Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, May 14, 1845, Image 1

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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.
The "Jon iorAi." will be published every Wed
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No subscription received for a shorter period than
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Yeld, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac
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!
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
From the Columbian Magazine for May.
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
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
=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
'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
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
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
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
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
.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
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
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
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
. .
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.