Newspaper Page Text
..,_ ... ,...... : t
.... flun.lingbon .iiiittliat
BY.' WM. BREWSTER.
The "HUNTINGDON Jo unpw," is published at
Ac following rates :
UVlt ie.s P so
paid sixmonthsnit er the thneo
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
gir The ebove terms will be rigidly ndhered
in all cas 9
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
.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
JOB WORK :
I sheet handbills, 30 copies or lens,
i SG CI Si
. .. .. .. .. ..
I.ll.Arrus, foolscap or less, per single quire, I So
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
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
_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
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.
By J. A. Hall.
Read by bliss NAscr Moth TIT!, before flu Hun•
Unclose County Teaclie.Y institute, •
- December 22, 1854:
•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
,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
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
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 ;
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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 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
. , 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
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
'Thou in the heavens, who seed and
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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..
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•
"What's gone of hum? Faith sir he'4
"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
"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."