'...Unittlitg#lll,.,.')..mt. a L:
wit LIAM BREWSTER, EDITORS.
SAM. a WHITTAKER,
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cations are ',fused or not culled fix br periems
to whom they are soot,, and to glee Li. roan,
of such refusal, if known. It is also their duty
to frank all such letters. We will thank post:
masters to keep Un posted up in relation to this
matter.
rirct Voettl.
Fro. bic .Nefe England Eon,
SCHOOL SONG.
Ala --Neil:, Illy.
M'rming come,: r.ith
Yioltl - lom lied iiwity
I:14 ne briellory, lava your dreamy,
solleul to-day. •
liistcry eon, join our• song,
A song of merry glee,
And as we ply our daily toil,
We'll clog ri 3 Oit merrily.
CHORE'S.
'lie! for 8011.1, Ho I for school,
Come along with me,
"You'll rarely had, go where you will
A happier band than we."
When the beams 'of light shall tale
In the distant west,
Then with joy we'll hie for borne,
And those who love Ile beet:
Fathers dear, mothers true,
With loving words we'll got :
0! how pions:mi., aper Bawl,
Around the board to meet.
Hie! school, he.
Once again join the shout,
All nut: merry hlml—
ogs on otir common schools,
glory of our laud.
Then arouail the fireside hearth,
When the day is sped,
Bless tho teacher in our prayers,
Then we'll hie to bed.
Hie I for school, &c.
Wrentham, May, 11455.
A Pupa.
THE OLD KIRK YARD.
come, come with me to the old Kirk Yard,
I well know the path through the soft green
sward ;
Friends slumber there we were wont to regard—
We'll trace out their names in tho old Kirk
Yard.
10, mourn not fur them ;—their grief is o'er
.0, weep not for them ;—they weep no more ;
For deep is their sleep, though cold and hard
Their pillow may be, in the old Kirk Yard.
Itnow 'tie hi vain, when friends depart,
To breathe kind words to a broken heart ;
know that the joy of life seems marred,
When we follow• them borne to the old Kirk
Yard.
Bnt were I at rest beneath von tree,
Why should'st thou weep, dear love, for me?
I'm wayworn and sad, oh 1 why then retard;
The mat that I seek in the old Kirk Yard?
FORTUNE.—Never mnrry for a fortune.
We al erheard a poor unfortunate get the
following sockdolager the other day from
his better•half
"You good•for•nothing fellow!" said she
"what would ou have been had I not
married you? Whose was the baking ki•
ver ; whose the pig trough; whose the
frying pan and iron hooped bucket, but
mine when I invii-A rvi•
I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LiwiT To GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OF THE UNITED STATES."—[WEBETERN
Viscrtianelnu.
A MISSISSIPPI FIGHT.
A TIIRILLINO SKETCH
'Can it be possible that that handsome
looking man is the far.famed Col. Bowie!'
whispered Mr. A. in my ear.
'lt is so,' I replied, and before I could
add more Bowie was with us. My friend
introduced us and soon were conversing
together.
hare notseen you fur some time,' said
my friend at length.
'I am just returning from a trip to the
Rocky Mountains,' said Bowie. 'Benny,
Mr. M I wish you had been along with us.
We had several fight, with the Indians, and
in one of them I received a bullet in the
arm. tin fortunately for my friends, the
gamblers, it is nearly healed, and a terrible
look passed over his features. Our party
had a most desperate fight with a party of
Indians, near Coon's Hollow—they: were
twelve to one—but we beat them off.'
At this int-totem a loud shout caused us
to turn our heads, almost immediately the
cry of men stabbed !' reached our ears.
Soon the crowd opened, and a gamble:
came , forth. Ills hands were covered with
blood, and in the right hand he bore a huge
knife, dripping with blood. Suddenly lie
turned, wiped his ltntfe on the coat of a
man who stood near him, and broke into a
loud laugh.
What's all this about !" exclaimed Col.
Bawls. . On hearing this the gambler
thrust his knife into its sheath and approa
ched us.
.Merely a man stabbed—that's all,' he
said,—'Any of you gentlemen wish to play
cards ?"
.1 never play cards with strangers,' said
Col. Bowie
tWhy not ?' asked tho gambler.
'Because for all I know to the contrary,
the person with whom I :tun playing may
be a gninliler,' was the instant reply.
On he: ring this n cron•d collecteclAremad_
us
(11:::111 to 1i.311:t ;42
'lnsult. you!' said Bowie, surveying the
other with a look of contempt. '1 insult
no mail, sir.
'Because.you are too much of a coward
to do so,' said the gambler, sneeringly. 1 1s
this gentleman your friend
'A new friend, sir,' replied Bowie.
'Well, [insulted him a few minutes
said the gambler.
•[s this true 1' asked Bowie, turning to
Mr. M. Nlr. NI. replied in the affirmative.
'What is your name 1' asked Bowie.
'fly name is McMullen, replied the gam
bler.
.11a r exclaimed BOWIE, with a look of
delight, 'are you any relation to the duelist
that slew Toe Wings, a year ago I"
`Yes, it was I that slew replied No
gambler.
A terrible laok ',used over Bowie's
'Ho 1' he exclaimed, 'perhaps you do
not know that Wingo was my cousin,'
do:t't care who he was,' returned the
gambler. 'lf you wish I will serve you
the same way.'
'Perhaps; continued. Bowie, a strange
smile creeping over his features; perhaps
you do not know that I swore to avenge
his death.'
.Then step out this way and fight me
like a man,' said the gambler.
'Grant me one moment,' said Bowie,
'perhaps you do not know that my name
is Col. James Bowie ?'
'Bowie ! Bowie he murmured faintly.
'Aye !James Bowie !' returned•the other
—'Come, come, you wanted to fight me
LIVO minutes ago—l now comply with your
request. I sin the challenged party, and
therefore, I choose the weapons and the
place. Our meeting will take place here,
and our arms shall be the Bowie knife.'
'Have it us you wish,' said the gambler,
throwing off his coat.
Bowie pieced his hand behind the bock
of his neck, and drew forth n huge lfowie
knife. Placing it between his teeth, he
drew off his coat, and rolled up his shirt
sleeves.
.1 am ready', he said in a clear, ringing
'So am E,' exclaimed the gambler.
Three cheers Mr Bowie, were given by
the crowd. Bowie smiled, while the gam.
bier bit his lips with rugo.
•Nlake room here,' said Bowie, .1 cannot
fight'with out a clear field. Come, Mr. Mc-
Mullen, are you ready I'
'Yes ! cried the gambler.
Bowie raised his knife high above his
head, and sprang upon him Both strug
gled for an instant, and then fell to the
floor. They rolled over the deck, the
Gt o,cl making way for thmo. mull they
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, JULY 11, 1855.
reached the railing. Suddenly a stream of i ambition and power do not present strong.
blood flowed from the gambler's right arm I er temptations to the advanced in years
and he uttered a cry of pain. Still, how. I than even the golden fascinations .1 A am
ever, ho did not release Isis hold. Again mon. Look, for example at some of tho
they rolled over, and again Bitvie plunged I Presidential aspirants of our own day and
his knife into his arm. Suddenly each re. I country. LotAc back, also, at semen( those.
leased his hold of the other, and sprang to 1 who have passed from. the.scene of their
his feet. With the quickness of lightning i moral labors. Again, look into society.
the gambler changed his knife from his j penetrate the marts of trade and coin
right hand to his left, and sprang towards merce, and single out from the crowds
Bowie. Bowie met him halfway, and these busily engaged, the men who, alread.
drawing back his arm, he plunged his y independent, abundantly so yet toil on,
knife into his body. At the fifth blow the some of them bent with age and core, and
gambler fell dead. I feverish and hollow.eyed with anxiety !
, It is over,' I said; diawing -a long' The result will astonish and bewilder.—
breath. It will he possible to imagine [airy such
'Gentlemen,' said Bowie, placing his xieties nre submitted to, why the Mil
foot upon the gambler's breast, and half i ing energies are thus tasked and taxed,
extending his right hand, 'This man instil. why health is thus trifled with, and life
ted me and I slew him. If any one wish- itself endangered. Is it because tile Indi
es to avenge his death let him step out.' I viduals thus engaged, have become so thor
oughly absorbed with the things of this
world, that they have no thought for any
future condition ? Is it that they mistake
their strength ? Is it that they deceive
themselves---or has avarice so taketi pus
session of their souls, that they cannot find
time to reflect that there are other ditties
than those of accumulation ; that humani•
ty has its high and holy obligations, and
that there is a would as-nd a destiny beyond
the grace ? It is not for tie to reply to
these questions, but they are nevertlit•kas
pregnant with meaning, and entitled to
calm and deliberate cousiil,ration. Why
should the future be sacrificed to the pre,
eat—and evby sh;tuld poor humanity toil
labor, and strive for the hollow things of
earth, to the neglect as well of the ptice•
less consolations of an uuaccusing con
science as of the blissful ioheretance of a
bright hereafter.
TIM AND ITS EXCITEMENTS.
ss excitements of life arc so absor
bing, that it requires great sagasity to dis
cover the proper moment to withdraw from
a position of constant activity, while more
titan ordinary 'coral courage is necessary
to enable one to act upon such n conclu
sion or determination. This is not only
the case in political but in the commers
cad world. Nay, it is so in almost every
' phrase and condition of social existence.
There are few who can realize the fact
that they have seen their best days : that
their faculties, mental and physical, hove
become enfeebled; and in short, that the
time has arrived for them to throw off
some of the cares and responsibilities of
business, of ambition, of power, or of po
sition, and retire, to soffit, extent nt least
within the caltnness and seclusion of peace
ful scenes and associations. Not a week
goes by, that some rich man is not called
away in the midst of his struggles for
gain. A determination is made from day
to day, and front year to year, to withdraw
to wind up the tangled skein of a thou
sand business engagements, to pause in
the struggle for more, and to hoard the lit
-tte physical strength that remains. Bet
the ~s citetner.is of ths thus esgross nssl
absorb, new schemes present themselves
new enterprises hold out their temptations,
and thus tire wear and tear • are kept up,
the busy chase goes on, .Until tit last the
weary and way-worn toiler, utterly exhaus
ted, falters, fails, and absolutely totters in
to the grave. The majority of men non
only mistake their strength, but overtask
their powers. Nay, they constantly de
ceive themselves. They lull and delude
themselves with a belief that they are
stronger than they really are; that any fo
bleness or illness with which they may Co
troubled, will prove but momentary; that
the world is still wide and inviting before
them, and that they have yet much to do
with' its busy and bewildering scenes. Oc
casionally they are admonished, as some
old friend is scratched away, and for a mo
ment they pause, linger thoughtfully ups'
the subject, and then avoid it as unples -
ant and painful. Business, too, calls wi!
its many voices, power still holds out its
fascinations, unbition points to its triumphs,
and the sick, the dying, and even the
dead, are forgotten ! Such is life and ex
citements. Such is man ; sick are his
pursuits. Such is human intirmity—such
is human deluiton Every opulent city
abounds with illustrations. Shut out to a
considerable extent from Nature and her
teachings, unmindful of the progress of
the lessons that nre so constantly inculca
ted by the faljing leaf and the fading flow
er, the denizen of a thronged metropolis
sees only the busy multitude around • and
about him—esoli actively engaged, either
to the struggle fur bread, or the mos for
fortune, and the majority prompted by
the heartless spirit of selfishness. The
world, witlitn such narrow limits, is full 01
anxieties and excitements. Not a day
goes by that some new bubble is not blown
before the eyes of the sages and the cred
ulous; that some wild scheme is not con
cocted for the purpose of deluding the
grasping ; that some base imposture is not
devised with the purpose of deceiving
find defrauding. The young and inexpe
rienced are in most cases, rho victims, but
not so always. Avarice often deceives
itself, and in the effort to accumulate
and clutch, it sometimes sacrifices the ear
nings of years. And thus it is that so
many, unwilling to retire at the proper
time, not contended with a moderate hides
pendence, unable to discover when they
have secured enough, not only outlive
their day, Isit indulge too long in the haz
ards of trade, and this perils of enterprise
and find at last that they are en the eve
of the grave, when, as they foolishly sup
posed, some new fortune was about to be
shoWered epon them. It is, indeed, diffi
stilt to discover whether, in loan!, canes,
Proverbial Philosophy,
Other. persons were born about the same
time as thyself, and have been growing
op ever since, as well as thou. Therefore
be not proud.
Preserve few secrets from thy wife ;
for if she discover them she will grieve
I:ot that thou bast keP. ftena. her thy se
.- hot thy confidence.
Educate thy chiidren lest ONO of these
floe days they educate thee in a schen!
with no vacation.
0, how good was nature, that placed
great rivers near great towns.
A traveler, journeying wisely, may
learn much. Yet much may be learned
by him who stuyz , ut home.
I do not say to thee, "Marys, for it will
exalt thee," yet was their stubtle mean.
lag in those whose usage it was to say,
oMary, come up.
Wo knoW nothing, and yet it i§ know
ing slinething to know that thou knowet
nothing•.
By n conceit red fly hash been culled n
ladybird and bidden to fly away home.—
The counsel is good, even to her who is
neither bird nor fly. There is no pines
like home.
lie who holds his tongue will one day
have nothing else to hold. Yet it is not
good to be ol'er , garrulous. .
The weathercock, working easily, cjin
tell thee the way of the wind ; but if the
weathercock sticks, the course of the wind
will not be influenced thereby.
Virtuous love is wholesome. Thero.
fore La virtuous, to make thyself wcrthy
of self•lovu ; not of course that thou
art thereby prevereed from loving soutebucl.
y else.
A cat, even if she be friendly, never
approaches thee by a direct course, No
more does a truth, oh friend ; but ..vinding
round thy stupidities, and rubbing up
against thy prejudices, it reaches thee
gently—and then perhaps scratches.
A stitch in time saves nine. If, there
fore thou (eclat one in thy side, be thank
fill, oh friend. •
Solomon knew several things, allowing
for his age, but I could teach him a few
more.
Jack Rink and the Yankee.
Few communities are more strongly im
bued with a passion for horse racing, than
the good people of Natchez,—•lu New York
folks talk 'eager,' and engine ;' in Paris
they talk opera; in Natchez they talk horse
They believe) in quadrupeds, end nothing
else.—To own the fastest horse in Natchez,
is to enjoy tho fee simple of an hon:u in
comparison with which, a member of Con•
gross sinks into nothingness.
In October last, the meeting' took
place, and led to more than the usual quail
tity of excitement and brandy cocktails.—
The race of the last duy, was a sort of 'tree
tight,' opened 0 , every horse that had no.
ver won a race ; purse, 41500 entrance,
$25.
Anion those who proposed to go iu
was a Yaukoe pedlar, with a ;yore, cols, of
rather promising proportions. He thus
addressed ono of the judges:—
. .1 say, Captain I should like to go in for
that puss.'
'With what ?'
'That sorrel colt.'
'ls he speedy
'I calculate he is, or I would not wish to
risk a load of tin ware on the result.'
'Do you know the terms ?'
'Like a book : puss $5OO, and entrance
(cc $25 ; and there's the dimes.'
Here Yankee drew out a last century
wallet, and soo,ked up two X's and V.—
Among those who witnessed the operation,
was Jack Rink, of Bellevue louse. Jack
saw his customer, and immediately meas
ured him for an entertainment. After the
• usual fuss and palaver, the horses were
brought out, saddled, and propared for a
single heat of two miles. There were eight
competitors, besides the Yankee. Tho lat
ter's was a smart sorrel colt with a fine eyo
and a lift of the leg that indicated speed
and bottom.
Bring up the horses,' said the Judge,
The horses were brought up—the Van
bee gathered up his reins and adjusted his
stirrups. While doing this, Air. Rink
went to the rear of 'the sorrel colt,' and
placed a chestnut burr under his tail. The
next moment, the order t..) 'go,' wan given
and away went nine horses of all possible
ages and conditions. The Yankee's was
ahead, and kept there. Tin. Ware suss a
head, and smiled a smile that seemed to
say, 'that puss will be mine, in less time
than it would take a greased nigger to
slide down a soaped liberty polo.' •
Poor fellow! he hadn't reckoned on
that chestnut burr. The 'irritant' that
Jack Rink had administered, not only in.
creased the animal's velocity, but his ugli
ness. Ile not only ran like a deer, but he
refused 'to do' anything else. As the
Yankee approached the Judge's stand, he
undettaok to pull up, but it was nn go.—
Ile might as well have undertaken to stop
a thunderbolt with a yard of fog.
The Yankee reached the stand—the
Yankee passed the staid—the Yankee
went down the read. When last seen
the Yankee was passing through the ad
joining- county' at a speed that made the
people look at him as 'that comet,' that
was to make its appearance in the fall of
1834. Where the sorrel 'gin out' it is im
possible to say. All we know is, that the
Yankee hes never been -heard of from that
day to this, while his wagon load of tin
ware' still makes one of the leading attrac
tions in the museum of Natchez.
Vanity in Ministers,
Vanity is bad enough io anybody. But
in young ministers it is init. It shows
itself in a want of deference for age, which
:mhos them odious to their older brethren.
It gives them a pompons mn,pr,or which
exposes them to ridicule. When an un•
fledged stripling rises in the pulpit, and
gravely announces souse new metaphysi
cal theory which is to throw light through
the whole realm oftheolog,y, we can hard
ly keep our countenances at his sell-com
placent air at the presumption whirls would
thus teach witdotn to gray him In truth
we have had enough of these young-pea
cocks, fluttering in our desks. It to time
that the whole tribe Was exterminated.
Unfortunately, young ministers are less
likely to be cured -of this infirmity than
mher men. Lawyers are so knocked
against each other that they soon find their
level. But black coats throw around their
wearer a charmed circle. In its owe par
ish a young preacher is exalted on a pedes
tal. "He is monarch of all he surveys."
"He is such a dear man". His emigre
gallon flutter liim—"such a sweet preach
er !" All this creates• an illusion about
him, which he never sees through. Van
ity covers him from head to foot. It oozes
out of every pore in his body.
"Tis like the c6uice ointment
Dawn Ann,n%i did go,
Down Aarotea beard that downward wolit
Ilia garment's skirts unto."
And so he goes through life, the ;rime
' prim and pompous little personae when
he delived to an awe struck assembly his
first pulpit oration ! The great evil of this
inordinate self estimation is that it prevents
a real progress. The most hopeful state
of mind is a painful se e's defects
with an earnest desir vement.—
The PresbNit rum,
Daystc—any gentleman who mistakes
pis hat for the spittoon. Undertaking to
' write with a cork-screw, is also a slight in
dication of vinous hallucination.
CumEsz—are a queer people Logo
to market. A friend at Canton, writes
.tliemlich Van Tassell," that a neighbor of
his had just laid in his winter provibion,—
a hind quartor of a horse and. two barrel,
of bull dogs. the lutoer euit.
REGENERATION.
"Marvel not at it that I said unto thee,
ye must be' born again." But who may
not apprehend a necessity of being regen
erate What will become of thee if thou
diest with such a disaffected mind God-
ward ? Do but suppose your soul going
out of this body in this temper, full of dis
affection towards the ever blessed God, be
fore whose bright glory and flaming ma
jesty (to thee a Consuming fire) and as full
of horror aid itmazing dread ! How will
thine heart meditate terror, and say within
thee, This is the God I never could love,
whom I never would know, to whom 1 was
always in willing stranger; whose admira
ble grace never allured or won my heart
who in a day of grace that is note with me
offered me free pardon and reconciliation,
but I never was at leisure to regard it.—
The love of this world, which I might have
known to he enmity against God, had eth
' erwise engaged me. It bath been the
constant language of my heart to Him,
"Depart from me, I deSile not the know!.
edge of thy ways." I roust now hear
from Him flirt just and terrible voice even
by the mouth of the only Redeemer and
Saviour of sinners, "Depart from me, I
know you not." And into what horrid
society must I note go ! The things that
eye bath not seen, 'wear heard, more glo- I
firms things than ever entered into the
heart, are all prepared for the lovers or
God. And for whom an everlasting fire
be. prepared but for the devil and his an
gels, and such other accursed God haters
as I have been ? Recollect yourselves;
consider the present posture and toinder
of your souls, and what your -way and
course is. You care not to come nigh to
God now,but love ti live at a distance from
him, through enmity against ht.n ; and i
from whence proceeds your departing
from him ; nod saying to hiia tsDepar:
front us." But another day you will have
enough of departing frnat God ; a wrokei: •
man's life is nothing else but it continual
forsaking of God, or departing from
I appeal to yourown hearts concerning the
justice of that mentioned repartee ; They
1 s.y new to Got-44111.71111!"5itrtr.7."
man's soul must thus perish, that lives
and dies nt enmity with God. Regenera.
tion slays this enmity, and implants in the
soul Divine lave; for we must he regency.
ate, or we cnnnot enter into the kingdom
of God. A man must have a new heart
and n new spirit created in him ; in which
Mart and spirit the love • of God is the ru.
iMg principle. And again I repent to you
the things which the eye hath not seen,
and a crown oflife, are prepared and pro•
mired to them that love him. You may
yourself collect the
One Happy Wan.
The happiest mail b have 'ever known
is gone tar enough front being in money,
and who will never be very much nearer
to it. 1-his calling live him, and lie likes it,
rejoices in its progress as much as in its re
sults. lie has an costive mind, well filled.
Ile reads and he thinks. He tends his .
garden before sunrise every morning—
then rides sundry miles by the rail—does
ton hours work in town—whence ho re
turns happy and cheerful. Ho always
catches the earliest sir of the' morning,
plucks the first rose of his garden, and
goes to his work will. the little flower in
his hand and a great one blooming out of
his heart. He runs over with charity, an
a cloud with rain ; and it is with him as
with the oloud—what coming from dm
cloud is rain to the meadows, is a rainbow
of glories that pours it out. The happi
'less of the affections fill the good man,
and he runs over with friendship and love
—connubial, parental, filial; friendly, too,
and philanthropic besides. His life is a
perpetual .'trap to catch a sunbeam," and
it always springs to take it in. I know no
man who gets more oat of life ; and the so•
cret of it is that he does his duty to him-
self, to his brother, and to his god. I
know rich men, and learned men, men of
great social position ; and if there is a geni
us in America, I know it—but a happier
man I have never known.,—Sermon of
Theodore. Parker. "
COMIUAL.-A gentleman by the name of
Man residing near a private madhouse met
one of its poor inmates who had broken
Cross its keeper. Tho maniac suddenly
stopped, and resting upon a large stick,
exclaimed :
".Who are you, sir ?"
The gentleman was rather alarmed, hut
thinking to divert his attention by a pun,
he replied :
am a double mum I am a man by
name and a man by nature."
'Are sou so?" rejoined the other ; why
I ant a man beside myself—so tot two will
fight pm two.-
~_~~?
VOT,. 20. NO. 28.
Out 0i
D i t y-A boy seven years of Lige fell into
the Connecticut river, at Eloydenville, a
Jay or two since, and was rescued by the
Rev. Mr. Cook. On his way home, a
person remarked to him, 'You got pretty
wct, did'nt you ?' 'Yes,' said the little
one, 'but the man that came in after me
got as bad a ducking as I did!'
p}`Uncle Bill Tin was adr wer from
Vermont. Being ex i :esed to all weather,
his complexion suffered some ; but at the
best he was none of the whitest, stopped
at a public house near Brighton, a man
rich in this world's goods, but of notorious
ly bad character, thought as Uncle Bill
catne in, he would make him the butt of a
joke. As the black face of the weather
beaten man, appeared in the doorway, ha .
exclaimed :
'Mercy on us, how dark it grows.'
Uncle 13111, surveying him from head to
foot, coolly replied—
'Yes sir ; your character and my corn ,
plexion are enough to darken any room.'
HONE, SWEET Homa.—How sweet,
how tender the word ! How full of the
associations that the heart loves! How
deeply interwoven are the golden filaments
of these associations with all the fibres of
our afrectionute natures forming the glit
tering web of the heart's golden life,—
Here are father and mother, child, broth
er, sister, companions, all the heart lovea
all that makes earth lovely—all that en
riches the mind with faith and the soul
with hope ! What language is meet for
home um, to bear the messages of home
feelings, to be freighted with the diamond
treasure of home hearts 2 Should it be
nny ot!,
t riz'ined and pure
—any other then that bresthing the sacred
r.!.l,tity of affection ?
11 "COULDN'T STAND
young gentleman of our acquaintance, wt,o
had been "paying his devours," (as :Mrs
Partington would say) to a young lady fur
some time, suddenly left her. IV° nutted
him the reason, and ho told us in the fol.
lowing words : had been with her, you
know, a good while, and noticed that she.
was rather cool in her remarks, and hint.
ed that she would rather go home alone
than have mo.with her; bin I didn't mind
that, you know, Well one night when
we got to the door, says she, 'Mr. /
do not wish your company any longer, and
I'll thank you to keep in your place, and
keep away from me.' That was a little
too hard, and 1 wouldn't stand it. I sack
ed her Mut very night."—Lynn (Mass. )
News.
A SCENE AT THE GATE OF PARAotsc.—
A poor tailor, being released from a trou•
blesorne world and a scolding wife, appea•
red at the gate of Paradise. Piter asked
hint if he had ever been in Purgatory.
'No,' said the tailor, •but I have been
t.rried.
Oh ! said Peter, 'that is all the same.'
The tailor hud scarcely got in, before t►
fat, turtle eating alderman ' Mlle puffing
and blowing.
'Hullo ! you fellow,' said he, 'open the
gate."
, Not so fast,' said Peter have you ever
been in Purgatory ?'
'No, said the alderman, but what is
that to the purpose I You let in that poor,
hall-siarvod tailor, and he has been in
Purgatory no more than I.'
'Rut he has been married !'
'Married T' exclaimed the alderman,
'why I have been married twice !'
'Then go back, again,' said Peter, Par.
adise is not the place for fools.'
Not so very Green.
A young and apparently verdant slip,
who gave his hailing place as “old Var.
mount," found himself surrounded, upon,
a certain occasion, by a crowd of quizzing
upstarts, who wanted bent upon displaying
their own smartness, at the expense of the
Yankee.
'Hello, Jonathan !' suye one, 'whew ara
you bound 1'
‘Deoun to on a little tramp,'
was the reply.
'What's your business in Boston?' con•
tinned the inquisitive gentleman. •
'Oh, I'm deoun arter my pension mon
ey,' responded weeny.
'Pension money ejaculated whiskered
—'how much do you get, and what are
yon drawing pension money for 1'
'Olt I' Answered the c.hintryman, get
four cents every year—tew mind my own
business, and tew iet mher tnlks' business
alone!'
The crowd had no lure remarks to ot •
fer, The answer wir: Tiirely satisfactc