Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, November 05, 1850, Image 1
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.