.i 't tfuntin,gb.lll .7Joittnitit
VOL. 18.
TERMS
The "lllncrtaat,ort JOURNAL" 19 published at
Ole following rates :
_ _
If paid hi advance $1,50
If paid within six months after the time of
subscribing 1,75
If paid at the end of the year 2,00
...
And two dollars and fifty cents if not paid till
nfter the expiration of the year. No subscription
Will be taken for a less period than six months,
and aver will be discontinued, except at the
the Editor, until all arminges are paid.
s living in distant counties,or in other
I be required to pay invariably in
- 111rThe abore terms will be rigidly adhered
to in all eases.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One square of 16 lines or leas
For 1 insertion $0,50, For I month, $1,25
2 <, 0,75, " 3 " 2,75
2 , 3 " 1,00, c. 6 " 5.00
PROERSSIOEAL CARDS, not exceeding 10 lines,
and not changed during the year $4,00
CAM) and JOURNAL in advance 5 ,00
BUSINESS CARDS of the same length, not
changed
emu) and JOURNAL, in advance
...
Cr Short transient advertisements will be lid
miticd into our editorial columns at treble the
usual rates.
Ou longer advertisements, whether yearly or
transient, a reasonable deduction will be made
fiir prompt payment.
P 024821.
AUTUMN.
BY CI7AULES CIIALLEN.
Blest season thou art here again to fill
Our hearts with gladness from thy bounteous
store,
A deep murmur comes now from the rill,
And from the cataract a louder roar.
The flowers have died, save here and there are
seen
A transient bloom,but without sweetness born;
There lingers yet the pride of summer-green,
Beside the streams, now of their lillies shorn.
The eddying winds, which through the forests
sweep,
Scatter the yellow leaves upon the ground ;
And lichens slowly on the rocks still creep,
Though perished from the becchen•tree and
mound.
The glossy fruit is seen on hush and brake,
And the red berries on the haw-tree gleams,
And the tall forests, with the tempests shake
Their fruits and foliage near the murmuring
streams.
Season of sadnesS and of grief thou art,
To those who weep their early flow'rets dead;
Look up, thou mourned—hence let us depart !
These brief memorials fill our hearts with
dread.
Yet once again, as Eden's earliest bloom,
The flowers their richest glories shall display,
And from the ashes of the silent tomb
Shall grow and flourish in immortal (lay.
WEILT,CtV 6.l7@aa.
From the Literary Companion.
Ben Bolt and Sweet Alice.
BY AMANDA lIINNIE DOVILABS.
" Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice,Ben Bolt,
Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brows—
Who blushed With delight when you gave her a
And trembled with foor at your frown ?
In the old church-yard in tho valley, Ben Bolt,
In a corner seeltided and lone,
They have fitted a slab of granite so grey,
And sweet Alice lies under the stone!'
E Dunn English.
Don't you remember? Arc those three magic
words a key wherewith we may unlock the
flood-gates of the heart, and send the sweet
waters of the past over the plains and down the
hills of that fair land, known in our hearts' ex
perience as by-gone? Even so. There rises
before us visions of a time when the bright,
deep eyes of the young Spring gazed shyly at
us from beneath the ermined simile of Winter
—when the blue violets stole their first tint from
the bluer sky above ; whets the cowslips of sun
ny May, and the golden hearted butter-cups
first jeweled the sterner blades of grass; and
the hawthorn grew white with its blossoms ;
when we roamed the woods the whole of that
long, warm, lovable June holiday, weaving gar
lands and listening to the concert of birds in
that dark, misleto-wreathed oaken forest. There
was one In years agorae that prayed—" Lord
keep my memory green," and the clinging ten
drils of our hearts go eVer back yearningly to
this prayer.
But green and fresh as the poet's prayer,
hail the heart of Bess Bolt been kept—from his
early boyhood to the hour he sat by his old
friend, and listened to the song of by-gone days.
Not 'through a glass, darkly,' did he review
those scenes of the past, but it was the going
back of the boy-heart to other hearts of child
hood.
There was the little old red school-house,
with its dusty windows end desk that had been
nicked ninny a time trying pen-knives; its tall
stern-looking teacher, whose heavy voice cans•
cc' the young ones to tremble; its rows of boys
and girls with their heads bent attentively
downward to their books and slates. The wild
winter wind sang and whistled without, and
thought some few childish hearts tried to find
words for its mournful notes, they were too
young and happy to know that it carried deso
lation and heart-ache in its wail; yet did they
learn it in after days.
Then there came a few light, round snow
balls, so tiny that it must have been the sport
of the storm sprites in the eldrich revels,—
changing by and by to feathery flakes, that
danced about ever so gaily. How the ehildreas'
eyes grew bright as they looked at one another,
and thought of the merry ride down the hill,
and the snow balling that would make the
play-ground ring agent! The last lemons were
mid, books and slates put aside, and in the
place of the silence, reigned gay, glad voices.
Kate Ashley shook back her jetty ringlets, and
laughed through her sparkling eyes, us she
gave Jamie Marvin that bit of curl he had
teased for so long, because she knew Jamie
had the prettiest sled in the whole school. Alt,
a bit of a coquette was that same gleeful, romp
ing Kate; and there was Sophia Dale, looking
as demure as a kitten walking from a pan of
new milk, and as playful as a kitten too, was
she, in spite of her gullet looks; and the stately
Elizabeth—Queen Bess they called her, and T
question if England's queen had a haughtier
carriage; but apart from those who were eager
ly looking for friends to take them home, stood
Alice May—sweet Alice. Very beautiful and
lovable was she, with her winsome, childish,
face, blue eyes, and soft brown curls. She was
AO delicate and fragile, you might almost fancy
her a little mow child, or a lost titiry babe.
Nearly all the children had departed, amid
the joyful shouts, and jingle of hells, but the
'meet little child stood alone, until a rich, tiny.
ish vtarn Atartlpi her by saying—'No one goes
).atr way, Alice, do titer?'
I HER NO STAR ABM TIM HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WIIIO PARTY OP THE UNITED STATES."- [WEBSTER
'No, I guess not, Ben,' she replied, in her
fine, bird like tones, _ _
'Well, the snow is too deep for you to walk,
I guess I will carry you home.'
'O, no, I am too heavy to he carried so far,'
and she laughed low and sweetly.
'Heavy! no you're just like thistledown, or
snowflake, Ally; I could carry you to England
and back again, without being at all fatigued,'
and he tossed the little girl in his arms.
'No. no, let me go; the boys will laugh at
yon, Ben,' and she struggled.
'What do I care? they may laugh at Ben
Bolt as much as they like,' and the brave boy
drew himself up proudly, and pushed the ches
nut curls from his broad, fair forehead; 'but I
did not mean to frighten you, Alice,' he contin
ued, as he saw how the little girl trembled.
So she put on her bonnet and cloak, and Ben
took her in his arms as if she had been a bird,
while the little tiny thing nestled down on his
shoulder, as he went stumbling through the
snow, saving; gay, pleasant things, that made
the shy little girl lough; and when, at lengths,
he opened her mother's cottage door, he stood
her on the floor, saying—'There 1 Mrs. May, I
brought Alice home, lest she should get buried
in the snow bank ; she's such a weeny little
thing;' and before Mrs. May could thank him,
he was out of sight.
What a brave, glorious snowstorm it was
though! The boys built a great snow house,
dipping the chunks of snow in the water to har
den them, so they might last longer; and they
rolled large snow balls for a pyramid, till it was
larger than the school home. They worked
bravely, but the brightest fare and pleasantest
voice among them was Ben Bolt's. Such rides
as they had down the hill l and though the lar
ger boys and girls said Alice May was too little
and cowardly to join them, because she felt
fearful sometimes, yet Ben Bolt had her in his
arms, and away they went, merrily as any of
the rest.
But the winter began to wane, and now and
then n soft, mild day would come that lessened
the pyramid and snow house materially. 'Such
n pity,' they said, and wished Winter would
last always ; but there was one little wren-like
voice that prayed for violets and blue birds.
The pyramid tumbled down, the snow house
grew thinner, and the boys jested about its be
ing on the decline, till one day it disappeared
—faded away like so many of their childish
hopes.
The glad Spring came with its larks and dai
sies, and one delightful day the children went
a Jaying. Kate Ashley was queen, and
brilliant queen she was too; but Ben Bolt gath
ered white violets, and braided them in the soft
curls of Alice, and told her she was sweeter,
dearer, than a thousand May Queens like Kate.
Child as she was, his words made the sunshine
brighter, and lent enchantment to the atmos
phere of her existence.
Then the long dune days came, encircling
the green earth with a eoronal of roses, and
making it redolent with perfume; and in a
warm noontide hour the children strolled to the
foot of the hill, and clustering together, told
over their childish hopes of the future. Some
were lured by ambition; some dreamed of qui
et country repose ; some of gay city life; but
there seas ono whose eye kindled and face
flushed with enthusiasm, as he spoke of the
sparkling blue waters, and the bravo ships that
breasted them so gallantly.
Ben Bolt was going to sea. Captain Shirley,
a generous, whole-souled being as ever trod the
deck, was to take him under his protection for
the next five years. There were exclamations
of surprise and sorrow from the children; old
haunts were visited and revisited; they sat
down in the shade of the sycamore, and listen.
ed to the musical murmur of the brook, and
the dreamy hum of 'Appleton's mill;' exchang
ed keepsakes, and promised always to remem
ber the merry, brave-hearted boy, whose home
would be the wild blue
Alice May seldom joined them. She was so
delicate and timid, and the thought of Ben's
departure filled her eyes with tears, so she
would steal away alone, fearing of the ridicule
of her hardier companions.
But one night Ben came to Mr. May's cot
tage, to bid them 'good-by.' Alice stood by the
window watching the stars, wondering what
made them so dint—never thinking of the tears
that dimmed her eyes, as Ben tohd over his
hopes so joyfully. She could not part with him
THERE, so she walked through the little door
yard, and she stood beside the gate, looking like
a golden-crowned angel in the yellow moon
light; and then he told her over again how
large she would be on his return, that he would
not dare to call her his little Alice then; as he
looked back lingeringly, she laid a soft brown
curl in his hand, saying—'l have kept it for
you this long, long time, Ben; ever since the
day you brought me home through the snow—
do you remember?'
He sin remember, and with one passionate
burst of grief, he pressed the little girl to his
bosom, and the brave-hearted boy sobbed the
farewell he could find no words for.
But five years are not always a lifetime.—
True, it was such to the quiet, thoughtful Char-
lie Allen, whose dark eyes had stolen brillian
cy from his book; and the laughing little Bel
Archer—both wore laid to sleep in the old
church-yard, where the night stars shone on
the graves. Others went out to seek a fortune
in the gay world, and some grew into minis
tare men and women by their own sweet fire-
sides; but Alice May seemed still a child.—
Yet she was taller, and her slight form more
gracefully developed; but there was the same
angel looking through her eyes as had watch
ed there in the olden days. She staid at home
now, to assist her mother in sewing—their
chief support; but she was the same shy, sweet
Alice that Ben Bolt had carried through the
snow.
Ben Bolt had come back. How strange that
five years should have passed so quickly, and
stranger still that this tall handsome sailor,
whose voice was so full and rich, should be
Ben Bolt. Kate Ashley was not thinking of
the sweet Sabbath rest, as the chime of the
church bell floated through the village; there
she stood before her mirror, arranging her
shining curls, and fastening her dainty bonnet,
with its white ribbons and drooping blue-bells,
thinking if she could not fascinate Ben with
her sparkling eyes—it would be delightful to
have his whole attention during his stay.
He thought she did look very beautiful, as
he sat, before serviceflooking on the olden fa
ces—but there was a fairer ono than hers he
fancied, as he saw the sweet fare of Alice May,
with the half-closed eyes, and long golden.
edged lashes, shadowing the pale cheek. He
carried in his bosom a curl like the one nest
ling so softly by her temple, and it was a talis
man, keeping him from the enchantment of
other eyes.
When the services was closed, Ben was
thronged about by old familiar faces—they had
so much to say, so many things to speak of,
so much joy to express at his return, that it
well nigh bewildered him. It was very pleas
ant to he so warmly welcomed by old friends,
delightful to chat of by-genes; and it was in
deed a sahbath of joy to Ben Bolt.
Sweet Alice! Al), how long and weary the
time had been to her. Sometimes her heart
died within her as she thought of the broad
ocean; hut when she looked soshyly at Ben
that morn, and saw how hand:tem; he had
4rown, a heart.sickuels come over her, and the
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1853.
sunshine fell dimly on tho gram at her feet.—
She knew she had hidden away in the depths of
her pure heart, a wild earthly love, awl she
strove to put it from her, for would he think of
her now? So it was no wonder she should slip
her »lender hand in her mother's and steal
quietly from the joyous throng.
It was Sabbath eve—one of those balmy,
moonlight evenings of the young Summer; Mrs.
May had gone to see a nick neighbor, and Alice
sat by the window with the Bible open, and
her slender whitc•fingers pointed to the words,
falling so musically from her lips—
" And there shall be no night there; and they
need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the
Lord God giveth them light, and they shall
reign for ever and ever."
She looked trembling upward in the moon-
light, for close beside her knelt the manly form
of Ben Bolt. There was told a sweet story of
love and hope, not the less sweet for being the
language of every human heart, and tiny hands
of Alice were folded in his, as she said very
low and sweetly—'lf I live, Ben, when five
years more hare passed, and you return a sec
ond time—'
She did not finish it—it was never finished.
So they plighted their troth, that holy Sab
bath evening, and the buoyant heart of Ben,
in its gushing sunniness, pictured radiant
hopes for the future. Ho was young and full
of vitality—Every pulse of his heart was beat
ing gladly, and the coming five years were
more precious to him than the past.
'lf we both live, Ben, God will have es in
his holy keeping, she said in answer to his par
ting words; but as he pressed her convulsively
to his beating heart, he replied—
, .
'God will be merciful to us who love so dear
ly, Alice, darling.'
She knew, but she knew also that God did
not always answer the prayer falling from the
hopeful lips. Sweet Alice l Adown the future
she looked tremblingly, and as she saw the fra
gile form and spirit.' face, with white lillies
braided in the soft brown hair, her eyes grew
dim with tears, for she knew not if it a bridal
or a burial, for close beside the altar was the
grave-yard.
They were not wanting who wondered at
Ben Bolt's choice, and thought it strange that
lie should take Alice May in preference to the
fairest and wealthiest. Some there were who
held their heads lofty when they passed her,
but her heart was away on the blue waters and
she heeded it not.
How she watched the days in their passsing.
She noted how the Summer waned—how the
fields of wavinggrain grew
. golden in the sun
light--she heard the glad voice of the reapers;
and the leaves were falling, the merry children
went nut-gathering in the woods,
then the
noiseless snow fell, and lay on the hill side as
in the olden days, until the genial spring tide
melted away, and the violets and harebells dot
ted the fields—so passed a year.
She was growing fairer and snore beautiful
—too brilliant for any thing earthly. Once
she knelt at the altar in the little church and
listened to the words uniting her with the Sa.
viour's redeemed on earth, but it was an out
ward form, for her heart has been long in the
keeping of angels. Again she watched the
waning of the summer days, and when the soft
winds swept over the silvery rye fields, she
thought of the ocean afar, with its broad waves.
All through the Winter days she grew more
spiritual in her beauty, and the slender white
hands were often folded on her breast as she
prayed for those who would soon be left deso
late; for she knew she wasdylng.
It did not start her; she felt long ago, that the
fair green earth would hold pulseless her heart,
ere it had left the cloister of girlhood. Life
was sweet and beautiful, yet in her sinlessness,
death had no agony, save her sorrow for those
left in loneliness. It was only a very little way
to the land of rest, and her feet had never
grown weary; yet she longed to look once
more upon the flowers, and have them braided
in her hair; and so she lingered till the voice of
Spring was heard on the bill-tops.
Ono morning when viewless hands were
gathered back the misty curtains of the night,
and the stars grew dim in the early morn,
sweet Alice steed on the threshold of Paradise,
and the golden gates were opened to the fair,
meek girl. There trembled on her lips a pray
er and blessing for Ben Bolt, and her mother,
giving radiance to the fair, dead face; and they
braided Spring flowers in her wavy brown
hair.
The church bell chimed softly to the few
years earth had claimed the stainless soul of
Alice May, as they brought the coffin in the
little old church. how beautiful she looked
in her white burial robe; too fair and sweet for
death; too holy, had there not been a resurrec
tion beyond. Close beside her stood the
friends of her girlhood, gazing on the young
face, as if they would fain call her back to life,
and its sweet love. So they laid sweet Alice
to sleep in the old church-yard, and those who
had looked coldly on her, took to their sorrow
ing hearts a sweet memory of the early dead.
There was agony too deep for utterance,
when the strong, ardent-hearted man; whose
guiding star had been the love of that sweet
girl, came back to find the cottage home de
solate, and Alice sleeping beneath a gray stone
in the churchyard.
But God and Hine are merciful, and as years
passed away, he came to think of her as gar
landed in the golden fruitage of the Eden-land.
This was the memory that his friend sang of,
as they sat in the summer twilight, years after
ward, and talked of the faces that had glim
mered and faded in their early pathway; how,
of all the glad hearts childhood had clustered
together,
only they two were left. Some slept
in the tremulous ocean; some in the jungle
depths; others iu the forest shade, and beneath
the waving prarin grass. Some there were
who slept peacefully in the green old church
yard, and among the fairest and best was
"sweet Alice." Ah, he could never have for
gotten that.
He had heard from the lips of that desolate
mother, ere she went to sleep beside her dar
ling, bow she had passed calmly away in her
saint like beauty; leaving messages that a fond,
yearning heart only could dictate. Down in
his heart, deeper than any other earthly thing,
had he lain them; cherished their beauty and
greenness. Many a time had the spirit form of
sweet Alice risen before his eyes, in all the
beauty of that far-off land ho saw but so dimly,
and he knew when the thing we call life had
merged into immortallity, he should meet her
again.
Years afterward, they laid Ben Bolt to sleep
by the side of sweet Alice.
Newark, N. J, 1853.
A DOUBTFUL COANCR.—When Dr. Frank
lin's mother-in-law discovered that the young
man had a hankering, for her daughter, the
good old lady said she did not know so well
about giving her daughter to a printer; there
were already two printing offices in the United
Staten, end she was not certain the country
would support them. It was plain young
Franklin would depend for support on the pro
fits of a third, and this was rather a doubtful
chance. If such an object was urged to .a
would.be mml:flaw when there were but two
printing Ares in the United States, how can
a printer hope to get a wire now, when the
pre.leut census shows the number to be 1567:
GEMTtaIIbagEOMMG
A Hog in a Course of Sprouts.
The NQW York Spirit of the Tams isovo be.
lieve,responsible for the following capital sketch.
"Falconbridge," its author, has evidently seen
the 'critters' put through
"Conscience sakes! but haint they got a lot
of pork here ?" said a looker-on in Quincy
market t'other day.
"Pork?" echoes a decidedly Green Mountain
biped, at the elbow of the first speaker.
"Yes. I vow it's quite astonisliing how much
pork is sold here, and et up by somebody,"
continued the old gent.
41t up," says the other, whose physical strue.
turn somewhat resembled a fat lath, and whose
general contour made it self evidence that he
was not given to frivolity, jauntily fitting coats
and breeches, of perfumed and fixed barbeval
ito extravagance.
"Et up?" he thoughtfully and earnestly re
peated, as his hands rested in the cavity of his
trousers pockets, and hisoyes rested on the first
speaker.
"You wern't never in Cincinnatty, I guess?"
"No I never was," replied the old gent.
"Never was) "Well, I cal'clated not. Nev
er been in a pork house.
"No;" said the old gent, "Is this anything
like a pork house?"
"Pork house?" says Yankee. "Well, reckon
not—don't begin—t'aint nothin' like—not a
speck in a puddle to a pork house—a Cincim
may pork house I"
"I've learn that they carry on the pork husi.
neon pooty stiff out there," says the old gentle
man.
--- i 4 Pooty stiff?" Good gravy, but don't they?
'Pears to me I know yeou somewhere? says
Yankee.
"You might,' cautiously answered the old
gent.
" "faint Squire Smith, of Maoun•Peeller 't"
"My name's Johnson, sir."
"Johnson I Oh, in the tin business 7"
"On, no, I'm not in business at all, sir," was
the reply.
"No ! Olt I" thoughtfully echoes the Yan
kee. "Wall no matter. I thought p'raps yowl
were from up aour way. I'm from near Maoun•
Peelier, State of Vermont.
"Al,, indeed!"
"Yea-a•s."
"Fine country, I'm told," say the old gent.
"Yea-a-s,'lin," was the response of the Yan
kee, who seemed to be revolving something in
his own mind.
"Raise a great deal of wool—fine sheep
country ?"
"'TIN great on sheep. But sheep nint noth
in' to the everlastin' hog crop I"
"Think. not, eh ?" said the old• gent.
"I mow to pucker of I 'taint seen more pork
in Cincinnaty than would bust this buildire
clean open I"
"You don't tell me so?"
"By gravy, I due though. 'icon haint never
bin in Cincinnaty?"
"Never."
"Never in a pork house?"
"Never."
"Wall, you've hearn tell of Ohio, I reckon ?"
"Oh, yes I got a daughter living out there,"
was the answer.
"Yeou don't say so?"
"I have; in Urbanna, or near it;" said the .
old arid.
''trbannyl Great kingdom 1 why I know
ten men livm nout there; one's tradin'—t'other's
keepin' school; maybe you know ens—Sampson
Wheeler's one, Jethro Jones' Collier, Jethro's a
cousin of mine; his father—no, his mother—
married—my name is Small—Appogee Small,
and I was jilt talkise—
"About the hog crop, Cincinnati pork
houses."
'l. - eaA-s; I went aont West last fall. stopped
at Cincinnaty—ten weeks. Dreadful nice
place, by gravy, they do business there; heats
salvation haow they go it on steamboats—bust
ten a day, build six I"
"Is it possible?" says the old gent. "But
the hogs.'
"Den bent all. I went op to the pork boss.
es; fast thing you meet is a string—'bout a
mile long, of big nod little cruters, greasy and
sassy as sin; buckets and bags full of scraps,
tails, ears, shanks and ribs of hogs. roller sip
this line and yeou come to pork houses, and
yeou go in, if they let ye., and they let yeou,
and they id me, so I went to an almighty big
haouse—big as all flout doors, and a feller steps
up to me and says he—
"Yeou're a stranger, s'pose ?"
"Yeou do ?" says I.
"Yes," says he, spose so," and lup and
said I was.
"Wall," says he, "ef yenn want to go over to
the haonsc, we'll send a feller with yeon."
"So I went with the feller, and he took me
away back, dnown stairs—nout in a lot; and
everlastin' sin! yeou should jist seen the hogs I
couldn't enount 'em in three weeks,
"Good gracious I" exelams the old gent.
'Fact, by gravy! Such a oqualin', kieltin,'
and goin' on, rich cumin' and hollerin' by the
fellersrkin"em at one end of the lot, and
punchin"em (tout at I:other. Sech a smell
of hogs and fat, brissels and hot water, 1 swan
teu pucker, I never did cardiac on afore."
"Wall, as fast as they driv'm in by droves,
the fellers kept a craowtliii"em dnown towards
the pork beaus°, there two fellers kept a shoot
in' on 'em dnown, and a hull gang of the all
fired'st dirty, greasy lookin' fellers nout—stuck
'cm, hauled . 'em dnown, and afore yeon could
say Sam Patch, them hogs were yanked aout
of the lot, kilt and scraped r.
"Mighty quick work, I guess," says the odl
gent.
"Quick work I Yoou ought to see 'ens.—
Ilnow tunny hogs des cale'lato theta fellers kilt
and scraped a day?"
"Couldn't possibly say—hundred I expect."
"Hundred I Great Icing I Why I see 'em
kill thirteen hundred iu tea hours—did, by
golly!"
"You don't say so
"Yes, sir. And a feller with grease enough
abriont him to make a barrel of sail soap, said
when they hurried 'ens up some they kilt, scald
ed and scraped ten thousand; hogs in a day
and when they put on steam twenty . thousand
porkers were killed off an cut in a single day."
"I want to know I"
"Yes, sir. Wall, wo went into the house,
where they scalded the critters as fact as they
brought 'em in. By gravy, it was amnia
how the brissels flew 1 Before a hog know
what it was nbaot he was as bare as a pump.
kin, and a hook and tackle in his snout, and
they snaked him on to the next floor. I vow,
they kept a shaken"em in and up through the
scuttle, just iu one stream I"
"Let us go and see 'em cut the hogs," says
the feller.
'Up we goes. Abnout a hundred fellers
were hacken on 'em up. By golly, it was death
to particular people the way the grease flew.—
Two whacks—fore and aft, as Uncle Jeeme
used to say—split the hog; ono whack by a
greasy feller with an everlustin' chunk of shar
pened iron, and the hog was quartered, grab
bed and carried off to another block, and then
a set of saragerous lookin' chaps layed to and
cut and skirted around—hams and shoulders
going one way, sides and middlins another
nay; wall, I . la screwed cf the hull room didn't
'pear to be full of flyin' pork—in hams, sides,
scraps and greasy fellers—rippin' and toads'.
Damn in the other place they were fryin' Bout
the lard—fillip' barrels from a regular river of
fist, comin' out of ono the overlastin' biggest
tilers you ever did sco, I uwow. Now, I asked
the feller if such hurryin' a hog through a
course of spraouts helped the pork any, he said
it did'nt make any difference, he 'sported. He
said they wet,' not Iturryin"cm, but of I would
come in some day when steam was up he'd
show mo quick work in the pork business—
knock douses, drag twat, scrape, cut up, and
have the hog in the barrel afore ho got through
squallin' I"
"Hello! say, Squire gonor The old gent
was gone—the lust brick hit him.
Conjugating Dutchman.
Two English gentlemen once stepped into a
coffee house in Paris, where they observed a
tall odd looking man, who appeared not to be
a native, sitting at one end of the table, and
looking around with the most stone-like gravi
ty of countenance upon every object. Soon
after the, two Englishmen entered, one of them
told the other that a certain dwarf had arriv
ed at Paris. At this the grave-looking person
age above mentioned opened his mouth and
spake:
'I arrive, said be, 'thou arrivest, he arrives,
wo arrive, you arrive, they arrive.'
The Englishman whose remark seemed to
have suggested this mysterious speech, stepped
up to the stranger and asked;
'Did you speak to me, sir?'
speak,' replied the stranger, 'then speak
est, he Becalm, we speak you speak, they speak.'
'How is this ?' said the Englishman. Do
you mean to insult me?
The other replied ;'I insult, then insultest,
he insults, we insult, you insult. they insult.'
'This is too much,' said the Englishman, 'I
will have satisfaction. If you have any spirit
with your rudeness, dome along with me.
To this defiance the imperturable stranger
replied:
come, thou comest, he comes, we come,
yen come, they come.' And therefore he arose
with great coolness and followed his challen
ger.
In those days, when every gentleman wore a
sword, duels were speedily despatched. They
went into a neighoring alley, and the English
man unsheathed his weapoh, said to his man.
oni; . .
'Now sir you must fight mc.'
The other replied, drawing his sword i 'I
fight, thou lightest, ho fights, we fight,' (hero
ho made a thrust,) you fight, they fight'; and
hero he disarmed his adversary.
'Well, said the Englishman, 'you have the
bent of it, and I hope you are satisfied.
am satisfied,' said the original, 'thou art
satisfied, he is satisfied, we are satisfied, you
are satisfied,they are satisfied.'
'I am glad everybody is satisfied, said the
Englishman; but pray leave off quizzing me
in this strange manner, and tell mo what is
your object, if you have any object in doing so?'
The grave gentleman now for the first time
became intelligible.'
am a Dutchman,' said he, 'and am learn.
ing your language. I find it very difficult to
remember the peculiarities of the verbs, and
my tutor has advised me, in order to fix them
in my mind, to conjugate every English verb
that I hear spoken. This I have made it a
rule to do. I don't like to have my plans bro.
ken in upon while they are in operation, or I
would of told you this before.'
The Englishman laughed heartily at this ex
planation and invited the conjugating Dutch.
man to dine with them.
will dine,' replied he, thou wilt dine, he
will dine, we will dine, you will dine, they will
dine, we will all dine together.'
This they accordingly did; and it was diffi
cult to say whether the Dutchman ate or con
jugated with the most perseverance.
A Curious Sermon.
An English paper contains the following cu
rious discourse, said to have been lately deliv
ered by an eccentric preacher at Oxford :
"I ant not one of your fashionable, fine-spo
ken, mealy-mouthed preachers. I tell you the
plain tenth. What are your pastimes? Cards
'
and dice, fiddling and dancing, guzzling and
gutling 7 Can you be saved by dice? No!—
Will all the four knaves give you a passport to
Heaven? No! Can you fiddle yourself iuto
a berth among the sheep? Not you will dance
yourself to damnation among the goats. You
may guzzle wino hero, but you'll want a drop
of water to cool your tongue hereafter I Will
the prophet any, "Como here, gamesters, rind
teach us the long odds?" "Pis odd if they do!
Will martyrs rant, and shuffle and cut with you?
Nol the martyrs are no shufilers. You will be
cut down in a way you little expect. Lucifer
will come with his reapers and his sickles and
forks, and you will be cut down, and bound,
and housed, in hell I I will not oil my lips with
lies to please you I Profane wretches! I have
heard you wrangle and brawl, and tell one an
other, before me, " l'll see you d—d first."—
But I tell you, lce clay will come you will pray
to Belzebub to escape his clutches; and what
will be his answer ?—"I'll see you d—d first!"
Enormous Meal,
A frond of ours, soya the St. Mary's Deacon,
sends us the following account of an enormous
supper, lately eaten by an Irishman at Furk's
Hotel, Chuptico, which, viewed in connection
with the ague and fever aspect of the growing
cornstalks, can justly create an apprehension
of the famine in these diggins.
"Nino large rolls; El biscuits; 6 largo fried
perch; 1 lb. of ham; 1 lb. of butter; 13 cups of
coffee; 4 cups of milk, 1 cruet of mustard, and
a cruet of black pepper. There being noth
ing more on the table, he had to quit, com
plaining that he had not enough, went to the
bar, drank a glass of water, topped-off with two
tumblers even tell of strong brandy, and then
offered to bet he could drink a pint and a
half of brandy, and not make himself drunk.—
This is true to the smallest particular."
in••Yes,yes, nature balances all things ad
mirably, and has put the Boxes and every indi-
vidual of each on par. Them that have more
than their share of one thing, commonly have
less of another. Where there is great strength
there mint apt to be much gumption. A hand
some man in a general way Riot much of a
man. A beautiful bird seldom sings. Them
that has genius have no common sense. A
fellow with one idea grows rich, while he who
calls him a fool digs poor The world is like
a baked meat pie; the upper crust is rich, dry,
and puffy; the lower crust is heavy, doughy
and underdone • the middle is not bad general
ly, but tho smallest part of all is that which fla
vors the whole.—Sant Slick's Wise Saws and
Modern instances.
fxrDip the Atlantic dry with a tea-spoon,
twist your heel into the tee of your hoot; make
shoemakers perform their promises, an d
subscribers pay the printer; send up fishing
hooks with balloons, and fish for stars; get as
tride of a gossamer, and chase a comet, when
the rain is coming down like a cataract of Ni
agara; remember where you left your umbrel
la; choke a mosquito with a brick-bat—in short,
prove all things heretofore considered impos.
sit& ; but never coax a women to say she will,
a hen she has made up her mind to say elle won't.
The Vender in Trouble.
This chapter we take from the Cleveland
Herald. How many there are who, like this
poor man, wish the Maine law would remove
the temptation which they cannot withstandl—
[Central Christian Herald.
A young man, in a state of intoxication, step
ped into a confectionary establishment on Wa
ter street, a few evenings since, and called for
"a gloss of beer." Noticing his condition, the
proprietor refused to sell hint any, remarking
that he had already more thuu was proper for
him.
"0," answered the young man "I've been
trying to keep sober all day, and I can't."
"Well I can't sell you any beer, and you need
not ask for it again."
"Only ono glass; come, here's the money."
"Not one,t
"I'm so thirsty—so dry."
"Well, there's a glass of water; drink."
Stumbling up to the counter, thopoor inebri.
ate drank a couple of glasses of water, and
then, turning around, said, "You aro the only
man that has refused mo liquor to-day—l wish
to Heaven they all had."
Ho put his hand into his breast pocket, and
took tremblingly out a small minature, opened
It, and gazed upon it for some moments. It
was the daguerreotype of an elderly lady, upon
whose face were strongly marked lines of care
and sorrow; pale—almost marble--tho counte
nance, and the eyes almost seemed to search
his soul, and speak reproof to her erring eon.
"0, my,mother," ho said, "how much trout,.
le, sorrow, and unhappiness I havo caused thee!"
His emotion was very great. At last, tears
came to his relief; ho wept like a child; while
upon the countenances of those arcund were do
meted sympathy and commiseration. At length
ho said, "I'm childish, foolish, weak." Ho com
pressed his quivering lip, closed the minature,
put it in his pocket, and turning, tottered out,
"You won't give me a glass of beer, a glass to
drown all r. He paused.
"No I" was the answer. lTe was gone.
"Had I many such customers," observed the
proprietor to those around him, "I would take
my beer pump and pitch it into the middle of
the street. I wish to Heaven the Maine liquor
law would be submitted to us; I, yes, who de
rive a large profit from the sale of my hoer,
would VOTE roll IT, and that too, freely, willing.
ly, happily."
"I came," remarked a bystander, "to get a
glass of beer, but this fellow has so sickened
my taste that more hitter than gall would be
the stimulant, should I drink it; henceforth,
since habit is second nature, I will desist from
taking even my occasionrl glass."
Standing at Church Door&
It is a common practice, when a congrega
tion is dismissed, to see a line of young gentle-
men, ranged along the curbstone, staring
impudently at every female that comes out,
and often indulging in impertinent remarks
that cannot but be heard by those who are the
, subject of them. Very rarely there may be
found among the mob of dandies and dunces,
a husband, father, or brother, whom unavoida
blo circumstances has prevented attending
church, and who is waiting to accompany a
wife, daughter, or sister home.
Such, of course, we do not censure. But as
scarcely one in ten belongs to this class ; as
they form, in fact, the exception, not the rule;
we shall speak of those who indulge in this
custom, without reference to such. It is the
addle•headed lads, with high shirt collars and
canes, averaging about seventeen, or eighteen
years of age, who form the great mass of these
impertinent spectators, that wo would hold up
to public reproof. Where aro the fathers of
these young dandies? Where is the wholesome
rod which Solomon recommended? Where is
the police?
Only a refined female knows how annoying
it is to run the gauntlet of these immature boys.
Nor do they spare anybody. Tho matron is
Just as much at their mercy as the maiden; the
plain face ns subject to remark as the beautiful
one; the poorly dressed as open to impertinence
as the more richly attired. One female meets
a sneer as she passes because site doesnot hap-
pen to please the fancy of some young fool,
while the cheeks of another are made to tingle
by his loud and insolent admiration. Even
where the lady escapes without verbal insult,
site is stared out of countenanee, and has no
resource, except to drop leer veil, hurry on, and
escapeinto a moro respectable atmosphere as
fast ns possible.
About half these children, for they are little
better, should be soundly thrashed by their pa-
rents, or at least taught, in some other way,
how to behave themselves for the future. The
other half, who are older, ought to receive the
attention of the police. At many churchmen,
the number of these young insolents is really
enormous, and amounts positively, not figura.
tively merely, to an obstruction of the sidewalk.
Let us Crow.
Kendall, writing to the New Orleans Pica.
yune from Paris, says:
I feel a disposition to crow this morning.—
Do not our clippers out sail them all, oar Colt's
revolvers out shoot them all, and our thrashing
machines out thrash them all, or thrash them
all out, if you will? If a man on this side
wishes to keep his throat insist does ho not
swallowan American julep, cobbler, or cocktail?
If he wishes to keep his feet dry, does ho not
wear an American over-shoe? If ho wishes to
keep his blood purified, does lie not uso Ameri
can sarsaparilla and pills? If ho wishes to keep
ahead on the road, does ho not buy an Ameri
can trotter? If ho wishes to keep warm, does
he not procure an American stove? If lie
wishes to keep cool does he not send for Amor
ican ice? If ho wishes to keep his money and
efFects safe, does he not purchase one of Hobb's
Arnorienn locks? If he wants to keep himself
and family from want or starvation, does he not
go to America, or turn his eyes and thoughts
in that direction? I tell you I feel Chapmanish
this morning. I repeat, that I have a desire
to crow, and lustily, over the handiwork and
advantages of my own countrymen.
Are not American authors now more read
than any others on this side? Certainly.—
Where noes the Englishman obtain knowledge
of his own vernacular? From Noah Mobster
and Lindley Murray, to be sure, for the diction ,
ary of the one and tho grammar of the otlwr
have crowded almost everything else from the
schools where the languago is taught in its pu
rity. In history, in law and theology, aro not
our authors considered among the first? Do
not Prescyt, and Story, and Chaning occupy
the front rank? And in poetry, fiction and
sculpture, do wo not take precedence? Are
not the works of Bryant, Hawthorn, Longfel
low, Poe, Cooper, and Powers, and a host of
others, held in the highest reverenco in the old
world? Lot us all crow!
TIE RAS COME.—Whoi Read the following
announcement, copied from the Musical World
and you will know, but you will not be able to
tell any ono else.
`lt gives us much pleasure to announce
that Schwaschhnobyoundschpreckenschampe.
nsteinpitzfiidsekite, the celebrated Gorman
tambourine player, has arrived, and will soon
give a concert.'
niM. Does it fnlloWThl;rif a man shave; his
children are -shaven?"
NO. 39.
Mistake of American Youth.
It in a grand mistake into which man•
American youth full, that manual labor is not
honorable. To boa merchant, a lawyer, a doc
tor, an engineer, a military or naval officer, or
a ship master, is in their esteem, much morn
honorable than it is to be a mechanic or fur
leer. It cannot be denied that all these other
occupations require exertion. The doctor k
oftentimes quite as weary when his day's work
is done as the farmer and the blacksmith can
be; but he is not so sure of quiet sleep as the,
are, and we all know to what hardships engi
neers are exposed, as well as persons who follow
the sea.
Wo often eco vigorous young men seeking,
places as clerks in stores. They all hope (and
generally expect) some favorable tide in the
affairs of life, which "will lead them to for
tune."
Other mon have accumulated vast sums of
money in buying and selling goods, why not Ft
is the language of the young man. They rare
ly consider thnt but a very small number of
those who embark ever complete the voyago
Where ono succeeds, ten, fifty, perhaps a hun
dred fail.
But an Industrioud, thrifty farmer, seldom
fails to secure fo himself and family tho com
forts of life. The skilful and practical me
chanic, 100, Is generally sure of a remuneration
for his labor, and, with common prudence, he
can provide a competence for the future.
Gone Astray.
Cold words to fall on a loving heart—he has
gone astray! And is this the time to .desert.
him I This the time to taunt him with words
that roll like lava from your passions, and only
sere his soul? No Ihe passes under clouds ;
ho is light now—perhaps he has no other.
Many a true heart that would have comeback
like the dove in the ark, front its first transgres
sion, has been frightened beyond recall by the
angry look and menace—the taunt, the savage
charity of an unforgiving soul. Bo careful
how you freeze the first warm emotions of re
pentance. Beware, lest those pleading words,
unheeded now, sting you in some shady valley
of your future sorrow. Repentance changed by
neglect or unkindness, becomes like melted
iron hardened in the mould. Trifle with it nev
er. Be the first to meet the erring with out
stretched arms. Wipe the tear from his eye--
pour balm of consolation on the wounds that
guilt has made. Let your heart be the grave
for his transgressions, your pity find vent in
hearing his burden, not in useless words. Oh !
forgive the erring. Did not He who died on
Calvary? Shield him from the contempt of
grosser minds—mako blueness, and brightness,
and beauty, where all was cloud and storm
before In his sad life.
A Fathers CounseL
Truth will not accommodate itself to us, my
on, hut we must conform ourselves to truth.
Hold yourself too good to do evil.
What you ctln eec, look at with your own
Fear no man as much as yourself.
Learn gladly of others; and whenever they
talk of wisdom, honor, happiness, light, free•
dam, virtue, listen attentively. But do not be.
Here at onco all yon bear. Words aro only
words; and when they drive along so very easi
ly and swiftly, be on your guard; for I orses
that draw a valuable load, travel slowly.
It is easy to despise, my son, bat to under
stand is far better.
Teach not others until you have learned your.
self.
Take care of your body, but not as if it or.
your soul.
Meddle not with the affairs of others, but at
tend diligently to your own.
Flatter no man, and permit Done to flatter
you.
Depend not on great men.
Do what is worthy of record, but care not to
be rewarded.--From Me German.
DON'T on IN A Honor It's of no nor. We
never knew a fellow who was always in a hur
ry, that wasn't always behindhand. They ant
proverbial all over the world for bringing noth
ing at all to pass. Hurry sherry, bluster, splat
ter—what does it all amount to 7 Not a straw_
If you -want to accomplish anything as it should
bo done, you moot go about it cooly, moderate
ly, faithfully, heartily, Hurrying, fretting,
fumbling, spluttering, do no good—not in the
least.. Are great works of great men done in
a hurry. Not at all. They aro the produce,
of time and patience—the result of slow, solid
developeinent. Nothing ought to be done in
a hurry. It is contrary to nature, right, jus
tice, and common sense. Your man of hurry
is no sort of character at all. Always in con
fission, loose at every point, unhinged and un•
jointed, blowing and puffing here and there,
but all ending in smoke.—Tlosion Post.
The Negro.
The happiest man in the woild is said to ha
"a nigger at a dance." In our opinion thin
rule is too limited. A "nigger" is not only hap
py at a dance, but in every other position. A.
darkey may be poor but ho in never low-spirit
ed. Whatever he earns he invests in fun and.
deviltry. Give him a dollar and in less than
an hour he will lay five shillings of it out in
yellow neck-tics or a cracked violin. There is
something in the African that sheds trouble as
a duck will water. Who ever knew a lcollud pus
sum'to commit suicide ? Tho negro is strongly
given to love and jealousy, but ho has no taste
for arsenic. Ho may lose his all by betting
against a roulette, but he don't find relief for
his despair as white folks do, by resorting to
charcoal fumes or a new bed-cord, but by visit
ing "de fair sex," and participating in the
mazy influence of "do occiputal convolutions
of der clarinett."
BEAPTIP:S OP FLOGGINO.—About the best
comment on the custom of "licking" children
for slight offences that we have hoard of lately
was a remark made by a little girl, who was
told by her mother to go to bed. She was usu
ally chastised each day about sundown, regu
larly, but on this occasion her mischeivous
pranks had been unaccountably overlooked,
and she could not understand it. Accordingly
when her mother told her to go to bed, she lin
gered for a while.
"Why don't you go to your chamber. Lau
ra?" asked the parent.
"Why mother," said the child, looking up
with an arch expression, "you haven't whipped
wee OP
Tbo mother gave her a kiss instead of a
blow that night.
CCM , : FOR HEADACHL—A work has been
published in Paris, by an eminent physician,
m which is described a now remedy - for head
ache. He uses a mixture of ice and salt, in
proportion of I to 1, as a cold mixture, and
this ho applies by means of a purse of silk
gauze, with a rim of gutty percha, to limited
spots on the forehead or other parts of the
scalp, where rheumatic headache is felt. It
gives instantaneous relief. The akin is sub.
jected to the process from half a minute to
one and a half minutes, and it is rendered hard
and white. It is said to be good in erysipelas
and clLevez of the skin,