Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, March 28, 1855, Image 1

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

    1 . t ifriatingDon InvirL,..J.p.., .
The "llustrixonox JOURNAL" is publish°. at
he following rates:
If paid in advance $1,50
If paid within six months after the time of
If paid at the end of the year 2,00
And two dollars and fifty cents if not paid till
after the expiration of the year. No subscrirtion
will be take:: fur a lees period than six months,
and no paper will ho discontioned, except at the
option of the Editor, until allarrearages are paid.
Subscribers living in distant connties,or in other
States, will be required to pity invariably in
a ir Tito above terms will be rigidly adhered
o in all CARea.
Will be charged at the folloiriiir, rates
I insertion. 2 du. 3 do.
Six lines or less, $ 25 $ 371 $ 50
One square, (16 lines,) 50 75 I 00
Two " (32 ) 100 150 209
Three " (48 " ) 150 225 300
Business men ndrertising by the Water, 111111
Year or Year, will ho charged the folldwing rates:
3 mo. G nio. 12 mo.
Ono square, $3 00 $5 00 OS 00
Two squares, 5 00 8 00 12 00
Three squares, 750 10 00 13 00
Four squares, 900 14 00 23 00
Fire squares, 15 00 25 00 38 00
Ten squares, 25 00 40 00 GO 00
Business Qards not exceeding six lines, one
year, $4.00.
3011 WORK :
sheet handbills, 30 copies or IT,
cc 4 00
MAN., foolscap or loss, per single quire, I 50
gt it. . . .
4or more quires, per " 100
er Extra charges will be ntudo for heavy
Cr All letters on liminess must be nowt. PAW
to secure attention. „In
The Law of Newspapers.
1. Subscribers who do not give express notice to
the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue
their sabscrtption.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their
newspapers, the publisher may ...linos to scud them
until all arrearages are paid.
3. If subscribers neglect or relime to take their
newvapers from the (dices M which theft are direr
ted, the are held responsible until they hare settled
their bills and ordered them discontinued.
4. Ii subscribers remove to other places without
informing the publisher, and the newspapers are seat
to the 'brine,. direction, they are held responsible.
5. Persons who continue to receive or lake the
paperfrom the qffies, are to he consulored as sub
,ribers and as such, equally responsible Arsubscrip.
than, as if they had ordered their names entered upon
the publishers books.
6. The Courts hare also repeatedly derided' that
a Post Master who neglects to perform his duty ot
giving reasonable notice as repaired by the regula
tions a/ the Post Offire Department, of the Ile9.
!eel of a person to take from the office, newspapers
addressed to him, renders the Post Master liable to
, the publdsher for the subscription price.
Stir POSTNIAsTEits arc required by law
4n notify publishers by letter when their publi
cations are refused or not rolled for by persons
*to whom they are sent, and to give the reason
.of nuelt.refusal, if known. it is also their duty
.to frank all such letters. We will thank post.
inasters , to keep us posted op in relation to this
elect f)oetill.
I at one night beside a blue eyed
lire was out, and so, too, was her mother,
A feeble flame around the lamp did curl,
Waking faint shadows, blending in each other;
. I Twasmearly twelve o'clock, too, in November;
iihe'hall a shawl on, also, I remember.
I had been to see her every night
For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion
'To pop the question, thinking all was right,
.And once or twice had made an awkard
To take her hand, and stammered coughed and
But, somehow•, nothing to the point had ut•
I thought this chance too good now to be lost;
1 hitched my chair up pretty close beside her,
Drew a long breath, and then my legs leross'il,
Bent over, sighed, and fur five minutes eyed
She looked as it she knew what next was cons.
And with her foot upon the floor was drum
I didn't know how to begin or where—
I couldn't .peak, the word. were always rho•
king ;
I ecurce could move—l seemed tied tothe chair,
I hardly breathed—'twos awfully provoking!
The perspiration from each brow was oozing,
My heart, and brain, ned limbs their power
seemed losing.
,At length I saw a brindle tabby cat,
Walk purring up, inviting me to put. her;
,An idea came, as that— .
My doubts, like summer clouds began to
scatter ;
I seized ou tabby, though a scratch she gave me,
. And said—" Come, Puss, ask Mary Unbolt
have me."
'Twits done at once—the murder was now oust,
Thu thing was all explained in half a minute,
She blushed, awl turning pussy cat about,
Said- 11 Posy, tell him yes," her feet , was in
it !
The cat had thus saved me my category,
And here's the catastrophe of my story.
crllan u .
From an interesting article in the April
No. of the .Southern Literary Messenger,
on Matthew Gregory Lewis, (commonly
called Monk, from the novel of that name
which lie wrote) we take the following :
"Among his poem is that celebrated one,
'The Maniac,' which has been lately join-
ed to thrilling music, and sung by a distin
guished composer. It was originally a
monodrama, and presented by Mrs. Litch
field, the tragic actress, at one of her bene
fits. Her character as a maniac, and her
embodyings of the author's imaginings,
combined with the scenic effect, threw a
portion of the audience into hysterics, and
the whole theatre into confusion and hor
ror. Even the box-keepers took fright,
and universal terror clothed the counte
nance of boxes, pit and gallery. Mrs
Litchfield herself, in acting, was near fain
ting. Of course the piece was withdrawn
but the author was sufficiently complimen
ted by its effect, if compliment it be to well
nigh kill a whole assemblage. The
piece, with Lewis's stage directions, and
in its original form, is much more effective
than as ss bit of poetry or as a song. Is
its primitive dress we present it.
The , cene represents a dungeon, in
which is a grated door guarded by strong
bars and chains. In the upper part is an
open gallery leading to the cells above.—
Slow and melancholy music. The cap
tive is discovered its the attitude of hope
less grief; she is its chains ; her eyes are
fixed with a vacant stare, and her hands
are folded. After a pause, the jailer is
seen passing through the upper gallery
with a lamp ; he appears at the grate and
opens the door. The noise of the bars fal
ling rouses the captive. She looks around
eagerly ; but on seeing the jailer enter
she waves her hand mournfully, and re
lapses into her former stupor. The jailer
replenishes a jug with water, and places'
a loaf of bread by her side. He then pre-
pares to leave the dungeon, when the cap
tive seems to resolve on making an attempt
to excite his compassion ; she rises from
her bed of straw,clasps his hand and sinks
at Isis feet. The music ceases. and she
speaks :
Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe 1
She is not mad who kneels to thee,
For what I'm now, too well I know,
$1 25
1 50
2 50
And what I was. and what should be.
I'll rave no mere—in proud despair
My language shall be calm, though sad ;
Hut yet HI firmly truly swear
I am not toad (kissing his hand) Puu:notmad•
He offers to leave her; she detains him
and continues, in a tone of eager persua
sion :
A tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me in this dreary cell.
My fiche unknown my friends bewail,
Olt, jailer, haste that fate to tell,
Oh, haste, my fitther's heart to cheer ;
That heart at once 'twill grieve and glad
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am nut mnd f not mud I not mud l
Harsh music, while the jailer, with a
look of contempt and disbelief, forces his
hand from her grasp, and leaves her. The
bars are head replacing.
He smiles in scorn I—he turns the key
He quits the grate knelt in vain !
Still—still his glimmering lamp I see—
Plaintive music the light grows faintey,
as the jailer retires through the gallery,
and the captive watches his departure
with eager looks.
'Tis lost l—and all is gloom again.
She shivers, and wraps her garment,
more closely around her.
Cold I—bitter cold !--no warmth I no light I
Life I all thy comforts once I had I
Yet here I'm chained this freezing night,
(Eagerly) Although not mad no, no, no, no,
not mad/I
A few bars of melancholy music, which
she interrupts by exclaiming suddenly :
'Tis sure a dream !—some fancy vain I
(Proudly) I—l, the child of rank and wealth
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain,
Deprived of freedom, friends and health ?
Olt, while I count these blessings fled.
Which never more my hours must glad,
How aches my heart !—how burns my head !
Interrupting herself hastily, and pres
sing her hands forcibly against her fore
head ;
But 'tis not toad—no, 'tis not mad.
She remains fixed in this attitude, with
a look of fear, till the music changing, ex
presses that some tender melancholy has
passed her mind.
My child I—ah, has thou forgot by this
Thy mother's face—thy mother's tongue ?
She'll never forget your parting kiss,
(With n smile) Nor round her neck how
fast you clung.
Nor how you sued with her to stay,
Nor how that suit your sire forbade I
(With agony) Nor how—(With a look of tor.
I'll drive such thoughts away.
In a hollow, hurried voice,
They'll make me mad (—they'll make me
A parse---she then proceeds with a mel
ancholy smile.
His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled I
His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone,
Was never born a lovelier child
With a sudden burst of passionate
grief, approaching to frenzy.
And art thou forever eon?
And must I never sec the more,
My pretty, pretty, pretty led ?
(Wits energy) will be true !
(Endeavoring to force the grate) Unbar this
lam not mad ! I am not mad
She falls, exhausted, against the grate
by the bars of which she supports herself.
She is roused from her stupor by loud
shrieks, rattling of chains, &c.
Hark! hark!—what mean those yells—those
(The noise grows louder)—
His chain some furious madman breaks!
The madman is seen to rush along the
gallery with a blazing firebrand in his
He comes, I see his glaring eyes
The madman appears at the grate, which
he endeavors to force, while she shrieks
in an agony of terror.
Now—now-1N dangeon bars he shakes,
Help! help!
Scared by her cries the madman quits
the grate. He appears again in the galle
ry above, is seized by his keepers with
torches, and after some resistance, is drag
ged away.
He's gone I—oh, fearful woe,
Such screams to hear, such sights to see :
My brain ! my brain know—l know
I am not mad, but soon shall be ;
Yes—soon! for In! you—while I speak—
Mark yonder demon's eyeltalls glare,
He sees me—now with fearful shriek
Ile whirls a scorpion high in air
Horror! the reptile strikes his tooth
Deep in sly heart, so crushed and sad :
Ay! laugh, ye fiends!—l feel the truth!
'Tis done! 'tis done!—(With a loud shriek)
I'm mad—Pun mad!
She dashes herself in frenzy upon the
ground. Her two brothers crass the gal
lery, dragging the jailer; then a servant
appears, with a torch, conducting the fa.
ther, who is supported by his youngest
(laughter. They are followed by servants
with torches, part of whom remain in the
gallery. The brothers appear at the
grate, which they force the jailer to open;
they enter, and on seeing the captive, one
is struck with sorrow, while the other ex
presses violent anger against the jailer,
who endeavors to excuse himself; the-fa
ther and the sister enter, and approach the
captive, offering to raise her, when she
starts up and eyes them with a look of ter
ror; they endeavor to make themselves
known to her, but in vain ; she shuns them
with fear and aversion, and taking some
straw begins to twine it into a crown, when
her eyes falling on the jailer, she shrieks
in terror, and hides her face ; the jailer is
ordered to retire, and obeys; the father
again endeavors to awaken her attention,
but in vain. He covers his face with his
handkerchief, which the captive draws
away with a look of surprise. Their
hopes are excited, and they watch her
with eagerness. She wipes the old man's
eyes with her hair, which she afterwards
touches, and finding it wet with tears,
bursts into a delirious laugh, resumes her
crown of straw, and after working at it
eagerly for a moment, suddenly drops it,
and remains motionless with a vacant stare.
The father and brothers express their des
pair—the music ceases. An old servant
enters, leading her child, who advances
carelessly, but on seeing his mother, breaks
from the servant, runs to her and clasps
her hands. She looks at him with a va
cant stare, then with an expression of ex
cessive joy, exclaims, .My child,' and
clasps him to her bosom. The relatives
raise their hands to heaven in thankfulness
for her restored reason, and the curtain
slowly falls to solemn music."
Casting a " Devil" out of Church—A
Methodist Minister Arrested for As-
saulting a Distiller.
We aro. indebted to our friend J. M.
Bells, of Marietta, Ohio, for the following
graphic sketch. We are assured that the
facts transpired substantially as narrated :
A Methodist clergyman, who has been
laboring in this vicinity, was, not long
since preaching to his people on the mi
raculous power of the Apostles over the
demoniac spirits of their day. As he was
pursuing his theme, the audience were
suddenly startled by a voice from some
one in the congregation demanding, in a
half-querulous, half authoritive tone, "Why
don't preachers do such things now a
days ?" In an instant, every eye in the
house was turned upon the individual who
had the effrontery thus to evade the sa
credness of the sanctuary.
Thu speaker paused for a moment, and
fixed his penetrating gasp full upon the
face of the questioner. There was an
interval of intense silence, broken at last
by the speaker in resuming hie subject.—
He had not proceeded far with his remarks
before he was again interrupted by the
same impertinent inquiry. Again he pau
sed for a time, again resumed his subject.
Not content with a silent rebuke, our re
doubtable questioner' demanded again,
"Why don't the preachers do such things
pow-a days ?" and curling his lips with a
sneer of self-complacency, drew himself
up pompously in his seat.
•Our reverend friend, (who, by the way
is a young mac• of great muscular power,)
calmly left the desk, and walked deliber
ately to the pew, where the interrogator
sat, and fastening one hand firmly upon the
collar of his coat, and the other on the
waistband of his 'unmentionables,' lifted
him square out of the seat and bore him
down the aisle to the entrance. Pausing for
a moment there he turned his eyes upon
his audience, and in a clear, full voice, said,
'and they cast out the devil in the form
of a distiller," and suiting the action to
the word, out went the • knight of the
mash-tub, a /a eap frog fashion, into the
..The good pastor quietly returned to
his desk, and completed his discourse.—
Alter closing the services, as he was pas
sing out of the church the out cast distil
ler with an officer of the law, escorted our
clerical friend to the office of a magistrate
to answer for an assault upon the person
of said distiller. After hearing the case
the magistrate dismissed the clergyman,
and after roundly reprimanding the com
plainant, find him for molesting the servi
ces of the sanctuary.
'Since that day we believe he has nev
er for a moment doubted the power of the
Methodist preachers to cast out devils, at
least within the limits of the Ohio Confer
ence.—Bingliampton (N. Y) Standard,
March 7.
A correspondent of the Newark Adver
tiser, writing from Branfield, Conn., gives
the following account of the vocal and in
strumental music of that place :
‘. Our singers are a caution to all hear
ers not to lend their ears, which Anthony
desired to borrow of the Romans. What
they lack in skill they make up in volume.
This is especially true of our female vo
calists: Why my dear friend, tl*y scream.
Having no taste to discriminate in this
matter, and unfortunately the?, directions
in their tune books being in an unknown
tongue, they attack a psalm as a fort to be
carried by storm. And they do carry it.
Evidently, there is a strife among them
who shall sing the loudest, and the palm
is not yet conferred. They arc getting up
a concert now, and perhaps the question
will be decided when that comes off. By
the way, a good story may bo told of our
chorister's attempt at improving the
psalmody as well as the music of our
church. He set some music of his own
to one of the Psalms of Watts, a very fa
miliar psalm, in which occur these lines :
" Oh may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound."
Calling on his pastor, who has more mu
sic in him than you would think, the cho.
rister asked his approbation of a new ver
sion of these lines, which would render
them more readily adapted to the music
he hod composed. lle suggested to read
them as follows :
"0 may my heart be tuned within,
Like David's sacred violin,"
The good pastor had some internal ten-
dencies to laugh in the singing -man's face,
but maintaining his gravity as well as he
could, he said that he thought he could
improve the improved version, admirable
as it was. The delighted chorister beg
ged him to do so, and the pastor, taking
his pen, wrote before the eyes of his in
nocent parishioner, these lines :
" 0 may my heart go diddle' diddle,
Like uncle David's sacred fiddle."
The poor leader, after a vain attempt to
defend his own parody, retired, and !guess
he will sing the psalm as it stands.
We have an organ of course. They
tell us that every church has an organ if
it is anything of a church. Ours is not a
very large one, but it is large enough in
all conscience for the house and the play
ing. It is somewhat larger, and makes
more solemn, church-like music, than the
organs which your strolling music pedlars
carry in the streets, grind:ng pennyworths
of sound for their raggod customers. But
it does sound very much like those vaga.
bond factories of music murder, I fear,
from an incident of last Sunday.
A lady from New York was up here,
having been spending the summer in the
country. As this was to be the last Sab
bath of her visit, she took her son, a child
of four years old, to church for the first
time. As soon as the organ commenced
its strains, the little fellow started up with
delight : he looked back to the gallery, he
stretched his neck ; ho got up on the cush
ions and raised himself to his very tallest;
his mother remonstrated with him, and
told him to sit down. But he refused,and
continued gazing aloft with straining eyes.
Sit down,' said his mother. I won't
he cried, so as to be heard all around, 4
towel to see the monkey.'"
Colic in Horses.
The following remarks on colic are from
Dr. Dodd's "Modern Horse Doctor."—
They embody some new ideas of this dis
ease which it may bo well to consid
In nine cases out of ten, colic is the re
sult of impaired digestive organs; the food
runs into fermentation and evolves carbo
nic acid gals. In view of prevention,
then, it becomes a matter of importance
to know what are the causes of indiges
tion ; and the most frequent may be said to
be immediate feeding—eating, or drink
ing whatever disagrees with the stomach,
in regard to quantity or quality. Every
tyro in medicine knows that a drink of
hard water will often produce colic, both
in man and beast, provided the digestive
organs shall be impared. Mr. White
says, "when the Royal Dragoons were
quartered at Croydon, scarcely a day pas
sed without one or more of the horses be
ing attacked with flatulent colic, and on
examining the water made use of in the
barracks, it was found remarkably hard,"
—Our own experience confirms this fact,
for before the introduction of Cochiturate
water into Boston, very many of our em
ployer's horses were frequently attacked
with both flatulent and spasmodic colic,
which arc now entirely free from it since
they use pure soft water..
• The treatment should consist first: in
the use of diffusible stimulants, (not alcohol.
ic) of a carminative nature, such for exam
ple, us grains of Paradise, carrasvay seed
ginger, &c., and these should be given in
a liquid form. Stimulants of a sensative
nature are always indicated in the treat
ment of colic ; for if the stomach be dis
tended with a ;load of semi-putrid food,
how can we get rid of it except by the
ordinary way when the parts are in a
healthy state ? Men have strangely erred
in recommending medicine—castor oil,
salts, aloes, opium, turpentine, &c.,—for
the colic, and perhaps we ourselves are
not free from blame in this matter.. Expe
rience and nothing else, has changed our
views, and we give them for the benefit
of man and horse. "Experience is the
only true guide." We select the follow
ing case as an example of treatment;
powdered grains of paradise, 1 teaspoon.
ful ; powdered carraway, & teaspoonful
oil of peppermint, 20 drops ; powdered
slippery elm, 1 teaspoonful; hot water,
1 pint. These were mixed together and
given from a bo'.tle. An injection of com
mon soap suds was then thrown into the
rectum. Ina few minutes the mare avoid
ed a mass of excremcns, accompanied
with slime and wind. She now appeared
to grow easier, and in n few minutes was
free from pain.—Farm Journal.
The Making of a Good Wife.
When you see a young woman who ri
ses early, sets the table and prepares her
lather's breakfast cheerfully, depend upon
it she will make a good wife. You may
rely upon it that she possesses a good dis
position and kind heart. When you see
a young woman just out bed at nine o'clock
with her elbow upon the table, gasping
and sighing "Oh, how dreadfully I feel,"
rely upon it she will not make a good
wife. She lutist be lazy and mopish.—
When you see a girl with a broom in her
hand sweeping the floor, with a rubbing
board or clothes line in her hand, you may
put it down that she is industrious, and
will make a good wife for somebody.—
When you see a girl with a novel in her
left hand ands fan in her right shedding
tears, you may be sure that she is unfit
for a wile. Happiness and misery are
before you, which will you choose
It was Bishop Horner's opinion, that
there is no better moralist than a newspa
per. He says, "The follies, vices, and
consequent miseries of multitude display
ed in a newspaper, arc so many beacons
continually burning to turn others from the
rock on which they have been shipwreck
ed. What more powerful dissuasive from
suspicion, jealousy and anger, than the
story of one friend murdered by *nether in
a duel What caution likely to be more
effectual against gambling and profligacy,
than the mournful relation of an execution,
or the fate of a despairing suicide? What
finer lecture on the necessity of economy,
than the auction of estates, houses acid fur,
niture ? Only take a newspaper, and con-
sider it well--.payfor it, anti it wilt in•
street you.
("We clip the following from a wes
tern paper : "To rent a house on Mellow
avenue, located immediately alongside of
a fine plum garden, from which an abun,
dent supply of the most delicious fruit
may be stolen during the whole season.—
Rent low—and the greater part taken in
Mil anb' Nunn.
Original Views or Men and Things.
Which said boat is very much the shape
of the Michigan country-made sausage,
and is built with a hinge in the middle to
go round the sharp bends in the river, and
is manned by two captains, four mates,
sixteen darkies, two stewards, a small boy,
a big dog, an opossum, two pair of gray
squirrels, one clock, and a cream•colored
chambermaid ; fog so thick you could'nt
run a locomotive through it without a
snow-plow; night so dark the clerk has
two men on each side of him with pitch
pine torhes, to enable him to see his
spectacles, (he wears spectacles ;) pilot so
drunk the boys hove painted his face with
chore oil and cokeberries, till he looks like
a rag carpet in the last stage of dilapida
tion ; and he is fast asleep, with his legs
(pardon me, but—legs) tied to the cap
tain; his whiAere full of coal dust and cin
ders, and the black end of the poker in
his mouth ; boat fast aground, with her
symmetrical nose six feet deep in Ken
tucky mud ; there she complacently lies,
waiting for the mail boat to coma along
and pull her out. Passengers elegantly
disposed in various stages of don't-care.a
cent-itiveness, and the gubscriber, salting
advantage of the temporary sobriety of
the clerk, and his consequent attendance
in the after.cabin to play poker with the
mates, to drop you a line. 'The silence is
of brief duration, for 1 am interrupted by
a grand oratorio by the nigger fireman,
much to my delight and edification. It
runs somewhat as follows :
(Grand opening chorus.) “A-no,—a.
(The dashes in the following represent
the passages where the superfluity of the
harmony prevented the proper apprecia
tion of the poetry.).
"Gavin down the ribber—a-boo a-o !
Good-bye—nebber come back —debbil
—beans—Gray-haired injun—Ya
a—a—aaa—Ya-a.a.a.a-a a-a—
Ga—!" (leader of orchestra) "Dirty shirt
massa got de whiskey bottle in his hat,
dis poor ole boy nebber git none—
A-hoo—a-hOoo—a•h00000 !" (ending in an
indescribable howl.)
(Pensive darkey on the coal heap.) "Miss
Serefiny good-bye—fare-well; nebber
git no more red pantaloonses from Miss
(Extemporaneous voluntary by an ori
ginal nigger with two turkey feathers in
his hat, and his hair tied up with yellow
strings .)
" Corn cake—losses on it—vaphuns—"
(meaning waffles) "big ones, honey on em
—Ye a a a a-a." (Stern rebuke by lead
er.) "Shut up your mouf, you 'leven
hundred dollar nigger."
(Leader improvises as follows .) "Hard
work—no "matter—get to hebbon byrn
bye—don't mind—go it "boots—linen
hangs out behind"—(here, having achiev
ed a rhyme, lie indulges in a frantic horn
pipe.) "My true lob—feather in him
boot—yaller gal gotOanother sweetheart
—A-hoo—A-hOOOOOO !—A-hooooooo—p.
O o o ! ! ! !— Hoe-coke done—nigger can't
"git any--=olb I. l ).opin the parlor playing
de piano Ga Ga."—
Captain here interferes and order the or
chestra to wood up—and so interrupts the
Have got over on the Indiana side;
principal difference to be noticed in the in
habitants is in the hogs; on the Kentucky
side they are big, fat and as broad as they
are long; on this side they are shaped like
a North River steamship, long and lean.
I just saw two of them sharpen their no
ses on the pavement, and engaged in mor
tal combat ; one rushed at his neighbor,
struck him between the eyes, split him
front end to end ; cart came along, run
over the two halves, cut them into hanis
and shoulders in aji fly—requiescat in ma.
nypiece4. This is decidedly a rich coun
try ; the staple productions are big hogs,
ragged niggers and the best horses in the
United States. The people live principal
ly on bread made of corn; whisky ditto,
and hog prepared in variotts barbarous
ways. They give away whisky and sell
cold water. The dark ies are mostly slaves;
they nail horse shoes over their doors to
keep away the witches, indulge in parti
colored bats in the most superlative degree
of dilapidation ; barefooted, and have large
apertures ist puppit pan ((goon i. It is a
VOL. 20. NO. 13.
perfect treat to watch their entertaining
performances. At the hotel, the allowance
Is fourteen niggers to each guest, and a 3
each one seems to be possessed of the pe
culiar idea that his province is to do noth
ing at all, with as many flourishes as pos
sible, the confusion that follows is far from
being devoid of entertainment.
They never bring you anything you
call for ; if you call for chicken, you will
probably get corned beef and cabbage; if
you want roast beef they will assuredly
bring you apple dumplings ; ask for sweat
potatoes, and you'll get fried eggs ; send
for corn bread, and you're safe to obtain
boiled pork ; ring the bell for a boot-jack,
and you'll get a hand sled. And when
you want to retire for the night, instead
of providing you with a pair of slippers
and a candle, the chances are ten to one
the attendant sable angel will give you a
red Rammed shirt, a shot gun, a flask of
whisky, three boiled eggs, and a pair of
smoothing irons. There is, however, one
redeeming feature about the darkies, they
won't live in the same country with Irish
men. They can live with hogs, have half
a dozen shoats at the dinner table, a litter
of pigs in the family bed; but they can't
abide Irish. The slaves are as may be
imagined, of various colors, ranging from
the hue of the beautiful yellow envelope
of the Post Office Department to that of
the blackest ink that ever indites a super
scription thereon. The theory of Wo
man's Rights is in practical operation
among theta; the men cook, set the table,
clean up dishes, do the washing, and spank
the babies, while their blacker halves hoe
corn, crop wood, go to market, and "run
avid de mashoen."
Have great fruit in this country ; apples
big as pumkins, not very large pumkins,
small-sized pumkins, diminutive pumkins,
infantile pumkins, just emerged from blos
somhood, and ere they have assumed that
golden overcoat which maketh their ma
turer friends glorious to the view. And
pumkin pies, manufactured by the sable
god of the kitchen; pies enormous to be
hold; wherein after they are ready to be
devoured, you might nude up to your
knees in the noble compound which filleth
the interior thereof, and maketh the pie
savory and nectarean ; in fact, pies celes
tial, whereof writers in all ages have dis
coursed eloquently; and sweet potatoes—
such s-w-e-e-t p-o-t-a-t•o•e•s ! Jiminetty
big enough to fill a six foot grave, yellow
as rhubarb, and luscious as—lasses candy.
To retain to the principal topic—the
clarkies—they are all built after the same
model ; hand like -a shoulder of mutton,
teeth white as milk, foot of suitable dimen
sions for a railroad bridge, and mouth big
enough for the depot; they have all got
six toes on each foot, skull like an oak
plank, yellow eyes, and a nose like a split
pear; the black extends inwardly four in
ches and a half; they live on yams, whis
ky, corn-bread, swine -beef, • hog mutton
and pork; they are not sickly, principal
ailments are spine in the back, the dia
phragm in the region of the stomach, and
cranium of the head; besides which they
are apt to be troubled with retina of the
eye, tibia of the leg, mumps, whisky blos
soms, seven year itch, and the six-foot
measles. Should I hear of any more dis
tinguished characteristics, I will let you
know soon.
Meanwhile I am desultorily yours.
Q. K. PHILANDER Doissnexs, P. B.
enr"Look a-hea, Sam," said a wes
tern negro to a field-hand over the fence,
"look ta-hea ; d'ye see dat tall tree down
dar ?"
“Yale Jim, I does.”
I got up dat tree night afore to
What you in dat tree arter?,
• was arter a coon."
"You catch him Jim
"Wait till I tell de fax, Sambo."
• sueceed•"
~ I chased de coon out to de todder end
ob dot longest lint, and den I hear suffin'
drop. What do you guess't was, Sam?"
"De coon, ob curso.!?
"No you don't; 't was dis ere niggn
like to broke he neck—been limpin"bout
eber since."
V'When a man comes home end
tries to bolt the door with a sweet potatoo,
pokes the fire wiih the spout of the coffe
pot attempts to wind up his clock with
boot-jack, tries to cut kindling for his mor
ning fire with an ivory paper knife, takes
o cold boiled potatoe in his hand to light
him to bed, and prefers to sleep in his hat
and boots, you may reasonably infer that
he has been making the acquaintance of
some very friendly people.
Riches aro but ciphers—it is the
mind that makes the rum.