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I KNEW HE OWED THE PRINTER.
In youth•l saw him first,
Hale, hearty and well dressed;
With a look that told you plainly,
His conscience was at rent.
In after years I saw him—
His hearty look was gone;
His peace of mind has vanish ed,
His pride of manhood flown.
I knew he owed the printer,
I knew it by the air
That peeped out everywhere,
He never advertised, then,
He never rend the news,
Until he did through ignorance
Both time and money lose.
No one knew his business,
No one knew his name,
Some thought him dead or broke—
No matter, 'twas all the same.
The wide world jogged along,
(The printer with the bent,)
Save him who would not jog,
But lagged behind the rest.
So back he went—back—back,
A disappointed man;
Jumping in his little sphere,
From fire to frying pan.
At last in desperate mood.
He roused his dormant will;
And did—what d're think?
Paid the Printer's bill.
Going the other extreme,
He published everywhere;
Who lie was—what he had—
Price and place of More.
;Icing a READING age,
People saw his name;
And wanting what he had,
To Lis counter came.
tieing a TALKING age,
People spend his fame;
Custom grew—money flew,
(His safe received the same.)
He prospered in his trade,
And goes on prospering still.
Why?—Because he advertised
Ana pays his Printer's bill.
French Courtship and Marriage,
Did you ever see a French wedding ? Here
you are, on the place St. Sulpice. Houses
built for the great and rich, row deteriorated,
degraded into sordid lodging-houses, are on all
the other sides; but in the centre is the beauti
ful edifice of St. Sulpice, with its two open tow
ers. It is gloomy enough within—silent and
solemn. But now all is bright. If the light of
day comes but dimly through the windows,
hundreds of wax candles illumine the aisles.—
On the stone floor a rich carpet has been laid,
rows of velvet and gold surround the altar, and
on the altar itself the masses of white eamellas,
roses, jessamines, and white lilacs almost ex.
elude the sight of the sacred images. The
aisles are tilled with new straw chairs; the sa.
cristants are in their best; the beggars in their
worst—for that is their wedding garment. All
stand in waiting round the door. On the steps
is the Suisse, looking to the uninitated uncom
monly like the drum-major of a regiment, all
gold.lace, with cocked hat and feathers, and a
sword by his side—in hand a long pole with a
silver knob. His legs are models, and he
knows it. Now the carriages arrive. The
Suisse stamps his stick upon the stones, and
down gets the bride, led by her mothers--fath.
era are rather in the back-ground on these oc
casions. The organs peal, and the whole pro
cession, headed by the Suisse, marches up to
the altar. Then the aisles fill with every sort
of magnificence of dress—one, two, three huts
dred, or even a thousand people. Every body
whose name was ever known to either bride or
bride-groom come of course to the wedding, or
at least to church.
While the question, "Wilt thou take this
man ? is addressed to the bride, she takes for
ever her leave of maternal control, by turning
with a profound courtesy to her mother to ask
her permission to answer. Mamma responds
by nnother inclination, and then her daughter
any the "yes" which gives her, her freedom
The youngest sister or cousin of either bride
or bridegroom then, handed by the youngest
gentleman of the party, preceded by our friend
of the fine legs and his sounding silver pole,
goes through the ettwd with downcast eyes,
and a fine velvet bag in her hand, soliciting
Fontributions, "Pou les pauvres,all vous plait."
They then adjourn to the vestry; and then, for
the first time, the bridegroom calls his wife by
log Christian name—though the timid bride
" 1 SEE NO STAR ABOVE TIIE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIOENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED BTA.TES.".
does not drop the "Monsieur" till some days
after she has become a wife. Then there
is feasting at home, dressing, dancing, and a
little crying; then the bride, installed in her
home by her mother, leaves forever the paren•
Now, in all probability the two principal ac
tors have never spoken twenty sentences to
each other since they were first introduced.—
This is the way they court in France. One
lady says to another,. "My daughter is eigh
teen. She h. much." Every girl has a dow
ry, if it be but 500 francs. "You hove known
her from a child. You see so many men—
cannot you think of one to suit her."
Of course the lady can; for men are as ea
ger to marry in France as girls to get hus.
hands; it is an increase of fortune, and a pat
ent of respectability in all stations, in all pro
fessions. The young man is spoken to, and of
course the young lady is named to him. A
party is given and they meet; or sometimes the
girl is taken to the opera, and the lover exam.
ines her through his glass. If satisfied with
the survey he is allowed to pay her a visit.—
Then the girl, supposed to be in entire ignor•
once of the proceedings up to this point, is
asked how she would like so-and-so for a hus
Now, it is but just to say if the girl does not
approve, the negotiations go no further; but
as she has never spoken to this suitor, and
knows she will not speak to any future suitor,
if the man is tolerably good looking, and the
tailor has done his duty, why she, being assur
ed by her parents that the money is all right,
generally says yes. Then the mamma of the
bridegroom comes, one evening when the house
has been set in order and every body dressed
in his best; and after the first salutations, she
rises; and in a solemn voice asks the hand of
Madlle. Estelle -,for Monsieur Achtlle
Then the mamma on the opposite side of the
house rises and accepts the offer. Madlle. weeps
and throws herself into her future mamma's
arms; while the son-in-law embraces the moth
er of the intended. The papas shako hands,
the betrothed lovers, released from parental
arms mutually bow to each other, and the ser
vants bring in tea.
Then the lawyers set to work to draw up
contracts; the mamma orders new dresses,
&c., for her daughter, and puts new caps and
dresses on herself. The bridegroom comes
every evening with a grand boquet, which he
offers to Madamoiselle, flirts an hour or two
with the mother, bows to the daughter, and
goes off. The bride elect has only to embroi
der quietly by her mother's side, smile, blush,
Then the negotiating lady comes in grand
state, proceeded by an enormous trunk. Mam
ma and the bride receive her—,never, of course,
heeding the trunk. Then the lady makes a
speech, opens the trunk, and presents the bride
with the corbeille—namely,the wedding dress,veil,
and wreath,two or three Cashmere shawls,ditto
velvet dress, a set of furs, a set of lace floun
ces, a set of diamonds, a watch, a fan, a pray
er book, and a purse of gold. These come
from the bridegroom. in return the lady gets
a bracelet from the bride, and many thanks for
the presents and the husband. The mother
scolds the intended for the reckless magnifi
cence displayed, when he comes at night. The
bride says, "Ah, monsieur!" blushes, and
throws herself into her mother's arms. Then
the mamma gives her presents to the bride
groom--six cambric shirts and six white cra
vats the whole trimmed with Valenciennes,
chosen with an eye to the future, pocket-hand
kerchiefs of the bride; for after the wedding.
day, what man will be bedecked with lace ?
At last comes the signing of the contract.—
The bride takes one step into the world—she
receives her visitors, and speaks—nay conver
ses with all except the intended; that would be
improper. She gives a token of affection to
her unmarried relatives, bought from purse in
the corbeille. The wonders of the corbeille
are displayed in one room, whilst the trousseau
of the bride (given by the mother) is exhibited
in the other. Embroidery, linen, cambric,
laces, &c., are here lavished on the personal
underclothing of the bride, made up in dozens
and dozens of each article; piles on piles of ta
ble-cloths, sheets, towels, &c., all marked with
embroidered marks and tied with pink and blue
This is the way they manage marriages in
Edward A. Hannegan.
This "fallen star" seems determined, says
the Chicago Democrat, to regain his lost res
pectability and usefulness. He is at present
making temperance speeches in Indiana. At
a temperance camp-meeting, near Covington,
he recently made a speech, of which we have
the following account from the Covington
"He spoke in the open air with all the fire,
eloquence, and beauty for which he has so
long been justly celebrated. His voice was
exceedingly full and clear. Mr. Hannegan
took bold ground against not merely the sale
of intoxicating liquors, but also against the
manufiteture or importation within the limits
of the State for any purpose whatever. He de
clared himself ready to vote for the Maine law,
in the absence of anything better, but express
ed his belief that nothing short of a total ex
tirpation of the article from the face of the
earth would effect the desired object. The
splendid historical incidents and allusions with
which the address abounded, and by which Mr.
Hannegan enforced his arguments, greatly en
hanced its beauty and effect, and were very
characteristic of the speaker.
A Young lady of extraordinary capacities
recently addressed the following letter to her
cousin, living in a neighboring village:
"Dear Kussin the weather whar we is air
kool, and I suppose whar you is it air kooler
we awl is wel and mother has got the his Ter
ries and Tons has got the Doppia Cott' and .100
ter Susan has got a baby, and I lamp these fu
lynes will find you in the Caine comlishno rite
sone yore apheesbunute
HUNTINGDON, PA., W
On one occasion, he observed, "There has
not been a day since I was eight years of age,
in which I have not done something to get my
bread." Entering at a subsequent period, still
more minutely upon the •subject of his early
employments, be said, "I have known nothing
but labor from boyhood; the bread of idleness
was never eaten by me ; at seven years of age,
my father sent me to watch the cows ; soon at'
ter that, I was ordered to the mountains to
help shear the sheep; at twelve, I held the
plow in a field near my fathers' house, which
we farmed,—and, as a proof that I was not
over and above strong, the plowshare, coming
in contact with a stone which lay under the
surface of the earth, threw me up between 'the
shafts which I had been holding with a firm
grasp, and sent me with violence among the
horses' feet. What was still more laborious
work than this, was cutting peat for the fire;
and young as I was, I could keep two persona
busy—one to take from me, and pile up—and
another to carry. "Little as this hand was,"—
holding it out at the time, and directing his
eye to it,—"l could take it full of wheat, and
with the sheet wrapped round me, could scat
ter the seed over the soil,—yes, and have
as good and regular crops too, as any of
my neighbors. My father was privileged
with ground from Councillor O'Neill, part
of which served for potatoes, and part fur flax.
"I was probably made hard," in language sim
ilar to what he had adopted elsewhere, "and to
use my limbs at an early period, that my body
might strengthen by exercise; for I had need
of all the strength and fortitude I possessed."
To the habit of industry, was added the prac
tice of early rising; the one and almost insep
arble companion of the other, and adverted to
by Adam, with peculiar satisfaction. "The
hour glass," said he, "was regularly turned
twelve times during every day, before any one
was permitted to go to my fathers' house. My
children appeared to have retrogaded a little,
but neither father nor mother ever loved their
bed. When very young, my father had all of
us up at four o'clock in the morning, during
the whole summer,—some engaged in one
thing, and some in another,—and hours before
daylight in the winter." Here we have the
foundation of those sedulous habits for which
lie was so distinguished through life. The toil
of the field was preserved in countenance by
the toil of the study ; and it was a maxim with
him is after life, "The man that works most
with his head, will have the least to do with
his hands; on the contrary, we generally find
that those who labor least with the bruin, have
to add proportionably to the labor of the hand."
[Life of Dr. Adam Clarke.
One Paul Denton, a Methodist preacher in
Texas, advertised a barbecue, with better li
quor than usually furnished. When the people
were assembled, a desperado in the crowd cried
out, "Mr. Prul Denton, your reverence has
lied. You promised us not only a good barbe
cue but better liquor. Where is the liquor ?"
"There!" answered the missionary, in tones
of thunder, and pointing his motionless finger
at the matchless double spring, gushing up in
two strong columns, with a sound like a shout
of joy from the bosom of the earth. "There!"
he repeated, with a look terrible as the light
ning, while his enemy actually trembled on his
feet; "There is the liquor which God, the Eter
nal, brews for all his children. Not in the
simmering still, over smoky fires, choked with
poisonous gasses, and surrounded with the
stench of sickening odors and rank corruptions,
doth your Father in Heaven prepare the pre
cious essence of life, the pure cold water. But
in the green glade and grassy dell, where the
red deer wanders, and the child loves to play,
there God brews it; and down, low down in the
deepest vallies, where the fountain murmurs,
and upon the tell mountain tops, where the na
ked granite glitters like gold in the sun, where
the storm crash, and away far out, on the wide,
wild sea, where the hurricane howls music, and
the big waves roar the chorus, sweeping the
march of God; there he brews it, that beverage
of life health-giving water. And everywhere it
is a thing of beauty, gleaming in the dew-drop;
singing in the summer rain; shining in the ice
gem, till the trees all seem turned to living
jewels, spreading a golden veil over the setting
sun, or a white gauze around the mid-night
moon; sporting in the cataract; sleeping in the
glacier; dancing in the hail shower; folding its
bright snow curtains softly about the wintry
world; and weaving the many colored iris, that
seraph's zone of the sky, whose warp is the
rain-drop of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam
of heaven, all chequered over with celestial
flowers, by the mystic hand of refraction. Still
always it is beautiful—that blessed blue water!
no poison bubbles on its brink; its foam brings
not madness and murder! no blood stains its
liquid glass pale widows and starving orphans
weep not burning tears in its depths; no drunk
ard's shrieking ghost from the grave curses it
in words of eternal despair! Speak out my
friends, would you exchange it for the demon's
drink, alcohol !" A shout like the roar of a
tempest answered—"No I"
Sometime during the summer of 18.10, corn
being scarce in the upper country, and one of
the citizens being hard pressed for bread, Lav
ing worn thread bare the hospitality of hie gen
erous neighbors by his extreme laziness, they
thought it an act of charity to bury him. Ac
cordingly he was carried towards the place of
interment, and being met by one of the citi
zens, the following conversation took place;—
"Hallo I what have you there?" "Poor old Mr.
S." "What are you going to do with him ?"
"Bury him." "What! is he dead? I hadn't
heard of it." "No, he is not dead; but lie
might as well be; for.he hue no corn and is too
lazy to work for any." . "That is too cruel for,
civilized people; I'll give hini two bushels of
corn myself, rather than see him buried alive."
Mr. S. raised the cover, and asked in his usu
al dragging tone: "Is it s-h-e-l-l-e-d?" "No,
hut you tan soon shell it." "D.r-i-v.e 0-11
The A ra Borealis.
A writer in the 'one] Intelligencer, in de.
scribing the cause Aurora Borealis, says:
"A vast number theories and hypotheses
have engaged the ntion and ingenuity of
philosophers regard the Aurora Borealis, or
Northern lights. ng other things, it has
been ascribed to panicles thrown off from the
sun's atmosphere; tolellections of the sun upon
the polar ice; to brolasa up comets, and to elec
tricity in vacuo—while in an erlier age, it
awakened superstitions terrors, being deemed
ominous of war, pestilspice and famine, and a
fearful supernatural irecursor of the day of
The revelations of science have brushed
away those delusions, and late experiments and
discoveries show, that it is an atmospheric phe
nomena—that all the elements necessary to ac
count for it exist in the air, and are regulated
and governed by atmospherical laws, as plain
ly as the rainbow, or the hues which glow in
the evening sky.
NESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1853.
"The basis Or isubtrate of the Aurora is un•
mistakably a light, thin, transparent vapor, ap
proaching the conditiOn of the cloud, called Ci.
run, by rneteorologisto.—each stratum peculiar
ly susceptible of magnetic influences.
"Mr. Farrady, in 'his recent explanation of
the power and force otelectro magnetism, states
that 'the magnetic force invests the earth from
pole to pole, rising in one hemisphere, and pas.
sing over the equatorial regions into the other
hemisphere, and thus completes its circuit of
"These 'lines of magnetic force' rise at great
er angles in the high than in the equatorial lat
itudes. In the higherlatitudes they encounter,
and act upon, and irradiate the vaporous me
dia which form the basis of the Aurora Boreal
is—while the coruscations—the fantastic mo
tions—the sunny hues—the almost heat light
ning glances, and the prismatic colors, are due
to the electro magnetic light reflected on the
watery part of the vapor, and the chemical agi
tations of the elements in the mysterious me
"It appears from the foregoing data, that
the Aurora Borealis consists of a translucent
humid vapor, analogous to, and not higher than
the clouds; inflated, condensed, spread abroad
and otherwise modified by gasses and chemi•
cal affinities, and illuminated dy a 'metereolog
ical process evolving Electro Magnetic Light."
There is, perhaps, no situation in life which af
fords greater facilities for enjoyment, than that
of the husbandman. Exempt from the many
cares which throng the pathway of the profes
sional man, the farmer finds ample opportuni
ty to cultivate his mind and expand his intel
lect, and even while engaged in labor, may still
be a learner from the great book of Nature.—
As the plowshare turns the sods, his eye wan
ders over the rich landscape, and, in the mean
daring streams, the wood crowned hills and
smiling vales, he traces the finger of God.—
The glory of the spring -time is not by him un
heeded. He sees with delight the delicate ver
dure, mantling in beauty the awakening earth
—ho views with pleasure the fair petals of in
numerable blossoms as they unfold to the ge
nial sunbeams, and he feels upon his cheek,
the soft breeze which is laden with their bal
my perfume. For him, the minstrels of hea
ven have a song of joy, and all nature seems
hymning an anthem of praise. Gladly the fer
nier greets the spring-time, and with a light
heart prepares his fields, and sows the tiny
seed, which will yet yield a glorious autumn
offering. No feverish excitement disturbs his
placid life—no wild dreams of fame and glory
—no ambitious schemes, whose bright hopes
gleam for a space, then fade in darlcness away.
His course is before him—simple and plain—
peace and contentment are the inmates of his
breast. Day after day beholds him at his
healthful toil, and fortune smiles upon him.—
His table boasts few foreign luxuries, but fair
plenty is ever there, and the viands produced
by his own care, are partaken of with a relish
which the epicure might envy. Home is to
the husbandman a delightful spot. Care flees
from his fireside, and the evening hours are
spent in calm converse or innocent glee.—
When nights'sombre curtains enfold the earth,
he finds a sweet repose, for toil has lent "a
blissful zest to slumber." How many young
men who now forsake their rural homes, and
seek the crowded city, would escape the snares
of the tempter and shun the cup of sorrow, if
they remained upon the peaceful farms of their
fathers.—N. E. Farmer.
A Biblical Critic,
The best specimen of original criticism we
over heard was in a stage-coach ride to Berry
Edge. Three of us were talking about Adam
and his fall. The point of discussion was the
apparent impossibility that a perfect man like
Adam could commit sin.
"But he wasn't perfect," said one of the
"Wasn't perfect," we ejaculated in amaze-
"No, air, ho wasn't perfect," repeated our
"What do you mean?" we asked.
"Well," answered the authority, "he was
made perfect, I admit, but he didn't stay per
"Why was not one of his ribs removed ? If
he was perfect with all the ribs, he was not per
fect after loosing one, was he? Say ?"
Our say was silence. We were convinced
then, that woman was the cause of man's ori
ginal imperfection.—Oatshap (Englund) Ob.
tar An Apothecary's boy was lately sent to
leave a box of pills at one house and six live
fowls at another. Confused on the way he left
the pills where the fowls should have gone, and
the fowls in the pill place. The folks who re.
ceived the fowls were astonished at reading the
accompanying directions--•" Swallow one every
In a great majority of cases, the elopement
of a young lady is unwise, giddy, ungrateful,
immodest, and evinces a lascivious appetite
and reckless disposition. Why should she de
sert and distress those who have loved, nurtur
ed and cherished her through all her past years,
to throw herself into the arms of a comparative
stranger, who has done nothing for her, and
whose protestations of affection have yet to un
dergo the first trial ? It is every way unwor
thy of pure and gentle maiden-hood.
We can imagine but one excuse for her
elopement—namely, the efforts of parents or
guardians to coerce her into marrying some
one she does not love. To avoid such a fate,
she is justified in running away; for no parents
has or ever had a right to constrain a daughter
to marriage against her will. But where the
parents are willing to wait, the daughter should
also consent to wait, until her choice is assent
ed to, or she attains her legal majority. Then,
if she chooses to marry in opposition to her pa
rents' wishes, let her quit their home openly,
frankly, in broad day-light, and in such a man
ner as shall kindly, but utterly preclude any
pretence that her act is clandestine, or ill-con
sidered. No one should be persuaded or coer
ced to marry where she does not love; but to
wait a year or two for the assent of tissue who
have all her life done what they could for her
welfare, no daughter should esteem a hardship.
There is some truth to be told about the
"common run" of masculine prowlers by night,
about garden walls and under bed-room win
dows, in questof opportunities to pour seducing
flatteries into the ears of simple misses; but we
have no time to tell it now. As a general rule,
they are licentious, good-for-nothing adventu
rers, who would much rather marry a living
than work for it, and who speculate on the
chances of "bringing the old folks round," af
ter a year or two. A true man would not ad
vise, much less urge, the woman he loved to
take a step which must inevitably lessen the
respect felt for her, and violate the trust repo
sed in her by those who had loved and cherish
ed her all her days.—N. T.•ilnene.
In a "Prize Essay on the Sabbath,"written
by a.journeyman printer of Scotland—which
for singular power of language and beauty of
expression has never been surpassed—there oc
curs the following passage. Read it, and then
reflect for a while what a dreary and desolate
page would this life present if the Sabbath was
blotted out from our calculations:
Yokefellow! think how the abstraction of the
Sabbath would hopelessly enslave the working
classes, with whom we are identified. Think
of labor thus going on in one monotonous and
continuous and eternal cycle—limbs forever on
the rack, the fingers forever plying, the eye
balls forever straining, the brow forever sweat
ing, the feet forever plodding, the brain forev
er throbbing, the shoulders forever drooping,
the loins forever aching, and the restless mind
Think of the beauty it would efface, of the
merry heartedness it would extinguish; of the
giant strength that it would tame; of the re
sources of nature that it would exhaust; of the
aspiration it would crush; of the sickness it
would breed; of the projects it would wreck;
of the groans that it would extort; of the lives
that it would immolate; and of the cheerless
graves that it would prematurely dig ! See
them, toiling and moiling, sweating and fret
ting, grinding and hewing, weaving and spin
ning, strewing and gathering, mowing and reap
ing, razing and building, digging and planting,
unloading and storing, striving and struggling,
—in the garden and in the field, in the gran
nary and in the barn, in the factory and in the
mill, in the ware-house and in the shop, on the
mountain and in the ditch, on the roadside and
in the wood, in the city and in the country, on
the sea and on the shore, on the earth, in days
of brightness and days of gloom. What n sad
picture would the world present if we had no
Why Did Jacob Weep.
"Jacob kissed Rachael and lifted up hie voice
If Rachael was a pretty girl, and kept her
face clean, we can't see that Jacob had much
to cry about.—N: Y. Globe.
How do you know but that she slapped his
face for him.---11r. 0. Delta.
Gentlemen, hold your tongues. The cause
of Jacob's weeping was the refusal of Rachael
to allow him to kiss ber
It is our opinion Jacob wept because he
hadn't kissed Rachel before, and regretted
the time he had lost.—Age.
Green—verdant, one and all of ye. The fel
low boohooed because she did not kiss him in
Pshaw I none of you are judges of human
nature. Rachael was the first girl that Jacob
kissed, and he got so scared that his voice
trembled, and tears came trickling down his
Jacob was a man that labored in the field.
When he kissed Miami, he bad just returned
from his labors and had not washed his lips.
After he bad soiled Rachael's cheek, he wept
for fear she would think he was one of the
"frcesoilers."—Detroit Free Press.
No, gentlemen, not one of you aro correct.
The reason why Jacob wept was ho feared Ra•
chael would tell his mamma.--Jersey Tel.
Pebaw t You are all out. The reason Ja
cob wept was that Rachael would not let him
stop kissing her, when he once began.—Penn.
May be she bit him.-1 - azoo Wlng.
May it not be that it was his first attempt at
kissing? If so, she ought to have bit biro.—
What a long list of innocents I We know
for we have tried it on. There was no tears
shed, and the good book does not say there
was. It was only his mouth that watered, and
t he lifting up his voice forced it out of his eye,
How philosophical, Jacob a Treesoilerr In
my opinion the reason why Jacob cried was
because he was Soft Jabe.—National Dem.
Jacob wept! Yes tears of joy I well he
knew he might ; while Ruched, beauty all con
fessed, stood 'fore his ravished sight.—London
We suspect that Jacob had a fever bliste r
on his lip, and that the concussion of the kiss
hurt his mouth.—Kentucky Yeoman.
If Jacob had only wept without lifting up his
voice, there would have been no mystery in it.
If the above commentators had been raised in
the country, instead of cities, they would recog
nice Jacob's conduct as the first desperate ef
fort of a bashful swain, to "pop the questior."
Disposing of a Rooster.
Not many years since there resided in Pro.
vidence, a couple of inveterates, known as Dr.
F. and Col. P! the first noted for his skill in
remedyiti&the many ills that human ivory is
heir to, avid the other a merchant of celebrity.
One morning as Dr. F. was taking his mor
ning stroll through the market, a lofty speci
men of verdancy approached him, and accost.
ed him as follows:
'I say,' Squire, I reckon I don't stand no
chance o' skeering up a trade with ye, this
'I reckon you guess about right,' said the
`Jest squint yer eye over this 'ere fowl,' ta
king a huge cock from under his arm—
'o, confound your rooster! Look here
young man—do you see that store yonder!
That s where Col. P. keeps. Do you take
your blasted old rooster to him. He is a spec
ulator in poultry, and I have no doubt
will give you a good price. So be off,' and the
doctor tore himself away and left the market
in a rage.
Aftet 7 gazing a few moments at the retreat.
ing figure of the Doctor, the astonished trader
gathered the insulted bird under his arm, and
started for the store. -.Col. P. was quietly en
joying his morning paper, when Verdant
thrust his bird between his face and the paper,
and demanded if ho had 'a turn for specula
tion this fine morning?'
'Certainly,' he replied, with his usual self
possession. 'Let me take the animal. A pret
ty decent sort of a bird. how can he travel?'
'Yes—in what time can he peg n mile. Now
that I look at him one of his flutterers is askew,
and he is most deuced sprung in the knee—'
'Squire' he's sound as you are,' interrupted
'Just tether him to the wheel of the dray
out there. Robert, to Mq clerk, bring a spy
glass,' continued the Colonel.
The glass was brought, and while the victim
was engaged in fastening his bird to the wheel,
a piece of velvet, covered with lamb•b'ack, was
attachep to that oart of the instrument which
would naturally rest against the face.
`There, now,' said the Colonel raising the
glass, but taking good care to keep the end of
it from his face; 'now I have a magnificent
view. By Jove, but he is a splendid fellow.'
'O, I !mowed yeed think so—l knowed
sera think so,' chimed in the owner, clapping
`But stop!' suddenly exclaimed the Cot;
'Ha, is it? yes, it is! no, it is'nt! yes, it is!
I see it, plainer now! There is a film growing
over his eye he is a ruined rooster !'
'lt's no skit a thing. I don't believe it;
there is no dim over his eye ; give me the glass.'
The gloss was given to him, with the instrue
firms to place it square up against his eye, and
'No there ain't the first smiteh over his eye.'
'Turn it around,' said the Colonel, assisting
to turn it. 'Don't you see it plain now?'
'No, darn it!'
'Try the other eye; give it a few gentle
By this time the victim's peepers were cloth
ed in a truly elegant suit of mourning. He
was just putting the glass down; when at a
sin from the Colonel, the drnyman chirruped
to his horse, and the rooster was seen display
ing his agility by performing sundry gyrations
in the air.
'Hello! murder! hold on shouted our hero.
'Cut him loose—why don't you hurry shioo
ted the Colonel.
At this time the string gave way, end the
Rooster, once more at liberty, set otFat the top
of his speed. His master, half frantic follow
ed after shouting at the top ofhis voice—Weed
The spectacle had now drawn an immense
number of spectators; and really it was a most
ludicrous scene—the rooster flapping his wings
and straining every muscle; the man, with
rings of darkest hue around each optic, pant.
ing and blowing in the rear. At length the
rooster doubled the stake, a sprinkling cart,
and coming home, won the race by about four
A less inveterate joker would have been sat
isfied with this exhibition, but our wag had
one more plan to execute.
'Young man,' said he, think your biped
will do for both wind and speed, but from the
way he holds his bead on one side, I fear he is
troubled with the tooth-ache.'
The Colonel forced open the rooster's mouth
and continued—‘yes, there aro quite a number
of eareous teeth I should think, though I cannot
tell to certainty, but do ''you take him to Dr.
F., the dentist, and tell him to examine them,
and if he says they are all right, I will buy
Away went the poor fellow to the Doctor's.
Raving arrived, he ascended the stairs without
ringing the bell, and entering the office, where
the Doctor was engaged with some ladies, he
exclaimed in a loud voice—
'Dr. Ennis, here's a rooster—want ye ten
examine his teeth.'
'Examine! rooster! teeth!' roared the Doc
tor, springing at the door, ns he recognized the
intruder. 'You infernal villain, 111—'
The rest of the denunciation was lost in the
air, for, seeing the approaching avalanche, the
victim turned and 'put' into the street, drop
ping the rooster in his flight.
He was reported a short time afterwards
making very fast tracks for the country, via
'Shingle Bridge' and 'Snow town,'
kir An Irishman went fishing, and among
other things he hauled in a large sized turtle.
To enjoy the surprise of the servant girl, he
placed it in her bed room. Next morning the
first that bounced into the breakfast table was
Biddy, with the exclamation of
'Be Jabers, I've got the divil
'What divil?' inquired the master.
'Why the bull hod bug, that has been eating
the children for the past two mouths.
as_ "What makes the milk so warm ?" said
Biddy to the milk man, when he brought his
pail to the door one morning. "Please mum,
the pump•handha broke, and mimes took the
water from the boiler."
••ere barer bore the hurt would break.
Curin the Shaken.
'Thar I there he goes.
'Why don't you know who? Well it's that
darn Professor of mesmerism; who cuts up all
kinds of shines, and bedirsens the people with
his monkey doin's, an' the gals with his fae•e•
fled fix up's and slick 'store close.' He can
raise the dead they tell me, jump out of his
hide, play cards with the devil, and 'wailer a
pair of tongs.'
'You don't say so?'
'Yes 1 do—and he can make spin spar cal •
fellers leg off with a piece of snmshine, and
cures the measles for a cent a dozen.'
`Certainly, but there be goes agin---eee, I
say yeou,—s'poee you trot down here among
this congregation, and tell us a little of your
In obedience to this invitation the Professor,
a long-legged, red-headed fellow from the 'Suck
er State,' came down the Court House steps
and mixed with 'the boys,' who looked at him
in silence, for they heard he carried 8 or 10
quarts of thunder in the seat of his breeches.
After a while Tom Soap, the spunkiest one of
the bunch, took off his cap and spoke.
'Professor,' sez he, think your mesmerism's
a nice thing, darn'd of I don't. Now, I've got
a tooth that wants excavatin, and if you'll get
it out without pullin I'll give you a dollar, by
'ls it a molar or incisor?'
'Sissorns be derned—its a buster—got three
prongs an inch in length, and the way it hums
is a caution to hornets.'
'Well,' sex the Professor, pulling off his cote,
'I can extract it without pulling, easy. Gen
tlemen—just hand me a stone for to knock it
One of the boys picked up a brick which he
said would answer the same purpose, but when
our magnetic friend turned about Tom Soap
was fast vanishing over the fields.
'Hal' says the Professor, 'that fellow reminds
me of a youngster I cured of fever, 'nagur, only
he don't travel half so spry.'
`Tell us 'bout that,' sea the boys.
'I will, see the I'. It was in Briar Swamp,
old Squire Hitchcock had a son who had eotch
ed the 'shakes' the west fassion—so he sed—
and dud nothin' but dance for sixteen muse.—
He'd jump out of his boots—out of his breech•
es—into the fire—but one day he came cussed
near being fried to death! Well the old Squire
heercd of my popular mode of min' folks, so
lie went fin• me to come right ofr, or else his
boy would shake out all his ribs out! I went,
and wen I got there I asked the old man to
show me the case. He sed he would. He
then took me up to the garret, and there was
a six foot youth tied up in a bag, and his jaws
were rnttlin like a barrel of clam shells I He'd
shook his teeth all out of his head, and both of
his knee-pins was inissin. The boy stared at
'Sez he—l'm desperate.'
'Sea I, I'm aware of that fact, and I've corns
to cure yon by the time-savin', go-ahead dou
ble-extracted essence of hiled thunder an' light
'Then he looked awful wild, and his hair
stood up like a pitchfork.'
'When are you going to commence ?, nez he.
'llireckly„ sez I, 'so be easy till Igo down
stairs after the masheen, and I left.'
'Now, I bad a whoppin' big squirt gun, it
held about three quarts—and I went into the
kitchen and filled it with water. Up stairs I
went agiu—the hull family follerin, and the boy
begun to yell. While I'd gone he'd got out of
the bag he was tied up in, au' crawled in under
'Come out of there, sonny,' sez I, at the same
time squirting a dose of hot water all over him,
'or you'll git perticularly steamed'
'Well he did come out—a yellia' like mad
and made a lunge for the door. I put after
him—(squirt)—`oh, Lord 1 I'm scalded I' sez
he—chased him down stairs—(squirt again 1)
jumped over the fence—run him all over the
orchard—when he leaped into a big tree, and
sod he teas cured!
`When I found my patient was well so quick,
I went back to the house to inform the old man
of my success. He thanked me kindly, gave
me a V, and when we both repaired to the
spot, there the boy sot up in the tree—well as
ever—and sed he'd hoes the pedalos !
'lt was the west case of the shakes (laziness)
I over heard on,' sed the Professor, puttin' on
his cote, 'but I reckon I cured him beautifully,
don't you?'—Yankee Privateer.
An Incident in Married Life.
Some thirteen years since a couple of loving
ones were married near this city, and soon af
ter the husband put to sea. A few months pass
ed, and the young wife received news that the ,
ship in which her husband had sailed was lost
at sea, and all hands had perished. The re
port was subsequently corroborated. Time
rolled on, and after tbo lapse of some seVen
years the widow married an industrious me.-
chanic, who for a long time past has been and
still is employed by a firm in Cornhill. The.
Marriage proved a happy ono to both parties,
and matters passed between them as pleasantly
as could bo desired until some days since,
when to their otter surprise, the first husband
made his appearance and claimed his wife.--
Legal counsel was consulted by both parties.
and the result was that the wife telt herself
compelled to return to her first beshand, much
to the regret of the second, whose home is now
sir The Providence Mirror announces this
Marriage of Mr. James Bee, to Miss Martha
Flower of Athens, Pa.
Well bath the little busy "Bee,"
Improved life's shinning hour,
He gathers honey now all day
From one sweet chosen "flower"
And from this hive if heaven please,
Bell raise a swarm of little 'Bees."
air Wby are eyes like wage hor,:cz?
cau_e they are under the la..hes.