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VOL. 18.
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PCYATRAII,.
THE KITCHEN GIRL.
BY MRS. FRANCIS D. CAGE.
God bless the generous kitchen girls,
With heart so free and strong;
f3untained by filial love and hope,
Through rill their slight and 'wrong;
With dark toil•sweat upon the brow,
Its colori in its hand ;
Still turning back with longing hearts
To friends and native land.
They gather up from hour to hour,
From labor day by day,
Their precious horde of cents and dimes
For loved ones far away—
Aye, far away on Erin's Isle,
By tyranny oppressed,
They've left a mother, and at heart,
A sister sore distressed.
Bending 'neath unrequited toil
And bitter poverty,
They seethese dear and helpless ones,
And long to set them free ;
Month after month, with cheerful hearts
And willing, ready hands,
They work to bring them o'er the sea,
To our more favored land.
And many an aged mother there
Is waiting, hoping still
For 'Mary sweet,' or 'Kitty dear,'
Love's mission to fulfil—
Waiting to bid a long adieu
To Erin's sea•girt shore.
And cross the deep. that they may clasp
The .darlint' child once more.
Was ..Kosaiuth's love for Hungary
A deeper love than this?
Wee there in Meagher's patriot soul
A truer loveliness?
And yet this love so pure and deep,
That through all trial horns,
Full many a proud lip coldly jeers,
And jewelled finger spurns.
Oh, ve who pass those kitchen girls
With stately step of pride,
Does such deep love, such strength of soul
In your own hearts abide
Ye, who oft spent in one short hour,
In fashion's giddy maze,
The wealth it takes them month's to earn
By weary, toiling days,—
The keepers stared in astonishment.—
But the king commanded that the strange
order should be obeyed. Upon which the
bleeding skull was fastened upon the head
of the keeper with leather thongs,
will answer for his perfect cure in a
month's time !" said Urswiok to the king,
..but I shall require to watch over him my
self till all danger is at an end! I pray
your highness to command these keepers
to transport him to my hut."
"You hear what be says knaves!" cried
the king; "do his bidding, and carefully,
or you shall answer to me with your lives."
Accordingly a litter was formed with
branches of trees, and on this the body of
Herne, with the hart's head still bound to
it, wasconveryed by the keepers to Urs
wick's hut, situated in the wildest part of
Bagshot Heath. After placing the body
_ , upon a bed of dried fern, the keepers were
gingarggyilwo [l,2@ml to„ I about to depart when Osmond observed to
Would you toil for a mother thus,
With buoyant heart and free,
If fate should make a 'kitchen girl'
Perchance, proud one of thee?
Or would you, with a winning heart,
The meanest drudge become,
That you might give a sister dear
A better, happier home?
Oh lady fair ! give heed to these,
The humble ones of earth;
Ye little know how much a word
Of cheer to them is worth.
Oh pass them not so coldly by,
As if ye were above,
But give to each, as need requires,
Your sympathy and love.
And heed ye all this mighty truth,
Which ages past have told,
That generous hearts and willing hands
More precious are than gold.
HERNE THE HIINTRR.
About the middle of the reign of Richard
the Second, there was among the keepers,
.of the forest a young man named Herne.
Ho was expert beyond his fellows in all
matters of woodcraft, and consequently in
great favor with the king, who was himself
devoted to the chase. Whenever be stayed
at Windsor Castle, King Richard would
pass his time in hunting, hawking, or shoot
ing with the long-bow: and on all these
occasions the young keeper was his con
stant attendant. But iu proportion as he
grew in favor with the king, Herne was
`hated by his comrades, and they concerted
'together how to ruin him. All their ef
forts, however, were ineffectual, and rath
er tended to his advantage than injury.
One day, it chanced that the king hun
ted in the forest with his favorite, the Earl
of Oxford, when a great herd of deer was
unharbered, and a. tremendous chase ensu
ed, the hart leading his pursuers within a
few miles of Gungerford, whither the bor
ders of the forest then extended. All the
followers of the king; even the earl of Ox
ford, had by this time dropped off, and the
royal huntsman was only attended by Her
ne, who kept close behind him. At last,
the hart, driven to desperation, stood at
bay, and gored the king's steed as he came
up, in such a manner that it reared and
threw its rider. Another instant, and the
horns of the infuriated animal would have
been plunged into the body of the kiug, if
Herne had not flung himself between the
prostrated monarch and his assailant, and
received the stroke intended for him—
Though desperately wounded, the young
hunter contrived slightly to rise himself,
and plunged his knife into the hart's
throat while the king regained his feet.
Gazing with concern at his deliverer,
King Itiehard lemarele 1 what ho could do
1!;,,
.11e Uuitt
I BEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISINO Lion TO GUIDE lid, BUT TUE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATER.",
"Nothing, sire—nothing," replied Her
ne, with a groan. shall require notic
ing but a grave from you, for have re
ceived a wound that will speedily bring
me to it ?"
"Not so, I trust good fellow," replied
the king in a tone meant to be encourag
ed though his looks showed that his heart
misgave him, "my best leech shall attend
you.
"No skill will avail me now," replied
Herne, sadly. "A hurt from a hart's
horn bringeth to the bier."
"I hope the proverb will not ho justifi
ed in thy case," rejoined the king; "and
I promise thee, if thou dost recover, thou
shalt have the post of head keeper of the
forest, with twenty nobles a year for wa
ges. If, unhappily, thy forbodings are re
alized, I will give the same sum to be laid
out in masses for thy soul."
"I humbly thank your highness," re
plied the young wan; "and I accept the
latter offer, seeing it is tho only ono like
ly to profit me."
With this, ho put his horn to his lips
and winding the dead mot feebly, foil back
senseless. Much moved the king rode off
for succor; and blowing a lusty call on his
bugle, was presently joined by the Earl of
Oxford and some of his followers, among
whom were the keepers. They all hasten:
ed with the king to the spot, where the
body was lying stretched out beside that
of the hart.
"It is almost a pity his soul cannot pass
away thus," said the king, gazing compas
sionately at him; "for lie will only revive
to anguish and speedy death."
Your highness is right," replied the
chief keeper, Osmond Crooke, kneeling be
side him, and half drawini , his hunting
knife; it were better to put him out of his
misery;"
"What! slay the man who has just saved
my own life!" cried the king. "I will con
sent to no such infamous deed. I would
give a large reward to any who could cure
him."
As the words were uttered, a tall, dark
man, in a strange garb, and mounted on a
black, wild looking steed, whom no one
had hitherto observed, sprang to the
ground, and advanced towards the king.
“I take your offer, sire," said the per
sonage, in a harsh voice. "I will cure
him."
"Who art thou, fellow?" domanned King
Richard, doubtfully.
"I am a forester," replied the tall man;
"but I understand somewhat of chirurgory
and leech-craft."
"And wood-craft, too. I'll be sworn fel
low!" said the king. "Thou host or lam
mistaken, made free use with some of my
venison."
"Make good thy words, fellow"' replied
the king, after a pause; "and thou shall
not only be amply rewarded, bat shall
have a free pardon for any offence thou
may'st have committed!"
"Enough!" replied Urswick; and taking
a large,
keen edged hunting-knife from his
girdle, be cut off the head of the hart close
to the point whore the neck joins the skull,
and then laid it open from the extremity of
the under lip to the neck. "This must be
bound on the head of the wounded man,"
said he.
the forester.:
"Thou art Arnold Shoafe, who was out
lawed for doer stealing!"
- . -..
"It matters not whoml am since I Lave
the king's pardon," replied the other
laughing disdainfully. "3.1 y name is Phil
ip Urawiok!"
"Thou bast yot to earn thy pardon,"
said Osmond.
"Leave that to me," replied Urewiok,
"There is no more fear that thou wilt lose
thy poet as chief-keeper, which the king
has promised to Herne, than that I shall
fail."
"1% ould the deer had killed him out
right." growled Osmond; and the savage
wish was echoed by the uthei keepers.
"I see you all hate hini bitterly," said
Urswiek. "What will yo give me for re
venge?"
"Wo have little to give, save a fat buck
on occasions," replied Osmond; "and in all
likelihood, thou (mist help thyself to veni
son."
"Will you swear to grant the first re
quest I make to you, provided it shall bo
in your power," demanded Urswiok.
"Readily!" they replied.
"Enough" said Urewiok. "I must
keep faith with the king. Herne will re
cover but he will lose all his skill as an
archer--all his craft as a bunter."
"If thou ounet accomplish this, thou art
the fiend himself!" (tried Osmond, tremb
ling.
"Fiend or not," replied Urswiek, with a
triumphant laugh, "ye have mado a com
pact with um, and fulfil it! Now begone;
I must attend to the wounded man."
And the keepers full of secret misgiv
inp departed.
At the time promised, Herno attached
by Umiak, presented himself to the King.
He looked thin and pale, but all danger
was past. King Richard gave the forester
pine of nobloc, sad added a silver bu
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17, 1853.
gle to the gift. He then appointed Herne
his chief keeper, and ordered him to be
lodged in his castle. About a week after
this, Herne entirely regained his strength,
accompanied the King on a hunting expe
dition to the forest, and they had scarcely
entered it, when his horse started and
threw him. Such an accident bad never
happened to him, for ho was an excellent
horseman; and he rose greatly discomfitted,
while the keepers eyed each ocher askance.
Soon after this a buck was started, and
though Herne was bravely mounted on a
black steed, bestowed on him on account
of its swiftness by the king, he was the last
in the chase.
"Thou art out of practice," said the
King laughingly, as he came up.
"I know not what ails me," replied
Herne, gloomily.
"It cannot be thy steed's fault," said
the King; for he is usually as fleet as the
wind. But I will give thee an opportunity
of gaining credit in another way. Thou
meat yon buck. He cannot be seventy
yards off; and I have seen you hit the
mark at twice the distance. Bring him
down."
Herne raised hie crossbow, and let fly
the bolt; but it missed its mark and the
buck startled by the noise, dashed down
the brake uninjured. The King's brow
grew dark. Herne uttered an exclamation
of rage and despair, and the keepers con
gratulated eaoh other in secret.
Again Herne went forth to hunt with
the king and hie fuer° made him the
laughing stock of the party. Richard at
length dismissed him with these words :
, Itake repose for a week, then thou
shalt have a further trial. If thou dolt
not then succeed, I must perforee,dischargo
the from thy post."
Instead of returning to the castle, Herne
rode off wildly into the forest, where he
remained till eventide. He then returned
with ghastly looks and a strange appear
ance—having the links of a rusty chain
which he had plucked from a gibbet,
hanging upon his left arm, and the hart's
antlared skull fixed upon his head. His
whole demeanor showed that ho was crazed.
After committing great extravagancies,
he burst from all restraint, and disappear
ed among the trees of the forest. An
hour after this, a man found him suspended
by a rope from the branch of an oak tree,
(now known as HEZNE'S oAK.I Despair
had driven him to the dreadful deed. In
stead of cutting him down the man ran to
the castle, to relate what he had witnessed;
and the keepers,satisfied that their re
venge was now idly accomplished, hasten
ed to the tree. But the body was gone;
and what proclaimed it had been there,
the rope was hanging from the branch.—
Search was made in all parts, but without
effect.
One night a terrible thunder storm oe
curred, and during its continuance the oak
on which Herne had hanged himself was
blasted by the lightning.
Osmond was immediately reinstated in
his post as chief keeper; but he had little
time for rejoicing, for he found that the
same spell that had bound Herne, had fal
len upon him. His arrows went wide of
the mark, his hounds lost their scent, and
his falcons would not be lured back. Half
frantio, he feigned illness, and left Roger
Barefoot to take his place. But the same
ill luck bcfol Barefoot, and he returned in
awful plight, without a single head of
game. Four, others being equally unfor
tunate, the whole of them resolved to con
sult Urswick, who, they doubted not,eould
remove the spell. Accordingly they went
to Bagshot Heath, and related their story
to him. When they had done he said—
" The curse of Herne's blood is upon
you; and can only be removed in ono way.
As you return to the castle, go to the tree
on which be destroyed himself,and you may
learn how to act."
It was midnight, and pitchy dark, as
they came up to the fatal oak. All at
once a blue flame appeared, flitted thrice
around the tree, and then remained sta
tionary, its light falling upon a figure in a
wild garb,with a rusty chain hanging from
his left arm; and an antlered holm on its
head. They know it to be Herne, and in
stantly fell down before him, while a burst
of terrible laughter sounded on their oars.
Without heeding them further, the spirit
darted arouud the tree, rattling its chains
and uttering appalling . imprecations. It
then stopped, and turning to the terrified
beholders, bade them in a hollow voice,
bring hounds and horses, as for the chase,
on the following night, and vanished.—
They obeyed the spirit's costumed; when
Herne called to Osmond to bring him his
steed. In an instant the mysterious being
vaulted on his back and cried :
"To the forest—to the forest !"
With this ho dashed forward and the
whole party hounds and men, hurried af
ter him. They had ridden at a furious
peen for several miles over the Great Park
where Horns halted before a huge beech
tree, when he dismounted, and pronounced
oortain mystic words.
. .
A flash - of fire burst from the roots of
the treo, and the forrestor Urswiek, stood
before them.
"Welcome,Herne !" ho cried, “welcome
lord of the est ! And you, his emu-
rules, welcome too. The time has come
for the fulfilment of your promise to me.
I require you to form a band for Herne the
bunter, and to servo him as a leader."
Not daring to refuse a oompliance, the
keepers took a fearful oath to obey him.
As soon as it was uttered, Umiak vanish
ed, as lie came, in a flash of fire. Herne
now blew a blast on his horn, rode swiftly
on, and a stag being unharbored, the obese
commenced, Many a fat buck was hunted
and slaughtered that night, and, an hour
before daybreak, Herne commanded them
to lay four of the finest at the foot of the
scathed oak in the Home park. Night af
ter night they thus went forth, thinning
the herds of deer, and committing other
ravages and depredations.
At last the King . getting intelligence of
itgitiim -till.ritait,
these strange doings, was determined to
ascertain the truth of the statement. Ile
therefore ordered the keepers to attend
him one night in an expedition to the for
est. Much alarmed, Osmond endeavored,
by representing the risk ho would incur,
to dissuade him from the enterprise; but
ho would not be deterred, and the keepers
now gave themselves up for lost.
When the king and his atterftlanto oasts
to the oak, the figure of Herne, mounted
on a black steed, was discovered beneath
it. Deep fear fell on the beholders, but
chiefly upon the guilty keepers, at the
sight. The king, however, pressed for
ward and cried :
"Wily dost thou disturb the quietude
of the night, accursed spirit?"
"Because I desired vengeance !" repli
ed Herne. was brought to my present
woful condition by Osmond and his com
rades."
"But you died by your own hand, did
you not 1" demanded the king.
"Yes," replied Herne, but I was driven
to the deed by an infernal spell laid on me
by the malice of the wretches I have de
nounced. Hang them upon, this tree, and
I will trouble these woods no longer while
thou rcignest !" _ _
The king looked around at the keepers.
They all remained obdurate, except Bare
foot, who, falling on his knees, confessed
his guilt, and accused the others.
.4t. isenoughl." cried the king to Herne;
"they shall all suffer for their offence."
Ilion this a flash of fire enveloped the
spirit and horse, and he vanished.
The king kept his word. Osmond and
his comrades were all hanged upon the
scathed tree; nor was Herne seen again in
the forest while Richard sat upon the
throne; But ho reappeared with a new
band at the commencement of the rule of
Henry IV., and hunted the deer at night.
His band was destroyed but he defied all
attempts at capture.
GMitl3l§lkl - ICNT&
Satudiy Night.
We have rend nothing floppier or more
beautifully expressed, for a long time, says
the Ohio State Journal, than the following
from the local column of the Sandusky
Register. There is poetry and true geni
al feeling in it : •
Saturday night ! How the heart of the
weary man rejoices, as with his week's wa
ges in his pocket, he hies him home to ga
ther his little ones around him and draw
consolation from his hearth atone for the
many hard hours he had toiled to win his
pittance. Saturday night. how the poor
woman sighs for very relief Is she realizes
that again God has sent her time for rest;
and though her rewards have been small,
yet is she content to live on, for even nEn
heart builds up in the future, a home
whore 'tis always Saturday eve ! How
the careworn man of business relaxes his
brow and closing his shcp saunters delib
erately around to gather up a little gossip
ere he goes quickly home to take a good
rest ! How sCiftly the young man pro
nounces the word, for a bright-eyed mai
den is in waiting, and this Saturday night
shall be a blessed time for him—there will
be low words spoken by the garden gate,
and there will he pressure of hands—per
haps of lips—blessed Saturday night ! To
all, kind heaven has given a little heaven
which works in the heart to stir up the
gentle emotions, and Saturday night alone
seems the meet and fitting time for dream
ing 'gentle dreams. Blessed Saturday
night ! and we can but pray that through
life *e may bear with us the remembrance
of its many holy hours now gone into the
far Past —memories which every Saturday
eve but recalls like a benediction pronoun
ced by one loved and gone.
Almost Finiihed.
That young man you see with the soap
looks, cutting such a splashing, dashing fi
gure, with the cigar in his mouth, which
ever and anon he draws out to give free
vent to volly of oaths, or a broad-side of
spit, is pretty near finished. Taken alto
gether he is rather a remarkable peraonazo.
Ho has perhaps one idea above an oyster
in his bead, has one cigar in his mouth,
and one • cent in his pocket to buy
another, and ono hard-working, indus
trious soother, and father to work for
him—and ho puts them through on the
fast line, and keeps their noses to the
grindstone constantly—and all this that
he may loaf; and smoke cigars, and be pes
tiferous nuisance generally.
If parents desire to become the slave of
their children's follies—just let them pur
sue the course some of them are persuiug
--that is, let their boys run helter skelter,
when and where they please, give them
nothing to do, and learn them that they
were not made for servants—but to bo ser
ved. They will learn it very soon•—and
then the parents will have the balance of
their lives to learn the nature of the mis
take they made in training their children.
The slave who is raised to labor, and in
ured to toil, is not half so miserable as
those who are filled with the notion that
other people are made for their use, and
the world owes them a living without
working for it, when they discover that
the ungrateful world will not submit long
er to feed such a drone; and they are com
pelled to go to work—a thing for which
they fancy they were not intended, and for
which they think they are too good. The
slave who performs his daily task under
the lash is happy, compared with such an
one.
Go on, young man, smoke eigars and
swear, and loaf, awl drink whiskey, you
are pretty near finished, and when you aro
finished, you will be an interesting sight.
1 Every seed cannot but bring Perth its
own kind and no other. Note it well, for that
which is formed here is you, can only be found
hereafter; and as the tree falls (the state of
the iutem7.l life in you , re it 'rill lie,
remain.
A•Half Married Yankee.
During one of my rambles down Royal street
a few days ago, my attention was attracted by
a very beautiful young lady, dressed in the
height of fashion, coming np on the opposite
side. While her attention was directed to some
object in the street, she came in contact with a
line, tall, good looking Yankee, who stood about
six feet two - inches in his boots. In order to
give her the right of way, he stepped obliquely
to the right, to let her pass; in doing so, her
left foot caught that of his, and threw her down
in the gutter, where the mud and water was
about six incites deep.
The six footer then set about relieving the
young lady from the unfortunate predicament
in wide!, she was placed. After rolling her out
of the gutter, he raised her upon her feet, when
he ventured to say to her, "My dear Miss have
you injured yourself by the fall you had ?" to
which site replied, with a half smile, "no sir."
fie then took out his white pocket handkerchief,
with which he endeavored to wipe off some of
the mud and water from her dress and pretty
face and hands.
When the usual apologies had been made on
both sides for the present mishap, the Yankee
picked up her parasol, and asmall bundle which
had partially been broken open by the fall, con.
tabling sundry articles, and laid them down on
the side-walk, after which ho expressed a wish
to get a carriage and to see her home to her
parents, as she might have a long distance to
go.
The, lady stated to him that she lived in Cus
tom-house near Rampart street, and would ac.
cept of his kind offer. The carriage was sent
for, and when it arrived the young lady was
placed in it, and the Yankee, after having got
her consent, took a seat by her side, to see her
home. During the ride to her residence, he in
quired of her if she had a father and mother.
She replied that she had a mother only. He
next asked her if she had any brothers and BIS.
tens. She replied that she was not aware of it
if she had, and that her father was very rich
when he came to this city about ten years ago.
Says the Yankee, "Might I ask you, Miss,
how rich was your father at the time of his
death?"
"He has been dend about six months, and
just before•he died, he was saying to my moth
er, he was worth in each 870,000.
Shee - here interrupt&l the conversation by in
forming hint that she was at home. The driver
was requested to dismount from his seat, and
ring the bell. The summons brought the ser
vant to the door, when the fine Yankee gallant
gets out of the carriage, and as6ist the lady into
the house, who invites him to enter. He re.
plies to her that. she must excuse him then as
he bad some very urgent busineis to transact
at that hour, and by permission, would return
again in the evening—after which, for the first
time; he inquired if.he should have the pleasure
of knowing by what name he could address her.
Says she, with a smile, "My name is Maria
." He then takes leave of her with a
gentle squeeze of the fair one's hand, and makes
light steps to his office in Camp street, thinking
over the good and bad fortune that he had met
with in the last two hours, and no doubt cogi.
toting to himself that the one would more than
balance the other, as $50,000 was not to be
picked out of the gutter every day, as well as a
lovely young girl of seventeen, and to all op.
pcaranoe having all the accomplishments of a
young lady of that age.
While pondering over the affairs of the day,
night set in, and the Yankee prepares himself
to pay the evening visit, according to promise.
He closes his office, wends his way to his un-•
fortunate fair one's residence—intending, at
the same time, should a fair chance offer, to
pop the question.
On arriving, at the lovely one's dwelling, he
rang the bell, the servant came to the door,
when the Yankee inquired if Miss Maria was at
home. He was answered in the affirmative,and
"Will you walk in sir ?•• He was ushered into
the parlor, and asked to beseated fora few mo
ments, while she could call her young mistress
who was up stairs. After a few moments had
elapsed, the lovely Maria made her appearance
down stairs. When the usual salutations had
been gone through with, seats were taken upon
the sofa.
Conversation ensued on the mishaps of the
day, and then a long discussion on travelling,
balls and courting.
While on the last subject, the Yankee ob
served to her, that it put him very much in
mind of getting married himself, for ho had
been thinking over the matter a long time to
do so; says he to Maria, have fallen quite in
love with you at first sight, and will marry you
if you will give your consent to do so; what do
yon say my lovely one?"
The question, being rather unexpected.
brought her to a blush; when a little composed,
she turns to him and says, "aho cannot say
anything without first getting the consent of
her ma." Ho then enquired, "Where is your
ma?"
"She is up stairs not being very well."
"Cannot she come down this evening?" says
the Yankee; "I had some idea of leaving the
city to-morrow, and will be absent for some
time, and I would like to hear your answer be
fore I go."
A thought struck Maria that she had better
strike while the iron was hot, and therefore
gave her consent to marry hint and get her
ma's afterwards.
So the bargain was concluded and sealed by
a few soft kisses; "Now," said he, "I wouldlike
to get married in the shortest. time, Maria.—
When would it suit you best 7'
She said, "to-morrow evening."
All was agreed to. When the time arrived,
the cakes, wine, priest, and all things requisite
for the occasion ready; and now the hour and
the Yankee arrived, and all was in waiting fur
the beautiful Marin, the bride who was up stairs
with her ma, arranging her toilet. She is soon
ready. and comes drawn into t 1,4 parlor and
ts'tr. 'r•:e rat .tlefq - kit her 14E, 1,4 Ow I,
° ---(WEBSTEIt.
to be. Says the Yankee to Maria, "are you
ready?" Says she, "I am as soon as my ma
comes down stairs." The priest somewhat in
a hurry, asks the couple who are about to be
married to "Amid up,"
"Says the priest, "do you take this young la
dy for your-" here the ceremony was in-
terrupted by the entry of Miss Maria's ma by a
door in the room, when the lovely Maria says
to her half married Ycnkee, "this is my ma."
"Says tho Yankee, "your what!" his eyes
bigger round than blue edged saucers. "Your!
your ma! Col. Braggy grape shot! Taram
tales and scorpions! Thunder and California
gold and hank defaulters I she is a negro ma I
true as preaclin I"
At this moment the priest inquired if he
should proceed to finish the marriage memo
ny. Says the Yankee "finish what I"
"Why, the marriage of you and Miss
Maria."
"No!" says the Yankee; "I wouldn't surren
der this night for all the gold in Christendom.
if I could get it. A negro mother•in•law sa
black as the ace of spades, weighing 240 pounds
—570,000. Gee, whew I give me my hat!"
and he took it and eloped to parts unknown.—
'Spose he's gone over the Lake a few weeks,
amongst the fashionable's.
P. S. I have no doubt if the young Yankee
would come back, and call upon the beautiful
young lady again, and be a little discreet, and
not be in such a hurry to pop the question, he
might offer his hand a second time, and find
out his intended mother•in•law is not so black
as she might be; the truth is ate was black for
that particular occasion; for the purpose of
finding out if his love for her daughter was so
ardent as he pretended.—N. 0. Crescent.
I Must Think of God.
A noted infidel of Germany, who passed his
life in revelry, wine and excess, upon coming
to the dark river of death, raised his eyes des-
pairingly to heaven exclaiming, "I must then
think of God also." His whole life lied been
passed without a serious, earnest thought of his
Heavenly Father. Worldly gaiety had absorb•
ed his attention, and occupied his time :—He
had supposed it was easy always to forget and
neglect God. But when death came, a new
view of life, of his own immortal life, broke up
on him. Now he must think of God.—There
was no escaping from it. No worldly compa
ny, no cup of indulgence, no scenes of mirth,
could hide him from his presence. And what
a thought to a dying worldling! Breaking in
with its iron necessity, in all its awful terrors,
upon a soul which has ever been a stranger to
it. How must it take possession of the whole
being, causing the deepest agony of spirit.
Worldly man! careless man! man of business
or pleasure I remember you ?ern think of God!
There is no avoiding it. The only choice per.
;flitted to you is, WHEN will you think of Him 1
Will you think of him NOW while the Saviour
offers mercy, while He invites you to immortal
blessedness and glory, and you have health and
strength to accept His offers; or will you wait
till the last hour of death, when hope, though
it lingers with a dying rndience, and it is al
most hopeless; or till eternity has sealed your
everlasting doom ? When, 0 worldly man I
will you think of God? You must think of Him.
It is a part of your life to think of Him, for as
His creature, He has surrounded you with Him.
self, and made Himself indispensable to your
highest life. The best time. be assured, the
very best time, is this very moment as your eyes
glance on the words. Think of Him nou•.—N.
Y. Evangelist.
A Scene in a Beer Shop
An enterprising Dutchman who kept a por
ter house in New York, gave the following ac
count at a police office,of an assault on his prem.
lees j speaking of the person who commenced
the row, he said:
"He corned in, and asked me to sell him some
beer; I told him he had more as would do him
gent—he called me a liar and a tam Dutch hog
and pegin to proke two of my tumplere, yen me
and Hans Speigler, and my vife and dorter Pet•
so, and all de odder men beeples spout my
blare, pegins to put him out—and presently he,
coom pack mit more shunt like him, and say—
I will fix dis peer concern and preak him up,
and de shentlemens as wants to get trunk may
go to shumveres elsh, and not on this tans dutch
pisen. Den dey kick Hans Speigler pehind his
pack, and kissed my doctor Petsy pefore her
face, except de stone butcher, spilt my vife and
me and toddor parcels of peer all over de celler.
Hans run out der door called for catch house,
and my vife called for murder like de. tile!, but
pefore de catch house come, der tam rowdies
proko us all to pieces, me and my vife and dor.
ter Petsy and Hans, and ter tam potties and
tumblers and blutes and dishes, all smashed up
togedder."
A Word to Little Boys.
Who is respected ? It is the boy who con
ducts himself well I Who is honest, diligent,
and obedient in all things. It is the boy who
is making an effort continually to respect his
father, and to obey him in whatever he may di
rect to be done. It is the boy who is kind to
other little boys, who respect age, and who nev.
01 gets into difficulties and quarrels with his
companions. It is the boy who leaves no effort
untried to improve himself in knowledge and
wisdom every day ; who is Nosy and active in en
deavoring to dogood acts toward others. Show
me a boy who obeys his parent, who is diligent,
who has respect for age, who always has a friend
ly disposition, and who applies himself diligent
ly to get wisdom, and to do good towards others,
and if ho is not respected and beloved by every
body, then there is no such thing as truth in the
world. Remember this little boys; and-you will
be respected by others, and you will grow up
and become useful men.
~~-.
VS. The Lord is more or less present : in
every human soul ; and from his dictates to
the mind, the righteous speak. lie is no
;Thor, ;n pr:- en; itt in t?ls mind of a jrod
ma,,
NO. 33.
Speculative Philosophy.
If all mankind could wink at the same mo
ment, and the mascular effort exerted could be
brought to bear on one point. it would be eta.
cient to jostle the earth out of its orbit.
If all the oaths uttered in the United !fates
were required to he printed it would employ all
the presses in the country, day and night,
to perform the labor ; and if a tax were levied
on them of one cent each, one year's reveikne
would be sufficient to transport all the li2SiiB,
lay a double track railroad to the Pacific, and
par the public debts of every state in the Union.%
film cigars consumed throughout the country,
in one year, would make a worm fence six feet
high ardund the Dtstrict of Columbia;' and the
air expelled in smoking them would drive the
Japan squadron around the glisbe, with enough
over to do the wind work of all the patent me:
dicncs.
If all the ejected tobacco quids were from
this time ao be dropped on the dome of the cap
ital at Washington,the hail of Egypt would bear
no comparison to the pelting storm, and that
edifice would be buried deeper than Nineveh,
before the next meeting of Congress.
No soldier in any of Bonaparte 's forced mar
ches ever took as many steps in agiven time,
as a healthy child, four years old, does in the
same time every day.
If all the lies told during the last Preside!,
tial campaign, could be boiled together, they
would make soap enough to west the face of
nature.—Chatiestown (I'll.) Courier.
ZARElailgil,7@filail4
Right Education of Hoies:
That Horses may he educated will not ap
pear strange to those who have closely obser
ved the intelligence often manifested by that
noble animal. The present remarks are de
signed to give souse information in relation to
the rearing and treatment of young horses, not
so much, however, with reference to their foott
and drink, as to their quietness and docility.
That there is a difference in the temper end
disposition of different horses, is not denied; but
at the same time it is averred that where a
horse is so vicious or unmanageable ns to ren
der him unsafe in the harness, it is chargeable
in almost every instance to the treatment he
has formerly received.
The training of colts should commence when
they are about three months old, so as to hare
them become familiar with the family before
they are taken from the dame. Some colts are
inclined to use their heels rather too freely; in
such cases great care is necessary. They
should be approached carefully, and caressed
and curried, and they will soon Submit to hare
their feet taken up and handled without resis
tance; and this will aid in quieting them while
being shod, as the horse seldom forgets what
he has once learned.
A conimon method of weaning colts is to take
them to some hack let, and plan.. • haawy
yoke or "poke" on the neck, which they are
compelled to wear for several weeks until their
spirits are completely broken, they become
more or less "ewe-necked," from which defect
they rarely wholly recover. Another mean&
but little lees objectionable, is to shut them in
the stable; but this does not learn them to re•
sped a fence in the least. Now the better way
and the one that the writer has practised with
uniform success, is the following: Prepare •
yard, (if it contains an acre or more, so much
the better,) have a strong high fence, so high
that the colt cannot possibly leap over it—from
six to seven feet will be sufficient—and let the
materials of which the fence is composed be
the same al those enclosing the field-where the
colt is in future to be kept—either wall, boards,
or rails, as the case may be—and place him
there without attaching any artificial appen
dage whatever, and let him understand that it
is the fence alone that prevents his escape.—
He should be generously fed, and also have
a shed at which he can retire at pleasure, Af-
ter he has been subdued in this way, he may
be turned into any field having a fence of the
same kind, and of ordinary height, and he will
not attempt to break over. Even the moat
spirited horse brought up in this way cannot be
induced to leap a fence four and a half feet
high.
The practicable benefits of the above pland
are great, In passing through the country one.
is pained to see so many noble looking homes
shackled and hampered in every conceivable
way that ingenunity can invent, much to their
detriment inputting on flesh to say nothing of
the perplexity and trouble to.the owner in ad.
jesting the trappings every time the beast is
turned out or taken up, and all for the want of
a little care dul l ing the first year,—for it is emi•
nently true in this ease that an ounce of pre
vention is worth a pound of cure.
There are many horses not "true" or reliable,.
in the harness, having the habit to stop or balk,
especially at the foot of a hill; this is caused by .
having been at some time overloaded, and per.
haps unmercifully beaten; Neighbor A has a
beautiful span of bays three years old, that ho
has been breaking in the past winter; ho wish.
cv to haul some rails from the farther side of
the farm, and as the colts have become tolera
bly "handy," he puts on nearly a full load
which they manage very well until they come
to a "hard spot." and there they stop. The
driver looks at the load, then looks at the hor
ses: they are nearly as large as the old team,
—he knows they can draw it, and is determin
ed they, shall. So he commenced beating and
pounding the poor animals until he is nearly
worried out. when he throws elf his load and
goes home with loss of time and temper, and
the horses damaged to the amount of twen
ty dollars each.
Now it is quite probable that the horses had
strength enough to draw the load in question;
hut they had not sufficient practice; they did nos
know how to apply their strength, end - did hot
work in concert. They should have been
made to draw only light loads for a long thine,
and then by increasing the weight gra:
1,18 their strength and experience in,
crense, they caule made to do all the work
they are capable of doing, and will always
work kindly, and may be depended on under
all eircuteitane., v.'', o r, 0,1