushed away what betrayed the fact that
moil too, are weak at times.
' Now, Mary--for you look so much just now
like the same Mary that has made both your aunt
and
,myself happy many is the time, that I must
call you Mary—l want to talk to you. You don't
know how much confidence the way you meet us
this morning has imparted to ow I will not up.
UP=. O aa:l4El.'W Al a aiz.34/2.41.
braid you fdr forgetting your old uncle and aunt,
for I know I have offended you deeply already this
morning.'
'lndeed, uncle, don't think of it. Aunt has for
given me, and I am sure you will.' Oh ! how for
tunate that she was observed. She had forgotten
herself and her station in society, and—very indis
erectly, I must say—kissed the good old shoemaker.
< There—there, Mary, I never will think again
what I had been led to believe—that you were be
coming heattless. I only wish I knew how to say
what I want to.'
< Certainly ~nothing has happened to my hus
band 1'
< No—no, it is not that.'
' I know, then,' sho said dismissing her anxious
look. Well, do—for I deserve it; and after it is
once over, I shall not be afraid to drop in and see
my aunt any time:
Oh, Mary, I wish this gentility was never heard
of! it is a sad stumbling block now-a-days.'
< But uncle, there is no earthly reason now why
I should bind shoes.'
< More, Mary, a great deal more, than when you
were under this roof.'
<I can't see it; then I was dependent upon your
bounty for all that I edjoyed. Now, the house I
live in, every thing around me is mine, inasmuch
as a wife may claim a husband's property. Is it
not l'
< Your husband, Mary, is a good Man, but ho has
been imprudent. For instance, there was the old
house, it was nut good enough—it must be modern
ized. Now, between Gothic windows, Doric col
umns, porticoes, piazza, I don't know what to com
pare it to. Next thing, there was the old furniture,
it stood to reason it would not answer in the new
house ; tables, spier glasses, sofas and ottomans.—
Well, and all this was to be paid for ; and to enable
him to do it, he mortgaged the estate. Your hus
band has sailed on a long voyage; the universal
depression of trade must affect his interests, and I
fear he will not be able to meet his demands, and
must become bankrupt !'
This was news. Mrs. Burchstead buried her
face in her handkerchief.
'Mary, don't grieve so,' said her aunt, 'why
bless you, my child, you noryours shall never know
want while we have a cent. We talked the matter
over before sending the shoes to you, and that was
only done to make you call and remonstrate, so that
we could break the news to you.
< I don't care for myself, but to think of my hus
band as a beggar—to feel that I have made him such.
I persuaded him to alter the house, it was to please
me he extravagantly furnished it. But, thank hea
ven, I can work, and I will work too, to show him
that ha has not spoiled his wife, though he has let
her ruin him. Now, uncle, give mo the shoes, I
will take them home and begin at once.'
'There, Mary, set your heart at rest—if your
husband cannot command the means to save his
property, I know who will lend him the money for
his wife's sake. I gave out the shoes I had this
morning, hut if you don't alter yourmind you shall
have plenty of vTrk.'
Taking an affectionate leave of her kind relatives,
she hurried home an altered and a better woman.
CHAPTER 11.
Ties afternoon of the same day that Mrs. Burch
stead called upon her uncle, she was honored by a
visit from the Misses Murray. They in their own
estimation were ladies—not of a mush-room growth
but born so—or as they expressed it, they came of
a very old family. Now, only yesterday the honor
of a visit from them wouldhave delighted the cap
laires teife ; they were so genteel—so very select
in their choice of society. But with Mrs. Burch
stead of to-day their call was of no moment, and
though politely received, it was without any cere
mony. They were interrupted by another caller.
Mrs. 13urchstead, I thought I would just run in,'
exclaimed Mrs. Morton, suiting the action to the
word—. but la! I did not dream you had company!'
This was a whapper !
I am happy to see you—Mrs. Morton—the Mes
ses Murray. Wont you tuko off your hat and
spend the afternoon I '
'Oll 4 I could not stop for the world! I wanted
to ask you if you could show me how to fix' this
shoe, lam bindihg. Mr. Goodrich is so particular,
and I havo heard you were a capital hand at it.'
Lot me have it if you please. I think I can
show you how; I used to know certainly.'
Was you brought up to bind shoes I' asked
Mrs. Morton.
'Yes; and tun going to take up my old trade
again,' laughingly rejoined Mrs. Burehstead. ,So
take care how you do your work or I shall supplant
you.'
, Well, there now—our girl said there was a boy
brought some here this morning, but I did not be
lieve it.'
. Good afternoon ladies,' said the Misses Murray,
. we must go.'
Mrs. Burchstead did not urgo them to stay, neith
er did site feel hurt by their neglecting to ask her to
return their call.
Mrs. Morton resided next door to Mrs. 11 arch
stead, she was of a prying disagreeable nature, and
delighted in making people unhappy. f3he had
heard what passed between Mrs. Burchstead and the
boy in the morning, and resolved at the time to ask
for the shoes herself, and use them as a means of
annoyance to her neighbor. Always upon the alert
she saw the Misses Murray enter the house, and
she considered it as a favorable moment fur her
persecution.
Failing in her purpose she returned home, as
much vexed herself as she hoped to vex her neigh
bor.
Mrs. Burschtead remained firm to her purpose.—
Her expenses were reduced every wny possible, and
the shoe-maker's boy called daily. She was seated
ono afternoon by the open window with the blind
closed, plying her needle, when she noticed the
stopping of a vehicle containing a gentlemen and
lady. They had been struck by the appearance of
the hotter, and had stopped to have a better view.
At this juncture Mrs. Morton found it necessary for
her to run out to prop a drooping flower that stood
in front of her dwelling ; and she proceeded to per
form her task. She succeeded in her 'ruse,' for the
next moment found her gossiping with the travel
lers; as a slight paling only separated her flower'
plant from the street. From speaking of the cot
tage, she alluded to the proprietors; and concluded
by saying that sire had not the least doubt but that
the lady who occupied it, would be glad to let it.'
Now she thought no such thing--and regarded
the romancing she was guilty of as nothing, if sire
could only tone her neighbor. Mrs. ft urchstead,
who had heard the conversation, proceeded to her
door; quietly nodded to Mrs. Morton, and politely
asked the strangers to alight and look nt the interi
or, as they appeared to fancy the external appear
ance of her dwelling.
The proposal was embraced with pleasure, Mrs.
Morton was also delighted, as she now would have
on opportunity, as she said, to see every thing" by
following the strangers over the house. She was
disappointed, however, for Mrs. Burchstead, upon
receiving her guests, before Mrs. Morton could run
in, slipped the bolt; and led the way to the upper
part of the house.
The lady admired everything ; it was all in such
good taste, and the gentleman coincided in opinion;
while in the meantime, Mrs. Morton, to use her own
phraseology, was as mad as a hornet !' Mrs 13 urch
stead was given to understand that they were a
newly married couple, that they admired the house,
and would be glad to hire it, and still more gratified,
if they could purchase the furniture and take borne
diatepOssesSion. To this proposition the proprietor
asked a few days consideration and the gentleman
leaving his address and references, the couple took
their leave.
Linde and niece held a consultation, which made
the uncle prouder than ever of his niece. He be
came her agent, sold the furniture for a fair price,
and lekthe house fol'a good rent; while Mrs. 13 welt
stead removed to his dWelling. Her face was again
wreathed with smiles, and her merry carol as form
erly gladdening tho hearts of those about her.
• • • • • • •
Captain Durchstead returned from sea and upon
meeting his owners was assured of the welfare of
his wife as the Co.' and younger member of the
firm resided in the same villiage, and saw her
daily. Ho heard the discomfiting intelligence of
the general distress in the business community, saw
himself beggared in the prospective, and actually
dreaded meeting a wife he loved. However, he
proceeded to complete his business, that he might
hurry home, while ho had a home As he entered
the counting room to report progress before going
out of town, he met the junior partner
Come, Burchstead; lie exclaimed, I have been
waiting for you to ride out home with me.'
While Captain Burchetead did not yet know the
state of affairs, the gig drew up before the cottage
and the captain met his wife there; for she had
been invited to spend the day at her former resi
dence. Captain Burchstead supposing himself at
home, made himself so, and played the host admira
bly ; much to the discomfiture of his wife, who pre
suming that he must know all, began to think he
was partially deranged.
Why I,' she at last exclaimad, any one would
think you were at horns?,
At home—well, am I not?'
His wife then whispered hint that they were
but. visiters, and that she had been asked there to
spend the afternoon, little expecting the pleasure of
meeting
Come, Burchstead, don't look so blank, man l'
said his employer. 'I hired the house and bought
the furniture of your wife without knowing her—
she had an object in view which she has accomplish
ed, my dour fellow—clearing you of debt!--
and now, though I ant tenant here, the house is
still your own. I sent to my wife, notifying her of
your arrival early in the day, so we coaxed your
wife here without letting her know who she was to
meet. I thought I would amuse myself by punish
ing you a little. Now, you may congratulate your
self not only for being in good circumstances, but
fur having a wife who has dared to sacrifice her
self as I may sny--for she defiedgentility by bin
ding. ahoes ! The decided stand she took has
turned the tables; and my wife in love with her ex
ample, is about to learn the trade, commencing with
a pair of slippers for her husband.'
An Irishman once wont out a shooting, and not
being much acquainted with the use of a gun, over
charged his piece—at the first discharge, which was
aimed at a squirrel, poor Petrick was uncerernoni.
ously' poked over backwards by the retreating din
position of his gun. The squirrel ran up the tree
chappering, upon observing which, paddy jumping
up and scratching his head accosted him with • Ar
rah my honey, if yo had been at my end of the gun
ye would not be after doing the like of that, surely!
&;:y. lui lgricultunJ, see foul th
THE FIRST LOAF,
An emergency ut last came in my domestic ar
rangements, for which I was wholly unprepared,
despite the admonitory warnings of all good house
keepers, to be ptepared when such do occur they
roust, in these days of help wanting. An excellent
girl had gone, and her place was supplied by one
who I felt, when I beheld her, would never answer
thatdescripton which had induced ,no to engage.—
She stood demurely before me, awaiting her now
instructions.
'You can make some bread, Nancy ; now I want
you to sift some flour and set some rising.'
' How shall I make it? That never was my
work before, but you will tell me how, ma'am, and I
can learn quick,' was the reply, and the anxious,
yet willing expression of her face, bespoke a
teachable spirit, as itdid also an inexperienced hand.
Heavily did that answer fall upon my ear— , how
shall I mako it ?' Yes, that was the question, how?
What a world of experience and power did that
little word comprehend. I remember my mother
talked of 'setting the sponge,' placing it in a warm
situation, baking it when it was fun! enough raised;
these snatches of information I well remembered,
but the right quantity, quality and number of in
gredients, with the just t!:ey should all be put
together, was the still unanswered question. There
stood Nancy. Upon the whole,' said I, after a
moment's thoughful pause, as there is so much
that is more important to do, we will put this mat
ter off, and try baker's bread,' and I felt thankful
for the respite.
Days passed on.
Cannot Nancy make bread Y asked my hus
band, at last, an getting quite tired of baker's
bread.'
She shall make some; but this is beautiful ba
ker's bread, George. I don't know but what it is
nicer than any home-made bread I ever ate,' I re
plied, in a most recommendatory tone, taking an
other slice which I did not want.
There is nothing like good home-made bread,
such as my mother used to make.' To the first
part of this remark, I did not materially object, in
asmuch is it was secretly my own opinion; but
when ho suggested an equality with kis mother's
bread, which nothing in his estimation ever excell
ed, I felt a sad shrinking of heart at my own con , .
scions inability of attaining it.
May yoti be blessed with just such an appetite
as you had, when a boy, you ate your mother's
bread!' was my inward benediction, as he arose to
return to his afternoon business. Sometimes I
thought of confessing our dilemma. Had It been
the first week of our marriage, it had all been well ;
ho could have smiled at my inexperience; but we
had unfortunately been married some time; and,
however lovely inefficiency and want of skill may
appear in a lady love or a bride, assumes quite a
different aspect, when not to know is inexcusable
ignorance. Oh, I can't do that,' could no longer
be viewed in the light of maiden timidity, or deli
cate helplessness; besides, it savored too little of
'his mother,' who was a pattern house keeper.
. _ _
But the bread must be made. I arose ono morn•
ing, feeling quite cool and courngcouo, and resolved
that day to attempt it. I will begin with pearl-ash
bread; that I ant sure will be the easiest and much
less trouble. So upon pearl-ash bread I was de
cided.
With what deep and earnest interest did I pre
pare my flour, milk, salt and pearl-ash. With what
anxiety did I mix these important ingredients to
gether. I will have pearl-ash enough,' thought I.
'I am determined it shall be light,' and another
spoonful was added. The bread was made, the
pans were ready, the fire kindled, and at last it was
satisfactorily deposited in the well-heated oven. I
took my seat beside the stove to watch its progress.
How anxious was Ito see it rise. How readily did
I remember the round, plumb aspect of my mother's
loaves. Time gamed on and despite my watch
ful inspection and ardent wishes, it was still flat,
flat, flat! It grew beautifully brown, but there it
lay, so demure, so unaspiring.
Dinner came and my husband walked in with a
friend or two to dine, as, in the hospitality of his
heart, he oiled did. I extended a welcome hand,
but I am sure my burnt face and disquieted look
were tell-tales of a heart not particularly glad to
see them.
We sat down at table; the mackerel was well
broiled, the potatoes well done, the butter was mel
ted, but the bread—the bread! the article above all,
which my husband considered most important,
which he considered indispensable to be good—it
was handed round—he took a slice; it certainly did
not resemble broad, thickly studded as it was with
little brown spots of undissolved pearl-ash; and
then how it tasted; a strange mixture of salt and
bitter, which was altogether unbearable. My hus
band looked surprised and mortified, and how did
not I feel ? .1s there no other?' he looked signifi
cantly ut me.
I shook my head, while he involuntarily removed
the unpalatable slice afar from his plate. How lit
tle did I enjoy the society of my agreeable guests.
How distant did I wish them; anywhere but at my
own table.
Had you not bettor attend to this bread making
yourself, Mary,' said George as soon as we were
alone, and not leave that most importont part of
cooking to such miserable inexperienced hands?'
There was a decision in his gentle tone which I
well knew to give me no choice in matter, and I saw
that h.. little itunitted the 'lt , iierable inexpetittcea
`ZPlJEtaDticis) T,N - 3 ® moo
hands' upon which he had laid such strong emplia
sis were neither more nor less than my own ; and
it did not allOrd me much consolation, that he ex
petted better things of me.
I went away and wept heartily and humbly with
this pitiful lamentation, what shall I do!' There
stood the piano. What availed all the time, talent
and industry, which had long been spent upon
learning a few tunes? It added not on iota to the
real comfort of my household. Handsome worsted
work adorned our parlor. Oh that I could recall au
hundreth part of the thee spent with the embroide
ry needle and repass it, in thoroughly and skilfully
acquiring the important arts of house-wifery. From
that moment I resolved to study into my domestic
duties: not lightly and loosely, as if they were
small matters, easily gotten over, but I resolved to
brow - how, to become a skilful, economical, thrifty
house-keeper. Upon success iu this, how much of
family happiness depends. When I have cut my
sweet, light, wholesome loaves, there still lingers
the sad remembrance of the pain, the anxiety, nay,
the mortification of my first efforts; with no ono to
advise ; and no one to aid me, Mine was a long
and wearisome probation in bread making, and all
because I lightly esteemed these great duties, when
time and opportunity were freely offered under a
mother's eye.
Let not young ladies look upon these duties as
menial, or of slight importance. A household can
not be well ordered and happy unless they are faith
fully and intelligently understood. Let no woman
imagine that a husband's comfort, enjoyment or
prosperity, depends alone upon the smiles and orna
ments his pirrlor. It is skilful and judicious
management in the kitchen which does so much to
ward making home pleasant and prospects bright.
Let every young lady who expects to become a wife
(and who does not?) look well to these things be
fore she leaves the maternal care. Let her cement
' ber, that to become truly a help-meet,' implies pm
!dente, sagacity and experience in domestic duties ;
and lot no,onor enter into that important and most
interesting relation with untried powers and unskil ,
ful hands,
Bourn CAT.--A few years ago, a farmer who
was noted for his waggery, stopped at a tavern which
he was in the habit of culling at, on his way from
to Salem.
The landlady had got the pot boiling for dinner
and the cat was washing her face in the corner.--
The traveller, thinking it Would be a good joke,
took off the pot-lid, and while' the landlady was ab.
sent, he put grimalkin in the pot, along with the
beef and potatoes, and then pursued hie journey to
Salem.
The astonishment of the landlady may well be
conceived, when on taking up her dinner, she dis
covered the unpalatable addition which had been
made to it. Knowing well the disposition of her
late customer, she had no difficulty ie guessing the
aggressor, and determined to be revenged. Aware
that he would stop on his return, to get a cold bite
the cat was carefully dressed and laid away in the
cupboard. The wag called as expected, and pussy
was smuggled on the table amongst other cold dish
es, but so disguised that he did not recognise his
old acquaintance.
Ile made a hearty meal, and washed it down with
a glass of gin. After paying his bill, he asked the
landlady if she had a cat she could give him, for ho
was plagued almost to death with mice. She said
she could not, for her cat was lost.
What says he, don't you know where it is V'
, Oh yes !' replied the landlady, ' you hoer foot
ealen it !'
Ho was never known to boil a cat afterwards...-.
Lowell Tinge.
ADVICE TO Yourto LAntas.—Don't pout fair
readers, we ate not going to preach you a sermon;
but will offer you a little advice from the pen of
Addison. He says:—" I have found that men
who aro really most fond of ladtes—are seldom the
most popular with the sex. Men of great assurance,
whose tongues are lightly hung—who make words
supply the place of ideas, and place compliment in
the room of sentiment, are the favorites. A trite
respect fur woman leads to respectful action to
wards them ; and respectful is usually distant ac
tion ; and this great distance is mistaken by th,m
for neglect, or want of interest."
CIIVVIC Fcm..—A man who !untried a particu
larly plump specimen of womankind, being a bit of
a wag, told her ono day that ifhe filled the measure
of his matrimonial joys full ; for she was beautiful,
doubtful, youthful, cheerful, plentiful, and an arm
ful.
'I wish you had been Eve,' said an urchin to an
old maid who was proverbial for her meanness.—
' Why so!' Because, said he, 'you would have
eaten all the apple instead of dividing with Adam!'
Mr. Snifter 'writes to a southern editor thus r
Mistur Edatur—As you profess to giv kerrect in
formashun on every subject, I would ben leeve to
state that I fele very unwell, and Wood like to know
what Kind fizzle is hest for nice to tak.
Yours, SOLOMON SNIFLER.
To which the editor replies :--
'Swoller Alurry's Grammer is Pilo and wosh it
down with a dccoekahun of Waiters Diashunary:
What would you say of a fellow who should
mistake those artificial distortions of the tamale
form for mound miss! That lw didn't know
BMA'.