Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, May 14, 1845, Image 1
.0111/0 Hl\ T I - N - GP ON JOT RN A l', - - . 3 jfanttto Dttoopaprv—tittote7l to Grurrat fittelliffrittr, EtZiberttotitg, Vetttico, Ettrraturt, Sitloratttß, 3tto, _erten tro, 3galtitttittc,lmlltt Iflt t, 'mall. zz'®o aa3. THEODORE H. CREMER. `Z~'~~~l~3v~ The "Jon iorAi." 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 or 'reamges are paid. Advortisontents not exceeding one square, will be warted three times for $1 00, and for every subse quent insertion 25 cents. It' no definite orders are *-given as to the time an advertisement is t , be continu- Yeld, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac s„.utilingly. ri T To charm the languid hours of solitude, lie oft im;ites her to the Muses lore." The Spotlitli Frog. On muddy Mill Creek's marshy merge, When Summer's heat woo felt, Full many a burly bullfrog, large, And tender tadpole dwelt. •And there, at noon-day, might be seen, Upon a rotted log, The bullfrog brown, and tadpoles green, And there the Spotted Frog ! Oh the Spotted Frog! Oh the Spotted Frog ! The light and life of Mill Creek'. mud Was the lovely Spotted Frog! 43y stagnant Mill Creelt'a muddy marge, The Spotted Frog had hirth ; And tretv no fair and fat a' rog As ever hopped on'earth. She wan the frog chief's only Add, And sought by many a fray; 'But vat oh one alone she 'Maxi Frith the old rotted log. Oh, the Spotted Frog! • Olt, the Spotted nog! The light Mid life of Mill qteek's mud Was the hived!: Spotte&Frog ! 'From Muddy Mill Creek's stagnant merge, Her bridal song arose! , Nlilte &veining, ha they hopped about, Of hear encircling foes, taut cruel boys.; in search disport, TO Mill Creek came that'ilay, •Ittid ht the (rep with sticks•and stones ileglin to blaze away ! oh, the Spotted Frog! Oh, the Spotted Frog ! the light and 'life of Mill C'reek's mud Wad the lovely Spatted 'Frog! On marshy Mill'oreek's muddy merge Nett morn, no frogs were seen; But a mortal pile of sticks and stones Told 'where the fray hail been ! And Time rolled on, and other frogs Atieembled 'round thai log; itut never Mill Creek's moieties saw Again that Spotted Frog ! Oh, the Spotted Free, • Oh, the Spotted Frog!! the light and life of Mill Creek's mud ‘,‘ as the lovely Spotted Prog! Yankee-Land, There is a pedagogue at St. Lodis who Seems id be very anxious to return to Yenkee-Land, , vhero he.originalcal. He has given vent to his degree on souse verses published in the St. Louis ReVille. We extract a portion of them. They aro lit& <pent and touching All things grow ready Wide for use In old New England's clinic, Clak-leef-eigars, and wodden (lecke That keep the beat of time. Their essences conic down in showli— Their hail, is sugar candy And every bird can ring the tune Of Yankee Doodle Dandy.' They used to throw in pdnd•hole deed A score of wrinkled wretches— If drown'd they were deemed innocent If not were burned as witches. A A man could neither kiss his wife, Nor wipe his nose on Sunday ; And if the beer worked en that day, The keg was whipped on Monday, not delay another hot., l3ut, after changing dress, • toverds the .Bay State' wend my ttdy, And ne'er come back, I' guess.' Now to Marry. When ydu get married, don't marry a pet; A jilt, or a vixen, or yet a coquette; But marry a maid—that id, if you can— More itt for the wife of a sensible man. Look cidt for a girl that it healthy and young, With inure in her eye than you hour from her tongue; And though the be freckled, or burnt to a tan, Yet the is the girl for a 'sensible man. With riches will wretchedness often in life •Go linked, when your riches are got with a wife; But marry, and make all the riches you cun, Like a Mild, independent; and sensible man. Look for it girl who is gettle and kind, And modest, and silent, rind tell her your mind; if she's wise as bewitching, she'll welcome the plan And soon be the wife of a sehsible man. 'Then cherish her excellence wisely and kind, And he'to small foibles inilalgently blind; Fur so you make happy, if any thing can, The wile of a flo6er and aenaible Man. • • A DANDY observedthat ho had put a plate of brass on hie :boots to keeri . hini u pright. Well balanced, by jing,' said a Dutchman, brass at both ands: 14113CM1LA.1730713. From the Columbian Magazine for May. THE KLABOTERMANN, AY ES. E. P. ELLETT, In the Seatnen's Traditions collected by Schmidt, the Legend of the Klabotermann, bauthermann," as he calls it. Is said not to be cor rectly given. 'rite following is the tradition as it is current on the northern coast, and particularly in the small islands in the German Ocean. A long time ago there lived on the rocky island of Helgoland, a poor widow whose husband, like most of the islanders, had been a bold and able sailor. Ho was boatswain on board his ship. She was lost in a violent storm, and the boatswain, with many others, along with her. The widow, whore name was Margaret, mourn ed day and night for Ina death ; and wept so much that she lust her sight entirely. Now seetned her cup of misery to be full, for poverty was added to her other sufferings. Her only possession was a very small house, and a son fourteen years of age, whose name was Peter. Peter was her only con solation in the midst of hardships. He was a lad of excellent heart and tied the fear of God before his eyes. His filial devotion wits most exemplary; for not only did he forego the delight of a seaman's five life, to stay at home with his blind mother, but he was never weary working for her, and dimmed not the lowest employments ror the poorest wages so that she might live comfortably and,not wont for any thing. Nevertheless, all his toil availed not to keep them from penury : ho was forced to borrow on the security of hie house. Thus he performed the duties of an affectionate sort for four years, often denying himself meals that his mother might have abundance; though he never allowed her to suspect 'that he wanted food. . At length it pleased Providence to release the poor woman from the wants and pains of this life. Before her death, she gave thanks to Heaven for hiPrlng given her so good a son; blessed him, and commended him to Divine protection throughout his future life. Peter wept, and thought if his dear parent were only spared to hint, he would be content to labor on land all his days; to weave nets, or do any thing else that other young men would be ashamed to do, for her sake. 'When she was dead, he wept a long while; then covered her face reverentially. and wen t out to make suitable arrange ments for her decent interment. Fur this purpose he elevated the last few shillings he possessed. He first engaged the services of a priest, then the an• dertaker and sexton, and invited some old friends of his father to be present at the solemnity, and assist him in paying the last tokens of respect to the be loved corpse. When he returned home, he found the female mourners already assembled. They drank 'coffee, and wailed, as was the custom, for thedead. After the burial the palbboarers, and those who assisted, returned to the house with Peter, where they were treated to the customary funeral feast of sweet buns, 'Coffee, beerrind tobacco. At evening all departed, well satisfied with the refreshment.— 'peter remained alone, and asked himself what he was next to do. The bailiff soon relieved the poor youth from the trouble of determining his own course. He sent for him and showed hith a paper, on which were the names of those to whom Peter stood indebted, With the amount of delfts. When the bailiff asked him if he meant to pay, the lad could only look distressed and reply—" Heaven knows I would gladly pay all ray debts, but I cannot now." Very well,' said the bailiff, I must make a re gister, for which you are to pay me two marks, and the clerk fourteen shillings, according to law.' 'I cannot,' answered Peter, I have not a half penny in the world' Then,' said the bailik, I must &strain ; for the costa of judgment must be paid. Your house will be sold to the highest bidder, and the money will go to satiety your creditors, and defray expense., so far as they or the law have claim upon ion.' I know well,' replied the youth, that there will be nothing left.' And so Monied out; for there was !trinity enough to satisfy the law's demands. The bailiff however, was merciful, and gave Peter liberty to go where he pleased. He went at once to the harbor,Where on English merchant-man lay at anchor—a stately and beauti ful ship. He inquired for the captain, and asked hint if he wanted an active sailor. The captain was pleased with his manners, Made trial of hint, and was so well satisfied—for Peter had learned the craft with his father, and sometimes accompanied him to sea—that the bargain was noon concluded, and Peter went on board the merchant-man, and they sniied in a few days. Their first voyhge was to London. Peter, though ho felt deep emotion at leaving his native island, was very happy of sea. How enchanting seemed I the freeToving life of tl,e sailor! When the prond ship flow onward before a brisk wind, ploughihg the cristal wave., and dashing the spray high over head, while the sun , shone bright, and joy was in every heart, the sailor would not , have eichanged his life for all the treasures of land. ft is true, theie were season's of ..cload and storm and terror; but.the. ship ,watt good .and 'stout, and her crew brave.; anti :the , &Inger. they , • Wo'rked through but eithetict , d , their ell'erfulkse v,:rheolpaq. '.khatiese•i , onifelwits imryiresperous, and with out did occurrence of a sin& niischance, the ship entered the London harbor. While at sea the cap ! tails had (ivory venom) to bc pleased with his new Phqznia. =z:ttzs7a=_Lzczt.' uz)31.9 sailor. He was always cheerful, and even sportive with'hie comrades; but still thoughtful and pious, slid esteemed by the whole crew. Not one of (Item hut would share what he bad with hint, for the sai lors knew him to bo poor, though he never seemed to want any thing. lieu. called familiarly " poor Peter." 'Their luck was destined to lie short-lived. The good captain fell sick and died in London. Another captain was appointed to the ship, who proiled a very wicked man. The steersman, who came with hint; was as evil minded as himself; and the stiller., to a man. refused to sail Under such command,— They left the ship, all except Peter, who kneW not where else to go; and who was asked by thi3 new Captain, with friendly words, to remain in his ser vice. had es he was, he had his reasons for wish ing to have one honest and pious seaman on board. The rest of the crew were of his own stamp*. Peter's old companions shook their heads when 1 they heard he was to stay, and the ship was to sail to the African coast. Poor Peter they till said. Had they known what b protector he had brought on board with hint from Helgoland, they would not have thought hint to he pitied. This powerful protector was no other than the Klabotei•mann of the ship, who had given Peter a token, on his first coming on board, that he was ! kindly disposed towards hint and would be his friend. The Klabotertnann is on shipboard what the goblins or fairies are who inhabit houses, or what the trolds or dwarfs are to the woods and mountains, or the gnomes or kobolds to the mines. It is an innocent sprite, that works to keep good order int he ship, and never forsakes it till it is about td sink.— A ship haunted by the Klabotermann cannot be lost so long as ho does not leave it, which ho will not do, unless the crew arc all evil disposed, or un less the captain (name one in authority does some thing to vex him. Like all other goblins, he is at times very capricious and easily to be moved to an ger. The Klabotertnann never allows himself to he seen so long as ho is disposed to stay in the ship, except sometimes by one chosen person. But he cats be heard often at moth. At times he moves the chests mid lading, when there is danger from a squall of wind, or the sea runs high. He is also busy on the deck ptimping out ;he water that has got into the hold; and if the ship springs sleek that is not observed, he will keep up a hammering on the place where it is, till the carpenter comes and mends the leak. He has much to do also in the tackling; and is very angry if he discovers that the sailors are negligent about this. In such a case he will tangle .the ropes and cords, and then from the masthead mock at the men with malicious laughter and roguish words or tunes. If at any time this sprite becomes visible to the whole crew, it is a certain sign that the ship is doomed to destruction. On this account the superstitious sailors dread nothing so much 98 the appearance of the Klahotermann. The voyage on which Peter accompanied the new captain and crew was not so prosperous as the first. The wind was favorable but not strong ; and though the ship wos a first rate sailor, she made but slow progress. Peter now observed with pain, how unprincipled and impious a man was the captain, and what a dissolute set were his comrades. These last took pleasure in venting their spleen on the good youth. and played him all sorts of ill tricks. Not only that, but they laid the blame of every thing that went wrong upon hint, so that the mate ordered him more than once a taste of the rope's end. The Klabotermann stood his friend, however, and prevented him front being hurt by the machina tions of his enemies. Ho also managed it so that the wicked sailors were found guilty of the faults they had charged upon Peter, and were themselves punished with the rope's end. Once, too, when the mate enraged at the lad for his uniform piety and goodness, on some frivolous accusation ordered hint to be beaten. the Klabotermann suddenly roused the captain to fury, so that he rushed forward, seized the rope, and luid it over the shoulders of the mate himself. Thus they approached the end of their voyage. They were not far from the African coast. The day had been clear and the wind favorable. On a sudden the ship stood still, as if nailed to the water; and there was a dead calm. The sailors were quite put out, and looked at each other and at the sails that hung loose upon the masts, as if they knew not the meaning of this. The captain walked rest leasly about for some time, and then broke into a furious oath, as he noticed a small white cloud on the edge of the horizon to the northeast. It was rapidly rising and spreading over the sky. <A storm!' muttered the crew, < a storm, brew. ing !' It was so. The cloud still rose and spread, exchanging its white appearance fora dull, gloomy gray. In lees than two hours it covered the top of the mainmast. The heavens were black, and the sea had that peculiar appearance it wears before a storm. There was a frightful etillnetis, only broken by the captain's voice and ihi) shrill call of the boatsWitin. The storm cam 6 on with treifiendoue violence. '!'hero wan a keeri flash of lightning, and then th 6 winds howled as if let loose* from all their caveb, and the sea begalt to swell and roar, the waved dashing with terrific fury upon the sides of the ship and• sweeping lierdeck. It vies a fearful scene. The helpless vessel reel• ed and staggered, toseel about fikO a feather at mercy of the *Rd . waters., k Now she was carried apan the summit of some mountain billow, now hurled down again into the black and yawning 'byes. lier strained timbers creaked and groaned amidst the wild uproar, till it seeined that she must every moment bh torn asunder. The crew strtiggied bravely, but in vain, against the power of the storm. Another flash of ligtning —it ahatiered the iintinmast, aid struck the boat swain, who fill lifeless on the deck. A giant wave swept the pilot overboard, and broke the handle of the helm. The captain ordered guns to be fired as a signal of distress; it was Clone; and hope reani mated the crew, as they hetird the shot answered from a dist:trice. Again and again the signal was repeated; and at last some Or them fancied they could see a sail nearing them. ft approached swift ly ; the outline of the ship could be distinctly seen; it came nearcr and nearer. Horrorof horrors! by the gleam of lightning the snilors could see that the deck of the strange ship was covered with skeletons! These ran to and fro,. if husy--singing, or rather howling in chords a frightful death song. On the very point of the bowsprit sat a little old man in sailor's dress, but all in white, with a white, high pointed cap on bin head, and a short pipe in his mouth, from which he slid out sparks as he smo ked. The carmilhan .e shouted the terrified crow of the ship in distress, as with one voice. At tbe same instant a broad glare streamed across the sky, lighting up the wild waste of waters, and they saw another little man, similar in appearance, sitting on their own bowsprit. The laabalermann was the despairing cry of the sailors; rind from the spectre ship came repeated the terrific words like a mocking echo— The carmilhail ! The Klabatermann !' fhe spectre ship came along side ; the Klaboter.: morn sprang froth the bowsprit of the doomed Ves sel into the sea. At the same instant there was a deafening crash ; the merchant-man went to pieces and sank, and the death-ship glided away. The good Peter was not swallowed up witit the rest i 2 the deep ; for before the . ship went down. scare knowing what ho did he had leaped into the sea after . the Klahotermann. For some time he lost all consciousness. When at length ho came to himself, he was lying in the large boat belonging to the merchantman. Beside him was a flask of rum, a i llsk of water, two kegs of biscuit and a large PTV of smoked meat, all which the goblin had saved for him in the boat. When Peter first open ed his eyes, he saw the Klabotermann sitting in the forward part of the boat. The sprite nodded kind ly .1u hini, then vanished, and Peter saw biriro .more, though Ito was continually aware of his pre. score and protection. For many days the youth sailed over the sea in this open boat, without seeing ship or land. But his courage did not fail; commending himself to God, he worked all day to navigate his little vessel, and at night lay down and slept in peace. At last, one night, ho was awakened by feeling the boat striking against the ground. He knew he muilhave come to land somewhere ; but it was so dark he could not see, and he was obliged to wait for daylight. Nevertheless, be could not sleep for anxiety. Daylight came ; the sun rose like a ball of fire from the deep, flinging a purple hue over the waves. Peter uttered a heart-felt thanksgiving, and looked to see where he was. He started—ruhbed his eyes —but it was no dream. He was close to his own dear native island, whither the good Klabotermann had towed hint. He brought his boat to the dock, landed, and met several of his old companions.— They were astonished when they heard his story, and several said they should like to go to sea with him. When he went to remove his things from the host, he found the other keg filled, insteatl of bis cuits with hard tinders and guineas. These also the Klabotermann had rescued from the ship for his favorite. Thus Poor Peter' became suddenly a rich man. He purchased a ship for himself, in which he made mom• voyages between Helgoland and Hamburg. After several years he married, and was the fath er of a numerous family. He continued through a useful and virtuous life to be the favorite Of the goud natured Klabotermann. GOOll NATtill6.-‘ By Hook or by b ook.'— Mime Grundy was the most good natured woman alive. Comb What would, every thing was right— nothing wrong. Ore day Farmer Grundy (hus band to the chime) told a neighbor that he believed his wife was the most even-tempered woman in the world, for he never saw her cross in his life—and that for once lie should like to see her so. Well,' said his neighbor, go into the woods, and bring home a load of the crookedest wood you can find, and if that doesn't make her MPS nothing will.'— Accordingly, to try the experiment, he teamed home a load of Wood every way calculated to make a woman fret. For a week or more she used the wood copiously, but not a word of complaint escn ped her lips. So one day the husband ventured to enquire of her how she liked the wood. wish you'd get another load,' said eho, for it lava round Me pot complete 1' Cj Why in a pig looking out of a gairet win dow like a dish of green peas ?' This coming from Sherid&n, excited glint attention, every one setting hie wits to work to discover the similitude, when. having' racked their brains to no purpose fatiorne time, 'they: . at 'length ,unanimounly, gave it up:— , What!' said Sheridan, 'can't any of yOu tell• why ti . pig looking out of a garret%windcnv is like a dish of green peas ;No, no,' being the reply, he enjoying the •perplexity he had thrown them into, good hurnoredly rejeitied, faith, nor 1 neithei.' Fr,. the Pennsy(nania Inquirer. The value of Time.--All Admonitioh • The hell strikes one. We take no note °flint° But from its loos; to give it then a smigti is WINO in nian. AS if an Angel spoke . I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. W here are they! With the years beyond ilia flood. It is the signal that demands despatch How much is to be done! Madame Neckar de Saussitie, in one of Her ad mirable Essays, says that each hour that arrives, is commissioned by'llod with a command for us to execute; and then buries itself in eternitY, to con demn or absolve us there.' What solemn thoughts; as to responsibilities and duties in this life, is the above eloquent and forcible quotation calculated to excite ! Who,'—exclaims the same lady—in an other passage— , who can tell to what space in eternity, each hour of our existence corresponds ?' There is nothing, perhaps, morn precious , than time to tlp majority of mortals, and nothing, that is re gardful in a lighter or more inconsiderate spirit.— With the young, as well as those Who are in the , enjoyment of the summer of life, this is surely the Case. Hours, and days and years are wasted in Out guns of a comparatively trifling nature; and weed- ly diseoyer, when age begins to whirkh our locks, enfeeble our limbs, take the bloom frolic our cheeks and the brightness from our eyes, that we are de: ecending the hill of life; that the time fin mental I improvement, for the acquisition of 'valuable and available knowledge has, in a great Measure, gone by ; that we have been pursuing phantoms, bubbles shadows,—that a little longer, and we will, sink among tire dust of the millions that have already passed through n the Halley of the Shadow of Death' —and still a little longer, and the wail above our graves will have ceased, the tears of the mourners will have dried, aid our very names will gradually milk from the ineineiles of these who will live after Us. It is only when ahMit to Part i - rorn the ehangitig scenes of earth, or when wo have in a great measure lost our relish for what are regarded as worldly pleasures, enjoyments and excitements—that we pause, reflect and measure the life of man, so limit ed and insignificant, when compared with the thou sands of years that have gone by since the Work of creation commenced. It is only at such a time, that we look wistfully, and in some sense with spir itual eyes, into the future, and call ups thousand vague imaginings as to its depths and duration, and as to our destiny there, resulting from out duties arid actions here. Death is busy all around lat;.;••• Not a day nor an hour goes by, that victims do not I fall, not only within the limits of the city, but some times within the sound of our own voices, among our immediate neighbors—within out ncighbas— within our very households. Fors brief period, when I the lifeless form is before us--wheit the crap is sus: pended from the door-knocker,—when the windows are bowed, or the funeral is passing sloWly on, the mind becomes thoughtful and meditative—we feel the uncertainty of life--and the possibility that the allotted time for the bounds of our being, is but a little way in futurity. But with the Md., with the multitude, how evanescent are these feelings! Wo are so familiarized with the scenes of departure froni this life—funerals are of such ordinary occurrence in large cities and towns, that the mind becomai indifferent, and we rush on from day to day,seldoni thinking, even fora moment, that each, as it passes sh^rtens our mortal career—each gray hair is a mon itor. each furrow upon the brew or cheek, igen sv.: idence that the blooM and fullness of our being is departing, and that therefore, time to us being more limited, more precious, is more valuable, and should be made more fruitful and beriVolent, virtuous, ha tnanizing and redeeming works. At beat, and even tvith a long life, the limit of our being is but a flash in comparison with the age. that have been, and that will be. This is the bud of being, !he dim dewh, ♦ The twilight of our day. the vestibule. Life's theitre as yet is shut, and Death. Strong Death, alone can heave the mainly bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us, embryos of existence, free !' And yet, to recall the thoughtful admonition of the writer already quoted—. who can tell to what space in eternity, each hour of our existence corres ponds 7' Nay, who con define or describe the con dition of happiness or misery, in the never ending ages yet to come, that will be prodnced by the em ployment wisely or Viciously of the hours or the days of our earthly Pilgrimage I If vicious here, ie it not reasonable to infer, even independently of Revelation—that the Penalty of ouch vice will be visited upoli us hereafter! Anil If we measure Eternity by Time—or suppose that the conduct of our life will be punished relatively, not only with regard to ita purity or otherwise, bin as to its extent —may we not alai) infer, that the work of an hour the guilt or the goodness—will effect our being, hap piness,,or iiiisery, in the myeteribus future, for vast period. thai may not be measured by time I Cer tain it is, that even in this life, the brightness and beauty of youth, if characterized by benevolence and good deeds, serve to soften and sweeten every purred of after existence. Why not, then infer in the same philosophy, that after we shill have closed our mortal career, the hours will come back to us, measured, heisiever, in conformity with our new state of existence, and that thin; we shell live for What would btliMitlese ages in this world, and re warded or punished according to our conduct here below 7 In this view, not only the value of Ume, hat On duties of employing the hour., the days ar % - s.t%fraiaDv_ics. 16•6. the Years allotted to us, wisely, profitably, and re ligiously, zioliht Le apparem to eery rilleetieii mind: Each day should be made sobsetvieui io some guml end—should h'a marked by the parrot mance of souls truly Itenevolefil and Christian duty:Th., we dioul , l live, not only fu'r the preseni, but for the Cutout% ...I in a spirit suited to realize th;ough faith in the Redeemer, the sublime enjoyments of an Eteinai Companion for Lift Misr; Fidler, in he n r work entitled Wiiinan in the Aineteinth beniiirv.' is quite eloquent furor of the first consideration which nninin shnulJ recriii4 in her Marriage refOtion. . . . She pays=—Centuries have passed since, hat civ ilized Europe is still in a intnnaibil State shout mar riage; not only in iiraetice hlit iii theneht. It is idle to speak with contempt of the aatious where polygamy is an institution; or seraglioii a custom; when practices fur More debasing habit--well high fill--every city oral town. And no fiir as union of . one with one is believed tri lie the only pun torsi of marriage, a great majority of societies and mil; are still doubtfOl Whetherihe earthly bond multi be n meeting of soulr;, or Only suipnses a contract iiiCgnvenienee and Woman estal.i fished in the rights dart immortal being, this. ) al not be. She would not, in some cOunteies, b e giv en away by her father, with scarcely more respect fOr her feeli..3l. than Is shown'by the Main chief, who sells lairlitughlei for ti hcnse, and beats her it she runs away front her new home. Nor, in soci eties where her choice i; left free, would she be Per= verted, by the current of opinion that seizes liOr, into the belief that she Muse may, if it be only tit finite protecter, acd a home of her own. Neither would man, if he ilionght the cenneei: tion of permanent inip s °Haire, tprm it rici lightly.-- He would not deem its trifle; huh he wad to enter into the closest relations With another Foal, Which, It not eternal in themselVes, must eternally sired his i • -owth. The household partnership. in our country, the woman leeks for a smart but kind': husband, the mail for .capable, swest-temperej wife.' . . TIM highest grade of marriage itifidh is tiiri re ligious, which may be expressed sir . ' pilgtiinage to- Ward a common shrine. This incluileti the others; home syMpathies and household wisdom, for these pilgrims must know how to asedit each other 'think lho dusty way; intellectudl communion, for hbw sad it would be on such tujoiliney to have it‘ corn , pa nion to whom yoit could not communicate thoughts and aspirations as they sprang to life; who would have no feeling for the prospects that dpon more slid More glorioili as we dance ; tvito would never see the flowers that may be gathered by the Meet in dustriodsl It mgt. iheititie all these. Aasrsca Mtira.—A Vermonter, intending to cent his wife at table. and suow-hall a hoj Mit of the yard, politely handed the pig to the table, end lawn to snow-ball his wife. He foiind out his mis take when the stiow-balli cents bank faile: then they went Goon get:mil.—A Kentucky girl Mariiing a tel. low of Mean reputation. was taken to task for it by her uncle. know, uncle,' replied she, , thatioe is not good for much, but lib !laid I dell; not have hint, and,l won't take a sturrip front any body.' Li A man with a tall thin wife, rerddrkod, that whatever he might have oil his table, he isee always sure to have spare rib it dinner ; and,' he added, very ingeniously, it is something of which lem extremely fond, I assure you.' (Cr A client once burst into a flood of tears, after hearing the statement of his case by counsel, ex claimirig, ' I did'nt think I sulTeted half no much till I heard it here.' c. , r come straight from London,' 'aid a croolcea little lady In answer to a qhestion put to her. Did you, acid a wag, 'then you mouth... been confoundedly warped by the way. A young lady being told that her lover We iiiddehly killed, exclaimed—. Oit ! that eplendhi gold tVetch of hie—give rite that—give me come thing tb remember him by !' Amiable eirnplicoty! my child, tell me the biggest lie that You ever told, and I will give ydu a mug of ei der.' • Me; I never told a lie in my life. Maw fhb cider my son,—you've done it.' azy• A lady of fashion Stepped into • shop and ticked if theY bad any niafribionial basket; she be ing too polite to say mak& Tux Atann thocit.—A Dutchman bid an ex traordinary price for an alarm clock, and gave as his reason, ' dot as he loff'd to rise early, he had now nodding to do but to pull a sphring, and he could yoke himself.' sp' You are no gentleman,' said an angry dis putant to his antagonist. Are you!' quiet:y ask ed the other. ' Yes, lam sir.' Then I ant not; was the catutie reply ccl- .I'll be blessed if I do,' as the girl said when, her laser popped the question. I'll let you know when I come back again, as the rheumatism said to the leg. co- • You don't look a-miaL' as the young ledY sold tuber breu when ho got bet bonnet on.