( (:•: - .l:li'' l,l. .iirkiltiligbou7)l4l7ll-;t:i..
WILLIAM BREWSTER, EDITORS.
SAM. G. WHITTAKER,
*Hut Vottrg.
How rely frequently do we see the truthful
!lCS'S of the following little effusion verified in
There's many a gem unpolished,
And many a star unknown—
Many a bright bud perished,
Neglected and alone--
When, had a word been spoken,
In a kindly, gentle tone.
The bud had bloomed unbroken—
The gent had graced a throne I
Then oh, scorn not the lowly,
Nor do him any wrong,
Lest thou crush an impulse holy,
Or blight a soul of song I
LITTLE GRAVES.--We find the following
beautiful little gem floating about, uncredited
in our exchanges:
There's many an empty cradle,
There's many n vacant bed,
There's many a lonely bosom,
Whose joy and light has fled ;
For thick in every graveyard
The little hillocks lie—
And every hillock represents
An angel is the sky.
4stlect tong.
UNPUBLISHED INCIDENT
-IN TILE
LIFE OF CAPT. SAMUEL BRADY
11Y A WESTERN MAN.
About thirty miles below the present ci
ty of Pittsburg, stood an ancient fort known
as Fort Mclntosh. It was built by a revo•
lutionary gentleman of that name, in the
summer of 1778. It was one of a line of
forts, which was intended to guard the pee.
ple who lived South of the Ohio river, from
the incursions of the savage to the north
ward. This fort was ono of the favorite
resorts of the groat Indian spy and hunter,
Captain Samuel Brady. Although his use
d headquarters was Pittsburg, then consis
ting of a rude fort aqg a score or two of
rough frontier tenements.
Brady had emigrated westwara or rath
er had marched thither in 1778, as a lieu.
tenant in the distinguished Eighth Penn
. sylvania Regiment, under the command of
General Richard Broadhead, of Easton.—
When, in the springer 1779, Mclntosh re
tired from command in the West, Broad
head succeeded him and remained at Pitts
burg until 1781. Shortly after his advent .
to the West, Brady was brevetted Captain.
Brady had served at the serge of Boston,
fought at Long Island and White Plains,
gone through the whole of the terrible
campaign of Trenton and Princeton, suf.
furred at Valley Forge, distinguished him
self at Germantown and Brandywine, and
narrowly escaped death at Paoli. But his
tastes led him to the erratic mode of wnr-
Jere known upon the frontier. Indeed, his
early education upon the upper Susquehan
na bad Inculcated and developed those
tastes from the very earliest boyhood. Ha
ting an Indian with that instinctive hatred
which is begotten in the bosom of the white
raoe, by long years of contest and outrage
a bitter intensity was imparted to the feel
ing in his case by the murder his of father
and younger brother by the Indians, under
trying and terrible circumstances.
Having premised this much by way of
introduction, it brings us to the opening of
the story. On the 21st day of August,
1779, Brady set out from Fort Mclntosh,
for Pittsburg. He had with him two of
his trusty and well-tried followers. These
were not attached to the regular army, as
he was, but were scouts and spies, who had
been with him upon many an expedition.
They were Thomas•Bevington and Benja
min Biggs. Brady resolved to follow the
northern bank of the Ohio. Biggs object.
ed to this, upon the ground, as Brady well
know, that the woods were swarming with
savages. Brady, however, had resolved to
travel by the old Indian path, and having
once made up his mind, no consideration
could deter him front carrying out his de
termination. Bevington had such implicit
faith in his ability to lead, that he never
thought of questioning his will.
Quite a discussion arose between Biggs
and his captain at the mouth of Beaver ri
ver, about a mile above the fort, and where
they must cross the Ohio, if they continu
ed upon the northern side. Biggs finally
yielded his objections, and they crossed the
Beaver, and proceeded with the habitual
caution of woodsmen who fully understand
their business. They had started early,
and by *Lipid traveling they had reached,
ere noon came, the last piece of bottom
land on the north sid.i of the river, just be
low what is known as the Narrows. Upon
this bottom, n pioneer more daring than
most others, had built a cabin, and evened
a small spot of cleared land. He had plan.
ted it in corn, and it gave promise of a most
abundant harvest.
But as they approached the edge of the
clearing, just outside of the fence, Brady
discovered •Indian signs," as he called
them. His companions discovered them
almost as quick as he, and at once, in low
tones, communicated to each other the ne
cessity for a keen watch. They slowly
trailed them along the side of the fence to
ward the house, whose situation they well
knew, until they stood upon the brow of
the bluff hank which overlooked it. A
sight of the most terrible description met
their eyes. The cabin lay a mass of smoul
dering ruin ; from whence a dull blue
smoke arose in the clear August sunshine.
They observed closely everything about it.
Brady knew it was customary for the In
dians after they had fired a settler's cabin,
if there was no immediate danger, to retire
to the woods close at hand, and watch for
the approach of any member of the family
who might chance to be absent when they
made the descent. Not knowing but that
they were even then lying close by, Ile left
Bevington to watch the ruins, lying under
cover, whilst hu proceeded to the north
ward, and Biggs southward, to make disco
veries. Both were to return to Bevington
if they made none. If they came across
the perpetrators, and they were too nume
rous to be attacked regularly, Brady de
elared it to be his purpose to have one fire
at them, and that should be the .signal for
both of his followers to make the best of
their way to the fort.
All this rapidly transpired, and with
Brady to decide, was to act. As he stole
cautiously round to the northern side of
the enclosure, he heard a voice in the dis
tance singing. He listened keenly, and
soon discovered from its intonations, that
it was a white man's, He passed rapidly
in the direction whence the sound came.
As it epprorched, he concealed himself be
hind the trunk of a large tree. Pres.mtly
a white man, riding a fine horse, came
slowly down the path. The form was that
of Albert Gray, the stalwart, brave, devil.
may-care settler, who had built him a home
miles away from the fort, where no one
would dare to take a family except himself.
Brady wore, as he Firmest always did,
the Indian garb, and had war paint upon
his face. Ele knew that if he showed him
, self upon the path, Gray would shoot, ta
king him (or as Indian. He therefore suf
fered Gray quietly to approach his lurking
place. When the time came, he sprang
forward ere the settler could hove time to
prepare, drew his tomahawk, and seizing
him, dragged him from his horse. As ho
did so, he whispered to him : am Cap
tain Brady, for God's sake be quiet'
Gray, with the instinctive feeling of one
who knew there was danger, and with that
vivid presence of mind which characterizes
those acquainted with frontier life, ceased
at once to struggle. The horse had been
started by the sudden onslaught and sprung
to one side. Ere he had time to leap for
ward, Brady had caught him by the bridle.
His loud snorting threatened to arouse any
one who was near. The Oaptain soon
soothed the frightened animal into quiet.
Gray now hurriedly asked Brady what
the danger was. The strong, vigorous
spy, turned away his face unable to an
swer him. The manly form shook like
an aspen leaf, with emotion—tears fell
as large drops of water over his bronz
ed face. Brady perihitted the indulgence
for a moment, whilst he led the horse into
a thicket close at hand and tied him. When
he returned, Gray had sunk to the earth,
and great tremulous convulsions writhed
over him. Brady quietly touched him
and said ..Come." Ile at once arose, and
had gone but a few yards until every trace
of emotion had apparently vanished. He
,vas no longer the bereaved husband and
father—he • war the sturdy, well-trained
hunter, whose ear and eye were acutely
alive to every sight or sound, the waving
of a leaf or the crackling of the smallest
twig.
He desired to proceed directly towards
the house, but Brady objected to this, and
they passed down toward the river bank.
As they proceeded, they saw from the
tracks of horses and moccasin prints upon
the places where the earth was moist, that.
the party was quite a numerous one. Af
ter thoroughly examining every cover and
possible place of concealment, they ?used
on to the southward and came back in
that direction to the spot where Bevington
stood sentry. When they reached him
they found that Biggs had not returned. In
a few moments he came. He reported that
the trail was long and broad ; the Indians
had taken no pains to conceal their. tracks
—they simply had struck back into the
country, so as to avoid coming in contact
" LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE. "
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1857.
with the spies whom they supposed to be
lingering along the river.
The whole four now went down to the
cabin and carefnlly examined the ruins.
After a long and minute search, Brady de
clared in an authoritative manner, that
none of the inmates had been consumed.
This announcement at once dispelled the
most harrowing fears of Gray. As soon
as all that could be discovered had been
ascertained, each one of the party propo
sed some course of action. One desired
to go to Pittsburg and obtain assistance—
another thought it beat to return to Mcln
tosh and get some volunteers there—Bra
dy listened patiently to both those proposi
tions, but arose quickly, after talking a mo
ment apart with Biggs, and said, 'Come.'
Gray and Bevington obeyed at once, nor
did Biggs object. Brady struck the trail
and began pursuit in that tremendous rap
id manner fur which he was so famous.
It was evident that if the savages were
overtaken, it could only be done by the ut
most exertion. They were some hours
ahead, and from the number of their hor
ses must be mounted. Brady felt that if
they were not overtaken that night, pur
suit would be utterly futile. It was evident
that this band had been south of the Ohio
and plundered the homes of the settlers.
They had pounced upon the family of
Gray in their return.
When the pursuit began, it must have
been two o'clock, at least two hours had
been consumed by the spies in making the
necessary exploration about the house, ere
they approached it, and in examining the
' ruins. Not a ward was spoken upon the
route by any one. Their leader kept stea
dily in advance. Occasionally he would
diverge from the track, but only to take It
up again n mile or so in advance. The
Captain's intimate knowledge of the topog
raphy of the country, enabled him to an
ticipate what points they would make.
Thus he gained rapidly upon them ay pro•
ceeding more nearly in a straight line to
ward the point at which they aimed to
cross Beaver river.
At last convinced from the general di
rection in which the trail led that he could
divine with absolute certainty the spot
where they would ford that stream, he a
bandoned it and struck boldly across the
country. The accuracy of his judgement
was vindicated by the fact, that from an
elevated crest of a long line of hills, he
saw the Indians with their victims just
disappearing up a ravine on the opposite
side of the Beaver. He counted them as
they slowly filed away under the rays of
the declining sun. There was thirteen
warriors eight of whom were mounted—
another woman, besides Gray's wife was
in the cavalcade, and two children besides
his—in all five children.
The odds seemed fearful to Biggs and
Bevington; although Brady made no com
ments. The moment they had passed out
of sight, Brady again pushed forward
with unflagging energy nor did his follow
ers hesitate. There was not a man among
them whose muscles were not tense and
rigid as whip-cord, from exercise and train
ing, from hardship and exposure. Gray's
whole form seemed to dilate into twice its
natural size at the sight of his wife and
children. Terrible was the vengeance he
More.
Just as the sun set, the spies forded
the stream and began to ascend the revise.
It was evident that the Indians intended
to camp for the night some distance up a
small creek or run, which debt aches into
Beaver River, about three miles from the
location of Fort Mclntosh, and two below
the ravine. The spot, owing to the pen.
insular form of the tongue of the land ly
ing west of the Beaver, at which they ex
pected to encamp, was full ten miles from
that fort. Here and there was a famous
spring so deftly and cunningly situated in
a deep dell, and so densely enclosed with
thick mountain pines, chat there was little
danger of discovery ! Even they might
light a fire and it could not be seen one
hundred yards.
The proceedings of their leader which
would have been totally inexplicable to all
others, were partially, if not fully, under
stood by his followers. At least they did
not hesitate or question him. When
dark came, Brady pushed forward with as
much apparent certainty as he had done
during the day. So rapid was his pro.
gross, that the Indians had but just kin
dled their . fire and cooked their meal,
when their mortal foe, whose presence
they dreaded as much as that of the small
pox stood upon a huge rock looking down
upon them.
His tarty had been left a short distance
in the rear, at a convenient spot, whilst
he went forward to reconnoitre. There
thdly remained impatiently for three mor
tal hours. They discussed in low tones
the extreme disparity of the force—the
propriety of going to Mclntosh to get as
sistance. But all agreed that if Brady or
dered them to attack success was certain. I
However impatient they were, he return
ed at last.
He described to them how the woman'
and children lay within the centre of a
crescent formed by the savages as they
slept. Their guns were stacked upon the
right, and most of their tomahawks.—
The arms were not more than fifteen feet
from them. He crawled within fifty feet
of them, when the snortings of the horses
occasioned by the approach of a wild
beast had aroused a number of the sava
ges from their light slumbers, and he had
been compelled to lie quiet for more than
an hour until they slept again.
He then told them that he would attack
them. It is impossible to use fire arms.
They must depend solely upon the knife
and Tomahawk. The knife must be pla
ced in the left and the tomahawk on the
right. To Biggs he assigned the duty of
securing their arms. He was to begin
the work of slaughter upon the right,
Gray upon the left, and Berington in the
centre.
After each fairly understood the duty
assigned him, the slow difficult, hazardous
approach began. They continued upon
their feet until they had gotten within one
hundred yards of the foe, and then lay
down upon their bellies and began the
work of writhing themselves forward like
a serpent approaching a victim. They
at last reached the verge of the line, each
man was at his post, save Biggs, who had
the farthest to go. Juit as he passed Bra
dy's position, a twig cracked roughly un
der the weight of his body, and a huge
savage who lay within the reach of Grays
tomahawk, slowly sat up as if startled into
this posture by the sound. After rolling
his eyes he again lay down and' all was
still.
Full fifteen minutes passed ere Biggs
moved ; then he slowly went on. When
he reached his place, a very Amy hissing
sound indicated that he was ready, Brady
in turn reiterated the sound as a signal to
Gray and Bevington to begin. 'This they
did in the most deliberate manner. No
nervousness was permissable then. They
slowly felt for the heart of each savage
they were to stab, and then plunged the
knife. The tomahawk was not to oe used
unless the knife proved inefficient. Not
a sound broke the stillness of the night as
they cautiously felt and stabbed, unless it
might be that one who was feeling would
hear the stroke of the other's knife and the
groan of the victim whom the other had
but slain. Thus the work proceeded. Six
of the savages were slain. One of them
had not been killed outright by the stab of
Gray. He sprang to his feet, but as he
arose to shout his war cry, the tomahawk
finished what the knife begun. He stag
gered and fell heavily forward, over one
who had not yet been reached. He in
turn started up, but Brady was too quick
his knife reached his heart and the toms
hawk his brain almost at the same instant.
All were slain by the three spies, ex
cept one. He started to flee, but a rifle
shot by Biggs rang merrily out upon the
night air, and closed his career. Tice wo
men and children alarmed by the contest,
flea wildly to the woods; but when all had
grown still and they were called, they re
turned, recognizing amid their fright the
tones of their own people. The whole
park took up their march for Mclntosh
at once. About sunrise the people of the
fort were surprised to see the cavalcade of
horses, men, women and children, npprea•
thing the fort. When they recognized
Brady, they at once admitted him and the
whole party.
In the relation of the circumstances af
terward, Bevington claimed to have killed
three and Gray three, Thus Brady, who
claimed nothing, inset have slain at least
six,philst the other two slew as many.—
The thirteenth Biggs shot.
From that hour to this, the spring is cal•
led the "Bloody Spring," and the small
run is called .'Brady's run." Few, even
of the most curious of the people living
in the neighborhood, know aught of the cir
cumstances which conferred these names.
'l'hus ended one of the very many hand-to
hand fights which the great spy had with
'the savages. His history is fuller of dar
ing incident, sanguinary, close, hard con
tests perilousexplorations and adventurous
escapes, than that of either of the Hetzels
or Boone or Kenton. He saw more ser
vice than any of them, and hie name was
known as a bye•word.of terror among the
Indian tribes, from the Suaquehanna to
Lake Michigan.
pc7. Be kind to the loved ones of your
home.
istellang.
Barbarions Custom.
The correspondent of the N. Y. Tribune
writing from Constantinople, says :
You are aware that, by the custom of
the Ottoman government. none of the Sul
tan's sisters, or his brothers, have ever
been permitted to enjoy the existence of
their male offspring. These are all killed,
and it is only the females who are allowed
to live. This State policy dates hack to
the reign of some of the earlier Ottoman
Sultans, and is designed to prevent any
extra pretenders to the throne whenever it
becomes vacant. The sisters of the pres
ent Sultan, older than himself, each know
that their sons 'were allowed to die, and
this against the promise of their father,'
Sultan Mahmoud. " The wife of the late
Halil Pasha had drawn from her father a
solemn promise that her child whether
male or female, should be allowed to live,
and it did live—a boy—for some days,
when the inexorable custom of the Govern
ment prevailed over the claims of humani
ty, and it was killed by the attendant eu
nuchs, of course by order of the Sultan.
The mother never recovered from the ,
shock which her maternal feelings recei
ved on this occasion; a deep•seated melan
choly came over her, and she died not long
after it died, cursing it was said, her awn
father for his cruelty. Ahmet Fethi Pasha,
and Mehemet Ali Pasha, have each three
daughters by their Sultanas, but no sons,
these having followed the fate of many
others of the royal blood. ltedshid Pasha's
sou Ali Gelib pasha is married to the Sul
tan's eldest daughter; she bore him one
child, it was said, a daughter, and it is be
lieved to hav died a natural death. Those
daughters for whom he is about to erect
palaces, notwtthstanding that there are
now several wholly unoccupied, and he has
not a cent to build new ones, will not be
allowed to bear mule children, or at least
they will not be allowed to live, unless the
Ottoman Government be compelled to al
ter its horrible practice of putting an end
to their existence in the view of limiting
the imperial family and of the pretenders
to the throne.
Mrs. Kelly and her Name,
Among the arrests made recently was
that of Mrs. Kelly, for intoxication. Mrs.
Kelly, is a talkative littla body, and shock
ingly given to one idea. We give her ex-.
stnination.
'.What is your name ?"
"As dacint a woman as the sun ever
shone upon. I've lived in Albany twelve
years coming next Michelmas-1 know it
by the token that the Sunday before, we
waked O'Neil. •
'• What is your name?"
"Me character is as good as any wo
man's in the State. it you think I'm ly
ing, call on Mrs. Manning—a devil a ni
cer woman than Mrs. Manning never flir
ted a house cloth or peeled a pratie."
"Stop that rigmarole, and give me your
name."
"Stoph what! my rigmarole? And
what's my rigmarole done that you ehould
throw ? Would ye take advantage of my
wakness, ye gray-headed old coon, ye T"
you give me your name ?"
"Me what ?"
"Your name."
"And perhaps you think I've got none.
Bednd, I've as good a name as mar came
till Ameriky, and I'm not ashamed of
"Will yoct give it to me f"
'l'd see you to the divil first ! I'd not
bumean the Kellys to that degree as to tell
yez I'm one of 'cm."
'•'l'hen your name is Kelly !”
"And who slathered that out? Show
me the blackguard, and I'll dust his back
with a poker."
“Never mind all that Mrs. Kelly, you
were found intoxicated."
"And who paid for the rum f Not you,
you old vilyan you."
itlt matters not who paid for the rum.—
You drank it, and then committed a breach
of tho peace, for doing which I sentence
you to jail for tan days."
"And date you send a Kelly to jell for
taking a little wake gin to get the wind
front her heart ?"
"Certainly a Kelly or any other person,
if they violate the laws. Clinton take her
a."
Clinton undertook to do so, but he got
so entangled with Mrs. Kelly's legs that
the pair fell down sta;rs, breaking officer
Clinton's watch, knee pan and suspenders.
Mrs. Kelly is now in jail, but threatens to
take it out of the "ould vilyan's skin,"
the first thne she meets him, with a mop.
handle.
Star Be just and fear nut
The Fable of the Wandering Jew.
The legend of a Jew ever wandering
and never dying, even from the crucifixion ;
of Jesus to this day, has spread over many
European countries. The accounts, how
ever, as in all fables, do not agree. One
version however is this : When Jesus
was sentenced to death, oppressed by the
weight of cross, lie wished to rest himself
a little near the gate before the house of a
shoemaker named Ahasuerus. This man
however, sprang forth and thrust him a
way. Jesus turned toward him, saying,
"I shall rest but thou shalt move on until
I return." And from that time he has
had no rest, and 'is obliged incessantly to
wander about. Another version is that
given by Mathias Parisensis, a monk of
the thirteenth century : When Jesus was
led from the tribunal of Pilatus to death,
the doorkeeper, named Cartahlius, push
ed hint from behind with his feet saving,
"Walk on, Jesus, quickly; why tarry ?"
Jesus looked at him gravely, and snid,
walk on, but thou shalt tarry till I come.
And this man, still alive, wanders from
place to place, in constant dread of the
wrath to come. A third legend adds that
this wandering Jew fails sick every hun
dred years, but recovers, and renews his
strength ; hence it is that, even after so
many centuries, he does not look much
older than septuagenarian. Thus for the
legends. Not one of the ancient authors
make even mention of such an account.
i The first who reports some such thing is
a monk oh the thirteenth century, when,
as is known, the world was filled to dis
gust with pious fiction. However, the
story has spread far, so that it has become
a proverb. "He runs about like a wan
dering Jew," There are not persons wan
ting who assert to have seen the wand'ring
Jew. But when their evidence is exam
ined by the test of historical credibility,
it is found that some imposter has made
use of this fable to impose upon simple
' minded people for some purpose of his
own. However, the legend is not alto
gether untrue; there is a wandering Jew
who roves about Europe, throughout ev
ery country. This imperishable being
is—prejudice against the Jews.—Jewish
Chronicle.
Answering a Young Lawyer.
County court vas to session, awhile ago,
in on the banks of the Connecti
cut. It was not far from this time of the
year—cold weather, anyhow—and a knot
of lawyers had collected round the old
Franklin, in the barroom. The fire was
blazing, and the mugs of flip were passing
away without a groan, when in came a
rough, gaunt•looking "babe of the woods,"
knapsack on shoulder and stall in hand.
He looked cold, and half-perambulated
the circle that hemmed in the fire, as with
a wall of brass, looking for a chance tp
warm his shins. Nobody moved, howev
er; and, unable to sit down, for lack of a
chair, he did the next best thing—leaned
against the wall, "with tears in his fists
and his eyes doubled up"—and listened to
the discussion on the proper way of ser
ving a referee on a warrantee deed, as it
he were the judge to decide the matter.
Soon he attracted the attention of the com
pany, and a young sprig spoke to him. I
'You look like a traveller.'
'Wean, I s'pose I am; I conic from
Wisconsin afoot, 'zany *,ite.'
'From Wisconsin ! eh 1 well, that is a
distrnce to go on one pair of legs. 1 say,
did you ever pass through the lower re
gions in your travels?'
'Yis, sir,' he answered, a kind of wick
ed look stealing over his ugly physiogno
my, have been through the outskirts.'
thought likely. Well what are the
:partners and customs there ? some of us
would like to know.'
says the pilgrim, deliberately, half
shutting his eyes, nod drawing round the
corner of his mouth 'til two rows of yellow
stubs, with a mass of masticated 'pig-tail
appeared through the slit in his cheek—
'you'll find them much the same as in this
region—the lawyers sit nighest the lire!'
efr Not long since. a certain quack
was addressed by one of his patients as fol
lows :
'Doctor, how is it that when we eat and
drink the meat is separated from tho wa
ter r
'Why, I'll tell you,' replied the quack ;
'in the neck there are two pipes; one of
them is to receive meat and the other drink;
At the top of these pipes is a lid or clap
per, and when we eat, this clapper shuts
up the drink pipe, and when we drink it
turns back upon the meat pipe.'
'But, doctor,' said the patient, 'it seems
to Inc that clapper must play sharp when
we eat milk and pudding.
-N.A.
Ele that giveth to the poor lendeth'
to the Lord.
VOL. XXII. NO. 6.
A Sermon that didnot Snit.
Mrs. H— was a very religious woman
and perhaps came as near worshipping
Mr. N., her favorite minister, as some of
our people do Kossuth, the Hungarian; but
be that as it may, she was continually ham
mering Aaron, a shrewd lad of some six
teen summers, who, to pester the old lady
and hear her scold, would speak rather
lightly of Mr, N., her minister.
Happening in at the house of Mrs. N,
one day, the old lady began, as usual, to
chastise him, and Aaron thinking she put
it on rather hard, after hearing her through
said—
Win as good as Mr. N., and can preach
as well."
'Preach ! said the old lady, you don't
know.one single word in the Bible."
"Well, give me a text, said Aaron, and
see if I can't preach."
"You don't know anything about tho
Bible, said Mrs. H., if you do you may
take any text you please."
4 .1Ve11, said Aaron, virtuous woman
is without price,"—ain't that in your Bi
ble ?"
"Yes, said Mrs. H., and it shows that
women are better than men, for the Bible
don't say that a virtuous man is without
price."
..Well, we will see about that, said Aa
ron and after dividing his subject into two
or three heads, commenced as follows :
„ The scarcity of an article, in all cases,
governs the price, and for that reason it is
"without price.” Now, if there were any
virtuous women, there would be a price,
and a high one too by reason of the scarce•
ty; but as there is none—
At this stage of discourse the old lady
seized the broom—
" Aaron said she you are an:WV:dent
brat and if you don't clear out, twill pelt
you with the broom handle."
Aaron made tracks into the road, finish
ing his sentence, "they are without price"
as he went through the door, which the old
lady closed after him with a considerable
force.
Is Your Name Brown It
When we were travelling on a Ilissts
sippi steamboat, a short time since, we en
countered a near-sighted individual, slight
ly obfusticated, who had entered end saw
himself in a mirror opposite. He was near
enough to observe that the face looked fa
miller to him, and so, thinking that the
person might possibly be a blood relative of
his from that section of the country, he in
quired with the blandest expression he
could'ussume :
.1s your name Brown P
No response, of course, and he repeated
the question in a louder key
.Is your name Brown ?'
Still no answer, and our maudlin friend,
with some show of anger, in a louder tone,
asked :
'ls your name Brown ?'
Finding his supposed relative .vas de
termined to 'cut' him, he threw himself
back on his dignity, and assuming an in
tensely indignant expression of couuto
nance, he remarked:
'Well, your name may be Brown, but if
it is, you don't belong to,our crowd—you
are In accidental Brown—) ou're no gen-
tleman, sir, no how.'
With this he rose, and putting on a ma•
jestic frown, to a zigzag course towards
his state•room.
Important to Girls.
Therg i js so much truth in the subjoin
ed pararaph, that we wish to direct spe
cial attention to it. It is a matter of much
d inportance to those whom it concerns :
i.Girls, let me tell you a stubborn truth.
No young women ever looked so well to a
sensible man, as when dressed in a neat,
plain, modest attire—without a single or.
nament about her person. She looks then
as though she possessed worth in herself,
and needed no artificial rigging to enhance
her value, U a young woman would
spend as much time in cultivating hor
mind, training her temper, and cherishing
kindness, mercy, and other good qualities,
as moat of them do in extra dress and or
nament, to increase their personal charms,
she would, at a glance, be known among
a thousand. Her character would be read
in her countenance."
or- A sailor lookingserious in a Bos
ton chapel, was asked by a minister if ho
felt any change t 'Not scent,' said Jack.
ti' The man who made an impression
on the heart of a coquette has becomi a
skillful atone-cutter.
Mr' The weather in thia region has
moderated considerably within the past
week The thermomoter to day, howev,
er, indicates freeze-oh.
Irr Poor metta;o tote best off, in titue,
of failureb.