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OF GENERAL ELECTION.
nIIRSUA NT to nn Act of the General Assem.
r bly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania,
entitled "An act relating to the elections of this
Commonwealth," approved the second day of
July A. D. 1839, 1, M. B. ZEIGLER, High
Sheriff of the county of Huntingdon, in the
State of Pennsylvania, do hereby make known
and give notice to the electors of the county
aforesaid, that a General Election will he held
in said county of Huntingdon, of the Second
Tuesday (11th day) or October, 1853, at
which, time State and County officers, as fol
lows, will be elected:
One PERSON to fill the office of Canal COM
tnissioner of the Commonwealth of Pentisylva.
ONE PERSON to fill the office of Supreme
Judge of the Commonwealth of 'ilennsylvania.
One PERSON to fill the office of Auditor Gen
eral of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
One PERSON in connection with the counties
of Huntingdon, Blair and Cambria, to fill the
office of State Senator of the Commonwealth of
TWO PERSONS to represent the counties of
Huntingdon and Blair in the House of Rrepre
sentatives of the Commonwealth of Pennsylva-
ONE PERSON to fill the office of Sheriff for
the counts• of lientin7ilon.
ONE PERSON to fill the office of Treasurer
for the county of Huntingdon. . .
ONE PERSC;N to fill the'office of District At.
torney for the county of Huntingdon.
Oct' PERSON to fill the office of County Sur
veyor for the County of Huntigdon.
ONE PERSON to fill the office of County Com
missioner for the county of Huntingdon.
ONE PERSON to fill the office of
the Poor for the County of Huntingdon.
ONE PERSON to fill the office of Auditor for
the county of Huntingdon.
In pursuance of said Act. I also hereby make
known and give notice, that the pieces of hold
ing the aforesaid general election in the sever
al election districts within: 'lie said county, are
Ist district. compose sot` Henderson town
ship, mid all that part of Walker township not
in the 16th district, nt the Court House in the
Borough of Huntingdon.
2d distri..t. composed of Dublin township, at
Pleasant hill school house, near Joseph Nel
son's, in said township.
lid district. composed of so much of Worriors.
mark township no is not included in the 19th
district at the School House adjoining the
town of Warriorsinark.
4th district, composed of the township of
Hopewell, at the School House at Rough and
Ready Furnace in said township.
sth district, composed of the township of
Barre., at the house of James Livingston (for
merly John Harper,) in the town of Saulsburg,
in said township.
11th district,' composed of the township of
Shirley, at the house of D. Fraker, in Shirleys
7th district. composed of Porter and Walker
townships, and so much of West township as is
included in the following boundaries, to wit:
beginning at the south-west corner of Tobias
Caufman's farm on the bank of the little Juni
ata river, at the lower end of Jackson's nar
rows, thence in a north-easterly direction to the
most southernly part of the farm owned by
Michael Maguire, thence north 40 degross west
to the top of Tussey's mountain, to intersect
the line of Franklin township, thence along
said lino to little Juniata river, thence down
the same to the place of beginning, at the pub
lic School House opposite the German Reform
Church in the borough of Alexandria.
Bth district, composed of the township of
Franklin, at the house of Jacob Motions now
occupied by G. W. Mattern, in said township.
9th district, composed of Tell township, at
the Union School House, near the Union Meet
ing House, in said township.
10th district, composed of Springfield town
ship, at the School House near Hugh Madden's
in said township.
Ilth district, composed of Union tp., at the
School House near Ezekiel Corbin's in said
12th district, composed of Brady, township,
at the mill of James Lane, in said tp.
13th district, composed of Morris township,
at the house now occupied by Abraham Moy
er, (Inn keeper,) late Alex. Lowry, Jr., in the
village of aterstreet, in said township.
kith district, composed of that part of West
tp., not included in the 7th district, nt the pub
lic School House on the farm now owned by
Miles Lewis, (foruterly owned by James En
nis,) in said tp.
15th district, composed of that part of Walk
er township lying southwest of a line common-
eing opposite David Corbin's house, at the
Union tp., line, thence in a straight line, inclu
ding said Corbin's house to the corner of Poe
ter tp., on the Huntingdon and Woodcock cal
ley road, at the house of Jacob Magaby in
111th district, composed of the township of
Tod at the Groh School House in said tp.
17th district, composed of that part of West
tp., on the south-east side of Warrior ridge, be
ginning at the line of West and Henderson
townships, at the foot of said Ridge, to the line
of Barree tp., thence by the division lino of
Barren and West townships to the summit of
Stone mountain, to intersect the line of Hen
derson and West townships, thence by said
line to place of beginning, at the house now
occupied by Benjamin Corbin, on Murry's
18th district, composod of Cromwell tp., at
the house now occupied by David Etnire,
19th district, composed of the Borough of
Birmingham, with the several tracts of land
near to and attached to the same now owned
and nccupied by Thos. M. Owens, John K.
McCahan, A. Roberson, John Gensimer and
Wm. Gensimer, the tract of land now owned by
Geo. & Jno. Shoenborger, known as the Porter
tract, is annexed to said district, situate in the
township of Warriorsmark, at the public school
House in said Borough.
20th district, composed of Cass township, nt
the public School House in Cassville, in said
21st district, composed of Jackson township,
at the house of Robert Barr, now occupied by
John first, at Mc: leavy's Fort, in said tp.
22d district, composed of Clay township, at
the house of Joshua Shore, at the Three
Springs, in said township.
23d istrict, composed of Penn township, at
School house No. 8, middle ridges, near Philip
Garner's, in said tp.
I also make kiiown and give notice, as in
and by the 13th section of the aforesaid act I
am directed, "that every person, except justi
ces of the pence, who shall hold any office or
appointment of profit or trust under the go,
ernment of the United States,
or of this State,
or of any city or incorporated district, whether
a commissioned officer or agent, who is or
shall be employed under the legislative, execu
tive or the Judiciary department of this State,
or of the U. States, or any city or incorporated
district, and also, that every member of Con
gress and of the State Legislature, and of the
:sleet or common council of any city, cummis
tionsr, of any incorporated distrh.i, by law
r s .
, -•‘:, z: it .7, : ' ' , .
. i. ;..., 04 ~.„4„. 1 ~. ? ...
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" I SEE NO STAR A BOVA THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GSM BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OP THE UNITED STATES WEBSTER.
incapable of holding or exercising at the same
time, the office or appointment of judge, in
spector or clerk of any election of this Com
monwealth, and that no inspector, judge, or
other officer of any such election, shall he then
eligible to any office to be then voted for."
Also, that in the 14th section of the act of
Assembly entitled an "Act relating to execu
tions and for other purposes," approved April
16, 1840, it is enacted that the aforesaid 13th
section "shall not he construed no to prevent
any militia officer or borough officer from ser
ving as judge; inspector, or clerk, or any genet.-
al or special election in this Coinmonwealth."
Pursuant to the provisions contained in the
67th section in the net aforesaid, the judges of
the aforesaid districts shall respectively take
charge of the certificate or return of the elec
tion of their respective districts, and produce
them at a meeting done judge from each dis
trict, at the Court House in the Borough of
Huntingdon, on the third day after the day of
the election, being for the present year on
FRIDAY, the 14th of October next, then and
there to do and perform the duties required by
law of said judges. Also, that where a judge
by sickness or unavoidable accident, is unable
to attend said meeting of Judges, then the cer
tificate of return aforesaid shall be taken
charge of by one of the inspectors or clerks of
the election of said district, and shall do and
perform the duties require() of said judge un
able to attend. -
Also, in the 61st section of said act, it is en
acted that "every general and special election
shall he opened between the hours of eight and
ten in the forenoon, and shall continue without
interruption or adjournment until seven o'clock
in the evening when the polls shall be closed."
Given under my hand at Huntingdon the 14th
day of September, 1853, and of the Indepen
donee of the United States the seventy-sev
WM. B. ZEIGLER, Sheriff.
Huntingdon, Sept. 14, 1853.
THE AMERICAN FLAG.
BY JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
When freedom from her mountain height
Unfurni her standard to the airy
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stare of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who meat aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud
And see the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warrior's of tho storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,
Child of the eon! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner or the, free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory
MI of the brave thy foldg shall fly,
The si;•a of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the single, trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming, on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet
Has dimin'd the glistening bnyonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thv sky-born glories burn;
Andes his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and full
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall;
Then shall thy meteor glarn; -- es glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the helied sail,
And 'righted waves rush wildly back,
Befbre the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home
By angel hands to valor given;
The stani have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues wero born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet !
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet.
And Freedom's balm, streaming o'er us!
. _ _.._.
When the Summer Comes,
I once knew a little boy, a little child of three
years old; one of these bright creatures whose
iltir loveliness seems almost more of heaven
than of earth—even a passing glimpse stirring
our hearts, and filling them with purer and ho
lier thoughts. But this, the little Francie, woo
more of a cherub than an angel—as we picture
them—with his 41adsome hazel eyes, Isis daz
zling fairness, his clustering golden hair, and
his almost winged step. Suds he was, at least,
until sickness laid his heavy hand upon him ;
then, indeed, when after days of burning wast
ing fever-hours of weary restlessness—the little
hand at last lay motionless outside the scarcely
whiter coverlet of Isis tiny bed, the fair, still
headpressed down upon the pillow, and the
pale face gazing with the silent wonder of re
turning consciousness on the anxious ones
around it; then, indeed, a bright yet pitying
look would flit across it, or dwell in the anx
ious eyes—a look such as we assign to angels
in our dreams, when some fond fancy seems to
bring them near to us, weeping for mortal
griefs beyond their remedy.
It was a strange sickness for one so young—
the struggle of typhus fever with a baby frame;
but life and youth obtained the victory; and
quicker even than hope could venture to expert,
the pulses rallied, the cheeks grew round and
rosy, and the little limbs filled up again.--
Health Was restored—health, but not strength;
we thought this for a while. We did not won
der that the weak limbs refused their office, and
still we waited on in hope until days, and even
weeks passed by; then it was found that the
complaint had left its bitter sting, and little
Franck) could not walk a step, or even stand.
Many and tedious and painful were the rem
edies resorted to; yet the brave little heart bore
stoutly up, with that wonderful fortitude, al
most heroism, which all who have watched by
suffering childhood, when the tractable spirit
bends to its early discipline, must, at sometime
or other, have remarked. Fraucie's fortitude
might havo afforded au example to many; but
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1853.
a dearer lesson was give in the hopeful spirit
with which the little fellow himself noted the
effect of each distressing remedy, marking each
stage of progress, and showing off with pager
gladness each step attained, from the first
creeping on the hands and knees, to the tiptoe
journey round the room, bolding on by chairs
and table; then to the cling of some loving
hand; and then, at last, the graceful balancing
of his light body, until he stood quite erect
alone, and so moved slowly on.
It was in autumn this illness seized on the
little one, just when the leaves were turning
and the orchard fruits becoming ripe. His
nurse attributed it all to his sitting on a grassy
hank at play on one certain autumn day; but
be in his childish way, always maintained, "It
was Francie himself—eating red berries in the
holly bower." However this may have been,
the season and the time seemed indellihly im
pressed upon his mind. In all his long confine.
meet to the house, his thoughts continually
turned to outward objects, to the eternal face of
nature and the season's change, and evermore
his little word of hope was this, "When the
He kept it up throughout the long winter,
and the bleak cold spring. A fairy little car
riage had been provided for him, in which, well
wrapped up from the cold, and resting on soft
cushions, he was lightly drawn along by a Hen
vent, to his own great delight, and the admira
tion of many a young bachelor. But when any
one—attempting to reconcile him the better to
his position—expatiated on the beauty or com
fort of his new acquisition, his eager look and
word would show how far he went beyond it,
as quickly interrupting, he would exclaim,—
"Wait till the summer comes—then Francie
will walk again."
During the winter there was a fearful storm;
it shook the windows, moaned in the old trees,
and howled down the chimneys with a most
menacing voice. Older hearts that Francie's
quailed that night, and he, unable to sleep, lay
listening to it all—quiet, but asking many
question, as his excited fancy formed simili
hides to the sounds. One time it was poor lit.
tle children cruelly turned out. and wailing;
then something trifling, with its last horse cry;
then wolves and bears, from fur off other lands.
But all the while Francie knew he was snug
and safe himself; no fears disturbed him what
ever the noise may have been. Throughout
the whole of it he carried his one steadfast hope,
and in the morning, telling of it all, with all his
marvellous thoughts, he finished his relation
with the never failing word of comfort, "Al, I
there shall be no loud wind, no waking nights,
when once the summer comes!"
The summer came with its glad birds and
flowers, its balmy air; and who :can paint the
exquisite delight of the suffering, child that had
waited for it so long? Living almost continu
ally in the fresh air,
he seemed to expect fresh
health and strength from each reviving breath
he drew, and every day would deem himself
capable of some greater effort, as if to prove
that his expectation hail not been in vain.
Ono lovely day he and his little play-fellows
were in a group amusing themselves in a part
of the garden, when some friend passed through.
I;'rancie. longin, to show how much bc , °" . "' d
do, entreated hard to be taken with them
"along the walk just to the holly bower," His
request was granted; and on he did walk, quick
at first, then slowly, slower; but still upheld by
his strong faith in the summer's genial influ
ence, he would not rest is any of the offered
arms, though the fitful color went and came,
and the spasms grew more and more frequent.
No, with a heavy sigh he admitted, "'Tie a
very long walk now; Franck, must not be tired;
sure the summer has come." And so, deter
mined not to admit fatigue in the face of the
season's bright proofs around him, he succeed
pd in accomplishing his little task at Inst.
Thus the'summ r c'tr passed 'away, and again
came the changing autumn, acting upon poor
little Francie to a degree he hod never reckon
ed on, and with its chill, damp airs, nearly
throwing him hack again. With a greater cf.
fort than before, he bad again tried to walk to
the holly bower, the scene of his self-accusing
misdemeanor as the cause of all his suftbrings.
He sat down to rest.; above bin brad, as the au
tumnal breeze swept through them; "the pol
ished leaves and berries red did rustling play,"
and as little Francie looked upward toward
them, a memory of the former year, and of all
the time that hos passed since then, seemed for
the first time mournfully to steal over ltis heart.
He nestled in closer to his nmther's side; still
looking up, but with more thoughtful eyes. he
said."Mrtmtnn, is the summer octets gone?"
''Yes, my darlintr. Don't you see the scarlet
berries, the food of winter for the little birds?"
"Quite gone, mamma, and Francie not quite
His mother looked away; she could not bear
her child to see the telltale tears in his mourn
ful little words called up, or know the sad echo
returned by her own desponding thoughts.—
There was a moment's silence, only broken by
the blackbird's song; and then she felt as soft
a little kiss upon her hand, and looking down,
saw her harling's fare—yes, surely now it was
as bright as an angel's—gazing upward to her,
brightly beaming, brighter than ever; and his
rosy lips just parted with their own sweet smile
again, as he exclaimed in joyous tones,—
"Mamma, the summer will come again!"
Precious was that heaven.born word of child.
ish faith to the care-worn mother, to cheer her
then, and, with its memory of hope, still to sus
tain her through many an after experiment
and anxious watch, until, at last, she reaped
her rich reward in the complete realization of
her bright one's hope. Precious to more than
her such words may be, if bravely stemming
our present trouble, whatso'er it be—bravely
enduring, preserving, encouraging others and
ourselves, even as that little child—we hold the
thought, that as the revolving year brings
round its different seasons, as day succeeds to
night—and even as surely as wo look for this,
and know it—so to the trusting heart there
comes a time, it may be soon or late, it may he
now, or it may he TllEN—when this grief or
grievance will have passed away; and so it will
all seem nothing—when the summer contest—
Chambers' Edinburg Jutn•nal.
Save Your Earnings.
The practice which apprentices, clerics, and
others, have of spending their earnings as fast
as they accumulate, is one great reason why so
many never attain a position above mediocrity
in life. A person who receives but a small
compensation for his services, will, with a little
exchequer, and a system of regularity in his
expenditures, find that at the end of the year
he is prepared to encounter any emergency or
mishap. But, as a general thing, they manage
to get rid of their earnings quite as quick as
they are due, thus leaving them unprepared for
emergencies, by sickness or otherwise. A eye.
tent of curtailing necessary expenses, if adopt.
ed by our younger folks, would bring around
the most happy and gratifying results, and be
the means of raising to eminence and standing
in society, ninny who have now contracted the
habit of parting with their earnings AO readily
and foolishly for the habit of keeping contlnu •
ally•in debt, begets indifference and dissipation,
a lack of self-respect, and an utter disregard
for future prospects. The teal cause for
great deal of crime may he traced to the habit
of foolish expenditure of money in enrlier
• •---Alltasg Teuiwript.
If I Were He.
If I were a farmer, it appears to me I would
devote my whole attention to the cultivation of
my farm, clothe and feed my servants well,
take care of my stock, mend the holes in my
fences, take a fair price for my produce and
never indulge in idleness and dissipation.
If I were a lawyer I would not charge a
poor man $5 for a few words of advice.
If I were a physician, I would not have the
conscience to charge as much as they do fur
feeling the pulse, taking a little blood, or ad
ministering a dose of calomel and jalap.
If I were a merchant, I would have an estab
lished price for my goods, and not undersell or
injure my neighbors, I would sell at a moder
ate profit, and give good measure, and deal as
justly as possible.
If I were a mechanic I would apply myself
industriously to my business, take cure of my
fatuity, refrain from visiting taverns, grog
shops and billiard saloons, and when I promis
ed a man to have his work done by a certain
time, I would try and be punctual.
If I were a young man I would not cut so
many capers ns some of them do, playinr , with
their watch chains, flourishing their ratans,
strutting and making a greet noise with their
high-heeled boots—probably not paid for—and
making remarks on plain wo4thy people. They
render themselves contemptible in the eyes of
the sensible and nnassumm t
If I were a lady, I would not be seen spin
ning street yarn every day, ogling at this young
fellow, nodding at another, and giving sweet
smiles to a third.
If I were a lover I would be true to the object
of my affection, treat her with tenderness, and
never let her conduct towards another excite
jealousy in my breast, but should she ever
speak of me in terms of disrespect, or treat me
with coolnes, then I would be off, like'shot from
a shovel, and all her arts should never again
If I were an old bachelor, I would make ev
ery exertion in my power to get married or
And Mr. Printer, if I was of your honorable
profession, I would never refuse to publish pie.
ces like this.
Nations rise, flourish and decay—little men
grow suddenly and accidentally great, pia
themselves up to an enormous size, and burst
—babies are born, suck, grow, and become men
—and lovers talk nonsense, sigh, vow eternal
fidelity, swear that moonlight nights were made
alone for them, and apostrophize them by de.
daring them to be emphatically "dem loin."
But on the foundations of hmoulderedruins oth
er fabrics, fairer, firmer and mere systematical
are reared. Little great men grow mellow in
the shade, babies arc hurried on to give place
for others coming; and romantic enthusinsts
become surfeited with moonlight, music, love
and flowers. On we rush to glory or to shame,
individualiy and nationally, sometimes smiling
in the gladening beams of sunshine, again be
wailing the shadows that darken our path.—
Still the world moves on—the law of gravita
tion keeps the planets in their orMtz, awl doo
r" orndietions of father Miller,
we look at comets and calculate the length or
their tails, without Perim alarm. Furnaces
blow and whistle, and we begin to admire the
concord of harsh sounds. Railroad cars plun
ge into each other like maddened hulls—lives
are lost, limbs are broken, and yet we take
passage in the next train, and politely ask the
conductor if he can't go a little swifter. Steam
boats explode and hurl mangled carcasses high
in the air—undismayed we wait. an hour fbr
the fastest boat.. Men, honorable men, attack
unprotected innocence. achieve a hellish con
quest, and we honor them for their RUCCCSR.-
Women stumble and we kick them down. The
poor man to stifle the groans of hunger, takes
tt crust; an intelligent jury with tree instinct of
humanity consigns hint to the damp vapors of
a dungeon;—the rich and influential nabob
steals thousands and is safe. The triumphant
villain is the lord—honesty is a vulgar weak.
ness, and virtue but the theme for ribald jest.
Prudery has taken the place of' modesty—brag
gadocin of common sense, and money of re
spectability. Mushroon aristocracy flourisheth
like a green bay tree, and men bow delighted
to the golden calf.
Fate of the Apostles.
The following brief history of the fates of
the apostles may he new to those whose reading
has not beets so evangelical as to know that;—
St. Matthew is supposed to have suffered mar
tyrdom, or wits slain with a sword, at the city
of 'Ethiopia. St. Mark wits dragged through
the streets of Alexandria, in Egypt, till lie ex
pired. St. Luke was hanged upon an olive
tree in Greece. St. John was put into a cal
dron of boiling oil in Rome, and escaped death!
He afterwards died a natural death at Ephe.
sus, in Asia. St. James the Great was behead
ed nt Jerusalem. St. James the Less was
thrown front a pinning° or wing of the temple,
anethen beaten with a fuller's club. St. Phil.
ip was hanged against a pillar at Hierapolis, a
city in Phrygia. St. Bartholomew was flayed
alive by the command of a barbarous king.—
St. Andrew was bound to a cross, whence he
preached to the people till he expired. St.
Thomas was run through the body with a lance,
at Coromandel, in the East Indies. St. Jude
was shot to death with arrows. St. Simon Ze
lotes was crucified in Persia. St. Matthias was
first stoned, and then beheaded. St. Bat...has
was stoned to deaths by the Jews, at Salania.—
St. Paul was beheaded at Rome, by the tyrant
Marriage of Love and Convenience,
Every where, but in novels," says a recent
writer, "the mnrriage of convenience has prov
ed an excellent institution, while what are call
ed love matches have been ; are and ever will
he, prolific of misery." We should like to see
the impudent old foggy who said that!—if it
were only to tell him to his teeth that he lies I
—lies like the telegraph—lies like a lawyer—
lies like a steamboat runner—lies .likO the
prospectus of a new magazine!" So "marria•
ges of convenience" ore better than lcve match
es, are they? Do you know that love is all
that can make marriage honest, or even decent?
That marriage without it is a stench in the nos.
trils of God and men? That love is heavenly
in its origin,divine in its inflnence,tind glorious
in its enjoyments! while "convenience"—
which is but a smooth gloss for lust or avarice
—is the prolificparent of inconvenience, heart.
buntings, wrangling, discord, a divorce? Of
course you don't ! but every man of sense and
observation knows that the mistake of youth
and romance alliances are light and unfreq nem,
compared with that of the coldly planned blun
ders of sagacious bachelors of fifty, and weary
spinistcrs of thirty•five.— : Roston Post.
eir "What shall we do with all the Grain
that is now required for distilling?" interposed
a caviller while Mr. Barnum was speaking at
Cleveland—" Feed the drunkard's wife and
children with it—they have gone hungry long
enough," responded Barnum. The querist
hauled off to repair damages, and let the speak.
er proceed without further Interruption.
lir When you see a young man and woman
walking down the street, leaning against each
other like a pair of badly matched oxen, to as.
aur,d that they are bent on consolidation.
A fog is in reality a cloud and instead of '
floating in the atmosphere it rests on the earth.
It is generally formed on low lands. Who ever
has traveled on hilly eountriesespecially among
mountains. must have frequently seen the fog.
like a sea, lying in the valleys beneath. All
mists and fogs, for the former is but a lighter
form of the latter consists of thin Yes:cies of
water containing air. The prevailing impres
sion among scientific men, is that these vesi
cles are formed by a strata of air, unequal in
temperature, and holding moisture in solution
mingling. together. Thus the mixture of a sea
breeze with the air above the land usually pro
duces a fog, a phenomenon familiar especially
to those who have visited Newport, where fogs
are frequent and dense. Often the mere con
traction of air. from its becoming colder after
sunset, produces a concentration of its watery
praticles. after rising some distance becomes
condensed. In our country we are scarcely
ever without the slightest form of fogs, which
is haze, as the foist obscnration around a dis
tant landscape proves. Mists are less common.
The real fog, which, almost amounts to rain, is
still more rare.
To high latitude at sea, fogs are very fre
quent and dense, owing to the mingling of the
cold winds, blowing from the Arctic circle,with
the warmer strata of air hovering over the sur
face of the ocean. The greeter frequency of
fogs in August and September,
over May, June
and July, arises principally from the earth
having become heated, like an oven' while at
the same time the nights grow colder, evapo
ration and condensation go on with greater
rapidity. This occurs especially after a sue.
cession of rains, of which the lute weather fur
nishes an illustration.
The popular notion of the unhealthiness of
fogs is some what exaggerated, unless where
persons have diseased throats or lungs, or are
so thinly attired as to be chilled through, there
is little danger to be apprehended from pure
fogs according to the best medical writers.
The fogs on the banks of Newfoundland, are
very dense, yet the fishermen never take fever
from them. Bet when the earth is giving out
noxious exhalations from decaying vegetable
matter; as at this season of the year, .d when
fog arises to stagnate these exhaltations mid
prevent their dissipating,, the peril of catching
fever, is some one or other of its forms, becomes,
it is apparent. quite considerable. Prudent
persons, accordingly will hare as little to do
with a fog or even a mist, at thisseason of the
year as possible. Of course the danger is
greatest is the countrv, where fogs are more
frequent. and exhalations denser. As a gener
al rule city bred persons in the country ought
to walk out lint little, in the evening, after the
first of August, for when there is no percepti
ble fog, or even mist there is haze, holding in
solution a greater or less quantity of vegetable
A Beautiful Extract.
"Pardon me, Miss Edwards, I cannot agree
with you. To me gray hair is beautiful. Hy
A deep silence followed these, words. The
low, trrneat, reverential tone in whichthe
were spoken had impressed the gayest of that
gay voting group.
"To meivay hair is beautiful. My mother's
hair is gray." He could remember when the
same gray hair was dark and glossy as n ra
ven', plume—when the calm pale brow it sha
ded was free front wrinkles—when the now
colorless cheek was flushed with the rose tint of
health and happiness. He remembered how
carefully she guarded his helpless infitnev,
cheerfully bearing privation, weariness and stif
fering, for his stake—the gentle fbrce with
which she restrained him during the seasons of
headstrong impetuous youth—the proud affec
tion with which she marked the noble develop
ment of his manhood—and the deep, strong,
deathless love with which all his life low): she
bad covered him as with a garment. And to
him now, in the pride and vigor of his man
hood even her gray hairs were beautiful. Nor
hers alone—hut every head which age had sil
vered o'er was reverenced for her sake.
In this busy, beetling age of the world, when
the accumulation of wealth and the passion for
public honors engross so large a share of men's
thou and thoughts, reverence for the old is in
danger of being accounted an old fa.hioned
duty. to be laid aside with hoops and furbelows,
powdered wigs and silver knee buckles. The
command—" Honor thy father and thy mother."
which, to many minds, savors too strongly of
things beyond the flood to claim perfect obedi
ence, is as binding now as at the day God ut
tered it from Sinai. Even in the absence of a
direct command, every high and noble senti•
ment in man's nature prompts him to yield to
his mother the homage of love, if not as deep
and tender, at least as sure and changeless as
"To me gray hair is beautiful. My mother's
hair is gray." The words were few and simple
enough, but they revealed much. I thought
how it would have quickened the mother's lan
guid pulses, and how the weary heart, now
almost home, would have leaped for Joy, had
they fallen on her ears. Involuntary, as it
were the man whom the world called great, had
offered this tribute of filial affection, and ex
pressed his reverence of the "crown of glory"
which gray hairs become to those who are
found its the paths of righteousness.
The editor of the Albany Register comments
thus upon this simple word, so common and
yet so full of solemn and tender meaning:
"How many emotions cluster around that
word. How full of sadness, and to us, how full
of sorrow it sounds. It is with us a consecra
ted word. We heard it once within the year,
as we hope never to henr it again. We spoke
it on an ocepsion, such as we hope never to
speak it again. It was in the chamber of death
at the still hour of night's noon. The curtains
to the windows were all closed, the lights were
shaded, and we stood in the dim and solemn
twilight, with others, around the bed of the dy
ing. The damps of death were on her pale
young brow, and coldness was on her lips, as
kissed her for the last time while living.—
"Good bye, my daughter," we whispered. and
"Good tiye, father," came faintly from her dy
ing lips. We know now if she ever spoke
more, but "Good-bye" was the last we ever
heard of her sweet voice. We hear that sor
rowful word often, and often. as we sit alone,
busy with the memories of the not. We hear
it in the silence of the night, to the hours of
nervous wakefulness, as we lay upon our bed
thinking of the loved and the lost to us.—
We hear it in our dreams, when her sweet
face comes back to us, as it was in its love'
linens and beauty. We hear it when we sit
beside her grave in the cemetery where she
sleeps, alone, with no kindred as yet by her
side. She was the hope of our life, the prop
upon which to lean when age should come up.
on us, and life should be running to its dregs.
' The hope and the prop is gone, and we care
not how soon we go down to sleep beside our
darling, beneath the shadow of the trees in the
city of the dead."
SW.The nearest way to honor is for a man
to live that he may be found to be that is troth
he weu!ri be thought to be.
The following Indian legend, relative to the spir
it-home of Washington, is extracted from Mor
gan's Leng,ue of the Iroquois. it is curious as
showing the estimation in which the Father of Lk
Country was held by this singular people, and
their idea of future felicity:
"Among the modern beliefs engrafted upon the
ancient faith of the Iroquois, there is one which
is of particular notice. It relates to Washington.
According to their present belief no man ever
reached the Indian Heaven. Not having been
created by the Great Spirit, no provision was made
for him in their scheme of theology. Ito was ex
cluded both from Heaven and from the place of
punishment. But an exception was made in fa
vor of Washington. Because of his justice and be
nevolence to the Indian, he stood Pre-eminent a
bove all other white men. When by the peace of
1783, :the Indians were abandoned by their Bri
tish allies, .d left to make their own terms with
the American government, the Iroquois were more
exposed to revere measures than the other tribes
in their alliance. At this critical moment, Wash
ington interfered in their behalf as the protector of
Who' rights, end the advocate of a policy towards
them of the most enlightenedjusticeand humanity.
After his death, be was mourned by the Iroquois
as a benefactor of their race and his memory was
cherished with reverence and affection. A belief
was spread among them that the Great Spirit hid
received him into a celestial residence upon the
plains of Heaven, the only white man whose deeds
had entitled him to this Heavenly favor. Just
by the entrance of Heaven. is a wall enclosure,
the ample groups within which are laid out with n •
venues and shorted walks. Within is a spacious
mansion, constructed in the fashion of a fort.—
Every object in nature which could please culti
vated taste, had been gathered in this blooming E
den to render it a most delightful dwelling-place
for the immortal Washington. The faithful In
dian as he enters heaven, plisses the enclosure Ile
sees and recognizes the illustrious inmate as he
walks to and fro in slim meditation. But no
word passes Iris lips. Dressed in his unifortn,
and in a state of perfect felicity, he is destined to
remain through eternity in the solitary enjoyment
of the celestial residence prepared for him by the
A Sixpence well Invested.
The other day we saw a bright-eyed little girl,
some seven or eight years of age, tripping along
the streets with a basket on her arm, aparent
ly sent on some errand. All at ones she stop
ped, and commenced searching for something
among the snow and ice.
'TWits evident it wnssomething of value, and
that she was in trouble. Her search was ea
ger and nervous—the bright smile had vanish
ed front face, and tears were running down her
cheeks. A gentle passing at the moment, no.
ticed the tribulation of the little creature, and
asked her what was the matter.
"0, sir," said she, her little bosom swelling,
and tears choking her voice, "0 sir! I've lost
The gentleman took a piece of money from
his pocket, and called her to him, saying—
" Here, dear, don't cry for the lost sixpence;
here is another," and placed it in her hand.
"0 dear sir," said she, as she bounded for
ward, how I thank you."
Her great grief was removed, the bright
smile was restored, the apprehension of a mo•
tiler's frown for her carelessness was gone, and
Think you that that man, a 9 he remembers
that pretty face, beaming with gratitude and
joy, will ever regret that well invested sixpence?
A whole world of happiness bought for a six.
pence! How easy a thing it is to shed sun
shine on the hearts of those about us.—Rome
sEr•A Frenchman stopped a lad in the street
in New York, to make some inquiries of his
"Mon free, what is ze name of zis street,
"Well, who said 'twant ?"
"What you call zis street ?"
"Of course we do."
"Pardonnez! I have not ze name, Tot you
"Yes, Watts we call it."
"How you call ze name of zis street?"
"Watts street, I tole yer."
"Watts street, old feller, and don't yer go
to make game o' me."
"Sucre mon die! I ask you one, two, tree,
several times often. vill you tell me ze name ov
ze dam street, ch ?"
"Watts street, I tole per. Yer drunk, ain't
")f on little free, vere von lif, eh?"
In l'ltn.lara street."
"Eh, bein 1 You Hein von dam street, and
you is von darn fool, by dam 1"
Bill of Fare,
The Detroit Tribune is responsible for the
following bill of fare, which it attributes to a
Niagara Falls Hotel :
First Course—Arm Chairs.
Second Course—Heaps of Plates.
Third Course—Silver Spoons and Plated
Fourth Course—Wait as long as you please
and get nothing.
Clerks of the House, collecting 75 cents per
'resent}••four colored waiters, loaded with tin
Yawns, gapes, curses, swearing and music.
The whole concludes with a stampede for the
Buffalo ears, after sitting at the table for an
hour and a half.
A Paragraph for the Ladies.
F e m n i a education now-n.dnys often fails the
mark, and Misses are no both in the name and na
ture. Hear what a Connecticut contemporary has
"I's housekeeping an essential part of femnle ed
ucation 1 Undoubtedly it is. For a young wo
mon in any situation of life to be ignorant of the
various business that belongs to housekeeping,
is as great a deficiency ns not to understand se •
counts. or for the toasters of a vessel not to be ac
quainted with navigation. If a woman does not
know how tho various work of a house should he
done, she might ns well know nothing, for that is
her express vocation; and it matters not how much
learni,, or how many accomplishments she may
have, if she is wanting in that which is to lit her
fur her peculiar calling."
Nor so Poon As I Loox.—One day as Judge
Parsons was jogging along on horse-back over a
desolate road, be came upon a log hut, dirty, smo
ky, and miserable. Ile stopped to contemplate
the too evident poverty of the scene. A poor half
starved fellow with uncombed hair and unshaved
beard, thrust his head through a squire hole which
served for n window, with—"l say„ Judge, I aint
so poor as you think the to be, for I don,t own this
ger One of the best 'hits' ever made at an
impropriety in a lady's dress, was made by
Talleyrand. During the revolution, when as
ked by a lady his opinion of her dress, he re
plied that 'it began too late and ended too soon.'
skit'-"I curse the hour thatwe were married,"
exclaimed an enraged husband to his bettor half;
to which sho tuidly replied:—"Don't my dear,
for that was the only harpy hour we have ever
How Some People give Charity:
SCENE—A small room and poor woman sewing.
(Enter Gent, pompous and portly.)
Gent—Good morning, mam; fine day—
ahem I "Was told you were in a suffering con.
dition." Puts down his gold•headed cane, ad.
justs his gold•bowed spectacles, and tells the
time by his gold repeater.
Poor Widow, meekly.—" We're very poor,
"Yes. yes, so I've been told"—glancing
round the room; "pretty comfortable, though—
decent furniture; why don't you sell that thing?"
pointing to a mahogany bureau.
"I could not get one third its value, air; be
sides, it is the only article I have, in which to
keep our poor clothes—the children's and
! "Pooh I pooh! you must pnt up with boxes, or
any out of the way place; it gives you tno re.
spectable an air'—widow looks hurt—"quite
too respectable an . air. You will never get
help while you live in this manner."
"Heaven knows I would not ask it, sir, if I
could help myself; but since—since my—my
husband di—" falters and bursts into tears.
Gent, uneasily.—" Yes, yes mam—l'll report
your ease. Can't do any thing myself—got as
extensive family—good many dependants—
poor relations, and so on; but to be candid
with you, T advise you to dispense with super.
fluities. Your children don't look as if they
suffered —good clothes, and so forth."
Poor widow, a little rcaenlfully._"The)
can't eat their cloaca, sir."
"True, hut.spend more upon their stomachs,
and less upon their backs. Who dainties love,
shall beggars prove.' Dr. Franklin—ahem."
"Heaven knows I get no dainties," murmurs
the poor woman to herself.
"Yes, main, I'll report you, and throw in my
humble vote. But I hope you work in soma
way, mam, 'idleness is the greatest prodigali•
"Yes, sir, these shirts lam making, I work
on from morning till night."
"Ah, very good; "industry must prosper;"
and what do you get for them ?"
"Five cents apiece, sir."
Gent, a little staggered.—" And you make—"
"One a day, sir; my sight is failing me ra•
Cent, considerably slayekred.—"Hump
ahem," finds a difficulty in clearins: his throat;
"thirty cents a week—five children—three
meals a day—fifty cents for rent—a—well
that's small wages, you must make your chil•
Poor widow. in tenrs.—"Oh, sir, they're
good children: I can't think of sending them
out barefoot through this awful city, to have
their morals ruined. No, air, I'd rather we'd
"You should tru,:t 'ern to Providence, mum;
Providence takes care of the destitute."
Poor widow,indignantly.—"Would you send
your children through the gutters, sir, and
trust them to Providence ?"
."-Ify children, mem, and
"Are you not of the came flesh and blood,and
tniop,iged„.!; , gt,Td , it,ulurs, r sir."
take your gal ring, there, from your finger;
and buy your bread; that's my mind, plainly
Poor widow sobs bitlerly—g"Twas the dy
ing gift of my husband, sir, I cannot part with
it. If you bare come to help me, Irm grate
ful; but if to insult me—l wish to be left
Exit Cent, muttering.—" Pretty insolence—
pretty insolence I Just like the whole pack of
'ern, proud, uni,rrateful, miserable set. Let her
get help where she can."
Thor widow alone trimming her Wald lamp.
"Oh, why did I speak so ? Why did r not bear
all his insults patiently, for the sake of my chil
dren? Bet I could not! lam poor, yet not
degraded. Gracious Heaven! is there no char
ity—no hope—no humanity—no religion ?"
A tap at the door. A white head gleams
through for a moment, only to thrust in a cov
ered basket. The widow opens it; it is filled to
the brim with bread, potatoes 'and a joint of
ready-dressed meat, while et the top lies
small purse fall of shining coin.
The widow bursts into tears, and kneeling,
prays, "my Father pardon me, There is chari
ty—hope—humanity—religion. I will never
One of the Witnesses.
The following case of cross-examination is
about as pointed as anything we have lately
heard of. It is reported in one of the city
Counsel—'Mr. Witness, we don't want any
holding back in this case. Did you see the de.
fondant squirt any water?'
•Did you see him squirt any water upon any
think the water he squirted might have
struck on several.'
'l)id be squirt at any particular individual?'
'Did he squirt at the plaintiff?'
'He might have squirted upon him.'
'This is not the question. Did he squirt at
`I can't say that he meant to squirt at him
anv more than at any other person.'
Did vou see hiss squirt at any part of his
don't know what he squirted at particular-
'Did ho squirt at any more than one part of
the plaintiff's person?'
'More than one part of his person may have
been squirted upon.'
'Answer my question, sir. Do you recollect
seeing him squirt on any other part of his per-
4 can't say that I recollect that he squirted
at any part particularly.'
'I ask again, sir, what part of his person did
the defendant squirt at?'
really can't say.'
'How was the plaintiff facing when ho was
'I think his face was towards the shop when
Mr. Wetherlice was squirting.
'Did he squirt upon the plaintiff's face?'
I can't say, fur I was minding the noise
more than the direction of the squirting,'
'Do you mean to say that you did not sea
the defendant squirt in the plaintift's face?'
mean that I don't recollect that 1 saw him
squirt in his face.'
'How many persons did the defendant squirt
''Perhaps four or five were squirted upon.'
'Was the plaintiff ono of the number squirt•
'1 think he was standing where ho might
have been squirted upon.'
'Do you mean to swear that you did not Bee
the plaintiff squirted upon?'
'No; I mean to say that if he was squirted
upon, Ido not at this time recollect it. But
ho stood rather a smart chance of being squirt•
ed upon, I think.'
'You can step down, sir l'
Bar goOTTZ weasel,'e name of
the latest dance. The Polka and Sebottiehe
are getting unrefoionshle.