VOL. 18.
TERMS :
The "lltnermonos Jounx.ii," is published at
the folloiling rates t
If paid in advance $1,50
If puid within six months after the time of
subscribing 1,75
If paid at the end of the year 2,00
Atid two donors and flßi• cents if not paid till
after the expiration of the year. No subscription
will be takes for a less period than six months,
and no paper will be discontinued, except at the
option of the Editor, until all arrearages are paid.
Subscribers living in distant counties,or in other
States, will be required to pay invariably in
advance.
tEr The above terms will be rigidly adhered
to in all cases.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
One square of 16 lines or less
For 1 'insertion $0,50, For 1 month, $1,25
41 2 o 0,75, " 3 " 2,75
tC 3 ti 1,00,' 6 " 5 , 00
PROECSSIOEAL Gnaws, not exceeding 10 hnes,
and not changed during the year $4,00
CARD and JOURNAI .
advance 5,00
BUSINESS CARDS of the same length, not
changed ••• •$3,00
CARD and JOURNAL, in advance.
W . Short transient advertisements will be ad
mitted into our editorial columns at treble the
usual rates.
On longer advertisements, whether yently or
transient, a reasonable deduction will be made
fur prompt payment.
P0340@a113.
MISCHIEF MAKERS,
Oh! could there in this world be found
Some little spot of happy ground,
Where village pleasures might go round,
Without the village tattling!
How doubly blest that place would be,
Where all might dwell in liberty,
Free from the hitter misery
Ofgossips' endless prattling.
If such a spot was really known,
Dame Pence might claim it as her own ;
And in it she might fix her throne,
Forever and forever.
There, like a queen might reign and live,
While every one would soon forgive
The little slights they might receive,
And be offended never.
'Tis mischief•makers that remove
Far from our hearts the warmth of love,
And lead us all to disapprove
What gives another pleasure.
They seem to take one's part—hut when
They've heard our care's unkind by them,
They soon retail them all again,
Mis'd with their poisonous measure.
And then they've such a' cunning way
Of telling ill-meant tales; they say,
"Don't mention what I've said, I pray,
I would not tell another.
Straight to your neighorA then they go,
Narrating every thing they know
And brook the peace of high and low,
Wife, husband, friend and brother.
Ohl that tin, mischicilmaking crew
Were but reduced to ono or two,
And they were painted red or blue,
That every one might know them
Then would our villagers forget,
To rage and quarrel, fume and fret,
And fall into an angry pet
With things so much below them.
For 'tis a sad degrading part,
To make another's bosom smart,
And plant a dagger in the heart
We ought to love and cherish
Then let us evermore be found
In rpdetness with all around,
While friendship, joy, and peace abound,
And angry feelings perish
WiII3DAVTI EA2DITA-.)
A Mother's Last Prayer.
BY MRS. ANN STEPUENB,
"First our flowers die—and then
Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust elaints;—and we die t00..'
I was very young, scarcely beyond the verge
of infancy; the last and most helpless of three
little girls who were gathered round my poor
mother's death-bed. When I look on the
chain of my variedexistence—that woof of gold
and iron woven so strangely together—the re
membrance of that young be ing who perished
so early and so gently from the bosom of her
family, forms the first sad link, which ever gives
a thrill of funeral music when my heart turns
to it—music which becomes more deep-toned
gutd solemn as that' chain is strengthened by
thought, and bound together by the events of
successive years. The first human being that
I can remember was my invalid mother, mo
ving languidly about her home, with the pale.
ness of disease sitting on herbeautiful features,
and a deep crimson spot burning with painful
brightness in either cheek. I remember that
hoe step became unsteady, and her voice faint
er and more gentle day by day, till at last she
sunk to her bed, and we were called upon to
witness her spirit go forth to the presence of
Jehovah. They took me to her couch, and
told me to look upon my mother before she
died. Their words had no meaning to me
then, but the whisper in which they were spa
'ken, thrilled painfully through my infant heart,
and I felt that something, terrible was about to
happen. Pale, troubled faces, were around
Oat death pillow—stern men, with sad, heavy
pyes—women overwhelmed with tears and
sympathy, and children that huddled together,
shuddering and weeping, they knew not where
fore.
Filled with wonder and awe, I crept to my
mother, and burying my brow in the mass of
rich brown hair that floated over her pillow,
heavy with the damp of death, but still lus
trous in spite of disease, I trembled and sobbed
without knowing why, save that nil around me
was full of grief and lamentation. She nssr•
mured, and plum' her pale hand on my IvAd.
My little heart swelled, but I lay motionless
and filled with awe. Her lips moved, and a
voice, tremulous and very low, came faintly
over them. These words, broken and sweet us
they were, left the first dear impression that
ever remained on my memory :—"Lead her
not into temptation, but deliver her from evil."
This was my mother's last prayer, in that per.
feet sentence her gentle voice went out for
ever. Young as I was, that prayer had enter
ed my heart with a solemn strength. I raised
my head from its beautiful resting place, and
gazed, awe-stricken, upon the thee of my moth.
er. 011, how an hour had changed 1 The
crimson flush was quenched in her cheeks, a
moisture lay upon her forehead, and the gray,
mysterious shadows of death were stealing over
each thin feature, yet her lips still moved, and
her deep blue eyes were Lent on me,surcharged
with spiritual brightness, as if they would have
left one of their vivid, unearthly rave, as the
seal of her denthlied eureuaot. Slurrll, as the
4•
1,1 tin
-DO r
,•,
•
" I BEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATES."-[WEBSTER,
sunbeams pale at night, from the leaves of a
flower, went out the star-like fire of her eyes;
a mist came over them. softly as the dews
might fall upon that flower, and she was dead.
Even then I knew not the meaning of the sol
emn change I had witnessed, but when they
bore me forth from my mother's death-bed, my
heart was filled with fear and misgiving.
All were overwhelmed with the weight of
their own sorrow, and I was permitted to wan
tier around my desolated home, unchecked and
forgotten. I stood wondering by, as they
shrouded my mother, and smoothed the long
hair over her pale forehead. Silently I watch
ed them spread the winding-sheet, and fold
those small, pare hands, over her bosom; but,
when they closed the blinds, and went forth,
my little heart swelled with a sense of unkind
ness in shutting out the sunshine, and the
sweet summer air, which had so often called a
smile to her lips, when it came to her bed, fra
grant from the rose thickets, and the white
clover-field, which lay beneath the windows they
so cruelly darkened. The gloom of that death
chamber made me very sorrowful, but I went
to the bed, turned down the linen, and laid my
hand caressingly on the pale face, which lays°
white and motionless in the din, light. it was
cold as ice. I drew back affirighted, and steal
ing from the room, sat down alone, wondering
and full of dread.
They buried her beneath a lofty tree on the
high bank of a river. A waterfall raises its
eternal anthem near by, and the sunset flings
his last golden shadows among the long grass
that shelters her. I remember it all; the grave
with its newly broken sod—the coffin placed on
its brink. The clergyman, with his black sur
plice sweeping the earth, and the concourse of
neighbors gathered around that grave, each
lifting his hat reverently as the solemn hymn
swelled on the air, answered by the lofty an
them surging up from the waterfall, and the
breeze rustling through the dense boughs of
that gloomy tree.
Then came the grating of the coffin, ns it was
lowered into its narrow bed, the dull, hollow
sound, of the falling earth, and those most sol
emn words of "dust to dust, and ashes to ash
es." With' mournful distinctness were all these
things impressed on my young mind, but my
mothers lust prayer is written more forcibly
than all, its characters that but deepen with
maturity. It has lingered about my heart, a
blessing and a safeguard, pervading it with a
music that cannot die. Many times, whets the
heedlessness of youth would have led me into
error, has that sweet voice, now hushed forever,
intermingled with my thoughts, and like the
rosy links of a fair chain, draw me from my
purpose. Oft when my brow has been wreath
ed with flowers from the festival, when my
cheek has been flushed, and my eyes have
sparkled with anticipates! pleasure, have I
caught the reflection of those eyes in the mir
ror, and thought of tlse look which rested upon
me when my mother died—that broken suppli
cation to Heaven has conic back to my memo
ry, the clustering roses have been torn from my
heady sad, gentle memories have drank the un
natural glow from my checks, and my thoughts
have been carried hack to my lost parent, and
from her, up to the Heaven she inhabits. The
festival, with all its attractions, have been lost
in gentle refketion, and I have been "J.:11,31,d
from temptations."
Again, when the sparkling wine cup bas al
most bathed my lips, amid merriment and
smiles, and music, has the last sad prayer of
soy mother seemed to mingle with its ruby con
tents, and I ha•re put away the goblet, that I
might not be "led into temptation." When my
hand has rested in that of the dishonorable,
and trembled at the touch of him, who says in
his heart there is no Gosh, ns that voice seemed
to flow with its luring accents, I have listened
to it, and fled as from the serpent of my native
forests.
Again, and again, when the throbbings of
ambition have almost filled my soul, and the
praises of my fellow-men have become a pre
cious increase, the still, small voice of my
mother's prayer, has trembled over each heart
string, and kindled it to a more healthy music.
In infancy, youth; and womanhood, that prayer
has been to Inc a holy remembrance—a sweet
thought, full of melody, not the less beautiful
that there is sadness in it.
E11 , 32.?,111,4151200.;'.1.
Getting into the Wrong Howe,
"For me, I adore
Some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly."
Such was the light air hummed by a young
man one evening in the month of September,
between the hours of seven and eight, as he
turned into a court leading out of Washington
street, where was his boarding house.
The character of the air suited well with the
appearance of the young blade, for as be turn
ed into the court the light of the lamp "illumi
nated" him; he was tall, and somewhat slender,
but finely termed; his pale and handsome fee:
tures, largo bright eyes, with dark circles around
them, told of late hours mid excitement.
Hi's exterior frock-coat, buttoned at the top
by a single button, pants of snuff colored hue,
white vest, and chain fastened at its lower hole,
attached to the deuce knows what in his pock
et, hoots, bat, and dickey of the latest fashion,
and switch cane, surmounted by a delicately
carved lady's leg in ivory, completed the rakish
tout ensemble of our young hero.
As we said before, ho was humming a tune
as lie went into the court. Passing up, he
ceased; and Isis thoughts, if they had been ut
tered, would have been something like this:
"Byron was a hard one; ono of the b'hoys,
decidedly; hang me, if he wasn't the very per
sonification of Isis Don Juan—lse went on the
principle 'go it while you're young,' and he did
‘go it' with a - vengeance,"
During these cogitations, he reached, (as he
supposed,) Isis boarding house. Ascending the
steps, lie sent his hand on an exploring'expe
dition in his pockets, and extracted an instru
ment resembling a portable poker with a joint
handle. Inserting this instrument into a round
hole iu the door, he effected an entrance.
Os entering, lie was surprised at the (limp
pcarance of the hat tree, and a table in its
place.
"Whore the deuce is the hat tree gone to
now, I should like to know?" he mentally ex
claimed, throwing down Isis hat. "How awful
quiet it is just now," Ise continued, proceeding
towards the sitting room. Finding it in total
darkness, he was still more surprised.
"Juno! is every body dead, I wonder?
have some light on the subject," and with that
determination he crossed the room to a mantle
piece, to search fur a match. He placed his
hand on something that made hint utter ass ex.
elanuttion of surprise.
"By everything that's blue, a lady's shoe;
extraordinary events must have transpired du.
ris„. , mnc
y absee—a seat here I" Ise exclaimed,
striking against one easier the mantle:piece,—
"They have been pitching the personal estate
amund at a terrible rate. Alt! a baby's shoe I
Oh, mein Gut, as the Dutchman said.'
"Charles, is that you?" whispered a soft voice
at the moment, and a warns hand clasped his
own.
—.4 4hewl what the deuce i, to pay now?" he
almost ejaculated in surprise; hut 17,1, ring
hi. welt' he answered, in a whisper, "yes, dear•
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1853.
est, it is me—over the left,"he said to himself.
"I see how it is; I'm in the wrong box, and
this damsel thinks I'm Charles; no matter, I'm
in for it now, and might as well put it through."
So thinking, he seated himself by her side,
on the sofa, with one band clasped in hers, and
an arm around her waist.
"Charles," she said, "what made you stay so
late ? I have been waiting for you this half
hour."
"The deuce you have," thought he. "Indeed,
I am very sorry, but positively I could not
come, sooner," lie said.
"The folio; have all gone away this evening,
and wo will make the best of our time," said
she, squeezing his hand.
"Yes, by Jove, we will," was the reply, as
he embraced and kissed her several times.
"I wonder who I am kissing in the dark,"
tho't he, during the operation.
"Why, Charles, I should think you'd be
ashamed of yourself; you never did so before."
"This Charles must be a very bashful youth,"
thought our hero.
"diaries, you mount do so!" she exclaimed.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm making the best of my time," was the
innocent reply.
"You remember the last time I saw you, you
said you'd tell me to-night when we should be
married," said she. _ _
A whistle nearly escaped the lips of Gus,
(such was the abbre,!ated sponsorial of our
hero.) "I would say immediately," thought
he, "but she might mistrust, and it would be
no go."
"the time, dearest," ho replied, "shall be
when it will be most convenient for you."
"Oh, how glad I am," she exclaimed.
"What a pickle I would be in, if the folks
should pop in all of a sudden," he thought at
that moment as he hail a presentiment. As
the thought passed his mind, a latch key was
heard fumbling at the door. At this ominous
sound she sprang to her feet greatly frightened.
"Oh, dead" woo her exclamation, "what
shall I do? hero come the folks."
'What shall /do ?" was the question of Gus,
as he sprang to his feet.
"Oh, dear! oh, dead" she bitterly exclaiin
ed, "where shall I hide you? There's no clos
et, and you can't get out of the room before the
folks will see you. There, the door is opening
—quick—hide under the sofa, it is a high one."
He didn't stop to look for ttbette; place, but
popped down and commenced crawling under.
His progress was greatly accelerated by her
feet, which she applied quite heavily to his
side.
"Thunder! what a plantaticm she's got," said
Gus, as it came in contact with his ribs.
He found the space under the sofa quite nar
row; so much so that he was obliged to lie on
Isis face.
"Whew! they keep a eat in the bonsel—
! there they come—one—two—three daugh
ters, the old man and woman, and two gents,
friends of the ladies. I suppose. ITere they are
down on the sofa. How I would like to grasp
one of those delicate little feet! Gods! she
would think the devil had her. I wonder how
long I've got to stay here. Hope the conver
sation will be.edifytog."
In this manner his thoughts ran on for about
an hour. By that time, he found his situation
any thing but pleasant, not being able to move
at all. There was no signs of' their departure,
judging front their conversation, which was
lively and well kept up; and not knowing how
long he would be compelled to stay in such un
comfortable quarters, caused him to anatheme•
tine them most severely. He finally became
worried to such a degree, that he accidentally
let an oath slip through his lips.
"Hark! what's that? exelatmed one, but the
others heard nothing,.
"Jean Maria!" thought Otis, "what a narrow
escape. If any of the others had heard it, I
should have been discovered, and then a pretty
plight I would be in. I would be taken for a
burglar.
While thus congratulating, himself on his es.
cape, a shawl belonging to one of the Indies,
hanging over the back of the sofa, slipped be
hind- It was soon missed ; and a search com
menced.
"It must have fallen behind the sofa," sir•
raised the fair owner.
"I will soon ascertain," said ono of the young
men, rising from the sofa.
Seizing one end of the sofa, he whirled it
nearly into the middle of the room.
. . .
Goils! what a scream The ladies fainted
away at the sight of One lying on his Nee.
"Burglar! thief! robber!" shouted the head
of the house, retreating towards the door.
"Complimentary," said Gus, looking up.
The two young gentlemen promptly seized
him and raised him to his feet.
"Give an account of yourself; how came you
here ?" were the questions pat to him.
"Thieves! robliers! wadi!" screamed all
the young ladies.
"Stop your noise," shouted the old gentle.
man, as Gus commenced an apology.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Gus, you have
found me concealed under the sofa in a bur
glarious manner, but 'pen my soul, it was for
a different purpose altogether."
He then gave a lucid explanation. and in
such a manner that it set the old gentleman in
a roar of laughter. The girl was called in to
be questioned about the mutter.
"I shall see now, at any rate, who I have
been skylarking, with," thought Gus, as her
step was heard on the stairs.
A. moment more, and a daughter of Ham,
black as the ace of spades, strode into the room.
Such an apparition of darkness struck our he
rs dumb. For a moment he was a model of
amazement; but a roar of laughter from all in
the room restored his scattered senses, and he
became fully aware of his ridiculous position.
"Where's my hat ?" lie faintly ejaculated, as
he rushed from the room.
Until sleep closed his eyes. did the roar of
laughter ring in his ears, and when sound asleep ;
a vision of the "ingress" flitted before him.
A Traveling Hotel.
A Paris correspondent of the Cincinnati Ca,
zette, in a letter dated August 11th, gives the
following account of a novel mode of traveling
in France. Ho writes:
If we are in advance of the world in sea
yachts, the French have beaten us in the arti
cle of railroad yachts. A rich capitalist, Mon
sieur the Court of L , has invented and
superintended the construction of a railroadho
tel, for his own private use, with which ho
in
tends to travel with his family over all the
railroads of France. It is a complete house
with all its dependencies, principal and acres.
sory. There is a parlor, bedrooms, billiard
room, kitchen, office, a cellar which will hold a
good store of wine, ire house S:c.,in one word,
all the elegance owl comfort, the useful and
the agreeable, of a dwelling the most complete
and the most rich. It is very long, allll like all
other Fano+ MN Wry wide. It is made so
that it can be transferred from one set of wheels
to another, though that seems of no import
ance, since the roads of France ore all, I be
lieve of the same wide gauge. This traveling
hotel has cost the proprietor about 50,000
francs, and is at this moment attracting great
attention at the depot of the Orleans railway.
ta'A taste tiff reading is a liatune
Wally roan; titan.
A Chapter on Advertisements.
Most people, when they take up a !temp.
per, think they inform themselves of the cur
rent of passing events, if they read over care
fully all the news and editorial matter. Bet
there is another and a more faithful chronicle
in it, which they seldom read and never study.
Any one who wants to learn human nature
thoroughly. or to retrace the real condition of
society, will find ample material for both in
the advertising columns. It is a department
conducted by thousands of editors, so it rarely
happens that anything is omitted from it.
The great events that make up the so-called
News of the day. concern most of us very re
motely, and many of us not at all. Whatever
attention they may attract to-day, they are sure
to ho replaced by other novelties to-morrow.--
But the advertisements contain the history of
those trifles to the public, which nevertheless
mako up the sum of individual existence.
Let 'is rend over the advertising columns of
a leading New York paper for instance, and
set down in regular order, just what we find
there.
Fifty-eight new-comers have entered the
world, and forty-six people have gone out of it
to make room for them. Nine men advertise
that they have taken to themselves wives, and
three advertise that their wives had run away.
Seven people want boarding bosses, and thir
ty-threo boarding houses kept by agreeable
fitmilies, in pleasant localities, throw open
their doors to receive them. Seventeen high
ly respectable families aro in want of waiters
and chambermaids ; and seventy-seven highly
respectable chambermaids and waiters aro
looking for just such places. Twenty-five
cooks can give the best of reccommendations,
and eight families won't take them without.—
Sixteen merchants are selling at cost and five
pawn-brokers are buying at considerably less.
Four men have money to lend and forty want
to borrow it. Five railroads and eleven steam
boats are running to carry people out of the
city, and fourteen hotels are standing to keep
them in it. Forty-five thousand acres of land
are for sale, and six commissioners are ready
to take acknowledgement of the deeds.
Ninety-seven ships and steamers are going
to all parts of the world—eighteen have been
there and come back. Ten watchmakers ask
people to keep time, and ten billiard saloons
and oyster cellars ask them to loose it. Twelve
men have failed, but their goods are to be sold
at auction, and eleven auctioneers are going
to sell them. Thirteen partnerships have been
formed and five broken off. Eight men say
they want partners, but never seem to think of
taltim , each other. Six perfumers are endear
oringrto sweeten the air, and two gas compa
nies are endeavoring to counteract them.—
Twenty-nine people are making confectionary
for parties. and nineteen do not know where to
look for daily bread. Twenty seamstresses
are wanted to week their fingers to the bone,
and thirty-four volunteer to do it to keep them
selves from starving.. One man, however,
of to pay liberally for a mistress, and anoth
er for a place to keep one. Five people want
information, and seven fortune-tellers will give
it to them for twenty five cents apiece.
There are to be four processions and parades,
and nine sermon, on the vanity of worldly
show. There are Rix theatres in successful op
eration, and four hospitals wanting funds.—
Five concerts are to come oil to night, seven
teen lawsuits are to conic off in the morning.
There are thirty-five houses for sale and forte
three to let, and yet six people nre in want of
homes. There are eight schools for the instruc
tion of the youth, and eighteen quack medi.
elf.; for the deception of age. Six men have
discovered nn infallible cure for baldness, and
yet eight barbers get their living by making
wigs. Them are seven first horses for sale,
hut only two people fast enough to buy them.
Seven families have been robbed, but only one
their caught. Able bodied young men anx
ious to serve their country, are shown the
bright side of a dark picture, and fourteen
drummer boys are wanted to help to keep up
the illusion. A diamond bmeelet, three Irish
emigrants, two nutrrocco pocket books, a black
harrier, three casks of wine, a gold wateh,a ear
pet-hag, two children and a pair of spectacles,
are lost, and nothing has been found but an
opera-glass, and a memorandum Imokl
One hundred and seventeen groceries are
busy providing, food for their fellow inhabitants;
three hundred and eighty-one tailors, milliners,
hatters, dressmakers, ke.. are herd at work at
their clothes, eight upholsters are furnishing
their houses, and sixteen cold companies are
warming them; fourteen book sellers are provi
ding them with interesting reading; eight dan
cing masters, and four music masters are at
tending to their education in the polite arts;
twenty-three profitable speculations offer to
make their fortune, and thirty-two lawyers to
take care of it afterwards. Five daguerreoty
pists are anxious to obtain a copy of their min
erature t twenty seven doctors are watching so
licitously over their health ; nine undertakers
are making their coffins, and three marble
cutters are waiting to carve their tombstones.
There von have it—abstract not merely of
the advertisements of the N. r: Tribune, but
the daily lith of a great city—a statistical
sli
ding scale of the wants and plans, hopes and
disappointmenis, griefs and pleasures, which
fill the minds. end engross the thee of every
one of its inhabitants. Old—very old news—
hot news that will keep coming every duy, af
ter we are all dead and buried.
What Hope Did,
It stole on its pinions of snow to the bed
of disease, and the sufferer's frown became
a smile—the emblem of peace and endu
rance.
It wont to the house of mourning—and
from the lips of sorrow there came forth
sweet and cheerful conga. _ .
It laid its head upon the arm of the poor
man, which stretched forth at the command
of holy impulses, and saved him from dis
grace and ruin.
It dwelt like a living thing in the bosom
of the mother, whose son tarried long af
ter the promised time of his coming; and
has saved from desolation, and Coare that
killeth.'
It hovered about the head of the youth
who had become the Ishmael of society,
and led him on to the work that even his
enemies praised him.
It snatched a maiden from the jaws of
death, and went with an old man to the
abode of tlio blessed.
No hope! my good brother• Have it.
Beckon it to your side. Wrestle NI ith
it that it may not depart. It may repay
your pains. Life is hard enough at best
hopo shall lead you over its ;noun?
bins, and sustain thee amid billows. Part
with 41 besido—but keep thy Hope,
0"‘ 'You natter me;' said an exquisite the
other day, to a young lady who w•as praising
the beauties of his moustache.
"For heaven's sake, ma'am, - interposed an
Indiana hoosier, "don't mal.e that chap any
.filYcn than he is now.
He Wanted to sea the Animal.
The sublishers of n well-known periodical in
Boston, have placed in front of their office, in
Tremont street, a very extensive sign-board,
upon which is emblazoned the word—"Ltr•
TEL'S Limo Aoe."
A greenhorn, fresh caught—who ClllllO to the
city to look at the glorious Fourth,"—chanced
to ho passing towards the Common, when his
attention was arrested by the above cabalistic
syllables. Upon one aide of Bromfield street
he saw the big sign, upon the other the word
"3luseutn."
"Wal," said he to himself, "I've hearn tell o'
them museums, but a "living age," big or lit
tle, must be one o' them curiosities we read
about."
He stept quietly across the street, and wip
ing his face, approached one of the windows, in
which were displayed several loose copies of
the work. He read upon the covers, "Littel's
Living Age," and upon a card, "Popular Maga
zine:onlyonu of its kind in the country," &c.
"Mitga;in el Wel, that beats thunder all teu
smash I I've hearn about panuder magazines,
an' all that;—wal, I reek'n I'll see the crittur,
ennyhow!" and thus determined, he cautiously
approached the door. A young man stood in
the entrance.
"When does it open ?" asked the - country.
man.
"What, sir?"
"Wet time dm it begin."
"What I"
"The show I"
What show?"
"Why, that are—this"—continned our inno•
cont friend, pointing up to the sign.
Tho young man evidently supposed the
stranger insane—and turning on his heel walk
ed into the office.
"Wall, I dun no 'baout that feller, much—
but I ree'n I havn't rum a hundred miles to he
fooled—l ain't, and goin' too see tho crit.
tur. mire."
"Hello! I sae Mr. Wat's name, there—door
keeper Hel-to
A clerk stepped to the door at once, and in
quired the man's business.
"Wot do I wont? Wy, I want to see the
animal, that's all."
"What animal ?"
"Wy, this critter— "
"I ao' n't ul;ile;Sland . you, sir.
"Wall—you don't ink r;5l cf can could an
derstan' nobuddy, any how. ;he send the
doorkeeper yore."
By this time a crowd had collected in and
about the doorway, end the green 'un let off
something like the following,—
"That chap es went in tint that., ain't nobody
of he has got a swalleMailed coat on. My
money's as good as his'n, and its a free coon.
try to day. This young man ain't to be footsl
easy, now I tell you. I cum down to see the
Fourth, and see him I must. This mornin'
MO the Elephant, and naow I'm boon to see
this critter. Hui-le—there, mister ?"
As no one replied to him, however ho ventu
red again into the office, with the crowd at his
heels, and addressing ono or the attendants, ho
inquired—
"Wot's the price nabur ?"
"Thn prico or what, sir ?"
"Of the show !"
"There is no show here—"
"No show I What's thunder der yer bare
the sign out fur, then ?"
"What would you like to see, sir ?" said an.
other gentleman.
"Why, I want to see the animal."
"Tho animal P'
"Yes—the editor."
"I really do not understand, sir."
"Why yes yer dam I mean tho was name,
out
"Where ?"
"Irev'ut ye got a sign over the door, of a
liviti—sum thin' hereabouts ?"
"Lies Living Age ?"
"Tharc the crittur—them'3 urn—trot him
aont, saber, and yore's yore putty."
Having discovered that he was right, (as he
supposed,) he hopped about, and got near the
door again.
Pending the conversation, some rascally wag
in the crowd had contrived to attach half a doz
en lighted fire crackers to the skirt of our green
friend's coat; and as he stood in the attitude of
passing to the supposed door-keeper a quarter
—crack! bang I went the lire-works, and at the
same instant a loafer sang out at the top of his
voice—`'look out! the crittnr'g !nose
Perhaps the countryman did'ut leave a wide
wake behind him in that crowd, and maybe he
did'ut astonish the multitude along Colonade
Row, as lie dashed towards the foot of the Com
mon, with his smoking coat tail's streaming in
the wind I
Our victims struck a bee line for the Provi
dence Depot, reaching it just as the cars were
ready to go out. The crowd arrived an the
train got under way; and the last we saw of the
"unfortunate," he was seated at a window,
whistling most vociferously to the engine, to
hurry it on
The Happy-Unhappy Couple.
We may he wrong. hat,Wmeho; or other,
when we hear a couple "my timing" and "my
loving" each other, in society, we cannot help
thinking that they lead a cat-and.dog life at
home. We have had this demonstration so of
ten, that it appears like a fixed fact in our
mind. But whether this honeymoon style of
address ho genuine or affected, we dislike to
hear it very much. Terms of such warm en
dearment should be kept for the closet. There
is enough of the animal about it to make it
about as disgusting and indecent as the para
ding of bridal chambers on steamboats and in
hotels; and we look upon the latter as the very
acme of indelicacy.
There were Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs, that we
had the infelicity of knowing, some years ago.
A couple of more lowing people, in company,
never existed. They were billing and cooing
all the time. Mr. S. appeared so kind and at
tentive that he seemed RS though he conld sot
let the winds of heaven blow upon her ever so
gently.
"Leonora, my dovey, don't sit near the win
dow, in the draft; I knew it will take cold, and
then what will poor Lobby do?"
Then she replies:
"No danger, Lobby dear, and the fresh air
is so delightful."
"Well, than, let Lubby put this handkerchief
round your neck."
"Thank you love."
"Darling Leonora. you know you must take
care of yourself; fiw Lobby's sake; for what
would bo this glittering world but a dismal
tenth Without you. Kiss me, dear!"
Many such scenes have been witnessed between
this happy couple. We were young then, and
we thought it real, and sighed to think, when
it became our turn to wear the bonds of matri
mony, if we should be as happy as Mr. and Mrs.
Stt!bs appeared to be.
. -
We have been rather rudeiy awakened from
the dream of our youth,and have long sineedis
covered that Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs were a cou
ple of hypocrites, who assumed, with their par
ty dross, the garb in which we have endeavored
to portray them. We were very much shock.
ed the first time we discovered the true condi.
tion of things between Mr. and Mrs, Stubbs.
“Ilitt I will.”
-But !ott shall not, madam,
"But I say I will! and when I say it, I mean
it."
"You shan't I"
"I will."
"I'll be d--0 if I pay for it. You ought to
be ashamed—a married woman, with two chil
dren, no longer young, whose beauty is on the
wane."
An hysteric scream followed this cruet speech
of the irate Stubbs,which so startled us that we
let fall the book that wo had in our hand.—
The noise of the book tailing, and our sudden
ly starling up, apprised them that they had
been heard. There was a loud whisper from
one of the party.
"There, now, we've a pretty expose; the sto
ry will be told all about, and we shall be the
laughing stock of our acquaintances."
"Well, my darling, why did you not say you
wore only joking in refusing me the gown, and
and making me believe that you were angry
with your Leonora."
We had been in the habit of calling in upon
the S.'s gam ceremonie. One day, niter stroll
ing round the garden, we went into the house,
and meeting no one, we walked into the parlor
and took our seat, to look over the annuals,
which lay upon the centre table. We had
scarcely been seated a moment. when we were
startled by a loud and angry altercation in the
next room. The voices sounded very much
like those under the government of Mr. and
Mrs. Stubbs, but seemed so impossible, that we
felt inclined to doubt the evidence of our sen
ses, until names were given, which no longer
left room to doubt.
`•I don't care what you say, Mr. Stubbs; if
I can't appear as other ladies do in company,
I will not go out at all. I have not a dress fit
to wear."
.llva. S.. you must put an end to yourextrava
gance. It is not a month ago since von run
me to a great expense fiir three new ili,sses,
and now you want another. You cannot have
one, madam."
"I thought, my angel, you knew me well en•
ough to know that I should refuse you nothing
in earnest."
We had just got outside of the door, in the
hall, when we heard the door which communi•
eated with the sitting room and parlor, open,
and the footsteps, like Stubbs, enter the latter.
'There is nobody here madam!"
"Well, I didn't say there was I"
"Indeed ! Well now, madam. I want to tell
von plainly, distinctly, and emphatically, that
I'll be d—d if I pay for a new gown."
Such is the life of happy-unhappy couples.
True affection, devoted to a single object. is tim
id and retiring. It never seeks to display its
elf "before folks," and when we seen too open
display, we always think it is a simulation, and
treat it as a cheat.— \'. Dutchnum
The Printer and the Dutchman.
A journeyman printer lateh• set out on foot
for the interior of Ohio, a distance of 51)0 miles,
with an old brass rub-, and three dollars in
money in his pocket. Ile soon found himself
in Pennsylvania, and being weary, called nt
the inn of a Dutchman. whom he found quiet
ly smoking his pipe; when tho following dia
logue ensued
Misther VaMing Shtbielc, vat you
want P'
'Refreshments nntl repos,'
'Supper and lodging T reckon.'
'Yes sir, supper and lodging : '
'Po you a Yankee paler. nut cheweiry in
your pack to tcheat te
'No sir, no Yankee pedlar.'
'A singing teacher, too lazy to work.
'No sir.'
'A chOnteel shoemaker, vot Ailey till Satnr•
day night, and layih drunk in do porch ofer
Sunday?'
'Nosir. or T should lin, mended my boots
before this. But lam not disposed longer to
submit to this outlandish inquisition. Can you
give me a supper and lodging?'
Tehortly. But not you ? is book aeltent, tn•
king honest people's money fur a little
dat only tnakos dem lazy?'
'Trya gain, your worship.'
'A dentist, breakin' to people's ehaws, n tol
tar n schnar, and running off mit old Sham.
hoek's daughter ?'
'No sir, no tooth-puller."
'Kertiologus, den feeling te young folks heads
like so ninny rabbis-h, and teharging twenty
five rents fiir tellin' their fortunes, like a blam
ed Yankee?"
'No, no phrenologist either, your excellency.'
'Veil, den. vot to title are you? Choost tell,
and you shall have some of to best sausage for
supper, and shtay all night free gratis mit
out tchargin you a cent, mit a chill o visky to
shtart on Wore brikfitst.'
'Very well, your honor; to terminate t.ho col
loquy without further circumlocution, I ant a
humble disciple of Faust, a professor of the
art preservatee of all arts—a typographer, at
your service.'
'Fetch dat ?'
'A printer, sir, a man that prints books and
newspapers.'
. .
`A man vat prints nooshpapers! 0, yaw,
yaw—by Choopiter, aye, aye! datsh it. a man
vot prints nooshpapers—yaw, yaw! Valk up,
walk up, Mister Ilrinter! Cheems take to
chentleman's pack off. Chon prink some junks
to do lire. A man vot prints nooshpapers I I
wish I may bo shot if I didn't dick you vas von
dam tailor.
It • thedutyof
Go TO CHURCll.
rents to see that their children attend the
public worship of Almighty God, on the
Sabbath. Nothing nets wore unfavorably
on the moral character of an individual,
than habitual abstinence from the House of
God. Wo do not act the part of good pa
rents while we leave our families unprovi
ded in this respect. No neighborhood or
community can long have a healthy state
of morals, uhless it has an altar °rooted to
the worship of the Ruler of the universe.
frrJohn Adams, the second President
of the United States, was a practical busi
ness man and a careful husbander of time.
The following entry appoars in his diary,
recently published:
Friday—Saturday—Sunday--Monday—
All spent in absolute idleness, or what is
still worse, “gallanting the girls."
IVe submitted this extract to our devil,
who exclaimed at once--“ Well, if gallant
ing the girls bo a sin, may the Lord help
the wicked!"
BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT.—The annexed
lines aro copied from a tombstone in the
Protestant grave-yard at Now Orleans;
"There's not an hour, or day, or dream.
leg night, but I am with thee; thorn's not
a wind but whispers of thy name, and not
a flower that sleeps beneath the moon; but
in its hues of fragrance tells of thee."
ig" A holy who hail refused to giro, after
hearing a charity sermon hod her pockets pick
ed ns sho was lensing the church. On making
the discovery, she Faith " find could not find
the way into my pocket but it seems the Devil
did."
NO. 40.
The Orator.
A regular old toper. slightly reeling,, eyes
half shut, and partly sober, is thus supposed to
address a 'select few' of his old cronies, while
leaning against a lamp post in some secluded
spot: - - - -
"Now Tax you fellers, who's the best citizen
him that supports guvernment.orhim as dus'nt
do it? Why him as does it, in course. We
support government, all as drinks supports
government, that is, if ho tickers at a licensed
house. Every blessed drop of licker that he
swallers is taxed to pay the salaries of them ar
great officers, melt as Mayor and Corporation -
ers, Hie Constables. Presidents, and Custom
house gentlemen. 'Spose we was to quit drink.
why government must fail ; it could'a help it
now how. That's the very reason I drinks. I
don't like grog. I mortally hate it. If I fol
lered my inclination, I'd rather drink butter
milk, or ginger pop, or sody water. But I lick
ers for the good of my country, to set an ex
ample of patriotism and virehuous self denial
to the rizin generashon."
2 " - fi Ts] TJlrl - Jr 112 I.
To Preoorve Eggs.
Some of your correspondents — inquire about
the best method of keeping eggs fresh, and as
we have a plan here which have been given to
these inquiries, I send it to you, particularly as
I find it better than any I hove seen mentioned:
—Take a half inch board of any convenient
length and breadth, and pierce it as full of
holes (each inches in diameter) as you can,
without risking the breaking of one hole into
another—l find that a board of ten feet. six
inches in length, and one board has five dozen
in it, say twelve rows of five ench; then take
four strips of the same board of two inches
broad, end nail• them together edgewise into a
reetang,ulnr frame of the same size no your
board; nail the board upon the frame, and thin
work is done, unless you choose, for the sake
of appearances, to nail a healing of three
quarters inch round the hoard at the top; this
looks better and sometimes may prevent an
egg from rolling off. Put your eggs on this
board as they come in from the poultry house,
the small end down, and they will keep good
for six months, if you take the following pre
cautions:—Take care that the eggs do not get
wet, either in the nest or afterwards; (in sum
mer, hens are fond of laying among the nettles
or long grass, and any eggs taken from such
nests should be put away for immediate use;)
keep them in a cool room in summer, and out
of the reach of frost in winter, and then I think,
the party trying the experiment will have abun
dant reason to be satisfied with it.
I find there ore some in my larder which
am assured have been there nearer eight
months than six, and which are perfectly fresh
and good; in fact, it is the practice here to ac
cumulate a large stock of eggs in August Sep•
temper, and October, which lasts until after
the fowls have begun to lay in the spring. If
two boards arc kept. one can be tilling, and the
other emptying at the same time. This is nn
exceedingly good plan for those persons who
keep a feni fools for the supply of eggs to their
own fatuity; but would, perhaps. not do so welt
for those who keep a large stock of hoes, as it
would take up too much room.
I haVe endeavored to account fir the admir
able way in which eggs keep in this manner.
by supposing that the yolk floats more equally
In the white, and has less tendency to sink
down to the shell, than when the egg is laid on
one side; certainly if the yolk reaches the shell,
the egg spoils immediately. _ _
Will tanto &your coriospondonts fhvor me
with thoir opinion! _ _ T. 0,
Rural Axioms.
It is as cheap to raise one ton of grass or do.
ver, as a tun of burdocks or pig. eels.
It costs nn more to raise a hundred bushels
of cider apples or ten barrels of Virgalietts or
Ilartletts than the same quantity of choke
pears, _ _
An ace costing two dollars, with which n In
borer may cut fifty cords a month, is n cheaper
tool than an axe costing hut ono dollar, with
which he can cut only forty cords.
A "cheap plough" nt five dollars, costing in
one season three dollars in repairs and three
more in loss of time to teams, men, and retar
ding crabs, is a dearer plough than cum at ten
dollars requiring no repairs.
A cow 1;oughl for ten dollars. whose milk
hut just pays her keeping, affords less profit
than one at thirty dollars, giving double the
value of milk afforded by the former.
A common dasher churn at two dollars, used
one hundred dines a rear, is not so economical
a purchase as a Kendall churn at four dollars,
requiring but half the labor to work it.
A ten nerd field costing fifty dollars per aer,
and ditched 2 manured, and improvcd at fifty dol
lars more, so as to give double crops, is much
more valuable...and profitable than twenty acres
unimproved, costing the same money.
.
The laborer who wastes half his strength in
working all day with a dull saw, because ha
cannot give a shilling or afford an hour to get
It sharpened, will waste at least twenty - -lisp
cents per day, or six or seven dollars per
month.
The man who losses half an hour of time
worth one shilling, and wears h:s wagon and
team equal to two shilling more, by going over
a long and rough road, to avoid a plank road
toll of a sixpence, losses just two and six pone°
by the operation. This does not apply to the
loaded wagon, where the loss is much greater
than in smaller loads.—Albany CuWritten..
Guano,
A correspondent of the Pn. "Farm Journal,''
writing from New Castle County, Delaware.
speaks of the improvement in agriculture in
that State, and attributes it to the use of Gun.
no. He says:
But, it is'the introduction of Guano that is
working out an agricultural revolution in our
Commonwealth. Many farms that were eon
'tittered WOrlt Out have been entirely paid toe by
the first crop of wheat, alter the application of
Guano. And in several instances within my
knowledge, farms that five years ago you
could scarcely give away, are now worth
twenty-five dollars an acre, and increasing
yearly in mine.
I have no hesitation in saying that, if the
supply of Guano holds out, and the use of it by
our farmers continues to increase in the same
ratio during the next five years that it has for
a year or two past, the real estate of our Com•
monwealth will be worth five times as much as
it is at present. Even down in "Sandy Sus
sex," where, as the story goes, the sand is no
thick that the farmer, alter he is done plowing
in the evening, has to hang his plow on the
fence in order to find it next morning, there
are some signs of improvement.
Cultivation of Fruit Trees.
The Prairie Farmer, in speaking of the in,
jury to young orchards occasioned by tho com
mon practice of sowing them to grain and
seeding them to grace, makes this fair compari
son: 'Small grains in the orchard, arc worse
than red pepper in lemonade. So we think:.
He might have added that they are about as
nourishing to fruit trees, as ten-penny nails
would be to a horse, or a Scotch•snuWF pudding
to young children,