..,_ ... ,...... : t .... flun.lingbon .iiiittliat BY.' WM. BREWSTER. TERMS : The "HUNTINGDON Jo unpw," is published at Ac following rates : • UVlt ie.s P so paid sixmonthsnit er the thneo subseribinp, 1,78 paid at the end of the yeiir • And two dollars and fifty cbnts if not paid till after the expiration af the year. No subscription will he tokeu fur a. less period than six mouths, and no paper will ho discontinited, except at the 'option of the Editor, until ail arrenrages arc paid. Nubscribers living in distant counties,orin other Nimes, will be required to pay invariably' in advance. • gir The ebove terms will be rigidly ndhered in all cas 9 ADVERTISEMENTS Will be charged at the following rates: • 1 Insertion. 2 do. 3 do. Six lines or less, $ 25 $ .37i $ 50 One square, (16 lines,) 50 75 1 00 Two " (32 " ) 100 150 200 Three " (48 " ) 150 225 3OQ Business.en advertising by the Quarter, Half Year or Year, will be charged the following rates: 3 mo. 6 1110. 12 nio. One spier's, $ll 00 $5 00 •$8 00 Two squares, 500 800 12 00 Three squares, 750 10 00 15 00 Four squares, .9 00 14 00 23 00 Five squares, • • 15 00 25 00 38 00 Ten squares, • 2', 00 •40 00 00 00 Business Cards not exceeding six lines, one year, $4.00. JOB WORK : I sheet handbills, 30 copies or lens, It i SG CI Si . .. .. .. .. .. I.ll.Arrus, foolscap or less, per single quire, I So • 0 4 or more quires, per " 1 00 O'Mara charges will be made for heat) , . . Cl 5" All letters on business must be PORT rule Is secure attention. Ms The Law of Newspapers. 1. Sabscribers who do not give express notice to the contrarg,are considered us wish:3lg to continue their suhscription. 2. //'subscribers order the discontinuance of their 'newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them wail all arrearages ore paid. 3.. If subscribers neglect or refuse.io take their newspapers from the °Pees to which they are direr.' led, they are held responsible until they hare settled their bills and ordered them discontinued. 4. If subscribers remove to other places. ivithout inliirming the publisher, and the newspapers are sent to the _former direction, they are held responsible. 5. Persons who continue to receive or take the Paper front the Office, are to be considered as sob scribers and as such, equally responsible for sulacrip tion, as if they had ordered thew names entered upon the publishers books. 6. The Courts have also repeatedly decided that • Post Master who neglects to perform his duty giving reasonable notice as required by the regula tions of the Post O f fice Department, of the neg lect of a persen to take from the o f fice, newspapers addressed to him, renders the Post Master liable to the pub/o+46'or the subscription price. Ilktr POSTMASTERS are required by law to notify publishers by letter when their publi• cations are refused or not culled for by persona to whom they are sent, and to give the reason of such refusal, if known. It is also their duty to frank all such letters. We will thank post. masters to keep us posted up in relation to this matter. *titct ottrg. LONG I LOVED HER. I loved her when the sunny light Of youth was ou her brow, And not a trace of care was seen, • Which shadeS so darkly now, When wreathe(' around those rosy lips Lay smiles in beauty rare, It seemed that nought could ever harm A loveliness su Mir. I loved her when in after years, A change came o'er her heart, Yet knew that earth could never more One ray of joy impart, The rose upon that fading cheek, I saw must soon decay, 'T was marked by earth's corroding care To early pass away. I loved her when that marble brow Lay cold in Death'. embrace, 'When the sweet smile could play no more Upou her angel face. I mourn for her, so early lost, Yet still the hope is given, That we shall meet in Heaven above, Where friends no more are riven. Ontrational. By J. A. Hall. • ESSAY, Read by bliss NAscr Moth TIT!, before flu Hun• Unclose County Teaclie.Y institute, • - December 22, 1854: .Subject—Moß.4l, Emu:Anus. •Pltere are few subjects which have eli cited more observation and discussion than that of education, yet comparatively few - persons appear to comprehend the full meaning of the word. Education does not consist merely of a knowledge of Bel les Letters and the different arts end sci ences of the day. If we were merely in. ,tellectual beings, we would only be cepa. pie of improvement intellecttially ; but as we have been created with moral as well as intelleutUal faculties, we are capable of examining ,the laws of morality, and the attributes ,of the Creator from whom such laws are ,the erninations. And if ire act simply as intellectual, and not as moral be ings, we act contrary to the highest and most noble pfinciples of our constitution. If parents cqnsider their children edu cated when they have been taught the ru diments of what is commonly called learn ing, with little, f any attention giver to their moral education, they will discovar, wheu perhaps tao lato fur that " I BEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE CS, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIM PARTY Or TILE UNITED STATES."-[WEBSTEE. • they are ignorant and unlearned. Al though a literary education is of much int , portance when united with morality end virtue, it is fearfully to be dreaded when linked with vice and immorality. Learn ing, where the heart, the temper and the .moral frame are neglected, only gives pow er to do evil : and when the heart gravi tates the wrong way, it draws along with it the understanding; blinding, duping and perverting that noble faculty, until Ito possessor is capable of perpetrating any crime which might promise a pecuniary reward. Now as childhood and youth are the periods in life which materially influence all the following ones it is important that moral culture should be early attended to; this momentous work should be comfiten ced while the mind is capable of indelible impressions. A. lifetime of school discip hne cannot fully eradicate the bad habits formed in the nursery. It is there, ere they start out upon the thorny pathway of life as responsible creatures, that they must be prepared with an outfit for the journey. The duty of preparing this, has been divinely entrusted to their parents, and demands that they use their utmost endeavors to secure to them health of bo dy, vigor of intellect, and correctness of moral feeling. Children, before they are capable of re ceiving -instruction by precept, may be materially influenced by example. file propensity of imitation is very strong in them, and often ere parents are aware of the budding of the intellect, they are watching and trying to imitate what they hear and see ; for like little monkeys or canaries they are always trying to mimic what is said or done in their presence, es-, pecially the words and actions of their pa rents or instructions. Therefore it is not a matter of minor importance, nor even of secondary consideration, that teachers should be of a sound moral education, and good moral courage, for without this they are as unfit to go in and out before our youth, and cast their unhallowed influence over their unsophisticated minds, as though they were ignorant of the first rudiments of our language. Though 6 , precept upon precept" be given to children and their binds stored with moral and religious lore of the purest kind, it will avail nothing, unless a corres. ponding example be set daily before them. They are are quick to detect any inconsis tency especially in those to whom they are taught to look for instruction, conse quently it is not by precept alone, that the principles of morality are inculcated ; but by this with the continual acting out of ; those principles. By the constitution of our nature, there is such an intimate connexion between 1 1 action and motive ; between the perfor mance of an action, and the principle from which it emanates, that one cannot brig exist without the other. The theory of morality would soon become effete if Us accompanied by the practice. Its exis tence is known only by this, and by this alone can it be successfully cultivated. It is a proverbial saying that habit be comes a second nature ; it was with refer ence to the almost invincible force of habit, the wise man penned this worthy aphor. ism, Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it•" Habits either good or evil always be come more inveterate by time; the longer they are indulged is, the more closely they become entwined with the nature. Though this is an irrefragible truth, yet infatuated parents vainly hope that the faults of their children will be cured by time, while they, by a cruel indulgence— s false tenderness, are culti toted those ve il, faults, and in sodoing securing to them selves a store of grief and bitterness, and to their children a life of wretchedness and misery. $1 25 1 50 2 50 4 00 Time may indeed correct the errors of inexperience in those whose hearts are not wholly corrupt, those in whom the true principles of morality and religion have been early inculcated, instead of ill temper, insubordination and all the cor rupt promptings of the human heart; but time alone will not cure that vice and im morality which must arise from a want of the proper culture of the mind and heart; in that period of life when the human fac ulties are most susceptible of cultivation. Again, the education of our youth should be adapted to the nature of our gov ernment. And as we are under the pro tection of a republican government, it is of vast importance that we look well to the moral, as well as intellectual training of the rising generation, those who, at no very distant day, must become the rulers of our nation. . . WeVtiZo ‘vhont we now serve in the HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21; 1855. humble capacity of teachers, must soon fill this responsible station, and as It is impor tant that we should be under the jurisdic tion of wise and just laws, so is it that we give to our youth such an education as will secure their adoption. This momen tous truth claims of every lover of our country much more than a passingthought. Every true hearted American should con sider it a privilege, as well as a duty to aid in the great and worthy enterprise, of uni ting morality and literature until they are conatellated forever; and as literature is rapidly advancing, God forbid that morali ty should be suffered to recede. Worldly knowledge is a dangerous leader, and should never be permitted togo in advance of morality and virtue. There is now a loud cry in our land for moral reform ; we hear it from our prison-' houses, we hear it from that wretched hov el, the home of the drunkard's family, the tears of that heart broken wife and mother cry aloud for moral reform, the welfare dour country demands it, and we must obey. We must arise and battle againk the great evil which, by setting et naught the law of our country, and sacrificing to avarice and passion all the better prompt logs of the human heart, threatens to de stroy our existence as a free, moral, and federative people. And how shall we more effectually and thoroughly eradicate it, than by striking at the root, undermining the foundation, which undoubtedly is, neglect of good moral training in early youth Teachers, as well as parents, all whose situation in life, leads them where their influence is cast upon the rising genera tion, have much to do in this work, and should consider well the great responsibil ity devolving upon them—should exam ine carefully every thought, word and ac• tion, remembering that they are speaking and acting for eternity, and eternity alone may reveal the amount of good or evil pro ceeding therefrom. We, as teachers hare a great work, one indeed that is worthy of the most arduous labor. Ours is no ordinary business ;we may with propriety adopt the language of Dr. Cumming, used in reference to the work of Christian, The painter paints for a generation, we forever; the builder builds for a century, we for eternity."— And as the statuary takes so much pains in hewing )ut the marble whice soon per ishes, so let us be far more careful in the forming of those minds which are to en dure forever ; ours is a far nobler work, tharof adorning and beautifying those tem ples of God. for fly larnict. He that by the "dough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. HOMINY, BEANS, ETC. Hominy we have before given our opin ion upon. It is an article that no family desirous of participating economy can do without. It is a very cheap, healthy, nu tritious food. It costs only half the price per pound of flour, and containg no mois ture, while the best of flower holds from twelve to sixteen pounds of water in a barrel. Cracked wheat is excellent for sedentary persons. That and graham flour, should be used in preference, at the same price per pound, to white flour, be cause more healthy and more nutrititious. One hundred pounds of Grehain flour is worth as much in .a family as one hundred and thirty-three pounds of superfine white flour. Cornmeal costs lesss than half the price of flour. It is not so economical in summer, because it takes so much fire to cook it. The first great error in corn-meal is in grinding it too much, and next in not cooking it enough. Cornmeal mush should boil two hours ; it is better if boiled four, and not fit to eat if boiled less than one hour. Tho cheapest of food is white beans ; they are worth from $1 50 to $2 a bushel and retail for eight cents a quart. Prof. Liebig has stated, that pork and beans form a compound of substances peculiarly adapted to furnish all that is necessary to support life, and give bone muscle and fat, in proper proportions, to a man. This food will enable one to perform more la bor, at less cost, than any other substance. A quart of beans, 8 cents, half a pound of pork, 6 cents, will feed a large family for a day, with good, strengthening food.— And who that can raise a reminiscence of good old times in New England, but will remember that glorious old-fashioned dish called "bean porridge?" We should call it bean soup now. Four . quo rts of beans and two pounds of corned beef would give a good meal ie fifty in.n— one cent a meek FACTS ABOUT CATTLE. It is a fact that all domestic animals can be improved in size and value. One hun dred aad fifty years ago the average weight of cattle at the S mithfield Market woe not over 370 pounds, and that of the sheep 28 pounds. Now, the average weight of the former is over 800 lbs.— and of the latter 80 pounds. The average weight of cattle, properly termed beeves, in the New York market is about 700 pounds, and sheep 50 pounds. The average live weight of the heavi est drove of beeves of 100 in number ev er brought to this malket, was 2,067 pounds, weighed from drr feeding, in Il linois, last spring. The mode of selling cattle in New York, is at so much per pound for the estimated weight of meet contained in the four quar ters. The estimation is made upon the live wieght of cattle, as follows : A drover in buying a lot of grassfed, common stock in Illinois, should never calculate to get an estimate of over one. half fierPof the live weight there. That is, if the drove average 12 cwt., they will make 6 cwt., of meat each. Medium beeves may be estimated at 54 or 55 pounds per cwt.. Good beeves at 56 or 57 pounds. Extra good, large and fat, from 58 to 62 pounds per cwt. In the Boston market, Is generally esti mated upon 'five quarter,' that is, the pro duct of meat, fat and skin. There the cattle are generally weighed, and the product estimated upon nn aver age, 64 pounds per cwt. In New York not one bullock in ten thousand goes upon the scales to determine his price to the butcher.—N. F. Tribune. Pisalianens. A FEARFUL APPARITION. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. In a very wild and remote region of the Scottish Highlands there stood, on a rocky height, an old forts sts — ' • Otri stormy evening, in harvest, its 'lord looked fron his window into the darkness and aver the well-guarded court of the castle, towords the opposite hills where the tops of the trees, still visible, rustled, and waved in the dark blue heavens. The rivulet in the valley sent forth a wild and strange sound, and the creaking weather cock clattered and brawled, as if chiding the storm. The scene and the hour were congenial to the mind of the lord of the castle. He was no longer the mild and indulgent master. His only daughter had fled from the fortress with a handsome youth, far inferior to her in birth, but a sweeter sing er and hnrp.player than any inhabitant of the wild highlands ; and, soon after theit flight, the lover was found dashed to pie ces in the bottom of a rocky valley, into which in the dsikness of the night, be had fallen. Thereupon the daughter, by an unknown pilgrim, sent a letter to her father, saying that, night having robbed her of her lover, her eyes were opened to her fault ; that she had retired to a con vent to do the most severe penance, and that her father would never love her more. From that event the lord of the castle had become almost as obdurate as the surroun ding rocks, and ns unfeeling as the stony pavement of his fortress. As he now looked from the window, he saw in the yard a lantern, move backwards and forwards, as if in the hand of some one who, with tottering steps, stole across the arena. Angrily he called out— " Who goes there 1" for his domestics had strict orders to admit ,no one within the walls; and since the flight of the young lady, these commands were so rigidly ob served, it seemed as if lifeless stones alone d welt within. "To the lord of the castle there came a soft voice : "An old, old woman,' it said, "begs some food, noble knight." But the humle demand was inpetuously refused. . , Spy—vagrant witch !" were the appel lations showered upon the beggar; and, because she did not immediately retire, but reiterated her petition with a fervent though weak voice, the knight, in the wildness of his wrath, called on his blood-hounds to hunt the beggar-woman away. Wildly did the ferocious dogs rush forth; but,scarcely had they approached the old woman, when she touched the strongest and fiercest with a slender wand. The domestics who had come out expected that the savage dog would tear her in pieces, but, howling he turned, and the others laid themselves down, whining, before the beg gar. Again the lord of the castle urged them on ; but they only howled and moaned, and lay still . A. strange shuddering seized him, which redoubled when the old woman raised her lantern on high, and her long white hair appeared waving in the storm, while, with a sad and threatening voice, she exclaim ed— 'Thou in the heavens, who seed and hearest !" Trembling, the knight retired from the window, and ordered his people to give her what she demaned. The domestics, frightened at the apparition, placed some food without in a basket, and then secured the doors.-all the while repeating prayers, until they heard rhe strange old woman car ry away the food. As she stepped out of the castle - gates, the hounds moaned mysteriously after her. From this time regularly, every third evening, the lantern was seen in the castle yard, and no sooner did the strange twink ling begin to be visible through the dark ness, and the light steps to be heard to tot ter softly over the pavement, than the lord of the castle hastened back from the win• dow, the domestics put out the basket of food, and the hounds moaned sorr,owfally till the apparition vanished. One day—it was now the -beginning of winter the knight followed the chase in the wildest part of the mountains. Sud denly his hounds darted up a steep height, and, expecting n good capture, at the risk of imminent danger, he forced his shudder ing horse over the slippery, stony around. Before a cavern, in the middle of the as cent, the hounds stood still ; but how felt the knight when the figure of a woman stepped to the mouth of the abyss, and with a sticic drove back the dogs ! From the silvery locks of the woman, as well as from the restless and low meanings of the hounds, and his own internal feelings, he soon percieved that in this drear spot the lantern bearer stood before him. • Half frantic, he turned his horse's head, buried his spurs in its sides, and galloped down the steep, accompanied by the yel ling hounds, towards the castle. Soon after this strange occurrence, the lantern was rio longer seen in the court of the castle.—They waited ono day—several days—a whole week passed over. but the apparition was no longer seen. If its first nppearance had alarmed the lord of the castle and his domestics, its disappearance occasioned still more con sternation. They believed that the former prognos ticated some dreadful event, which the latter betokened to be near. On the knight this anticipation had a terrible ef fect; he became pale and haggard, and his countenance assumed such a disturbed ap pearance, the inmates of the castle were of opinion that the apparition gave warning of his death. It was not so. One day, as was his custom, the knight rode to the chase, and in his pres ent distraction of mind lie approached, un awares, that part of the country where the old woman with the white hair had appeared to him, and which he, from that time had with great care avoided. Again the dogs sprung up the height, howling, and looking fearfully into the cavern.— The affrighted baron in vain called them back. They stood as if fascinated.on the dreadful spot ; but on this occasion no one appeared ..o chase them away. They then crept into the cavern, and from its dark bosom the knight still heard their meanings and cries. At last, summoning resolution, he sprung from his horsa, and, with deter mined courage, clambered up the steep height. Advancing into the cavern, he beheld the hounds crouched round a wretched mossy couch, on which the dead body of a woman lay stretched out. On drawing near her, he recognized the pure white hair of the formidable lan tern-bearer. More slowly than the faithful hounds, who from the beginning had known their young mistress, did .the unhappy knight become aware whom he saw before him .; but to dissipate every doubt, there lay, on the breast of the dead body, a billet, on which with her own blood, her hand had traced the following words : In three nights the wanderer's hair became white, through grief for the death of her lover. She saw it in the brooks.—' Her hair had often been called a net, in which his life was entangled. Net and life were both by one stroke destroyed.— She then thought of those holy ones of the church, who in humility have lived un known and despised beneath the parental roof, and, as a penance, site has besought alms from her father's castle, and lived a mong the rocks from which her lover fell. But her penance draws ndar its end—the crimson stream falls. Ah ! frith—" She would have written 'father'," but the stream was exhausted, which with un .peskithle sorrow, the knight perceived had issued from a deep wound in her left arm. Ile was found by the servants near the corpse, in silent prayer, his hounds moan ing.beside hint. He buried his daughter in the cavern, from which he never after wards came out. The unhappy hermit forced every ene from him ; his faithful dogs alone he could not drive away; and mournfully they watched together by the grave oftheir young mistress, and beside their sorrowing lord ; and when he also died, their sad howlings first made it known to the surrounding country. Mit an ffitintor. THE DOESTICK LETTERS-CONTINUED. FIRST COMPLETE COLLECTION; Original Views of Nen and Things. HUMOROUS ASPECTS OF AMERICAN LIFE. V1.1.-DOESTICKS GOES TO CHURCH. SEVENTY HUNDRED AND ONE, NARROiv Having seen the Opera with detestation, the theaters with approbation, George Christy with cachinnation, and No. 2 Dey at. with affiliation ; having visited Castle Garden, the Model Artists, and the Na tional Museum—in fact, knowing some .thing of almost all the other places of amusement in the City, I resolved to com plete and crown my knowledge by going to church, and I hope I may receive due credit for my pursuit of ambsement under difficulties. I made known my heroic de termination to my new-found friends, and they instantly resolved to bear me compa ny—Bull Dogge by way of variety, and Damphool from force of habit—(Bull Dog go seldom goes to church, and Damphool always does.) Sunday morning came, and the aforesaid individuals presented them selves—B. D. looking pugnacious and pu gilistic, and Damphool peifectly marvel ous—in fact, majestic as this latter named person had ever borne himself, and hive, tantlj; huge as he had ever appeared--lis coat-tails were now so wonderfully short, his collar so enviably large and so inde pendently upright, and his hat so unusu ally and magnificently lofty—that lie cer tainly looked a bigger Damphool than ever before. Passing up Broadway through a crowd of people of all sorts, sizes, colors, and complexions ; countrymen running over ! every third man they met; New Yorkers threading their way through apparently urger-through-a-ble crowds without ruf fling their tempers or their shirt collars.— [By the way I have discovered that no one but a genuine New Yorker, born and bred. can cross Broadway upon a dignified walk ] Fireman in red shirts, and their coats over their arms ; newsboys with a very scanty allowance of shirt, and no coats at all; Dutch emigrants, with dirty faces, nasty breeches, and long, lonpy look ing pipes ; Irish emigrants, with dirtier faces, nastier breeches, and short, stubbier pipes ; spruce-looking darkies, and wench es arrayed in rainbowed colored habili ments—we at last reached the church door. Every thing looked so grandly gin gerbready that I hesitated about going Little boy in the corner (barefooted, with a letter in the Post Office,) told us to "go in," and called us "Lemons." Did not perceive the force of his nomological re mark, but "went in" nevertheless. Man in a white cravat showed us to a pew; floor covered with carpet, and seat cover ed with d-mask, with little stools to kneel down upon—Bull Dogge says, so the faithful will not dirty their pantaloons.) Pretty soon, music—organ—sometimes grand and solemn, but generally fast and lively enough for a contra dance. [B. D. said the player got a big salary to show off the organ, and draw a big house.] He commenced to. play Old Hundred, [Dam phool suggests Ancient Century.] At ! first, majestic as it should be, but soon his ; left hand began to get unruly among the bass notes, then the right cut up a few monkey shines in the treble; left thrthydn, a large assortment of quavers, right led' off with a grand flourish and a few dozen variations ; left struggled manfully to keep up, but soon gave out, dead beat, and af ter that went back to first princiiile's, and hammered away religiously at Old Hun dred, in spite of the antics of its fellow;, right struck up a march, marched into a quick step, quickened into a gallop ; left still kept at Old Hundred ; right put in all sorts of fantastic extras, to entice the left from its Sense of propriety ; left mill tin, moved ; right put in a few bars of a popu lar waltz ; left wavers aikido ; right strikes up a favorite polka, left evidently yielding; dashing into a jig; left now fairly deserts I its colors and goes over to the enemy,. still VOL. 20. NO. 12. both commence an animated hornpipe, leaving poor, Old Hundred to take care of itself. At length, with a crash, a squeak, a rush, a roar, a rumble, and an expiring groan, the overture concluded and service began. First a prayer—then a response—pray er—response by the priest and people al. ternately like the layers of bread and but ter, and ham and mustard in a sandwich; then a little sing—then a little preach— then more petitions, and more responses. Damphool read the entire service, Minis ters cues included, and sung all the hymns. I noticed that Bull - Dogge gave all the res ponses with a great deal of energy and vigor. He said he always liked to come to this kind of Church, because when they jawed religion at him, he could jaw back. Kept as cool as I could, but could not help looking round now and then to see the show. Elderly lady on my right, very devout; gilt edged prayer•book, gold-cov ered fan, feathers in her bonnet, rings on her fingers, and, for all I know, "bells on her toes." Antiquated gentleman in same slip ; well preserved, but somewhat wrink led ; smells of Walt at ; gold spectacles, gold headed cane; put three.centsin the plate. Fashionable little girl on the left; two'flounces on her fantalettes, and a di ' amend ring over herglove. Young Amer ica-looking boy, four years old; patent leather boots, standing collar, gloves, cane, and cigar•cane in Isis pocket. Foppish young man, with adolescent moustache, pumps, legs a la spermaceti candles,shirt front-embroidered a Ia 2.40 race-horse, cravat a Is Jullien, vest a la pumpkin pie, hair a Ia soft soap, coat tail a la boot-jack, which, when parted, discovered a view of the Crystal Palace by gas-light on the rear of his pantaloons, wristband a la stove pipe, hat a to wild Irishman, cane to cor respond ; total effect a Is Shanghai. . Artificial young lady, extreme of fault-- ion ; can't properly describe her, but here goes : whalebone, cotton, paint and white. wash ; slippers a la Ellsler, feet a In Ja. panese, dress a la Paris, shawl a la eleven• Fin - tired dolliffs,.. parasol - a la mushroom, ringlets a la corkscrew, arms a la broom stick, bonnet a la Bowery gal, [Bull Dog ge says the boy with buttons on him brought it in a teaspoon fifteen minutes after she entered the house,] neck a la scrag of mutton, bosom a I•a barebones, complexion a la mother of pearl, [Dam phool says she bought it at Phalon's] ap. pearance generally'humbug. [Bull Dog- go offers to bet his hat-she don't know a cabbage from a new cheese, and can't tell whether a sirloin steak is beef, chicken, flesh or fish] • At length, with another varietto upon the organ, end all the concentrated praise and thanksgiving of the congregation sung by four people up stairs, the service con cluded. I thought, from the manner of this last performance, each member of the choir imagined the songs of praise would never get to heaven if he did not give a personal boost in the shape of an extra yell. Left the Church with a confused idea that the only way to attain eternal bliss is to go to Church every Sunday, and to give liberally to the Foreign Missionary cause. Bull llogge tried to convince me, that one-half the people present thought that the Sixth nv. runs straight into Heaven, and that their through tickets are insured, their front seats reserved, and that whew they are obliged to leave this world, they will find a coach and four, and two ser vants in livery -ready to take them right, through to the other side of Jordan.. Yours, reverentially, Q. K. PHILANDER DoErricas, P. 13. WHAT HE DIED OF. Nye overheard once the following dia- . logue between an alderman and an Irish, shop lifter : , k What's gone of your husband, wo• ,man 1" "What's gone of hum? Faith sir he'4 gone dead." "Ah, pray what did ho die of ?" "Die, yer honor, he died of a Friday•" . _ don't mean what day of the week, but what complaint?" "Oh.! what complaint, yer honor; faith an' it's himself that didn't get time to complain.". "Oh he died suddenly V.' "Rather that way, yer, honor.". "Did he fall in fit! No answer, "He fell down in a tit perhaps!". "A - fit, yer honor ! why no, not exactly. that, He fell nut of a window, or through a cellar door-1 don't know what they-call " Ay ! and broke his neck." No, not quite that, yer honor." . d What then?" 'There was a bit o' string, or that like. and it throttled pw,r Mike."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers