~~ 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.
One square, $3 00 $5 00 $8 00
Two squares, 500 800 12 00
Three squares, 750 10 00 15 00
Four squares, 900 14 00 23 00
Five squares, 15 00 25 00 38 00
Ten squares, 25 00 40 00 60 00
Business Cards not exceeding six lines, one
year, $4.00.
JOB WORK:
it Ore. handbills, 30 copies or lees,
s at
Ct
I "
CC 400
BLANKS, foolritp or less, per single quire, 1 50
. .._
" .
'1
. .
4or more q uires, per ,' 100
(Eir Extra charges will be made for heavy
composition.
(fa' All letters on business must be COST raw
to secure attention. ~,01
The Law of Newspapers,
I. Subscribers who do not give express notice to
the contrary, are considered as tors/any to mantle
their subscription.
2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of their
newspapers, the publisher may continue to send them
until all arrearayes are paid.
3. 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 ''