BY JAS. CLARK.
CHOICE POETRY
SONG FOR THE SEASON.
"With what a glory comes and goes the year."
Autumn days are come again!
Autumn winds begin to blow;
Leaves are falling in the glen,
They are tossing to and fro,
In the valley, o'er the hill,
Up and down the open plain,
Rustling, whirling, dancing still,—
Oh ! Autumn days are come again.
Autumn days are come again!
Frosts have toucli'd the Summer bowers;
Blooming Rose ! I look in vain
To see thee still the Queen of Flowers :
The Dahlia rears her stately head,
Nor fears a rival to her sway;
The fairest now, since thou art dead,
Of all the flowers that pass away !
Autumn days are come again!
Birds have ceased their merry notes,
Cooing dove and busy wren,
Wander now far, far remote;
The woodland choir I hear no more,
Though every tree had once its voice,
The meadow minstrelsy is o'er,
And - hocks no longer there rejoice.
Althrn' days are come again !
I know not well to laugh or sigh,
To see the fated year so vain,
Pitt on gorgeous robes to die.
Shine out, fair sun, and gild his way,
E'en as thou dids't upon his birth:
Then, like a tender parent, lay
Ilim gently, gently in the earth !
MISCELLANEOUS
NETTLES ON THE GRATE.
HT N. PENN 13111TIL
Strolling through a cemetery, I beheld within
one of the enclosures a widow who had buried her
only child there, some two years before. I accost
ed her, and tendered my assistance. "Thank
.11
you," she replied, "my work is done. 4 - ve been
pulling up the nettles and thistles that over
grown little Willie's grave, and have anted
ninetnonies, heart's ease, and early spring flowers
in their place, as more fitting emblems of my chile,
and though they may fail to delight him, they wile
remind me that there is a spring -time even in the
grave, and that Willie will not be neglected by
Rim who bids these simple flowers revive. But
is It not strange how rank nettles and all offensive
weeds grow over the human grave—even a child's
grave?"
"I remember you mourned grievously at losing
him, but trust time has assuaged affliction."
"Its poignancy is blunted, but memory is con
stantly hovering around my child. Duty and rea
son have taught me resignation ; still I seldom be
hold a boy of his age, but fancy pictures to me how
he would have appeared in the various stages of
his progress toward manhood. And then again I
see him like his father—and myself a proud and
happy mother in old age. True, you may call it
an idle, baseless dream; and so it is, but I cannot
help indulging in it."
"Dream on! the best of life is a dream !"
We walked a few steps, and paused before an
inclosuro where reposed the remains of a worthy
man, with nothing more than his unobtrusive name
inscribed upon a marble slab to designate his rest
ing place. He was respected for his integrity and
energy; beloved for his utility and benevolence.
Here was no lying inscription, making the grave
gorgeous, as if montuVtal mendacity might de
ceive Divinity. His record was elsewhere, traced
by unseen fingers.
"There are no nettles on that good man's grave,"
said the widow. "I knew him well; weeds would
wither there; nothing but flowers should cover
his ashes."
A few young men at the time were idly passing.
They paused, when one tearing a weed from the
path-way, hurled it among the flowers, exclaim
ing, "Let him rot there with weeds for his cover
ing." The slumbering dust thus spurned had long
sustained the ingrate who now voided his venom
upon the benefactor who had fed him until there
was no longer faith in hope. The widow sighed;
"And this is on the grave of the good and just !"
"Had Willie lived, he might have been such a
man, and such would have been his harvest."
In the next tomb a bravo soldier mingled his
ashes with the red earth of Adam. In his early
career he was placed in a position where daring
energies alone could command success. He suc
ceeded, and was rewarded by a nation's approba
tion. No subsequent opportunity occurred to ac
quire peculiar distinction; and when he died, a
shaft was erected, commemorating the most re
markable action of his life. His tomb attracted
the attention of some visiters, who read his epi
taph. "Ckrlcteristie of the age !" exclaimed
one, throwing a pebble at the inscription, "to swell
a corporal to the dimensions of a Caesar. It was
the only action of a protracted life worthy of re
cord, and here it is emblazoned for the pride of
posterity."
Had the thoughtless scoffer of the illustrious
dead occupied his position, which gained renown,
history possibly might have perpetuated disgrace,
instead of a tomb-stone record of gallant services
—the patriot's solo reward.
"You knew the soldier t" asked the widow.
"For years, and well. A brave and worthy man.
Tho current of his useful life flowed smoothly on,
without being ruffled by the breath of calumny."
"And yet nettles cover his grave already!"
"Such might have been your child's destiny—
1 ,
()'• (bcfn
but that matters little; praise or scorn are now a
like to the old soldier."
We passed to a spot where a gay party were
leaning on a railing. A young woman had pluck
ed some of the gayest flowers from the enclosure,
and was laughing with her merry companions.—
As we approached, she threw the boquet already
soiled and torn, on the grave; and they went their
way with some idle jest upon their lips. The
widow paused and straggled to suppress her emo
tion. "Did you know the tenant of this grave?"
"From his childhood. He loved that woman,
and struggled to acquire wealth to make her hap
py. He succeeded, and when she discovered that
lie was completely within her toils, she deceived
and left him hopeless. There aro men whose
hearts retain the simplicity of childhood through
life; and such was his. Withont reproaching her
or breathing her name to any one, he suddenly
shrunk as a blighted plant, and withered day by
day, until he died. Like the fabled statuary, he
was enamored of the creature his own mind had
fashioned, and in the credulity of his nature, he
made her wealthy, trusting that time would infuse
truth and vitality into the unreal vision of his
youthful imagination. The world of love is a pa
radise of shadows! The man beside her is now
her husband; tip wealth they revel in, this grave
bequeathed 'them."
"The fool! to die heart-broken for a—dream!
But great men have at times died broken-hearted.
I should not call him a fool. It is a common
death among good men."
"Great men! But women, sir, have pined away
to death."
"In poetry, the bill of mortality is a long one;
in real life the patients seldom die, unless they
chance to be both vain and poor. Did a rich wid
ow ever grieve to death for the loss of the noblest
husband 7 Wealth is a potent antidote to the ma
lady, and teaches resignation; while poverty, with
the first blow of his iron sledge, will make his cold
anvil smoke with the heart's blood, for he is bu
ried who for years had withstood the blow."
"That woman did not cast nettles on his grave."
"Not nettles, but faded roses which she tore
from it—blooming when she came there. Better
cast stones and nettles than those withered flow
ers. Your boy has escaped this poor man's des
tiny—the worst of deaths ! His was the happiest!
he died—smiling—on his fond mother's bosom !
But there is a grave around which weeds grow
more luxuriantly, than about the sepulchre where
mortal dusi. reposes. Dully watchtulness is re
quired to prevent the bright creations therein bu
ried from being so over-run until nothing is seen
to dltsignate the beautiful tomb, where we had
carefully embalmed them, as if in amber."
"Wtat grave-, sir, do you refer to ?"
"The human mind. A mighty grave, wherein
we daily bury crushed hopes and brilliant opheme
rons, too fragile to survive the chill atmosphere of
a solitary day. Keep the weeds from growing
there and smothering their memories. They are
the progeny of the soul, and should not be allowed
to perish. Shall the joyous and beautiful crew.
lions of childhood be forgotten in age; must the
noble aspirations of the vigor of manhood pass a
way without even an epitaph, because crushed in
their vigor! Rather contemplate them hourly—
plant flowers beside them—though they.bloom but
briefly and fado, they will send forth perfume even
in decay, and inevitably revive in due season, bear
ing refreshing fruit; and old age, with palsied
hand, will readily gather up the long account of
his stewardship, and as he glances over the length
ened scroll that must become a record in the ar
chives of eternity, may rejoice that he bath not
been an ingrate and idler in the heat of the har
vest-field, but bath diligently labored to make the
entrusted talent yield the expected usage. Tear
up the weeds that aro incessantly grossing there,
ere he who was placed little lower than the angels
becomes an empty cenotaph—a stranger's grave—
mouldering and mingling with his mother earth,
unheeded and unknown."
Losing an Infant.
"Those who have lost an infant are never as it
were without an infant child. The other children
grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer
all the changes of mortality; but this one alone
is rendered an immortal child; for death has ar
' rested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it
into an eternal image of youth and innocence."
We know not who is the author of the above
thought, but it is as beautiful as it is true. Many
a mother, who has wept in passionate agony over
a dead babe, has lived to love the memory of the
lost one better than she loves the survivors. We
speak not now of the unhappy instances where
those whom death has spared grow up to be the
pain of a parent's existence, but of the more fre
quent cases where the ties of gratitude, so strong
in childhood, gradually become weakened by ab
sence; where the mother is almost forgotten by
the child; where the babe grows up into the stern
hearted and emotionless man. On such occasions
the parent can scarcely realize that the stern, sel
fish man who stands before her was the babe she
dandled in her arms, and who then smiled grate
fully upon her, and she may well recall, as she of
ten does, the infant who died, and who is still to
her the prattling, happy babe. Thus, even in sor
row, there is consolation. We lay the child in the
tomb, and weep tears of agony, as we do it; but
we forget what temptations it.escapes, what chan
ges it is preserved from. Nor is this all. We doubt
if there is a mother living who does not love best
to think of her children as pure and holy infants,
than as men full grown, even though honors may
thicken round them and thousands call them great.
A a editor received a letter in which weath
er was spelled "wethur." lie said it was the
worst spell of weather he had ever seen.
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1850.
"THE AUTO DE FE."
A Legend of the Washingtonians.
DT V. J. JONES.
"Things is coming to a crisis, SURE," said Ned
Sprague, pacing up and down the fiuor.of his bar
room, at the time the Washingtonian excitement
had arrived at its highest pitch.
Ned wits a westsrn man, "to the manor born,"
and despised everything originating in the East.—
He had kept a small groggery for twenty years in
his native city. Truly might it be said of him,
that he "filled the measure of his country's glory."
To these causes, then, may we attribute Ned's an
tipathy to this new fangled doctrine, qs he called
it. He hated it because it originated in the East
—he despised it because it interfered with a busi
ness which he had peaceably followed for twenty
years.
As I have said, he was pacing up and down his
bar-room, talking to himself in broken sentences.
Two of the "original six" were lecturing in the
city, and thousands were flocking to their standard,
and, among others, nearly all of Ned's customers
hod gone over to the enemy. True, Ned, in his
long career of whiskey-dealing, had never accu
i =lewd anything; still it afforded him a living.—
He had one elass of customers who never failed
him—habitues of the establishment—whose custom
he could depend on with unerring certainty, rain
or shine. Two demijohns of gin and brandy, and
a barrel of Monongahela, constituted the hulk of
his stuck at any time; and out of them hocould
supply the wants of his customers as well•es his
own. The morning was wearing away, amrnot a
soul darkened Ned's door. At least a dozen times
had be "imbibed," and twice that often cursqd the
capricious customers At length an old and stead
fast customer entered.
"Alt ! Tom, my o boy, I see they hos - n't got
you yet :"
"No, sir-ee nor n likely to, either."
"But they're going 't
strong, I'm told."
"Well they are," iteplied Tom. "Last night
they took in—lem'ine see, Bon Lewis, Abe Green,
Tom Skyles, and that greatest of all bruisers, old
Lemon, whose liquor tbey bought and burnt; and
this morning his shop's shut up."
Ned mused a moment, whims a brightsmile iilu
minated his countenance, so lately clouded in des
pair and doubt,
"Well, Tom, I presume it's all right—so let's
a ... v ..; we it nave TO - COMO 111 TOO.'"
The drink was taken, and Ned put up his shut
ters, and wended his way to his cellar, where he
spent the day in some mysterious occupation to the
world unknown.
Night came and the crowd was immense ; songs
were sung with loud and animated chorus, and the
crusaders were in fine spirits. The crack speaker
mounted the rostrum, and poured forth a torrent
of eloquence resistless as the malestroom. At one
time he made his auditors weep—annon he made
them laugh. Who does not recollect their new and
effective style of oratory ? At length, when the
speaker thought the proper moment had arrived,
he invited all who wished to sever themselves from
Alcohol's thraldom, to come forward and sign the
pledge. Great was the rush that followed, and
loud were the cheers that greeted each toper as he
came ffirward. One loud, prolonged cheer, that
made the welkin ring, announced to the astonished
multitude that Ned Sprague was moving towards
the stand. Ned mounted the rostrum, however,
before signing, and us soon as the cheering had
subsided sufficiently to be heard, he delivered him
self as follows
"Fellow-citizens—(cheers)—l came hero this
evening merely as a spectator; but the convincin'
arguments has knocked the resolution out o'
(Loud cheers.) I find there's no use, as Slinks
pears says, of kickin' agin the bricks, and I, too,
ant determined to sign the pledge. (Terrific ap
plause.) But there's one thing I wish to impress
upon you. You all know that I'm a poor man,
notwithstanding I have sold rum for twenty years.
I have in my cellar twenty-five barrels of whiskey
which cost me about two hundred and fifty
I can't atlbrd to lose that amount; and if I sign
the pledge, incourse I could not sell it ; so, as soon
as I can dispose--"
"We'll buy it and destroy it," said a voice in the
crowd.
"Agreed ! Let's do it right away!" shouted an•
other.
Straightway the wallets were drawn forth, and
X's and V's showered in until the requisite stun
was raised and handed over to Ned.
The company then, formed a procession, and
marched to Ned's groggery. Loud swelled the
chorus, while stalwart arms rolled the barrels on
the pavement, until all were brought forth. One
of them had the head quickly staved in, the bla
zing torch was applied, and the blue flame ascend
ed—a very funeral pyre of "Old Alcohol."
The excited throng were for burning the rest,
but Ned and his friends were too quick tbr them;
with vigorous strokes of axes, they "beheaded"
the remainder of the barrels, and the juice of rye
ran down the gutter in a stream. Three terrific
cheers announced the destruction complete, and
the meeting adjourned.
Time wore away, anti the Washingtonian ex
citement ended; and, in another part of the city,
Ned again branched out in his old business. The
secret in connection with the destruction of his
"whiskey" leaked out through an old soaker whose
smell could not be deceived, and to this day it is
only necessary to say to Ned, "twenty-four barrels
of wxreal" and the response is, 'what'll you taker
INT Truth is not only a man's ornament, but
his instrument; it is the great man's glory, and
the poor man's stock. A man's truth is his live
lihood, his recommendation, his letter of credit.
The Union.
Bishop James 0. Andrew, of Georgia, has writ
ten an eloquent letter to the editor of the Christ
ian Advocate, in thvor of the Union. We quote
from it the following forcible passage:
"My creed is simple and short. I go for my
country, my whole country, as represented by the
indissoluble Union of all the State, of our great
confederacy; and I go for the maintenance of the
rights and immunities of each separate State or
Territory. I repudiate war at any time if it can
be avoided; and especially all civil war between
brethren of the same political household. It is an
easy matter to talk of it, and there may be no
shuddering when we hear of it; but the realkation
will hying blood and ruin, and heart-breaking and
agony, widowhoodand orphanage, sucE as neither
we nor our fathers ever heard or dreamed of.
"Ruthless demagogues, either North or South,
may talk of it in strains of flaming eloquence, be
cause they hope by this MOMS to mount into pow
er, or to maintain power already acquired; but it
becomes the substantial yeomanry of the country,
upon whom the burdens of such things must fall,
the people from whose hearts and purses the blood
and treasure must flow by which such a. contest is
to be sustained, it becomes them to ponder this
matter seriously; to look well to the cost of such
a struggle, and to its issues and its gains. At any
rate, let us resolve, as southern men, to proceed
calmly, deliberately, justly, patiently, in our resist
ance to what we deem the unjust aggression of our
northern brethren. Let us exhaust every other
argument and try every other means of redress be
fore we indulge, for a single moment, the idea of
dissolving the Union of these States; and when
the catastrophe comes, if conic it must, lot it find
us at the last ditch, having tried every peaceable
remedy, ready with arm and heart to defend our
selves."
A String of Pearls,
A year of pleasure passes like a floating breeze
—but a moment ofinisfortune seems an age of pain.
What is the universe but a blank flung into space
pointing always with extended linger unto God.
Pride is the dainty occupation of our kind.
Beauty eventually deserts its possessor, but vir
tue and talents accompany him even to the gitve.
He who hates his neighbor is miserable.
How is it possible to expect flint mankind will
take advice, when they will not so much as take
o urning.
tooki cults Cs
g
cusi„Zjlatinl„ia which tend
Refined taste often makes us appear insensible
and want of refined taste too often makes us en
thusiastic..
Does not the echo in the sea shell tell of the
worm which once inhabited it? and shall not man's
good deeds live after him and sing his praises"
The sun is like God, sending abroad life, beauty
and happiness; and the stars like human souls;
for all their glory comes from the sun.
Opinions may be considered as the shadows of
knowledge. If our knowledge be accurate, our
opinions will be just. It is very important that we
do not adopt opinions too hastily.
The friendship of some people is like our shad
ow, keeping close to us while we walk in the sun
shine, but deserting the moment we cuter the shade.
Experience is a torch lighted in the ashes of our
illusions.
They who weep over errors were not formed fur
:rimes.
Contentment bring. a solace to all who enjoy it.
Pretty Hands.
Delicate, beautiful hands! Dear Miss how do
you contrive to snake your hands so pretty? And
such rings, too, as if to draw attention that way.—
Let us feel them, Oh dear, how soft and tender?
Do you bake, Miss? No. Do you make beds?
No. Do you wash floors, and scrub the pots and
kettles? No. So we thought. Look at your
mother's bands. Ain't you ashamed to let that
old lady kill herself outright, while you donothing
from day-light to dark, but keep the dust from
your face, and the flies from your hands? What
are you fit for? Will a man of common sense
marry you for your delicate hands? A person
who is a real man would prefer to see them black
ened occasionally by coming in contact with pot
hooks and trammels, and calloused by a day or
two's hard rob at the washing board. Pretty lin
gers indeed ! what are they good for, but to move
over a piano, or to stick through gold rings?—
Like many of the vain things of earth, they are
kept for show and nothing more. For our part,
we would rather see them worn out in actual ser
vice, and as tough as a coquette's conscience, than
so tender that a fly's foot will make an impression
upon them.
gir A correspondent, a wag in his way, says
that when a young man, he occupied a chamber
separates! from that of a married couple by a thin
partition. One cold night he hoard the rough
voice of the husband grumble out :
"'fake away your hoofs."
To which the wife replied in a querulous tone:
"Ali! you did not speak so when we were first
married; then you use to say to me, 'take away
your little hootsy, footsy, tootsy "
Cr "If you ever marry," said an uncle, "let it
be to a woman who has judgment enough to su
perintend the work of her house; taste enough to
dress herself; pride enough to wash herself before
breaktitst ; and sense enough to hold her tongue
when she has nothing to say."
Tue TELEGRA Pll.—" Well, wife, I don't see,
for my part, how they send letters on them ere
wires without teurin' can all to bits." "La, me,
they don't send the paper, they just send the wri
tin' in a fluid state.
~~~~l~~~~t~~
AN AMUSING STORY.
Hooper, the editor of an Ahtbamajounial whose
name we just now forget, but which has almost al
ways something in it to make us laugh, tells the
following capital yarn
" Shall I tell you a bit of a story, having no
connection with politics, this hot, dry weather?
By permission—
" Old Col. B—, of the Mobile district, was
one of the most singular characters over known in
Alabama. He was testy and eccentric, but pos
sessed many fine qualities, which were fully ap
preciated by the people of the district. Many of
his freaks are fresh in the memory of the "old uns"
of Mobile—and all of them will tell you that the
Colonel, though hard to beat, was once terribly ta
ken in by a couple of legal tyros. It is George
Woodward, I believe, tells the story; but howev
er that may be, it is in keeping with others related
of the old gentleman.
"It seems that Col. D— had a misunderstan
ding, with the two gentlemen alluded to, and was
not on speaking terms with them, although all of
the three were professionally riding the circuit
pretty much together. The young ones, being well
aware of the Conosel's imscablenatnre, determin
ed, as they left ono of the courts fur another, to
have some sport at his expense by the way. They
accordingly 'got about half an hour's start in lea
ving, and presently they arrived at a broad, dark
stream, that looked as if it might be a dozen feet
deep, but which, in reality, was hardly more than
as many inches. Crossing it, they alighted, pul
ling off their coats and boots, and sat down quiet
ly to watch for the old "Tartar."
" Jogging along, at length came up the old fel
low. He looked first at.the youngsters, who were
gravely drawing on their boots and coats, as if
they had just had a swim—and then he looked at
the broad creek that rolled before him like a fluent
translucent star. The Colonel was awfully puz
zled.
"'ls this creek swimming, I" he growled, after
a pause of some moments.
"No reply was made—the young men simply
mounted their horses and rode off some little dis
tance, and stopped to watch our hero.
The Colonel slowly divested himself of boots,
coat and pantaloons and drawers. These he neat
ly tied up in his handkerchief, and hung them on
the horn of his saddle, then he re-mounted, and as
he was a fiat short thith. With a paunch of inordi
• ,tuner inauwolllC ti2gS,
Mg
emit apple, and a brown wig, there is no , ou
made an interesting picture as he bestrode his steed,
with the "breeze holding gentle dalliance" with
the extremities of his only garment.
" Slowly and cautiously did the old gentleman
and his horse take the creek. Half a length—and
the water was not fetlock deep. Here the horse
stopped to drink. A length and a half—and the
stream no deeper Thirty feet farther and a de
cided shoaling!
Here Colonel D— reined sm. "There must
said he, "be a la—of a swift deep channel be
tween this and the bank. See how the water runs
We will dash through."
A sharp lash made the horse spring- the watery
waste, and another carried the horse and rider safe
ly to the opposite bank. The creek was nowhere
more than a foot deep.
"A wild yell front the young 'uns announced
their approbation of the sport as they galloped
away.
""I'll catch you, you d-d rascals," was ground
between Colonel D-'s teeth ; and away he gal.
loped in hot pursuit, muttering vengeance on hi:
foes.
"On—on—they speed, pursuer and pursued.—
The youngsters laughed, yelled, sereamed—the
Colonel damned with mighty emphasis, while his
shirt fluttered and crackled in the wind, like a loose
flying jib.
" On—on—and the pursuer reached the farm
house on the road side. Their passing startled a
flock of geese from a fence corner, which, as the
Colonel clashed up, met him with outspread wings,
elongated necks, and hisses dire. Ills horseswer
ved suddenly, and the Colonel in a moment was
upon the ground, in a most unromantic "heap,"
with his brown wig by his side, and his bundle of
clothes scattered around.
" The white-headed children of the house came
oat first, took a distant view of the monster—as it
seemed to them—and then returned to report pro
gress. After a little the nailer of the family came
and the affair being explainedassisted the Colonel
in Making his toilette ; the Colonel swearing, and
the countryman laughing all the while.
"Dressed and mounted, our hero started off with
a woful phis, and was soon out of sight."
The Farmer and the Artist
"Of what use is all your study and your books,"
said an honest farmer to an ingenious artist.—
"They don't make the corn grow, nor produce re,
getables for market. My Sam does more good
with his plough, in ono month, than you can do
with your books and papers i❑ one year."
"What plough does your sun use l" asked the
artist quietly.
"Why, he uses -'s plough, to be sure. lie
can do nothing with any other. By using this
Plough, we save half the labor, and raise three times
as much as we did with the old concern."
The artist turned over one of his sheets, and
showed the limner the drawing of his much prais
ed plough, saying with a smile, "1 am the inventor
of your favorite plough, and my name is -."
The astonished farmer shook the artist heartily
by the hand, and invited him to call at his house,
and make it his home as long as he
GT Don't depend upon your own lunge alone
—use the lungs of the PreFF.
VOL. XV.--NO. 43.
Taking the Census.
Alvin Kichardson, one of the Assistant Mar
shals employed in the Western part of the State in
taking the census, communicates to the Oswego
Times the Mowing amusing illustration of the fa
cility of which a man may be misled by answers
that are direct and true, hut "nothing else"
I must now tell you of a joke Iliad put on inn
in the• good town of Palermo. I called in nt
house early one morning—saw a young girl whom
I took to he ten or twelve years old. 1 told he:
my business which she took very cool•. I aske,
her '•is your father a Gamer?" she answered, "he
is." "Is he at home•?" "He is." "Is he in the
house ?" "I suppose he is." "Will he give me
the information ?" "I suppose he will." I wai
ted awhile, and then asked, "Have you smother?"
"I have." "Is she at home ?" "She is." "Will
she he in soon ?" "Can't say." "Is she gono
from home ?" "She is not."
Well, I saw there was but one room in the house,
and had got tired of waiting, r spoke to the young
girl saying' "Where is your Caber?" The same
answer. "He is at home." "Weil, where is your
mother 1" "Why, at home." "Where in the
name of common sense is home ?" Why, just
over on the other street." Feeling rather chagrin
ed, I asked, "Who is the head of this family 1"
answered promptly "My husband, sir." "Are
you married?" "Yes." "Have you any children?".
"Two." "How old are the children ?" "Two
years." How old is the other?" "Two years."
"How is that ?" Very easy, sir ; they are twins."
This solved the whole mystery ; --they were fine
looking bays,—she, the youngest looking mother
I ever saw. It shows how easy a matter it is to
, be
mistaken.
Falling of the Forest Leaves.
The season of the year when the leaves of the
forest trees fall is one of more than usual interest.
ft is a well known fact that the inhabitants of the
wild regions bordering the United States, in the
north, north west, west and south-west, although
accustomed to see the trees disrobe once a year,
from childhood, are operated upon visibly by the
great change nature undergoes in her appearance.
Thick, slimly groves suddenly- become open, and
the sun shines brilliantly where but a few days be
fore his rays were quite shut out. The step of the
woodsman, too, is obstructed by the dry and crumb
ling leaves, spreading like a carpet over the whole
area of timber lands ; the wild game take warning
and flee at his every movement. But mart from
and so extensive, always operates upon the mind,
and makes the residents of the woods thoughtful
and silent for a time. Here, in the city, it is in
teresting in this season of the year to see a much
liked tree, that was green but yesterday, disrobed
to-day—all shorn of its plumage by one sharp night.
Matrimony.
An aged Indian, who, for many years, had
spent much time among the White people, both
in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, oue day in the
year 1770, says an exchange, observed that the
Indians had not only a ranch easier way of getting
a wife than the whites, but a more certain way
of gutting a good ono. "For," said he, in broken
English, "white man court—court—may be one
whole year, may be two years, before he marry :
Well may be then he get a very good wife, but
may be not—may be very cross Well, now suppose
cross ! Scold as soon' as get wake in the mor
ning! Scold all day ! until sleep ! all one—lie
must keep him always.—Well, how does Indian
do? Indian when he see industrious squaw he go
to him, place his two fore fingers close aside each
other, make two like one ; then look squaw in the
face—see him smile—this is all one he say ! So
he take him home—no danger he be cross ! No,
no—squaw know too well what Indian do if he be
cross! throw bins away and take hint another!—
Squaw love to eat meat—no husband no meat.
Squaw do every thing to please husband he do
every thing to please squaw—live happy."
• IW - Dr. Marsh was once travelling in a stage,
and was much annoyed by a garrulous old maid.
After ascertaining his name, she inquired it' he be
longed to such and such a family of Marshes.
"No, madam, I do nut, nor to any other family
that you know," abruptly replied the doctor.
"Oh," said the antiquated virgin, "there is so
much acid about you, I suppose you sprang from
the cranherry marshes."
"If I did, madam," was the promrt reply, "I'm
fit Entre for a goose."
The inquisitive lady was silent for the remain
der of the journey.
To Yo MEN.-Don't rely upon your tiends.
Don't rely upon the good name of your ancestors.
Thousands have spent the prime of life in vain
hopes of aid from those whom they call friends
—and thousands have starved because they had
a rich Mier. Rely only upon the good name which
is made by your own exertions, and know that
the best friend you can have is an uncongerable
determination, united with decision of character
SINGULAR VALEDICTOR,—The subjoined mor
cella is attributed to one of those broad backed
packed horses ofliterature, "an editor -ont west
" The undersigned retires from the editorial
chair with complete conviction that all is vanity.
Front the hour he started to the present time, ho
has been solicited to lie upon every subject, and
can't remember ever telling a wholesome truth
without diminishing his subscription list or making
an enemy. Under these eireum,taneee of trial,
and baring a thorough contempt for himself ho
retires—in order to recruit his- imlral constitution.
Z' There is no surer protection against bill ,
glars, than to feed your baby, before going to bed,
with green apples. It will begin to bellow beihre
midnight, and it is a sure thing that it cannot ho
stopped before morning. A friend of ours has
tried it, and recommends the remedy.