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VOLUME XVI.
From the " Portfolio" of the London Leader.
Fetching Water From the Well.
Early on a sunny morning, while the lark was sing-
log sweet,
Came, beyond the ancient farm house, sound of
lightly-tripping feet.
'Twas a lowly cottage maiden going, why, let
young hearts tell,
With her homely pitcher laden, fetching water
from the welt.
Shadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the
quiet lane,
And the breezes of the morning moved them to
and fro again.
O'er the sunshine, o'er the shadow, passed the
maiden of the farm,
With a charmed heart within her, thinking of no
ill or harm.
Pleasant, surely, were her musings, for the nod.
ding leaves in vain,
Songht to press their brightening image on her
everbusy brain.
Leatts and joyous birds went by her, like a dim,
half-walking dream,
And her soul was only oonscious of life's gladdest
summer gleam.
At the old lane's shady turning lay a well of wa
ter bright,
Singing, soft its hallelujahs to the gracious morn
ing light.
Fern leaves, broad and green, bent o'er it where
its silver droplets fell,
And the fairies dwelt beside it, in the spotted fox
glove bell.
Back she bent the shading fern leaves, dipt the
pitcher in the tide,—
Drew it, with the dripping waters flowing o'er its
glazed side.
But, befure her arm could place it on her shiny,
wavy hair,
By her side a youth was standing I—Love rejoiced
to see the pair!
Tones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the morn-
ing breeze,
Gentle words of heart-devotion whispered 'math
the ancient trees.
Bat the holy, blessed secrets, it beseemes me not
to tell
Life had met another meaning,—fetching water
from the well
Down the rural lane they sauntered. Re the
burthened pitcher bore ;
She, with dewy eyes down-looking grew more
beauteous than before !
When they neared the silent homestead, up he
raised the pitcher light;
Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of
wavelets bright
Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of
him she'd bear,
Calling every burthen blessed, Wills love but light-
ed there I
Then, still wavering benedictions, further—fur
ther off ho drew,
While his shadow seemed a glory that across the
pathway grew.
Now about her household duties silently the maid
en went,
And an ever-radient halo with her daily life was
Little knew the aged matron, as her feet like mu•
sic fell,
What abundant treasure found she, fetching water
from the well !
SCENE ON THE OHIO.
UT GEORGE D. PRENTICE.
It is a glorious eve—the stream
Without a murmur wanders by,
And on its breast with softened beam,
The sleeping stars so sweetly lie,
'Twould seem as if the tempest's plume
Had swept through woods of tropic bloom,
And scattered down with blossoms bright
To sleep upon the waves to-night.
And see—as hangs the moon aloft,
Her beams come gushing through the air
So mild—so beautifully soft,
That wood and stream seem stirred with pray'r,
And the pure spirit, as it kneels
At Nature's holy altar, feels
Religion's self come floating by
In every beam that cleaves the sky.
There's glory in each cloud and star,
There's beauty in each wave and tree,
And gentle voices from afar
Are borne like angel-minstrelsy ;
In such a spot, at such an hour,
My spirit feels a spell of power,
And all beneath, around, above,
Seems earthly bliss and heavenly love.
Oh, Mary, idol of my life,
My heart's young mate, my soul's sweet bride,
Dear soother of my spirit's strife,
I would that thou wart by my side,
And I would kneel on this green sod
In love to thee and praise to God,
And gazing in thy gentle eyes,
Dream but of thee and Paradise.
I sea thy name in yon blue sky,
In every sound thy name I hear,
All nature paints it to my eye
And breathes it in my listening ear;
I rend it in the moon's sweet beam,
The starlight prints it on the stream,
And wave and breeze and singing bird,
Speak to my soul the blessed word.
GrA navy surgeon loved to prescribe salt
water. He fell overboard one day. " Zounds,
Will," said a sailor, "there's the doctor tumbled
into his own medicine chest." d„
THE FORGET-ME NOT.
IN 1809, there was, in the 12th regiment of the
line, then garrisoned in Stkiburg, a sergeant
called Pierre Pitois, who came from that half
wild, half-civilized portion of Burgundy known by
the name of Morvan, and who was nicknamed by
his comrades, Pierre arale-tout-cru. He was brave
in every sense of the word, and, as they said in
the regiment, a " tough customer." Ever the
first and the last exposed to the enemy's fire, It
was believed that he only loved two things in the
world—the smell of gunpowder and the whizzing
of cannon-balls. Those who had seen him in the
battle-field, as with eager eye, fierce mustache,
and distended nostrils, he rushed to the thickest
of the fight, were wont to say that slaughter was
Pierre's favourite pastime.
One day our friend Pierre addressed a letter to
his colonel, in which he asked for leave to go and
nurse his old mother, who was dangerously ill.—
He added that his flatlet., who was seventy-eight
years old, and paralytic, was unable to attend in
the least to the wants of his poor wife. He pro
mised to return as soon as the old woman's health
was re-established.
The colonel, in reply, sent word to Pierre Pi
tois, that as the regiment might receive orders to
enter the field at any moment, leave of absence
was not to be hoped for.
Pierre l'itois made no complaint.
A fortnight elapsed ; the colonel received a se
cond letter.
Pierre informed him that his mother had died
of grief, its consequence of not having had her
son at her side; as a good and tender parent, she
would have wished to bestow her last blessing
upon him. Pierre again solicited a month's leave
of absence. He stated that he could not make
know the motive of his request—it was a family
secret. Ile earnestly implored his colonel not to
refuse him this favor.
Pierre's second letter had no more success than
the first; only the poor fellow's captain said to
him—
"Pierre, the colonel has received thy epistle.—
Ho is sorry that thy aged mother is dead, but he
cannot grant thee the permission thou host asked,
for to-morrow the regiment quits Strasburg."
"Ha! the regiment leaves Strasburg; and
pray, captain, whither is it going 1"
" Into Austria ; we are going to Vienna, my
bravo Pitois. We are going to fight the Austri
ans. Art thou not glad of this? I know thou
art; there thou wilt be in thy element, my fine
fellow."
Pierre Pitois made no answer: he seemed ab
sorbed in deep meditation. The captain, taking
his hand and slinking it vigorously, said—
" I say, art deaf to-day 7 I tell thee that with
in a week thou wilt have the good fortune to fight
the Austrians, and thou dost not even thank me
for the good news And thou even pretendest
not to hear me."
"Oh, yes, captain, I have heard yen perfectly,
and I thank you heartily for these tidings, which
I think excellent."
" That's right."
"And so, captain, there is no means of obtain
ing this leave of absence 1"
" Art mad? Leave on the eve of battle 7"
" I forgot that. We are on the eve of battle.
At such a time uo leave is granted."
"No; nor even asked for
" True. No one even asks for it; it would
look like cowardice therefore I shall forbear ask
ing for it again; I shall do without it."
" That will be well."
The next day the 12th regiment entered Ger
many. The following day Pierre Pitois deserted.
Three months after, whilst the 12 regiment,
having reaped in the plains of \Vagrant a rich
harvest of glory, made its triumphal entry into
Strasburg, Pierre Pitois was ignominiously brought
back to his corps, by a brigade of gendarmes.
Shortly after, a court-martial was held. Pierre
Pitois was accused of having deserted at the very
time that his regiment was going to face the ene
my.
This court presented an extraordinary aspect.
On one side there was the accuser, who said :
" Pierre Pitois, you, one of the bravest soldiers
of the army, on whose breast glitters the star of
honor; you, who have never incurred either a
punishment or merited a reproach from your offi
cers, it is impossible that you should have desert
ed your regiment—almost on the eve of battle—
without having been impelled by some powerful
motive. This motive the court desires to know:
for it would rejoice to be enabled, if not to acquit
you—for that it cannot, it may not do—but at least
to recommend you to the clemency of the Empe
ror."
On the other hand, the accused answered—
"I have deserted without a reason, without a
motive. Ido not repent; were it to do again, I
would do it. I have deserved to die; condemn
me!"
Then came witnesses, who said—" Pierre Pitois
has deserted ; we know it, but cannot believe it."
Others said—" Pierre Pitois is mad; the court
cannot condemn a madman. Ile should not be
sentenced to death, but to confinement in a luna
tic asylum."
The latter opinion nearly prevailed; for there
was no member of the court who did not look
upon the desertion of Pierre Pitois as one of those
singularities beyond the reach of human proba
bility, which no one understands, but which every
one admits. Nevertheless, the accused appeared
so simple, so logical in demanding a conviction;
avowing his guilt with such audacious frankness;
incessantly repeating that he did not regret it;
and the firmness which he exhibited had so much
the appearance of bravado, that no loophole was
HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 17, 1851.
loft for clemency. The sentence of death was
pronounced.
When the judgment of the court was read to
him, Pierre Pitois did not wince. Ho was strong
ly urged to sue for mercy, but he refused.
As everybody conjectured that there-vas some
mystery at the bottom of this affair, it was decid
ed that the execution of Pierre Pitois should he
delayed. The prisoner was reconducted to his
cell: he was informed that, as an especial favor,
he was allowed three days to present his petition
for pardon; he shrugged his shoulders and made
no answer.
In the middle of the night preceding the day
fixed for his execution, the door of Pierre's pri
son was gently opened, and a lieutenant of the
young guard advanced to the side of the pallet on
which the prisoner slept, and after having con
templated him for some time, awoke him. Pierre
Pitois stared wildly around, and said—" Ah ! the
hour is come at last !"
"No, Pierre," answered the other, "the hour
is not yet come, but it will soon strike."
" Well, and what do you want?"
" Pierre, thou knowest me not, but I know thee.
I have seen thee at Austerlitz, Where thou didst
behave like a brave man. Since that day, Pierre,
I have entertained for thee a sincere and lively
esteem. On my arrival yesterday at Strasburg,
I heard of thy crime and of thy condemnation.—
The gaoler being a relative of mine, I have gain
ed access to thy cell to say to thee,—Pierre,
those who are about to die often regret not having
by their side a friend to whom they can open their
hearts, and intrust the fulfilment of some holy
duty. If thou wilt, let me be that friend."
" Thanks, comrade," answered Pierre.
" Host thou nothing to confide to me?"
" Nothing."
" What ! not an adieu for thy betrothed—for
thy sister?"
" A betrothed 7 A sister? I never had either."
"For thy tither?"
"Heis no more. He died two months ago in
my arms."
"For thy mother?"
"For my mother ?" said Pierre, whose yoke
suddenly trembled with emotion—" for my moth
er? Ah ! comrade, pronounce not her name, for
that word I have never heard, I have never even
whispered it to my heart, without being moved
like a child. And at this moment, it seems to me
that if I spoke of her—"
" Well ?"
"I should weep. Aud to weep becomes not a
man. To weep," he continued in an excited
tone,—"to weep when I have only a few hours
more to live ; ah ! that would be weakness ?"
" Thou art too severe, comrade. lam possess
ed of as much firmness as any man, and, never
theless, I should not be ashamed to shed tears
while speaking of my mother."
"Indeed," said Pierre, warmly grasping the
hand of the lieutenant; "you are a man and a
soldier, and would you not blush to weep ?"
"While thinking of my mother? Assuredly
not. She is so good, she loves me so much and
I love her so dearly in return."
" Site loves you? You love her? Oh ! then
I will tell you all ; my heart is full, and must be
unburthened ; and however strange the sentiments
which animate me may appear to you, you will
not ridicule them, I am sure. Listen, then, for
what you said just now is very true; happy is he
who, dying finds a heart in which he can confide.
Will you not listen to me. You will not laugh
at me I" •
"I hear thee, Pierre. The man who is about
to die can only excite commiseration and sym
pathy."
" You must know, then, that since I can re
member, there is only ono person whom I ever
loved—my mother. But her I have loved as
man never loved—with all my energy, with all
my soul. When a child, I read in her eyes the
affection which mine fondly reflected : I divined
her thoughts, she knew mine. We were all in
all to one snottier. I have never had either sweet
heart or mistress; I have never had any friends.—
Therefore, when I was called to serve my coun
try, when I was told that I must leave my moth
er, I was seized with frantic despair, and declared
that even were violence resorted to, they should
not tear me alive from her side. With one word,
the holy and courageous woman changed all my
resolves. ' Pierre,' said she, 'you must depart; I
command you.' I knelt down and said to her,
' Mother, I will go.' Pierre,' she continued 'thou
host been a good son, and I thank God for it; but
there are other duties than those of a son, which
a man has to fulfil. Every citizen owes himself
to his country; she calls upon thee,—ohey !—thou
art going to be a soldier; from that moment thy
life is no longer thine own, it is thy country's. If
her interests demand it, do not hesitate to expose
it. If it should he God's will thou shouldst die
before me, I should mourn thee with the bitter
est anguish of my soul; but I should say, "The
Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away, bless
ed
be the name of the Lord !" Go then, and if
shots lovest me, do thy duty !' Oh ! I have treas
ured up the words of this holy woman. 'Do thy
ditty,' she said; a soldier's duty is to obey always
and everywhere always and everywhere I have
obeyed. Furthermore, it consits in encountering
peril, without hesitation, without reflection; this
also have I done. Those who saw me thus 'med
ians of the enemy's fire, said, 'There is a brave fel
low.' Witb more reason might they have said
There is a man who loves his mother!'
" Ono day a letter reached me, informing .me
that the poor dear woman was ill. I wished to go
to see her; I asked for leave—it was refused. I
rememhed her last word,—‘if thou lovest me do
thy duty!' I did not murmur. Shortly after, I
heard that she was dead. Oh ! then I lost all
command over myself. At all hazards, regard
less of all consequences, I wished to return home.
Whence came this lively and irresistible desire
once again to behold the spot where my mother
had just breathed her last? I will confess it to
you; and as you have a mother, as you love her,
as she loves you, you will understand me.
" We peasants of Morvan are a simple and
credulous people t we have neither the instruction
nor the enlightenment which they have in towns,
but we have our beleifs, which the townspeople
call our superstitions. What signifies the term?
Be they superstitions or beliefs, we have them ;
and able, indeed, would he he who could eradi
cate them from our minds. You must know that
one of the beliefs which has the greatest bold on
as, is that which attributes to the first flower
which blows on a grave, a virtue which bestows
on hint who plucks it the certainty of never for
getting the dead, and of never being forgotten by
them. With such a dear and delightful belief,
death is bereft of its terrors; for death without oh
livon is but a calm sleep ; it is only ropose after
long fatigues.
" I longed to see this flower spring up! I longed
to pluck it. I started off. After ten days' long
and painful march, I arrived at my mother's grave.
The earth seemed to have been recently turned—
no flower taut sprung up. I waited six weeks,
when, at the dawn of a beautiful day a little flower
of an azure-blue expanded to my longing eyes. It
was ono of those flowers to which townspeople
give the name of the myosotis; and which we, in
the country, call Forget-me-not. In plucking it,
I shed tears of joy, for I belived it to be the soul of
my mother, who, feeling that I was beside her
grave, returned to me in the form of this floweret.
"No ties retained mo at home, for my father
had soon followed my mother to the grave; and
having plucked my precious flower, what could I
want? I remembered my mother's counsel—' Do
thy duty!' I sought out the gendarmes, and said
—' 1 am a deserter, arrest me!'
"Now, lam going to die; and if, as you have
assured me, I have in you a friend, I shall die
without reget' for you will render me the service
which I expected at your hands. This floweret,
which I went to pluck on her grave at the peril of
my life, is here in this locket, which I wear next
my heart. Pro mise me to sec that it is there, in
my grave. It is the bond which unites me to my
mother; and did I fear that it would be broken, I
should die without courage. Say, willyou prom
ise to do what I ask?"
" I promise."
" Oh, give me your hand, that I may press it on
my heart! You who 'tiro so kind to me, I love you;
and if God in his omnipotence were to restore me
my life, I would devote it to you alone."
They parted. The next morning, Pierre Pitois
was led to the place of execution; and just as the
fatal sentence had been read, suppressed murmurs,
then loud cries, ran through the crowd—" The
Emperor! It is the Emperor! Long live the Em
peror!"
Ile appeared, dismounted from his horse; and
with his short, quick step, walked strait up to the
prisoner: " Pierre!" he said.
Pierre looked at him; he seemed as though he
were going to speak; but he was struck with an
indescribable stupor.
" Pierre," continued the Emperor," recollect
the words thou didst speak last night; God does
restore thee thy life: devote it not to me, but to
France! She also is a good and worthy mother!
Love her as thou hest loved the other."
He was gone; and enthusiastic acclamations of
affection rent the air.
A few years afterwards, Pierre, then a captain
in the old guard, fell in the battle of Waterloo:
and though mortally wounded, still found strenglit
enough to cry out in a firm voice,—" Vive l'Em
pereurl Viva la France! Vire ma mere!"
Napoleon's Advice to a Young
American.
You soon depart fur the Western, and I for the
Eastern hemisphere. A new career of action is
now opened before me, and I hope to unite my
name with new and great events, and with the un
rivalled greatness of the republic; you go to unite
yourself once more with a people among whom I
behold at once the simple manners of Itome and
the luxury of her decline; where I see the taste, the
sensibility and the valour of Sparta, without her
discipline. As a citizen of the world, I would ad
dress your country in the following langunge: every•
man and every nation is ambitious and ambition
grows with power, as the blaze of a vertical, suu
is 'the most fierce. Cherish, therefore, a national
strength—strengthen your political institutions—
remember that armies and navies are of the same
use in the world as the police in London or Paris,
and soldiers are not made like potters' vessels, in
a minute--cuitivate union, or your Empire trill be
like a colossus of gold, figllen on the earth, broken in
pieces, and the prey offbreign and domestic Saracens.
If you are wise, your republic will be permanent;
and, perhaps, Washington will be hailed as the
founder of a glorious and happy Empire, when the
name of Bonaparte shall be obscured by succeed
ing
revolutions.
eir George Coleman getting out of a hackney
coach one night, gave the driver a shilling. " This
is a bad shilling, sir," said the driver. " Then it
is all right," said George, with his inimitable click
le, "it is all right—yours is a bad coach."
Fir If you want to frighten your hair, just jump
from ono cake of ice to another with a pair of new
boots on.
Ifir An evergroeu—A man who duel not learn
from experience.
m9de\iootirrixtti
From the London Leaier;
A NE* EMPIRE IN EUROPE.
AUSTRIA is astonishing her friends. She out
strips the most sanguine expectations of her re•
actionary Confederates.
Not much is positively known of the results of
the Dresden Cohferences ; enough, however, to
elicit a nni'verSal cry of dismay. Austria propos
es to incorporate the whole of her dominions,
Hungary, Lombardy, Venice, and all, with the
territory of the German Confederacy..
Prussia, Germany, have ceased to exist. There
is now only one huge Austria, an empire of Cen
tral Europe, extending front the Baltic and Ger
man Ocean to the Adriatic and the Mediterrane
an, and by the great chenel of the Danube to the
Black Sea: an empire of seventy to eighty mil
lions of souls, embracing the whole of Germany,
one-third of Italy, a large portion of Poland, with
perhaps a score of other new, ardent, high-met
tied tribes. What was the crown of the Othos of
Saxony, what even the triple diadem of Cherie.
magne, to the new chaplet glittering on the brow
of the youthful Kaiser at Vienna?
Yet such was the inevitable finale of the Ger
man reaction. The coexistence of Austria and
Germany had, since March, 1848, become an im
possibility. Germany must either divide and
break up Austria, or must be swallowed by it.—
Three different proposals were repeatedly made
to reconcile the interests of the two states. First,
an entire and absolute separation. Then the ad
' mission of the Austro- German provinces alone
into the Germanic Federation. Finally, the in
corporation of the whole of Austria, with the ex
ception of her Italian Provinces. Now, Lombar
dy, Venice, and virtually Parma, Modena, Tusca
ny, and the Roman Legations, are to become
German.
German nationality thus merges into the Aus
trian union. Groat national interests may recon
cile the German people to the loss of political ex
istence; for how long it is difficult to say. Ger
many abdicates her dignity. Prussia sinks at once
into a mere Imperial Lieutenancy. The German
Princes become more puppets, wills not even the
shadow of the importance of their electoral pre
decessors.
It is an unparalleled event, big with unfathom
able consequences. Russia herself might well be
startled at her own work ; but it is too late to op
pose it. Franco and England protest; but pro
tests break no man's bones. And, after all, what
has Austria done beside acquitting herself of her
crushing task ! What complaint can France and
England prefer against her, if she took advantage
of their want of address in securing their own
share of the prey 7 She only bags the game her
obliging friends have shot for her. Her allies were
mere amateur bunglers. They crushed for the
mere pleasure of crushing. So Prussia in Baden
and Hesse ; so France in Rome. Austria alone
has a business-like way of going to work.
But the treaties of 18151—the balance of pow
er forever hurled at our teeth? Alas ! honest men
hail never ceased to say it: Dclenda est Austria.
That hybrid° state was the stsmblieg•block of
European progress. Our English diplomatists
talked and acted as if the very axis of the earth
hung on the imperial mantle of the house of
Hapsburg. Austria was " our natural ally," and
now it is Austria alone that kicks the beam; Aus
tria, that brings Europe on the very brisk of a
general war.
For, behold ! the new federal compact is scarce
ly acceded to, and already the new colossal em
pire thunders at its neighbors' doors. One hund
red thousand men gather on the Swiss frontier.—
Prussia has a bone to pick with the Diet respect
ing her high Protectorate of Neufchatel. Austria
must needs take upon herself the police of the
French and Italian cantons. Masses of troops are
equally ready to cross the Ticino. Alas, for Sar
dinian statutes and Helvetian democracies I The
iron tread of barbarism never drow with a mor e
ominous sound.
But woe, above all, to Franco—distracted, cra
ven France! She may not have to fear the fate
of Lombardy or Hungary. But let her look to
Prussia! There aro depths of humiliation by the
side of which the most irreparable reverses are
signal trophies. The extinguisher that is now
putting out the light of the Great Frederic at the
Dresden Conferences has already cast its shatill
over (looting Franco. France is threatened with
something worse than the worst territorial losses.
The Dresden scheme would isolate, blot her out,
annihilate her.
Nor has she any reason to rely on the incom
pressible force of the popular element. Matter,
we know not for how long a period, has now the
advantage over spirit; and France herself power
fully contributed to this dolorous consummation.
The Dresden Conferences aim at no establishment
of national unities. They build an empire, not a
country. It is no question of constituted com
munities, of coalescing races.
And England'? England is faithful to her Ve
netian policy: rotting in her lagoons—impregna
ble, yet not invulnerable. The fall of nations
around sinks her fathom-deep in her slough of
magnificent impotence. Austria and Russia lord
it over the Continent. Little hope for Europe,
except such as may arise from the quarrels inevi
table amongst robbers at the division of the booty.
An England? England, always at her old busi
ness--keeps shops for "all nations."
ea- Compositors often grumble at the hardness
of their lot. True, their business is always at a
stand !
Er" I don't like this telling about what people
give to this and that object," said a penurious per
son ; " what I givc is ?loth* to uobodj."
NUMBER 15.
Young Sir Robert Peel.
The eldest son and heir of the late Premier. has
made a speech in the House of commons, which a
correspondent of the Now York Commercial says,
took the House by surprise, in consequence of the
liberalism of its tone with• respect to continental
affairs, and its denunciation of the despotism of the
Roman Catholic power. lie is now twenty-nine
years of age, and such political knowledge as he
possesses has been gained, first as attache to thu
British embassy at Madrid, and subsequently 113
secretary oflegation in Switzerland. He has there
fore, been in positions to become welt acquainted
with Papal intrigues. In the early part aids speech
he referred to the conduct of the Frcneh President.
The Pope, he said, had been resented in the "af
fections" of his people by a sudden and certainly
very extraordinary burst of religious zeal on the
part of the people of Franco. It seemed as if this
citizen President was desirous of making amends
for the Emperor's misconduct, since where the
latter was instrumental in establiiiing republican •
ism (fur instance, the Ligurian, the Cisalpine and
and the Parthenoptean,) the former lied destroyed
the only one he could lay his hands upon, and
where the uncle, with much display, had carried
off frotn Rome a Pope beloved by his people, the
nephew, at a considerable expense, as h required
30,000 nice, carried back to Rome a rope whose
presence the Romans had made arrangements to
dispense with.
The close of the speech, too was marked by a
still more unequivocal display of sympathy for the
oppressed people of Italy and Germany. Sir
ROBERT, alluding to what he had seen in Switzer
land in 1847, during the contest of the Protestant
cantons riga' nst the Jesuits, described it as the migh
ty struggle of liberty against despotism and intol
erance, and said that although imperatively re
quired by the instructions of Lord PALMERSTON
to maintain a neutral position, he could scarcely re
strain Isis feelings when he saw the blood that was
shed to resist the renctionists upon that soil "which
still affords a last retreat against the despotism of
Europe—still preserves intact the hospitable abode
of liberty." In conclusion, he avowed his convic
tion that the recent aggression of the Pope in this
country was but the first step in a premeditated and
organised system of attack, and that lie should,
therefore, although lie regre:ted that it bail been
applied to Ireland, heartily support the measure of
Lord Jolts Resset.t. The speech was warmly
applauded throughout, and the burst of cheating at
the end showed that into existing HOMO of Com
mons there is an under current of liberalism which
if boldly appealed to could be aroused to support a
firm and self-reliant government.
Practeal Jokers.
We remember hearing a story of a fellow who
roused a venerable doctor, about twelve o'clock
ono winter's night, and, on his comit: g to the door,
coolly inquired, " Have you lost a knife, Mr.
Brown?" " No," growled the victim. "Well,
never mind," mid the wag, "I thought I'd just
cull and inquire, for I found one yesterday." We
thought that rather cool; but the following story of
Neil M'Kinnon, a New York wag, surpasses in im
pudence anything within recollection. Road and
speak for yourself, gentle reader:—When the cele
brated " Copenhagen Jackson" was British Min
ister in America he resided in New-York, and oc
cupied a house in Broadway. Neil ono night at a
late hour, in company with a bevy of rough-riders,
while passing the house, noticed that it was
brilli
antly illuminated, and that several carriages were
waiting at the door. " Holloa!" said our tear,
"what's going on at Jackson's?" One of the party
remarked that Jackson had a party that even
ing. " What!" exclaimed Neil," Jackson
had a party, and I not invited? I must see to that!"
So stepping up to the door, ho gave a ring, which
brought the servant to the door. " You must call
some other time," said the servant, " fur he is now
engaged at a game of whist, and must not be dis
turbed." "Don't talk to me that way," said H'-
Kinnon, " but go directly, and tell the British
Minister that I must see him immediately on spe
cial business." Tho servant obeyed, and delivered
his message in Ito impressive a style as to bring Mr.
Jackson to the door forthwith. " 'Well," said Mr.
Jackson, " what can be your huisiness with me at
this time of night, which is so very urgent?" "Are
you Mr. Jackson?" "Yes, sir, lam Mr. Jackson?"
" The British Minister?" "Yes, sir." "You have
a party here to-night, I perceive, Mr. Jackson?"
" Yes, air, I have a party." " A large party, I
presume?" " Yes sir, a largo party." " Playing
cards, I understand?" " Yes, sir, playing cards."
" Oh, well," said Neil, "as I was passing, I merely
called to inquire 'Mae, trumps?"
65- A quaint old gent, not a hundred miles
from hero, who is, withal, one of our active, stir
ring men, had a man at work it, his garden who
was quite the reverse. " Mr. Jones," said he to
him, one morning, " did you ever see a snail?"
"Certainly; said Jones. " Then," said the old
hoy, "you must have suet him, for yor could nev
er overtake, him."
lir Southey, who picked up and recorded in
his Common Place Book, all manner of facts
mentions a dog that went every Sunday to Pen
bridge church during an entire year that the church
was under repair, and pasted the proper time in
the family pew.
Cr Au Irishman, endeavoring to put out a
gaslight with his fingers, cried out, " Och, mur
der, the divil a wick's in it."
ea- A men asked an Irishman why ho wore his
stockings wrong side outward 1
" Because," said he, " there's a hcla os the
other 1A4."