VOL. 18.
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POWlrlrs.',lll.
MY OLD STRAW HAT.
Farewell, old friend, we part at last,
Fruits, flowers, and summer, all are past,
And when the beach-leaves bid adiue,
My old straw hat must vanish too.
e've been together many an hour,
. In grassy dell and garden bower,
And plait and ribbon, scorch'd and torn,
Proclaim how well thou hest been worn.
We've had'a time, gny, bright, and long,
•6o let me sing a grateful song,
And if one bay-leaf falls to me,
I'll stick it firm and fast in thee,
My old straw hat.
Thy flapping shade and flying strings,
Are worth a thousand close-tied things,
love thy easy fitting crown,
Thrust lightly back or slouching down;
I cannot brook a muffled ear,
When lark and blackbird whistle near;
And denrly like to meet and seek
The fresh 'wind with unguarded check.
Toss'd in a tree thou'lt bear no harm,
Flung on the sod thou It lose no charm;
Like many a real friend on earth,
Rough usage only proves thy worth,
My old straw hat.
The world will gaze on those who wear
Rich showy pearls In raven hair,
And diamonds flashing bravely out,
In chestnut tresses wreathed about;
The golden bands may twine and twirl,
Like shining snakes through each fair curl,
And soft down with imperial grace,
May bend over Beauty's blushing face;
But much I doubt if brows that bear
The jewell'd clasp and plumage rare,
Or temples bound with cresent wreath,'
Are half so cool as mine beneath
• My old straw hat.
Ilinerves helmet 1 what of that?
Thou'rt quite as good, my old straw hat,
For I can think, and muse, and dream,
With poring brain and busy scheme.
I can inform my craving soul,
How wild bees work and planets roll,
And be all silent, graves and grim,
Beneath the shelter of thy brim.
The cap of Liberty! forsooth)
Thou art that thing to me in truth,
For slavish fashion ne'er can break
Into the green paths where I take
My old straw hat,
My old straw hat, my conscience tells
Though hest been hung with Folly's bells,
Yet Folly rings a pleasant chime,
If the rogue will but 'mind his time,'
And not come jingling on the way
When sober minstels ought to play.
For oft when hearts and eyes are light,
Old Wisdom should keep out of sight,
But now the rustic bench is left,
The tree of every leaf bereft,
And merry voices, all are still,
That welcomed to the well-known bill
My old straw hat.
Farewell, old friend! thy work is done,
The misty clouds shut out the sun;
The grapes are pluck'd, the hops are off,
The woods are stark, and I must duff
My old attaw hat—but 'bide a wee,'
Fair skies we've seen, but we may see
Skies full as fair as those of yore,
And then we'll wander forth once more.
Farewell, till drooping harebells blow,
And violets stud the warm hedge•row—
Farewell, till daisies deck the plain,
Farewell, till spring days come again—
My old straw hat.
e-3.AE3DA413 aI22DOBb.
The Priceless Diamond.
There is no gem or jewel, or richest pearl
in all the universe, of such priceless value as
the soul. Worlds could not buy it—worlds
.could not redeem it, if once lost. Such a
priceless diamond you carry about with you
.every day in your bosom, amid the dangers of
earth, and where the numerous and invisible
foes are seeking to rob you of it. Do not de-
Jay to place it in the hands of the Almighty
Saviour, who only can preserve and keep it
safely till the final day. Think, 0 think, how
-much is at stake; even your own soul,
your own precious soul.
Suppose this world were a glade of gold, and
each Star ht yonder firmament 4 jewel of the
first order, and the moon a diamond, and the
sumliterally a crown of all-created glory; one
soul, in value, would outweigh them all. Here
is a man standing on board of a vessel ; he is
sporting with a jewel worth a hundred thous
and dollars, and which too is all his fortune.—
Playing with his jewel, ho throws it up and
catches it—throws it up and catches it. A
friend noticing the brilliancy of the jewel, warns
him of the danger of losing it, and tells him
that it it slips through his fingers it goes down
to the bottom of the deep, nod can be recover
ed no more. "0, there is no danger, I have
been doing this a long time, and you secs have
not lost it yet" Again he throws it up, and—
it is gone; past recovery, gone! 0, when the
man - finds that his jewel is indeed lost, and by
his folly lost, who eau describe his agony, as
he exclaims, "I hare lent ray rirtme,
my all I" 0, sinner, hear me ; casketed in
your bosom, you have a jewel of infinitely grea
ter value; in idling away your precious time,
yon are in danger of losing that pearl of price
'unknown, in danger of being lost forever.
BEAUTIYI7L TUOUGHT.—Time i 3 FO puck)us
that there is never Out one moment in the world
at' once, and thet li alwayg taken away boforn
acnthor
i..!..‘t It x . ntintb.on. 7DitilllS-Sll,t,
" I SEE NO STAR ABOVE TILE HORIZON, PROMISING LIMIT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIOi UNITED WHIG PARTY OP THE UNITED STATIIB."-IWERISTER,
The Day of Rest
This morning's sun rose over a hushed and
quiet world. Passion's impulses are calmed,
thoughts and longings of business-racked minds
have relaxed their intensity, and the hand of
industry has ceased to wield the implement of
labor. 'Tis the day of rest, the day of refine
tion and reform. The wayward child of fash
ion awakes to thought and recollection,
while from the retrospect comes the memory of
early lessons, gentle teachings,
and holy cowl
solo, which were given by loved lips, perhaps
long since closed in eternal silence, to be faith
ful guides in future years; but which were for
gotten and deserted in the pursuit of seeming
hMeasure, which HOW with its exposed skeleton
ands sketches upon the satiated mind phan.
toms that glare hours of agony in moments,
and will not vanish. The peaceful home, the
simple song, the smiling children, the guileless
sport, joys which once formed a paradise—
that paradise like the first deserted swell out
before them as a mockery of their present woe
and discontent, while tears and tremblings fol
low the threatenings of that mental monitor
which probes the memory with ruthless hand.
The votaries of ambition, who have been
hurried on by a thousand tnundane novelties,
occupied in chasing shadows which elude con
stantly their eager grasp, dazzled by the pros
pect of ever retreating amid happiness and
success, unmindful of that. quiet beauty and,
pure wisdom which shines in undying bright
ness over a mind contented with and thankful
for that which a Divine Dispenser has allotted'
them, find in reflection no soothing to the
heart, no balm to the troubled conscience.—
Thoughts are to them now the threatening
thunder-cloud, pregnant with destruction and
growing wrath, the heavy tempest which ,
en
velopes them in gloom, and dashes from their
vision that pure sky, the sky of Faith which we
most behold or forever despond.
But there are others to whom memory is a
beautiful calm firmament of stars, twintling
hope, and thought, like the glorious rays of
moonlight dancing over the expanse of waters
ou which their harks of life gently ride. To
them the day of rest and thought comes as a
glad messenger with "sweet seraphic inspira
tion rife," for it approaches like a universal
deliverer in the land of bondage, striking off
the chains in which the spirit is bound, and
finds them stronger, nobler, purer, and more
advanced in the path which leads to eternal
peace. With them the images which thought
sketches upon the canvass of memory are
bright promises which causes the heart to glow
with happiness. To them the deeds of a well
spent lite, come back, giving the hues of hope
i r
to the re and forming the outlines of holy
prowl. ,
which are given to those who obey
the W .d. Their's is the pure life of content
ment and hope, secure and safe amid worldly
temptations for the anchor of Faith holds them
safe in the haven of Purity.—Nashville Gat
The Evening Prayer.
"Our Father." The mother's sweet voice
was low and tender, and solemn.
"Our Father." On two sweet voices the
words were borne upwards. It was the inno
cence of reverent childhood that gave them ut
terance.
"Who art in the Heavens."
"Who art in the Heavens," repented the
children, one with her eyes bent meekly down,
and the other looking upwards as if site would
penetrate the heavens- into which her heart as
pired.
"Hallowed be thy name."
Lower fell the voice of the little ones.
In a gentle murmur they whispered, "Hal
lowed be thy name."
"Thy kingdom come."
And the burden of prayer was still taken up
by the children--" Thy kingdom come."
"Thy will be done on earth as it is done in
heaven."
Like a sweet echo from the land of angels,
"Thy will be done on earth as it is done in
heaven," filled the chamber.
And the mother continued, "Give us this
day our daily bread."
"Our daily bread" lingered for a moment on
the air, as the mother's voice was hushed into
silence.
"And forgive us our debts as we forgive our
debtors."
But the eyes of the children had drooped for
a moment. But they were uplifted again ns
they prayed—" And forgive us our debts as we
forgive our debtors."
'And lead us not into temptation, but deliv
er us front evil. For thine is the kingdom, and
the power and the glory, forever. Amen."
All these holy words were said piously and
fervently, by the little ones, as they knelt with
clasped hands beside the mother. Then as
their thoughts, uplifted on the wings of prayer
to their Heavenly Father, cause back again and
rested on their earthly parents, a warmer love
came gushing from their hearts.
Par; kiss - es—tender embraces—the fond
Pgood night." What a sweet agitation pervades
all their feelings I Then two dear heads were
placed side by side on tho downy pillow, the
mother's last kiss given, and the shadowy cur
tains drawn.
What a pulseless stillness reigns throughout
the chamber! Inwardly the parents' listening
ears are bent. They have given those innocent
creatures into the keeping of God's angels, and
they can almost hear the rustle of their gnr•
ments as they gather round their sleeping babes.
"The Blessing."
The following is the postscript of a letter
written by a devoted wife to her husband, who
was far from those he loved. For beauty and
chasteness of sentiment, we think it cannot be
surpassed:
"May the blessing of God await thee, and
the sun of glory shine ronnd thv bed; and may
the gate of plenty, honor and happiness, ever
he open to thee; may no sorrow distress thy
days; may no grief disturb thy nights; may the
pillow of pence kiss thy cheek; and the plea
sures of imagination attend thy dreams; and
when length of years makes thee tired of earth
ly joys, and the curtain of death gently closes
around thy last sleep of human existence, may
an angel of God attend thv bed, and take care
that the expiring lamp of life shall not receive
one rude blast to hasten on its extinction.
D ar A man is circumscribed in nll his ways
by the providence of God, just as he is in a
shim for, although the man may wulk freely
upou the decks, or pass up and down in the lit
tle continent, yet he must be carried whither
the ship hears him: A man hath nothing free
but his will, and that, indeed, is guided by laws
and reasons: and, although by this he walks
freely, yet the Divine Providence is the ship,
and OW is the pilot, and the coutingeueies of
the world are sometimes like the ficreo winds,
which carry the whole event of things whither
God
Whpa we ,me birds, at the upproaeh of
Fall, anointing their plumage with oil, to hhield
off the drops, should it not remind us, when the
storms of contention titreuton us, to apply the
oil of forbearance, and thus prevent the chilling
drops from entering our hearts 7
irk It is not tho fear of Hell or the Devil
1.•. t 1,, fn . If
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1853.
Ting(B2II,II,LOTEOOI3.
The New Carpet.
"I can hardly spare it, Jeannette, but as
you have so set your heart upon it, why, I sup
pose I must.
The young wife looked with rapture upon
the ten shining gold pieces.
"One hundred dollars," she said to herself,
how rich it makes me kel I It seems a great
deal to pay for a carpet, but "gold worth is
gold," the old saying is, and one good purchase
is better than a dozen poor ones. 11l buy ono
of the very finest Brussels.
Afternoon came; the rosy babe was laid
asleep in the cradle, and the little maid receiv
ed a score of charges to linger by its side every
moment till the darling wolce up. Jeannette
looked her prettiest, and throwing a mantilla
over her handsome shoulders, was just hurry
ing away when a lend ring nt the door brought
out a very pettish "oh dear l" and the expec
ted intrusion.
"Oh, Jeannette—dear Jeannette!" and a
pale young face sank panting on the sofa.—
"We are in trouble—such dreadful trouble !
Can you help us ? Do you think we could bor-
row a hundred dollars from your husband ?
Couldn't you get it for us, "Jeannette ? You
know you snid I might always rely upon you
when trial came, and poor Charles expects
every moment to have his little stock of goods
attached. and he is so sickly I"
"Dear, dear I" said Jeannette, her good
heart suddenly contracting "Edward told
me this morning not to ask bins for any more
money for three months;" and she gathered
her purse tip tightly in her handkerchief; "I'm
sure if—l—only could oblige you, I would; but
I expect Edward is really hard pushed. You
know he had just commenced business. Can't
you ect it elsewhere? Have you tried."
“Yes,” answered her frien'd despondingly,
"Ire •tried everywhere. People know that
Charles is sick, and cannot repay immediate
ly? Oh it scorns to me some creditors have
such stony hearts ! Mr. J- knows just our
circumstances, yet he insists upon that money.
Oh !itis 80 hard! It is so hard'!"
Her pitiful voice, and the blg tears running
like rain down her pallid cheek, almost unnerv
ed Jeannette's selfishness.
But that carpet—that beautiful carpet she
had promised herself so long, and so often been
disappointed of its possession, that she could
not give it up. She knew her husband's heart—
and that he would urge her to self denial—no;
she would not see him—if she did it was all
over with the carpet.
`•Well," said her friend, in a desponding
voice, rising to go, "I'm sorry you can't help
me; I know you would if you -could. Good
morning, I hope you will never know what it
is to want and suffer."
How handsome the new carpet looked as the
sun streamed in on its wreathed flowers, its
colors of fawn, and blue, and crimson, its soft,
velvety richness—and how proud felt Mrs.
Jeannette at the lavish praises of her neigh.
born. It was a bargain; too, she had saved ten
dollars in its purchase, and bought a pair of
elegant window shades.
declare r said her husband; "this looks
like comfort; but it spoils all my pleasure to
think of Charles Somers. The poor fellow is
dead."
Jeannette gave a little sharp scream, and
the flush faded from her face.
"Yes! that rascally Jones I For the paltry
suns of a hundred dollars, he attached every
thing in the little shop, and was so insulting
besides, that Charles springing angrily up in
his bed,ruptured a blood vessel,and lived scarce
ly an hour afterward."
"And Mary 7"
"She has a dead child; and her life is des
paired of. Why on earth didn't they send to
ow? I could easily have spared the money.—
If it had stripped me of the last cent, they
should have had it. Poor fellow—poor Mary 7"
"And I might have saved it—all!" shrieked
Jeannette, sinking upon her knees upon the
rich carpet; oh,Edward,will God forgive me for
my heartlessness? Mary did call here, and
tears with begged me to aid her—and—l—l
had the whole sum in my hand—and coldly
turned her away. Oh Imy God I forgive me."
In the agony of grief, Jeannette would re
ceive no comfort. Jo vain her husband strove
to soothe her; she would nut hear a word in ex
tenuation of her selfish conduct.
"I shall never forget poor Mary's tears: I
shall never forget her sad voice; they will haunt
me to my dying day. Oh! take it away—that
hateful carpet; I have purchased it with the
death of my friend. How could Ibe so cruel?"
Years have passtd away ohlen then, and
Mary with her husband lie under the green sod
of the churchyard. Jeannette has gray hairs
mixed with the bright brown of her tresses,
but she lives in a home of splendor, and none
know but to bless her. There is a Mary a gen
tle Mary, in her household, dear to her as her
own sweet children—she is the orphan child of
those who have rested side by side tar ten long
years.
Edward is rich but prosperity has not har
dened Isis heart. His hand never tires of giv
ing out God's bounty to God's poor; and Jean
nette is the guardian angel of the needy. The
"new carpet," lung since old is sacredly pro•
served as a memento of sorrowful but ponnent
hours, and many a weary heart owes to its si
lent influence the prosperity that has turned
waut's wilderness into ass Eden of plenty.
WHO ARE THE PEOPLE?-17110 manners of a
people are not to ho found in the schools of
learning, or the palaces of greatness, where the
national character is obscured or obliterated by
travel or instruction, by philosophy or vanity;
nor is public happiness to be estimated by the
assemblies of the gay, or thebauquots of the
rich. The great mass of nations is neither rich
nor. gay they whose aggregate constitutes the .
people, are found in the streets and villages, in
the shops and farms; and from them, collective-
Iv considered, muet tb mrwire of ccn,ral
.r • n
A Remarkably Vidalia Whale.
The Edgartewa Gazette publishes the fol•
lowing partienlars relative to . the attack upon
and final capture of an ugly whale, by a tuna's
crew from the ship I-Teeter of New Bedford,
furnished by Capt. Thos. A. Norton, who was
the first mute of the Hector at the time:
"In October, 1832, when in, lat. 12 S. lon. 80
W., the ship 00 days from port, we raised a
large whale. The joyful cry was given of
'there she blows and everything on hoard at
once assumed an aspect of busy preparation
for the capture. The boats were lowered, and
the chase commenced. When we got within
about three ships' length of him, he turned,
and rushed furiously upon us. He struck us at
the same moment, we fastened to him. He
stove the boat badly, but with the assistance
of sails, vhich we placed under her bottom, and
constant hailing, she was kept above water.—
The Captain—Johu. 0: Morse—came to our as
sistance. Told him he had better keep clear
of dm whale—but he said he had a very long
lance, and wanted to try it upon the rascal.—
Capt. M. went up to the whale, when all at
once he turned upon the boat, which he took
in his mouth, and held 'right up on end' out of
the water, and shook it all to pieces in a mo
ment. The men were thrown in every direc
tion, and Captain Morso fell from a distance of
at least thirty feet into the water. .Not being
satisfied with total destruction of the boat, he
set to work and 'chewed up' the boat kegs and
lantern kegs, end whatever fragments of the
boat be could find floating on the water. At
this stage of the 'fight,' 1 told Capt. Morse, that
if ho would give me the choice of the ships'
company, I would try him again. It was des
perate work to all appearance. and up to this
time the vicious fellow had had it all his own
way. The Captain was in favor of trying him
from the ship, but finally consented for us to
attack him again from a boat. With a picked
crew we again approached the whale, now ly
ing perfectly still, apparently ready for another
attack, as the event proved. Seeing our up
proach,he darted towards no with his mouth wide
open; his ponderous jaws coming together
every moment, with. tremendous energy. We
gave the word to 'Went all,' which was obeyed
in griod earnest. As we passed the ship, I
heard the captain exclaim, 'there goes another
boat She did go, to be sure, through the wa
ter, with all speed but fortunately not to de
struction. The monster chased us in this way
for half a mile or more during most of which
time his jaws were within six or eight inches of
the head of the boat. Every time he brought
them together the concussion could be heard at
the distance of at least a mile. I intended to
jump overboard Ulm caught the boat. Told Mr.
Mayhew, the 3,1 mate, who held the steering
oar, that the whale would turn over soon to
spout and then would be our time to kill hint.
After becoming exhausted he turned over to
spout, and at the same instant we stopped the
boat, and buried our lances deep in 'his life:—
One tremendous convulsion of the frame fol
lowed, and all was still. He never troubled us
more. We towed him to the ship, fried him
out, and took ninety barrels of oil from him.
When we were cutting him in, we found two
irons in his body, marked with the name of the
ship Barclay, and belonging to the mate's
boat. We afterwards learned that three
months before, when the same whale was in
lat. 5 S. lon. 105 W., he was attacked by the
mate of the ship Barclay, who had a desper
ate struggle with him, in which be finally lost
his life."
Capt. Norton, at the time of the adventure
with this whale, had "seen some service," hut
he freely confesses that never before nor since,
(though he has had the buttons bitten off his
shirt by a whale,) has he come in contact with
such an ugly customer as this "rogue whale,"
as he was termed in sailor parlance. He
seemed possessed of the spirit of a demos, and
looked as savage as a hungry hyena. Our
readers may imagine the effect such an eneoun.
ter would have nee!' a crew of 'green hands.'
During the frightful chase of the boat by the
whale, their faces were of a livid white, and
their hair stood erect. On their arrival at the
first port they all,took to the mountains,and few
if any of them, have ever been seen since.
Capt. Norton informs us that a whale was
never before known to attack a boat before be
ing struck. In this case the whale had mi.
cloudy experienced much trouble front the
irons left in his body, and took the first oppor.
tunity which presented for revenge. Taken
altogether, we think this will rank high among
the whaling stories of our day.
History of Coal.
Bituminous coal, or sea coal was known up
wards of a thousand years ago, in the year of
our Lord 853, but did not come into use before
the 16th century, and was not used in the man
ufacture of iron until the 17th century.
Anthracite coal came gradually into use so
late au the 19th century. So early as 1790,
anthracite coal was known to abound in the
county of Schuylkill, in the State of Pennsylva
nia; but it being a different quality from that
known as sea or bituminous coal, and being
hard of ignition, it was deemed worthless until
the year 1792, when a blacksmith of Pennsyl
vania, named Whetston, broughtit into notice.
His success in burning it caused people to dig
for it, but when found, every person connected
with the enterprise had to experiment on its
combustion, and vain were the attempts to burn
it by the majority of them, and all came to the
conclusion that it would not come into general
About the year 1800, Mr. Morris, who had a
large tract of laud in Schuylkill comity, Penn
sylvania, procured a quantity of coal therefrom,
and took it to Philadelphia city, but he was un
able, with all his heroic exertions, to bring it
into notice, and abandoned his plans. From
that time until 1805 it was talked of as a hum
bug.; when accidentally a bed of coal was found
in digging a race for a water wheel for a forge,
which induced another blacksmith, David Ber
lin, to make a trial of it, ltila success induced
cae, to tr,. to burn Pennsylvania coal.
Past Printing Press.
re learn from the New York Tribune that
Mr. Victor Beaumont of New York has inven
ted a printing press which, at moderate rate,
will deliver thirty thousand sheets printed on
both sides in a single hour. Ita movement
combines the original principles of Napier,
which are applied by Hoe in his great press,
with some new and beautifully simple arrange
ments and devices of the inventor. It has a
large central cylinder like the Hoe press, on
which are fastened the forms for both sides of
the sheet to he printed. The type held fast by
Hoe's patent column rules. The paper used
is a continuous strip or band, dispensing with
men to feed the separate sheet as in other pow
er presses. This strip or band Mr. Beaumont
arranges very ingeniously; Ile avoids the incon
venience inseparable from having it in the form
of n roll, by laying it in a pile; folded back
ward and forward like a piece of broadcloth;
one end of this pile is put into the press, which
draws its' own supply without tearing or strain.
ing the paper till the whole sheet has passed
through. As there are no feeders, room is ob
tained for additional printing cylinders; a mod
erate sized press will have twelve of these, and
will require three hands to run it, two of them
being employed in carrying and looking after
the paper. Each twelve cylinder press will
work four of these continuous sheets at a time,
or one to each three of its cylinders. Each
sheet will pass twice through; at its first pas
sage one of its sides will be entirely printed,
the forms of the newspaper being impressed on
it alternately. As it comes out the machine
lays it back again in the same sort ore pile,
and then carries it to the proper spot for it to
be taken up and passed through a second time,
which prints the sides left blank before. Then
the machine passes it along to the knives which
cut the sheet apart, while another contrivance
puts them in neat piles ready for the carriers.
Those knives are very ingenious. A serious
difficulty has been experienced in other ma
chines designed to a continuous sheet, from
the fact that an ordinary knife cannot be re
lied on to cut paper which is wet enough for
printing. This inconvenience Mr. Beaumont
obviates by making his serrated, or saw shaped
knives with long and acute teeth, which wittily
pierce the paper, and having once obtained an
entrance, the cutting is completed in an instant.
Paddle your own Canoe,
Young man, you must paddle your own ca•
noel It is on the whole better that you should.
See that young man who gets into a canoe,
bought with the money of his parents or his
friends. When the vessel is launched, lie must
have it paddled by hired hands, while he lolls
back, and sees nothing but an unsubstantial
shadow of himself in the smooth waters. By
and by the canoe, through carelessness, and
presumptuous steering, is dashed among the
rapids, and goes down. Should he come up
again, lie finds that he is abandoned by all, and
that ho has made a wreck where he might have
made a fortune.
Young man or woman, paddle your own
canoe! Even if you arc favored with parents
or friends who can give you one, be sure you
earn it by the worthiness of your lives. In
high purposes, in noble resolves, in generous
deeds, in purity and virtuous endurance, nod
blameless conversation, let your endeavors to
paddle your own canoe be seen by all. Pull
away ! If the paddle breaks by striving against
the rapids, have another ready. If you have
but one, pull with the stump of the old. Don't
relax ono effort. Pull away! Your canoe, if
you have built it, like your friend, of the right
material in your character, will hold as long as
yourself will. Pull away, and before long you
may find yourselves in as fair haven as the man
that "paddles his own canoe."
Inventions.
Having accidentally come across the dates of
the following inventions, we did not know that
we would make a better use of them than pass
them over to till a vacant corner in your pa
per. They may be of some convenience to
your readers for reference :
Glass windows were first used in 1180
Chimneys in houses, 1230
Lend pipes for conveying water, 1252
Tallow candles for lights, 1290
Spectacles invented by an Italian, 1299
Paper first from linen, 1302
Woolen clothes first made in England, 1331
Art of painting in oil colors, 1410
Printing invented, 1440
' Watches made in Germany, 1477
Variation of compass first noticed, 1510
Pins first used in England, 1543
Circulation of human blood first discov.
erod by Harvey, 1619
First newspaper published, 1630
First steam engine invented, 1649
First cotton planted in the D. States, 1769
Steam engine improved by Watt, 1769
Steam cotton mill erected, 1783
Stereotype printing invented in Scot
land, 1785
Animal magnetism discovered by Mes
mer, 1788
Sabbath schools established In York.
shire, England, 1789
Electro magnetic telegraph invented by
Morse in, 1832
Daguerreotype process invaded, 1839
The Marriage Altar.
Judge Carlton, in a recent eloquent address
before the Young Mon's Library Association,
at Augusta, Ga., thus sketches a marriage
Rene
"I have drawn for you many pictures of
death, let me sketch you now a brief but right
scene of beautiful life. It is the marriage al
tar, a lovely female clothed in all the freshness
of youth and surpassing beauty, leans upon
the arm of him to whom she has just plighted
her }Milt, to whom she has given up herself,
fbrever. Look in her eyes, ye gloomy philoso•
hpliers, and tell me, if you dare, that there is no
appiness on earth. See the trusting, heroic)
devotion whivh compels her to leave country
and parents for a comparative stranger. She
lots launched her frail bark upon a wide and
stormy sea; she has handed over her happiness
and doom for this world, to another's keeping,
but she has done it fearlessly, for love whispers
to her that chosen guardian and protector bears
a manly and noble heart I Oh, woe to him
that deceives her! Oh, woo to him that fcr•
h;» cath and manhopd."
PMED.VOTSI.
How I Lost my First Love.
I was in love—deeply, passionately in love.
It was my first plunge, and it was a deep one.
The lovely, enchanting, peerless Amanda Lou
isa Smithera, had conquered my virgin affec
tions, and made them the slaves of her will
I was not rich in the world's goods ; my in
come was inconveniently limited; but I was
rich in hope. Like Mr. Micawber, I felt confi
dent that 'something would turn up,' and in an•
ticipntion of this something, I determined on
the first opportunity,to propose to the object of
my adoration, that she should share with me in
the enjoyment of my expected good fortune.
The opportunitfat length offered itself.
It wns a cold frosty evening that I brushed
my carefully preserved coat, and particularly
tight 'unwhisperables,' ipd then gently dusted
my bat with my own bankerchief.
I then studied my appearance in the crack.
ed mirror, with considerable anxiety, pulling
up my vest collar, and twitching my neck tie
around in order to conceal the fact that I wore
that much ridiculed article of attire—a dickey.
It must not be supposed that I boasted of
only one shirt. Far from it. The fact was,
the laundress anti myself having hud some dif
ficulty about the payment of Borne washing
money—alleged to be her due—she had for
the last fortnight kept my other shirt as a
pledge for future payment; so I was fain to
to hide the dubious hue of my linen under the
aforesaid dickey.
At length I was satisfied as to the integrity
of my breastwork, so gently stroking my mous
tache, purchased a few days previous at a hair
dresser's I strutted out to meet my Amanda.
On that very night I had determined to 'do
or die V and the hapless swain who has at
length made up his mind to 'pop' the fatal
question, can alone appreciate the excessive
nervousness I felt as I approached the appoint
ed place of meeting—her father's garden door.
She was there awaiting me, and with a sink
ing at my heart I never before experienced,l of.
fered her my arm. As we strolled along,l cast
about in my mind for some means to declare my
love to her; but as often as the words came
to my mouth, I tgulphed' and swallowed them,
once or twice nearly strangling myself with
the attempt.
At last, Just as I had decided on postponing
it to some other time, she stopped abruptly and
asked me if I was not ill.
I plucked up my remaining courage for the
attack.
'My—my dear Amanda—l am not sick,
thank ye,' abruptly breaking down in the speech
I had commenced making and feeling all over
very much as if I was a conformded goose.
You certainly mud be sick,' persisted Aman
da.
'The fact is, I said with desperate energy,
'that 1.1-I love you.'
I felt now as if I was still a goose, but with
the added sensation of roasting before a very
hot fire. Finding that sho made no reply, I
determined to go through it, if I lost my life
in the attempt.
'Yes, my dearest Amanda Louisa—l love
you passionately—devotedly.' I was al,out
dropping on one knee, but a reflection on the
tightness of my dress, at that point, detered
me. 'Without your blessed society I should
die. Shall I have the—can I hope that—you
will be mine?'
As with a huge effort I jerked forth the aw
ful question. I felt as if I had been plunged
into an icy bath, and that the cold liquid was
running through me from the top of my head
to the toes of my boots, It was the decisive
'splurge' of my life, and it almost deprived me
of my breath.
Amanda Louisa blushed, and leaned rather
heavily on my arm. At length she whispered
that she would 'see me to-morrow.'
The ice being now broken, my old boldness
returned, together with my confidence in the
future. I rattled away where we would get a
first rate house; speculated on the advisability
of keeping a carraige ; promised Amanda an
infinitude of dresses and jewelry; consulted as
to the best place for a tour during the honey
moon, and in fact talked myself and her into
the belief that I was a max of property.
I had got so far as to arrange who should
be present at the ceremony, and what I should
wear, when—confound all icy paths and heed
less walking—l suddenly found myself seated
in the lap of mother earth, and was as sudden
ly
conscious of the actual contact of a sensitive
portion of my frame with the frozen ground.—
Those tight pants!
I sprung up and hastily endeavored to con
ceal my mishap by grasping my scanty coat
tails to keep them together. The fates were
against me. In the expressive language of
the multitude, it 'was no go.'
The too sympathising Amanda insisted on
it that I was hurt, and then would brush the
dirt from my coat. I declined the offer, but
she was resolute.
'I will take your pocket handkerchief to
brush the dirt off. You surely ought not to
wear it sticking so far out of your pocket;
some day it will be stolen.'
'Oh!' I loudly exclaimed, as I felt a twitch;
'oh, don't!' _ _
'Dear me,' she remarked, as she made ano
ther tug'do you keep your handkerchief pinned
to your pocket.'
Just then the moon, which haul been playing
bo-peep behind a cloud, shone out to thorough
ly expose my misery. The true state of affairs
at once flashed across her mind.
The contrast between the lower part of the
supposed upper part of the same article of
dress also revealed another unpleasant truth.
With the dignity of an offended queen, she re
, marked, cuttingly—
'lf your heart is as false as your shirt bosom,
sir, it would be a piece of folly for me to repose
confidence in you. I can find my way home
alone, sir
I turned to her with an imploring look, mid
"as about to commence a depreciatory ertch.
NO. 47.
when the anger of the faithless Amanda gays
way to a sudden explosion of merriment, and
she skipped homeward like a swallow.
Startled at her behaviour, I gazed after bet
like one petrified.
Another suspicion quickly crossed my brain,
leaving a burning flash as it passed. I clap •
ped my hand to my upper lip,
It was even sof With the shock of my fall,
one side of my moustache had fallen or.
I fled from the village, and did not return
until I heard that Amanda Louisa had marti•
ed a military officer, whose wardrobe included
twenty-five ruffled bosom shirts, of unimpeaeh•
able integrity, and who sported asplendid mane
tache—of his own growth.
The Way to Get an Office.
The following has come to us through a
source that entitles it to entire mditt
A huge, two fisted, ?kind shouldered son of
North Carolina appeared a few days ago in the
treasury building and enquired for the Secreta•
ry. lie was directed to the proper door, hut
when about to enter the anteroom he was stop
ped by tlp messenger, for not observing the
usual cermonies. What is the matter now ?'
asked Rip Van Winkle. Yon can't go in, sir,'
replied the messenger. We'll see about that,'
replied Rip, as he gathered the messenger in
his brawny arms, and set him aside. Arrived
in Mr Guthrie's room, and finding several gen
tlemen present, ho asked, ' Which is the Secre
tary?'
am,' said Mr Guthrie to the intruder, is
tber sternly, How did you get in here?
'Oh we'll talk about that after while,' said
Rip. 'l've come on business, and we'll attend
to that first. You see, Mr. Secretary, lam a
democrat from North Carolina, and there is a
light boat at , and a Whig has the keep
ing of it now, and I want it. Mind now! It
won't make any difference in my voting, if you
don't give it to me. I always vote right any
how. Here's my papers; look at 'em and speak
out.' Mr. Guthrie was quite taken with his
honest simplicity, and replied that he would
give him an answer at twelve. 'Mind now,'
said Rip, allowing his watch to the Secretary,
'you see that little finger? Well, when it gets
to 12 rn be here certain. No mistake now l'
'Where aro you stopping ?' asked the Secre
tary,
Stopping, you may well say that. I've got
no money to fool away stopping anywhere. I
got my breakfast at the market hoe this
morning. And you see I want to start home
in the mail boat this evening' for if I stay here
long I can't get home at all. Now mind, Mr.
Secretary, 12 o'clock you know!' So saying
he took his leave.
During hie absence Mr. Guthrie examined
his papers, and finding him properly recom
mended, directed his commission to be pre
pared immediately. Punctual to the minute
our friend appeared and was handed his com
mission. He warmly thanked the Secretary.
took his leave and' now is doubtless at home
attending to his duties. We dare say that Un
cle Sam has not a better officer.— Trash. Star.
Tailors Defended.
A tailor possesses the qualities of nine meet
combined in one, as will be seen by the follow
ing observations.
Ist. As an economist he cuts his coat accord
ing to his cloth.
21 As a gardener he is careful of cabbage.
3rd As a sailor, ho sheers oil', whenever it is
proper.
4th. As a play actor he often brandishes a
bare bodkin.
sth. As a lawyer he attends many suits.
6th. As an executioner he provides suspect.
ders and gallows for many persons.
7th. As a cook he is generally furnished with
a warm goose. _ _ _
Bth. As a sheriff's officer he does much
sponging.
9th. Asa rational and scriptural divine, his
great aim is to form good habits for the benefit
of others.
LOVE LETTER FROM A TiILOR TO A MANTEI•
MAKRR.—REMNANT OF MY ROTES:—May The
ripped from the borders of your esteem; and
never he buttoned to the loop of your kindness,
but I am strongly seamed to the hem of your
beauty. May I never lose a thimb/s full of
your favor, but you have so entangled the thread
of my understanding with that pretty outside
of yours that I am stark mad to be your
Oda-bodkins ! lam surely yours, every stitch
of me. Wherever you go, you are my North,
and my needle follows you; blunt not, therefore
the point of my endeavors, but let me baste my
self to your kindness, that I may set the tight'
sr to your affections. I love you beyond mea
sure but yet it is so bard to cabbage ono sweet
look from you, that I almost despair of having
enoufih to finish my suit—Pray put a favora
ble construction on this, and for the same I
shall always sit cross-legged for your sake, be
ing my dearest little flounccr.
Yours, he.
Incorrigible.
" Young rnan, do you believe to a &tura
state ?"
"In course I does, and what's more, I intend
to enter it as soon as Betsy gets her weddin'
things."
"You mistake me. Do you believe in a fu•
tnre state of rewards and punishments ?"
"Most assuredly. If I should cut nugs at a
red headed woman, I should expect my hat in.
dented by the first cistern pole she could lay
her hand on."
"Go to, young man you are incorrigible.—
Go to."
"„Go two ? /f it wasn't tbr that law ogle
bigamy, darned If I wouldn't go a dozen. But
who supposed, Deacon, that a man of your
years would give such advice to a Gerson just
startlus in life ?"
tieg,.. A little child heariug a sermon, and
observing the minister very vehement in his
words and gestures, cried out "Mother, why
don't they let the man out of the box I"
las What ancient sage Was the inventor et
ilancia;? /Iv toe. z
JAKr.