Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, May 09, 1855, Image 1
~~ s=r. ~ --~i, 11Ite Unnetingbn :2:Dllrue BY WM. BREWSTER, TERMS : The "IIIi:CTINGDON JOURNAL" is published at he following rates : If amid in advance $1,60 It' paid within six months after the time of subsctibing 1,75 If paid at the end of thetear 2,00 . . Aiid two dollars and flft; cents if not paid till lifter the expiration of the year. No subscription will be taken for a loss period than six months, and no paper will be discontinued, except at the option of the Editor, until all arreorages are paid. Subscribers living in distant counties,or in other States, will bo required to pay invariably in advance. t o r The above terms will be rigidly adhered o u nit cases. ADVERTISEMENTS Will be charged at the following rates 1 insertion. 2 do. 3 do. Bix lines or less $ 25 $ 37} $ 50 Ono square, (16 lines,) 50 75 100 Two " (32 ". ) 100 150 200 Three " (48 " ) 150 225 300 Business men advertising by the Quarter, Halt Year or Year, will be charged the following rates: 3 mo — . .6 mo. 12 mo. 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If subscribers neglect or ;Virile to take their newspapersfrom the °Aces to whirl, they are direc ted, they are held responsible until they hare settled their bills and ordered them discontinued. 4. if subscribers remove to ether places without iiJiirmiug theuldisher, and the newspcipers are sent to the Amer direction, they arc held responsible. 5. Persons who continue to receive or take the paper from the fere, are to be considared as sub scribers and as such, equally responsible find subscrip tion, as if they had ordered their names entered upon the publishers book, • 6. The COUrtS have also repeatedly derided that a Post Master who neglects to peiform his duty of giving reasonable notice as required by the regula tions if the Post (Vice Department, if the neg lect el a person to bike from the Ohm, newspapers addressed to him, renders the Post Master liable to the puldisherfOr the sulnieriptiou price. war POSTMASTERS are reiltaired by law to notify publishers by letter when their publi cations are rel'used or nut milled for by persons to whom they arc sent, and to give the reason of suck refusal, if known. It is also their duty to frank all sack letters. We will thank post 'natters to keep us posted up in relation to this matter. t(tct Vottril. THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL, He lay upon hie dying bed, His eye was growing dim, When with a feeble voice he called Ws weeping son to him. Weep not my boy the veteran said -1 bow to Heaven's high will— But quickly from yon antler's bring The Sword of Bunker MI. • The sword was brought—the soldier's eye Lit with a sudden Hume ; Amid as he grasped the ancient blade, He murmured Warren's :lame ; Theo said--My boy, I leave you gold, But what is richer still, I lone you—mark me, mark me now— The Sword of Bunker Hill. 'Twas on that dread, immortal day I dared the Briton's hand, A captain raised this blade on me— I bore it.from his hand ; And while the glorious battle raged, It lightened Freedom's will— For, boy, the Clod of Freedom blessed The Sword of Bunker Hill. 0, keep the Sword ! his accents broke— A smile,--and he was dead— His wrinkled hand still grasped the blade Upon his dying bed. The son remains—the sword remains— Its glory growing still— And twenty millions bless the sire And Sword of Bunker Hill. *ftect SANCTUARY OF TIIE GOLDEN CALF. California Gambling Scenes. A writer in Bentley's Miscellany, whose rertune led him to San Francisco in 1852, presents a fearful picture of the scenes en acted at that period in the gambling hells of the golden capital. He says, that the most corrupt of jhe 'gamblers, and the on ly ones, in fact, who could compete with the Spaniards, generally so crafty and cold blooded in hazard playing was the Ameri can "boys," that from the splendidly dec orated saloon at San Francisco, with its picturesque Ujouterie and hundreds of ta b!es groaning beneath the burden of gold, to the scanty tent in the furthest mountains, where the serape, thrown over a rickety box, served an a cloth by night, and as a bed and blanket on the approach of dawn --were everywhere to be found, ready at any moment to plunder the noor minor of his hard-earned savings; and that the Span. ish cloak served to cover the money they won, as well as the six-barrelled revolver and sharp bowie knife, as weapons of at " I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF TIIE UNITED STATES."-[WEBSTER. tack or defence, according as the moment or the prospect of gain might demand. We have not space this week to give more than ono or two of the writer's illus trations, but they are sufficiently dramatic and lifelike to justify the belief that they ure transcripts of actual occurrences. Af ter a graphic description of one of the I most splendid and largest of the .hells," over whose entrance gleamed in golden lettersjpe name of "El Dorado," the wri• ter says : The visiters aro suddenly crowding round a table, where high play is appa rently going on. Let us go too and see it. A young fellow is standing at the ta ble, between the keeper of the table and his confederates—the first of whom is slowly shuffling a pack of cards, for the sake of employment, till the play com mences, while the other watches, with his little piercing gray eyes, the cards as they are turned up. The game itself is strange to us, although the Spaniards on the other side of the table, who follow its vicissi tudes and the hands of the dealer with a bcarcely perceptible smile, and without staking for the present, seem to under stand it better than we do. It was Insole, a Spanish game, and played with Spanish cards, and the strange figures on them, the crossed swords and golden balls, the horse men instead of queens, &c., attract the stranger's yo above all ; and impart a much higher and mysterious charm to the bags of silver and gold boldly staked upon them. The young fellow, in whom we feel an interest from the outset, cannot be more than sixteen years of age. He is tall and thin, and his features would have something effeminate about them were it not for the gleaming eye and the ashy firmly compressed lips. his right hand is supported on the green cloth of the ta ble, upon the centre of which piles of dol lars form a barrier round a heap of gold, as well as sacks of gold dust, and three or four large nuggets and ingots, more for or nament than use. His left hand is in his pocket, and froM beneath his hat two or three locks of auburn hair peep out. Ills stake, amounting perhaps to twenty or five and twenty "eagles" is on the horseman, and his gleaming eyes are fixed nervously on the hands of the dealer. $1 25 1 50 2 50 The latter, an Ajnerican, sits coldly and calmly behind his table with the hands ready to turn up, and casting, at intervals, a rapid glance at the stakes to see that all is iu order. The ace and queen are the uppermost cards—the young fellow has won, and a triumphant smile plays on his lips. ‘.l'll pay you back now for the other night, Robertson," he laughed hoarsely,, between his scarce opened lips. hope so !" replies the banker, calm ly, with an equivocal smile. "You're in luck, Lowell, and ought to take advantage of it." "Heave it on the queen, and put this lot on the three." Here and there a few stakes are altered or withdrawn, and the cards arc turned up again. Both lose ! The young man growls a fearful but hardly audible oath; but his hand almost involuntarily brings fresh booty to light in the shape of a bag of gold.clust, which the banker does not even deign to glance at. The bag might contain about two pounds, and the Spaniard standing oppo site now throws a couple of ounces on an other card. "You do not trust the gentleman's luck, senor," the banker said, smilingly, as he held the cards firmly in his loft hand, but kept his eye sternly fixed inquiringly on that of the Californian. "Quiest Sal m?" he muttered with in difference ; but—his card had gained. The young gambler uttered another fearful oath, and his hand sought frenzied ly in his pockets for more money—but in vain. “Not there—not there—none— robbed !" he stammers to himself; and his eye measures distrustfully and anxiously those standing round him. He meets only indifferent or sarcastic glances. "Come, stranger ! if you don't play any longer, make room for somebody else !" said a bearded man, 'dressed in a dirty blue and torn blouse ; "it seems to me you've done." "I'll atop here as long as I like." "Come sir, if you don't play, make room for another party," said the second bank er, who sat close to him ; .cour table is, be. sides, quite crowded." "I have been robbed !" the young man shouted, casting a furious glance on the blouse.--"shamefally robbed." "Well, don't look ut me, young fellow, in that way," said the man in the blouse, quietly. "I'll look at whom I please, and any one who can't stand it may turn away." "Room there !" t he man shouted, turn. HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, MAY 9, 1855. ing his bend to those behind, and seizing the young gambler with a giant's grasp, he lifted him up and hurled him back. "Take care—take care !" several voi• ces shouted at the same moment ; and two or three hands threw up the arm of the madman, who, armed with a revolver, and careless of the consequences, was aiming point-blank at Isis assailant's head.— Though so quickly seized, the young scoundrel managed to fire twice before they could tear the pistol from him, and one bullet broke the globe of a lamp, while the other went into the ceiling and brought down a shower of plaster. It was not the only mark of the same sort up there. "Thank ye," the miner in the blue skirt quietly said to the surrounders, and without caring further for the infuriated lad, who was foaming at the mouth and struggling with those who held him, be took, a packet of gold out of his waistcoat pocket and put it on the nearest card.— The young gambler hate in the mean while been dragged to the door by several powerful Irish volunteers, where he was received by two policemen summoned from the adjacent station, and borne oft to du rance vile. All the curiosity mongers in the room—anddisir name was legion— had thronged up to the spot where the shot had been fired. to see as much as pos sible of the anticipated row. Even the counter was deserted for a second or two —but not longer. At th moment, too, shouts, laughter and noise were heard from the other side of the room. What had occurred there? ' , Bravo !—that was capital—hurrah I" the mob shouted, and the shrill voice of a man, who was energetically protesting against something or other, was continu ally drowned in noisy bursts of applause ! A. peculiar circumstance had taken place here, in which the mob speedilyyerform ed the functions of judge and jury, and gave their verdict. A man in a black tail coat and dark trousers, very clean and respectable, had come for seven evenings in succession to the same table, and watched, the same game for awhile, until at last lie produced a small canvas bag from his breast-pocket and laid it on a card. The card won on the first evening, and he emptied the bag on the table to count the money. It con tained twenty-eight Spanish dollars, which the banker quietly paid him, and the "gen tleman" quitted the table with his earn ings without deigning to tempt dame For. tune again. On the second evening, he returned, staked, and the card lost.'. With the greatest coolness he opened the bag, seized the corners, shook out the m iney —and it contained precisely the same sum as on the previous evening—and quit ted the room. On the third, fourth, fifth and sixth evenings the same story. The bankers began to know the man, and amus ed themselves about his strange behavior ; as usual, he lost, took up the bag and walked away. The seventh evening arrived. It was just a minute after eight, and the ono ban ker said, laughingly, to the other—"We have treated him too hardly and frighten. ed him away," when his comrade laugh ed, and the man in the black coat, without altering a feature, or paving any attention to the whispering and laughing, took his usual place, quietly watched the progress of the game till a quarter past eight, and then laid the bag all knew so well upon a deuce that had just been turned up. A couple of cards were turned up with out the two making its appearance. At last the three fell to the left, and to the right—it scarcely perceptible smile played on the bankers lips—the two. The stran ger turned deadly pale, but without utter ing a syllable about the change its his luck, he stretched out his hand to the sack, and was on the point of opening it in order to count the dollars, when the banker said, laughingly. "Let it be ; I know how many are in it —eight and twenty. Am I not right l" "Not exactly !" said the man calmly, and shook the silver out on the table. 110 then shook the bag still more, and a roll of banknotes, slightly wrapped together, fell out. "What's that ?" thu banker cried in alarm, and the audience pressed curiously round. _ , 'My slake!" the man said, with appa rent indifference, as ho unfastened the thread that bound the notes. "Stop, that will not do !" the banker cried as he threw down his cards ; "that's false play. You only paid eight and twenty dollars on the previous evening." "False play V the man shouted, and his eyebrows were menacingly contracted.— "Prove it, you shuffiers f Did I not lay the bag just as it is on the card—and have yen ever refused to pay it mai/tenet! ?" "No ! that's all correct—quite right," said those around, who are always glad to oppose the banker, because they are firm ly convinced that he does not play fairly, although they continually throw away their money. "He staked and won, and must be paid," others shouted. "Count your money—how much is it?" said the banker, who had hurriedly ex changed a few words with his confeder ates seated opposite—"how much is it ?" "In the first place, twenty-eight dollars in silver," he said calMly, while the by standers laughed heartily. "Then hero in bank notes—two, three, four, yes, eight hundred dollars, and then—" hat more !" .A small bill on Dollsrnith Brothers; as good as silver, and accepted and all—the money need only be fetched—=for—three thousand " "Three thousand !" the banker yelled starting in dismay from his chair. "Why, that would make nearly four thousand al together ! Are you mad ? Do you ex pect the to pay that ?" "Don't 1?" the stranger asked in sur prise. "Would you not have taken it if I had lost ?" "01 course lie would—of course: Do you ask whether they would take it 1-- Everything they can get, and a little more too," shouted the voices round the table. "He must pay !" " Gentlemen !" the banker protested, in the poor prospect -of turning their hearts— , Gentlemen, this person staked every evening for the entire week—" "And lost every time," another inter rupted him. have been present seve ral times, and have heard so from others, and he never made the slightest objec tion." 4 ' , But that was only eight and twenty dollars." "And if it had been 60 many thousands, all the same." "But do let me finish," the banker shrieked, with ashen lips and furious glances ; "he only shook oat twenty eight dollars on the table and kept the paper back." "Prove that I ever had a cent more than twenty-eight dollars in the bag," the stran ger exclaimed, contemptuously; "you won't get off by such excuses." "Why did you not keep the bag as well, companero ?" laughed a Spaniard who stood near "We always stick to any thing that is staked." "If he had lost again, no more than the confounded dollars would have come out of the bag," the banker growled. "Possible, but it can't be proved," the surrounding players laughed. " You must pay up." "Hanged if I do," the hanker shouted, and struck the table with his fist. "This is a new sort of robbery you are trying upon me; but you've come to the wrong customer—l won't pay !" "I've lost two hundred dollars to you in the last half hour," a tall, gigantic Ken tuckian shouted, as he elbowed his way to the table, "and was forced to pay up to the cent. If you refuse to pay that fellow, you must fork over my tnoney again." •And mine too !" a multitude of voices ejaculated. "I've lost two-•-I too—ten dollars—fifty—five and twenty---a pound of gold--out with the money if he won't pay." Another banker from an adjoining table had in the meanwhile come up, and had whispered a few words to his comrade du ring the height of the tumult. The loser for a time refused, but at last yielded to his persuasions, and took up the money to count it, while both carefully examined the notes and bills. ''here could be no objection raised against either, and with a heavy sigh the banker paid the money, which took all on his table, as well as sev eral packets of gold dust, which the stran ger carefully cut open, examined, and then weighed at the bar. All was in order, and concealing the money in various pockets, he thrust what remained into the mysteri ous bag, and then quitted the room, after bowing his thanks to the surrounders, which were returned by a thundering hur rah and shouts of applause. 16:1 - A Western village having passed an ordinance forbidding taverns to sell li quor on the Sabbath day to any person ex cept travellers, the next Sunday every man in town was seen walking around with a valise in one hand and two seddle bags in the other. 'Paddy, did Totiever catch a bat ?" "I did that." "When 1" .'At Miss Moloney's ball. Mick Fini. gan brought the shovel over my nose." ICP There two lines make the column complete. gligctilantou. SIGNING THE PLEDGE. Rev. John Abbott, the sailor preacher, relates the following good story of one of hia converts to Temperance : Mr. Johnson, at the close of a cold wa- ter lecture, intimated that he must sign the pledge in his own way, which lie did in these words : I, William Johnson, pledge myself to drink no more intoxicating liquor for one year.' ....Some thought he would stick three days others allowed him a week, and a few fide him two weeks ; but the landlord knew him best, and said that he was good stuff ; but at the end of the year Bill would be a good soaker. • Before the year was quite gone, John son was asked by Mr Abbott: 'Bill; ain't you going to renew your pledge ?' 'Well, I don't know, Jack, hut what I will. I have done pretty well so far ; will you let me sign it again my own way ?' '0 yes, any way so that you don't drink rum.' He writes : 'I, William Johnson, sign this pledge for nine hundred and ninety-nine years, and if living at the end of that time, I in tend to take out a lease for life.' A day or two after Johnson went to see his landlord, who eyed him as a hawk does rt chicken, .0h landlord ! whined Bill, accompani ed with sundry contortions of the body, as if enduring the most excruciating torment 'I have such a lump on my side.' .That's because you have stopped drinking ; you wont live two years longer at this rate.' 'lf I commence drinking will the lump go away ?' 'Yes. If you don't you will have an other just such a lump on the other side.' 'Do you think so, landlord ? know it, and you will have them on yourarms, back, breast and head ; you will be covered all over with lumps.' Well, may be I will,' said Bill. •Come Bill, 'said the landlord, 'let's drink together' at the same time pouring the red stuff from a decanter into hierglass, gug, gug, gug. 'Ni,' paid Johnson, can't, for I've sig ned the pledge again.' 'You ain't though ! You're a fool,' 'Yes, that old sailor coaxed so hard I could not get 'off.' wish the devil had the old rascal.— Well, how long do you go this time ?' 'For only nine hundred and ninety-nine years, whispered Bill. 'You won't live a year.' 'Well, if I drink you are sure the lump on my side will go away ?' • 'Yes.' 'Nell, I guess I won't drinlc ; here's the lump,' continued Bill, holding up some thing with a hundred dollars in it ;and you say have more such lumps--that's what I want !' Home Influence. Would'st thou listen to its gentle teaching, All thy restless yearnings it would still ; Mat', flower, and laden bee aro preaching, Thy own sphere, though humble, first to fill. Truly it has been said, that our duties are like the circles of a whirlpool, and the innermost includes home.' A mod ern writer has designated home, 'heaven's fallen sis ter,' rod a melancholy truth lies surounded in these few words. Our hotne influence is not a passing, but an abiding one; and all powerful for good or evil, for peace or strife, for happiness or misery.— Each separate christian home has been linked to a central sun, around which re- voices a happy and united band of warm and loving hearts, acting, thanking and rejoicing, and sorrowing together.— Which member of the family group can say I have no influence ? What sorrow, or what happiness lies in the power of each ! --- ‘4 lighted lamp,' writes McCheyne, 'is a very small thing, and it burns calmly and without noise, and it giveth light to all who are within the house.' And so there in a quiet influence, which like the flame of a scentediamp, fills many a home with light and fragrance. Such an influ ence has been beautifully compared to a carpet, soft and deep which while it diffu ses a look of ample comfort, deadens man y a creaking sound. It is the curtails which, from many a beloved form, wards off at once the summer's glow and the winter's wind. It Is the pillow on which sickness lays its head and forgets half it, misery ' influence falls as the re freshing dew, the invigorating sunbeam, the fertilizing shower, shining on all with the mild luature of moonlight, and the harmonizing in one soft tint many of the discordant hues of n family Picture, The Miser and his Bag of Gold. Howoja Yacoob was accustomed to sit his money bag, wishing that some great spirit would endow it with the marvellous qualities of Fortunatus-pure* On. sight the voice of the bulbul was echoing loud er than ever through the desolate old can tle, and the miser's heart trembled with anxiety and fear. Somehow or other he had a presentiment that all was not right —that some unseen evil was suspended over his head in the air. "Drat the bird!" quoth the miser. "Her hateful songs drag silly people forth from their houses even at this late hour, till darkness and ter ror connected withihis neighborhood are fast being overcome. Drat the bird!" "Aye, aye ! What's that you say ?" growled a deep unmelodious voice, close to the startled miser's ear. "Drat the bird ? Why that bird is our sovereign lady, the Queen of the Forest." The trembling old - man could scarcely grasp for breath, as clutching tightly with both hands his favorite bag of gold, he looked fearfully over his shoulders, and saw a face and head, without any body, floating in the middle of the room, with a pair of dreadfully ghastly looking eyes sta ring at him full in the face. "That's my gold!" quoth the head, with a terrible oath. Nov although the miser was ready to faint away with fright, the bare idea of re. linquishing his darling treasure, brought him to his senses again ; so lie stoutly de nied that any one but himself had the ghost of a title to a farthings worth of what he possessed. "But I do," said the head. "I lay claim to all the gold in the world : and to prove to you that I ant correct, I'll bet you that there are fifty millions of billions of doub loons in that sack, and a hundred million tirqes no many more." I'll take that bet," was the miser's re ply, as his heart jeaped for joy win, so confident was he of success. Well. it took him a long time to count before he could coimt to within fifty doub loons of what he knew the sack ought to contain—now he only wanted ten—now five—now ono, and still the sack was as cram. full of doubloons as ever. .There is some cheating here," quoth the miser. "I won't count any more." "You dare stop, and see what I'll do to you," was the orgie's terrific reply. And so the wretched miser went on counting and counting, and never came to the bottom of the sack, though heaven on ly knows how many years when the last crumbling ruins of his tenement felt in. People came to graze their cattle in the neighborhood : but shepherds could never be induced to remain there over night, be cause they said the noise of people count ing money and letting coins drop and tin gle again on old stones, was really too aw ful to listen to, especially if the night pro ved to be particularly dark and stormy. Signs for Marriageable Ladies. If a man wipe his feet on the door mat before coming into the room, you may be sure he will make a good and domes tic husband. If a man, in snuffing the candles snuff them out, you may be sure he will make a stupid husband. If a man put his handkerchief on his knees while taking his ten, you may be sure he will be a prudent husband. In the same way, always mistrust the man who will not take the last piece of toast of Sally Lunn, but prefers waiting for the next warm batch. It is not unlikely he will make a greedy selfish husband, with whom you will en joy no tiirown,' at dinner, no crust at tea, no peace whateve• at home. The man, my dears, who wears goloeshoes, and is careful about wrapping himself up well be fore venturing into the night air, not un frequently makes a good invalid husband that mostly stops at home, and is easily comforted with slops. The man who watches the kettle and prevents it from boiling over, will not fail, my dears in his married state in exercising the same care in always keeping the pot boiling. The man who doesn't take tea, ill-treats the cat, takes scull; and stands with his back to tee fire, isa brute whom • I would not advise you may dears, to marry upon any consideration, either for love or money, but decidedly not for love. Hut the man who, when the tea is over, is discovered to have had none, is sure to make the best husband. Patience like his deserves being renewed with the best of wives and-the best of mother-in kw. My dears, when you meet with such a man, do your utmost to marry him. In the severest winter he would not mind going to bed first. mgr. IVisdom an honor were Socrates boast. VOL. 20. NO. 16. *irk Pads. MRS. PARTINGTON ON It ATRITIONY. If ever I'm married," said Ike, look ing up from the book he was reading, and kicking the stove door too, energetically If ever I'm married"--"Don't speak of marriage, Isaac, till you are old enough to understand the bond that binds congeal ing souls. People musn't speak of mar riage with impurity. It is the first thing children think of now-a-days, and young boys in p.nafores, and young girls with their heads fricased into spittoon curls. and full of love-sick stories are talking of marriage before they get into their teens.- Think of such ones getting married ! Yet there's Mr. Spade, when heaven took his wife away, went right to a young lady's cemetery and got another, no more fit to be the head of a family than I am to be the mayor or alderman." She tapped the box that her friend, the Colonel, had given her, with her eye resting upon the gold heart inlaid in the centre of the lid, as if hearts were trumps in her mind at the time, while Ike, without finishing the sen tence, kept on with his reading, accompa nying himself with a pedal performance on the stove door, and a &latter upon the round of hischair with the handle of • fork in his left hand.—Post. A DOCTOR As IS A DOCTOR. A self-sufficient humbug, who took up the business of a physician, had a deep knowledge of the healing art, was once called to visit a young man afflicted with apoplexy. Bolus gazed long and hard, felt his pulse and pocket, looked at hie tongue, and his wife, and finally gave vent to the following sublime opinion : 'I think he's a gone fellow' 'No, no !' exclaimed the sorrowful wife, 'do not say that.' 'Yes,' returned Bolus, lifting up his hat and eyes heavenward at the same time, yes I do say so ; there arn't no hope, not the leastest might ; he's got an attack of nihilfit in his lost frontis—' 'Where 1' cried the startled wife. (In his lost fronds, and can't be cured without some trouble and a great deal of pains. You see his whole planetory sys tem is deranged ; fustly, his vox pdpuli is pressin' on his advalorum ; secoudly, his estacarpial cutaneous has swelled con siderably, if not more ; thirdly and lastly, his solar ribs are in a concussed state, and he ain't got any money, consequently,he's bound to die.' Woman. II is szldom that Julius Cresar Hannibal says anything not worth quoting, but the following is extra good : ~D ey may rail against woman as much as dey like, dey can't set me up against dem. I hab always in my life found dent to be fust in lub, rust in a quarrel, lust in de dance, de fust in de ice-cream saloon, and de fast, best, and de last, in the sick room. What would we poor debbils do widout dein ? Let us be born as young, rs ugly, and as helpless as we please, and a woman's arm am open to receibe us.— She sin it who gubs us our fust dose ob caster oil, and puts close 'pen ourhelpless ly naked limbs, and cubbers up our foots, and toses in long flannel petticoa•s : and it sin she who, as we grow up fills our din ner basket wid doenuts ana apples as we start to skool, and licks us when we tears our trowsis." LONG SERMONS.—These, after all, are the great mistake of clergymen—the cry ing sin of the pulpit. People will not read long dry disquisitions upon secular subjects, and religious subjects are listen. ed to with pretty much the same sort of uneasy ears. The truth is, a half an hour of good, hearty laboring is about as much as ordinary sensitive sinner can stand at one sitting ; and when sermons are habit ually protracted beyond that length, those to whop they are perhaps the most inpor last wilt habitually keep away. The val ue and efficacy of sermons consist in what is remembered, not in that which is forgot ton ; and it half dozen curt. epigramma tic sentences, with a small relish of elo quence and rhetoric, is worth more upon a promiscuous congregation than a whole day's work of preaching under the ten hoar system. . Deacons and class leaders may be suited with the ten hour system sermons, but sinners won't be—and there's the difference. Long sermons end thin congregations are inseparable.—Wia sted I all. A Snowsuit, exhibiting a picture. sei4 ..Ladies and gentlemen, there is /Wel, in the den of lions. These are the and that is the Daniel, whom you will ea. oily distinguish from the lions by his bar. ing a blue cotton timbarella under his • arm ''