- -. '' ~..., ~ , i....-e•: - .70 6 1,4eik_ . . A.- ' • .......... ; ! • : . .;t : - '',_: . ; 1 i "_ . 5 i f ,f ' ' : i ' . _ , ' 41° - -''. .. •-• ... .." ..".. P .- - - I ' \ . I ; ..,. - - : • . -,,, ' 7. , 11 - I ..•-..-.:.... ' "t . • '. : L. 1 . . :::: II . si .:: - 11$ b - .. . , . . . .- il l - -. • ~., ~. , . .„. . , .. . ,•.. - . ..... ...,.. ~_ ~, _ ' .., ~- . • . ..._ ' - . ... -e -:. ',:, ~-..,,,,,,! ~ -,...- 1.... , . '.:,y, ~- -- , , . , ::;.c t i i,f,:-.:-. - , , ~ , •..,.„_, ~,,.. ..: „ . . . , . : - • N. . , N._ • . ;' : ' • •_ . ... . , - 7 - N • . 4 • . ' ' . , . • . ... I' 4 4 . ' ' • / • , ' 4 I BY WILLIAM 'D. BAILEY, 2.-NO. 17. From the Louisville Journal To an Absent Husband. We are sure that a husband, so beautifully and touchingly appealed to, will fly hoMo upon the wings of love. Dearest, come home ! I cannot bear Thy long-protracted stay, So sad and lonely is my heart When thou art gone away. I've tried, alas! how vainly tried; Thine absence to forget, Yet still I can but think of thee With fondness and regret • As mourns the gentle, cooing dove, In accents desolate, When forced by some unkindly hand Far from her loving mate— So through the chambers of my heart Echoes a mournful tone, Whilst every pulse affection beats, Re-echoes, "I'm alone." Things that are bright when thou art here, Look dark and gloomy now, And nature seems to share my grief With clouds upon her brow. The bird sings now a sadder song Than e'er he sang Wore, And flowers have lost the sunny hue They once so sweetly wore. • • To wile the weary hours away, That lag with Isaden feet, I read thy favorite authors o'er, Their choicest parts repeat. But even books, those voiceless friends, Have lost all charm for me, And Fail to cheer my heart, unless I read them, love, with thee. And music, with her voice so sweet, I've called her to my aid; As soft and low, with trembling hand, Thy favorite air I've played. Bat ah! those tender notes havo stirred Affection's fountain deep, And sadly I have left my song To think of thee and weep. Thus gloomy thoughts their dismal shade, O'er brightest objects fling. Ho* true it is a saddened heart Can sadden everything! Then, dearest, come—thy wife's fond heart Still warmly beats for you— A heart whose every throbbing pulse Is faithful, kind and true. sittert IWintriinng. THE FATAL JOHE. =I I was once present—where a small party of young persons were warmly discussing the subject of practical joking. After. a' long and interesting debate, the question seemed about to be decided in its favor, when a gentleman, whose singularly melanrhnly and dejected-air at once attracted our atten tion, related the following story : 1 " In my younger days I was remarkable for my fondness for practical joking, even to`such a degree that I never allowed a good opportunity to pass unimprpved. " My orphan cousin, Robert, to whom I was fondly attached, was of a different na ture from this, He was sober, sedate, and grave almost to a fault, very thoughtful and very bashful. This stupidity, as I called it, was often a check upon my natural gaiety, and it was seldom that I could induce him to join my boyish sports, though he some times'did, merely to gratify me. Poor Ro bert ! the green turf of his native valley, on whose bosom the fairest flowers that New England could boast of, have blossomed, and withered and, passed away to eternity, i_ i leaving behind - them a lasti g impress of their loveliness, now covers is mouldering ashes. -Yes—Robert is dead and I am the unhappy cause of his untime y end, the cir cumstances of which will serve to convince you of the folly of ' practical joking.' "It was, late one evening early in Sep tember, that Robert and myself retired to our room - to talk over the exciting scenes of the day, for it was the night after the elec tion, and a fine holiday it had been to us. I had just returned from a visit to some friends in the city, and had, of course, brought with me many curious things which Robert had never seen nor heard of. Among them was a mask, the use of - which I, ex plained to my unsophisticated,cousin, who laughed and wondered why psople could wish to look horridly enough to wear one. "I was in my gayest mood, just ready for an adventure and seeing he was dispo sed to make fun of my mask, I proposed an experiment. " What!" exclaimed my cousin, " vou do not intend to wear it to bed, do you?" " Far from it," I replied, " it is you who shall wear the mask ; net I. lam quite ape enough without it." " A very just remark, indeed,'l he obser-' ved, gravely. " I had never seen him in better humor, and I thought it best to unfold my plans at once. At our next docir lived a worthy gentleman, with whOse daughter my bashful cousin was already smitten.i That very night as we passed by, on our return from the village, he had called and bade her good night, and had received in return, one of the sweetest smiles from the happiest eyes and most charming lips I .ever beheld. I was his bosom friend, and i.o me he always entrusted his secrets, (alas It how little have I deserved confidence,) get, he always blushed when I spoke of Julia. "Some evil spirit, I _know not what else it could have been, prompted- - rue when I proposed to 'have a little sport, at her ex pense. My plans were these :-He was to dress himself in a suit or clothes to corres pond with the mask, which, by the way, was the most 'frightful' looking thing I ever saw, repair tcvthe dwelling - of Ii love, and call her to the door by rapping. I was -, to stand near to witness the resulti andparti cipate in the joke. non VE WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA COVAITY, PA., TRIM Ai r G , 0 num 2s, 1850. "He hung his head, and, of course refused. I had expected this, , but flattered'. Myself that I could-easily persuade him to the contra'ry, , It was, however, a harder task than I had' anticipated, for his unwillingness seemed greater than ever ; the reason I readily understood. poh'd and p'shaw'd, and finally threat ened to expose to; all boys his cowardly dis position, as I-pleased to term it, and tender feelings toward Julia, which as yet, none of them had discovered. This last argument proved mare successful' than the other, for he well knew that I never suffered the idlest threat to remain unfulfilled; and the fear of being laughed at—beside betraying that which he most wished to conceal, conquer ed, and he yielded, though reluctantly, his consent. At that moment—l even exulted over my triumph, though I have often 'since wished my lips had been struck dumb, be fore I had uttered those words that sealed• the after fate of two pure beings. But in my thoughtlessness I rushed heedlessly on in whatever I undertook, regardless of con sequences. My wild, reckless spirit had never been tamed. "Finding that there was but one alterna tive, and that to submit cheerfully to my Whim, he suffered himself to be arrayed as my fancy suggested, with good grace, and even laughed quite heartily, as I added gar ment after garment in order to make him look as frightful as possible ; yet, after all, I could see t - hat his mind Was ill at ease ; and I half condemned myself for being the cause•of his unhappiness. " When at length all was arranged to my satisfaction, I placed the horrid mask over his face and led him to the mirror. He started back and involuntarily placed his hand to his head, as if to take it'away, but my interference prevented. He even plead ed that the penalty I had threatened to in flict, in case he refused to go might be se cured him. But I was inexorable. I was anxious to see the result, and the delay caused by his unwillingness vexed me. " A renewal of my threats of exposure succeeded in removing all obstacles, and we immediately set about our adventure.— Cautiously as t'hieves, we crept through the yard. and each took his station, Robert at the door and I at the window nearest him. " The curtain was partly drawn aside, so . that I could easily distinguish every object in the room. As I had anticipated she was alone. The domestics had retired, and I knt.w hpr nisi frith. , " tnn wetrtO ttcyrc-vc- cam' he was anywhere but in the arms of Som nus ; for he was one of those sensible per sons whose maxim is—" Early to bed, and early to rise." " Julia—and I shall never forget how lovely she was—sat beside a small table in the centre of the room, apparently deeply absorbed in a book. Her fair hand sup ported her head, and her hair fell graceful ly down upon her neck, in beautiful natural ringlets. She was a' delicate wild flower, that had budded and blossomed under the shelter of a father's roof; and the sunshine of gladness, and the dews of affection had ever lighted and cheered her way. "At length I gave aj<signal, and a loud rap was given. She for a moment, listened attentively, and then, laying down her book, arose and approached the door. As she opened it, the mask, stepped boldly in according to my directions. How shall I describe the scene that followed 1 Even now I shudder to think of it. Instantly all earthly hue fled from her face, and with a piercing shriek, she staggered back a few paces and fell heavily to the floor. Quick er than lightning I sprang through the door way, and.knelt at her side. I Grasped her wrist ; its pulsation had ceased 1 I placed my hand upon the heart : that also was still. She Was dead ! 1. 4 can recall but little else' that took place that night. The domestieS, who slept in an adjoining room, had been awakened by that terrible shriek, and came rushing in to learn the cause of they uproar. I could not have spoken, even had explanation been neces sary. I was overwhelmed with grief and self-condemnation. I could only point at the lifeless form of poor Julia, and at the mask, which Robert had torn from his face, and daShed to the fibor. He stood gazing at me, with a cold, vacant stare, that I but •too well understood. More I cannot re member. E:3 "Ten days passed and I awoke from a raving delirium. My first inquiry was for Robert. •They led him to his bedside; but, oh, what a change ! tstretched out my clasped hands, in an agony of grief and re morse, to implore his forgiveness. He neither moved nor spoke but that same un meaning stare drove home to my heart the fearful conviction, Alas ! he was a hope less idiot ! ' Fifteen years have elapsed since that never-to-be-forgotten era of my life. I never have, never can, for give myself foT having, been the cause of so much misery, though G have sought and hoped for forgiveness ,frOm on high. I nev er can• look upon a mask without a shudder, or hear its use denounced without alluding to+ my experience. And you my young friends,' when you are•tempted to play tricks upon others, I am sure, will stop to consid er, that what seems to be so innopent and harmless, may perhaps, in the end prove a "'fatal joke;" "JACK, which is the way to Wapping?" "How:do you•know my name is Jack?" Lf Iguessed it." • "Then guess the way to Wapping !" [SELF-DEPENDENCE AND SELF-DIVEDVEIIE i NT-"-TIIE FIRST RIGHT, AND THE FIRST .DIITY OF ...EV,ERY -NATION.] The lion. Joseph R. Williams has .re ceiltly delivered an address betpre the, Michigan State Agricultural Society, at Ann Arbor, which ,is distiuguiShed by .the soundness or its, views no less than by the perspicuity with' which they are. advanced. We sincerely wish that we could afford room, consistently with our engagements, for the whole of this sterling production . ; but being unable to do so, -we present to Our, readers ah extract froth it devoted to a con , sideration of the farmer's calling. It is as: follows.: . " A farmer should not consider it pre sumption, but a duty to gladden his home with all true, and genial, and intrinsically valuable comforts, that shed a glow and at tractiveness around the private home of the citizen. He can make it more inviting. There are few comforts and appliances about the home of a townsman whic - h a countryman cannot enjoy. There are a thousand pleasures around a country resi dence, which all the capital of a city can not buy. A farmer surveys from his win dow, with unalloyed delight, the field now groaning by 'superior cultivation, under twice the crop of previou's years. While he gains it, the world gains it. It is so much added to production. But multiplied and dubious are the ways in which a townsman makes his gains. Sometimes 'tis the pound of flesh. Sometimes 'tis dr- tortion. Sometimes a double value is giv en to the raw material, but oftener his gain is loss to another. To say the least, the townsman is sometimes exposed to the inev itable necessities of expediency and dishon or. From such necessities the farmer can, if he will, always be free. ." God made the country, man made the city." Just so superior as God's works are to man's works just so far superior are the studies of the country to the studies of the town. If you look upon the rich and gor geous development of nature from spring to fall, from the tiny germ -to the abundant crop, with no more delight than on piles of stone, and brick, and mortar, then your life anywhere will be desultory, hard, and dull. When he gazed upon the miracle of his own frame, in awe and admiration, David exclaimed.: " I am fearfully and wonder fully made." Yet each plant and spire of grass, each tree and fruit, each creature, every form of vegelable and animal life, is ae — rrurt'liarifht ame of man. If he, stu dies them all as livina. ' illustrations of sci entific truths, and he delights at each new. discovery of the capacity and properties of a plant or an animal, and each new insight into the laws which regulate its propagation and perfect .growth, then indeed will a far mer become a philosopher and a man of science, and his life will be a ceaseless round of triumphant experiment and suc cess. From the most trifling act, to the performance of the highest duty of a noble calling, his life will be full of delightful sat isfaction. The favorite domestic animal, which he' has watched and fed from a nursling., seems to lick his hand in gratitude, and almost eager to contribute to his sup port. Look along that avenue of stately trees, groaning beneath an abundance of: delicious fruit, or throwing - a refreshing shade over the weary traveler. But yester day it was a bundle of mere twigs, which . he providently brought home, grasped per haps in a single hand. It may be that wide fields around him have been transformed from the wilderness by his energy, and now blossom like the rose. No groans nor tears, no sinks of misery and crime,' no squalid poverty, are witnessed in his daily walks, and in the performance of his daily duty. His mind need,not be tortured with intense anxiety because struggling . on the verge of commercial ruin. He runs less hazard of having his body racked : with every disease to which muscle and nerve, and head and stomach, are liable. But I fear I am straying wide of my subject. I wished to show that the pursuits of a far mer may be rendered the most intensely in teresting, the most noble, and the most en grossing to all the faculties, of both body and mind, of human occupations.. As soon as it is made so, it will becOme the most profitable and thrilly also. What a farmer wills his life and profession to be, that it• will prOve.". TOUGH STOIIIES.-WC have' heard and read .all.manner of tough stories—Of black snakes with a dozen rabbits in them—of calves with seven heads and as many horns—of horses that took thirty- fi ve feet at a leap—and hdil stones, which measured twelve inches in diameter, and, weighed we don't know how much. But or all tough ones, we think a story recorded by the ,Maine Farmer raytker ". takes the rag ofr the bush.,' It tells of a chap down near, the Aroostook line, who. took a gill of camphinef in Mistake for but wheSe life was saved by, a project worthy in every respect, of' the most refined Yankee inge nuity. After the' atorriaah pump, and :all sorts'' of • means' of restoration had been' tried 'in Vain; the grocer's' clerk ran'& wick , down the patient's throat, tended 'a 'Maio to it, and burned out the 'canaphinel „ course the man .revived imniediately. A ; rEr.Low was-seen running, up First street,-when a friend' enquired, "what aro you-running foe?" • "1, am Oniiing . for an office." W hakifEce,?" ..• . " Squire Rowley's—dang it, I'm s ued!" A Farmer% P►Ry 1110 f o a v l e ls tw in be to im em h b i a m rra i s il sment; whi6h uliAimamtealny banfrrUptcy or drive him into roguery and crime. Fie was yesterday respected, inflUential and suppoed•to'be . dflhient; and his-family were treated and treated themselves accordingly.; but to-day he is disgraced add steered clear off—wit bent resources dr proipectverY likely in prison and exposed to ignerniniou4 punishment. ." Vile wretch;" say 'the mil lion; "it is good ' enough 'lei - hint,' but we must pity his poor fatnily." Certainly, w e trust pity them-pity all who suffer ; still more all ali3 sin and suf fer. They need pity, and there is no dan ger that we shall pity them too much. But the impression conveyed of the innocence of the fallen man's family and their un merited exposure tn want and ignominy, is often very far from the truth. In fact, half the men who are4athed as dragging down their families to sliame and destitution, are really themselves' dragged down by those families driven to bankrupt cy, shame and crime, by the thoughtless and basely selfish extravagance of wife and children. Let a man be in the way of re ceiving considerable money, and having property in his hands, and his family - can rarely be made to comprehend and realise that there is any limits to his abilitiesio give and spend. Fine dresses and orna ments for wife and daughters, spending money and broadcloth- for hopeful sons— costly parties every now and then, and richer furniture, and more of it at all times —these are a few of the blind drains on "the governor's" means which are per petually inaction. fi 0, what's a hundred dollars to a man doing such a business?" is the indignant question in. case of any demur or -remonstrance on his part. . Not one of them could bear to disgrace him by earning a dollar ; they couldn't go out shabbily dressed, for fear his credit would suffer. They can't see how a Man 'who . can get discount in Bank need ever be short of money or stingy in using it. All his talk of difficulties or hard times they re gard as customary fables,intended'to scrimp their drafts on his purse. or enhance their sense of his generosity. When it- is so easy to fill up a check, why wilt he be hoggish. .Let him give fifty dollars to any philanthropic object, or invest five hundred, however safely in any attempt to meliorate see clearly that he has hoards of gold, and can just as well give them all dresses and jewels as not. Thus the man of means or" of business is too. often. regarded by his family as a sponge to be squeezed, a goose to be plucked, an orange to be sucked,,a Spring to drink from when thirsty mahout at all diminishing its flow. ,The stuff is there in profusion—the only trouble is to Make him give it up. _ In vain he remonstrates—implores—puts down hiS foot. lie cannot be eternally contending with those he loves best; he wants quiet at home in order to mature his plans and perfect his operations. If he re sists importunity, the pumps are set going, and what man can stand the April showers of feminine sorrow ? lie gives way at last and throws down the money demanded, hoping that some great news by the next Steamship — ; some turn of luck in his busi ness—will make it up to him. Perhaps it don't, and this last feather has broken the elephant's Unit. The end, however, near, or distant is morally certain. Treated always as a mine to be opened at will, he finally dr c u s r i h m es e into d r i e s c o k ‘ l , es er s x s g , p r h e o e c w i u . ni s l a e d t d i e e s ‘ n l. p l e t o i r ia r r t despe r ate blasting n an Selfish villain !" say the ignorant crowd, " how could he run such a career? How we pity his family !" co doubt of it ! But' if you knew more perhaps you would pity him. N. Y. Tribune. Consolation. The great philosopher Citophilus said one day to a lady oppressed by grief, for a heavy misfortune, " Madame, thelaueen of England, daughter of Henry the Great, was,as unfortunate as yourself.. She was chased from her kingdom, she nearly per ished in a storm at sea, and she saw her royal husband expire on a scaffold." • " I am sorry for her," said the lady, who con tinued to shed tears over her own misfor tunes. " rut," said Citophilus, " recollect Mary Stuart; she loved—but in all honor—a very handsome musician. Her husband slew him before her eyes, and afterwards her good friend and relation. Queen Eli zabeth, caused _ ,her head to be cut off on a scaffold hung with black, after having kept her in prison for eighteen years." "That was very cruel," answered the lady, re lapsing' into melancholy. ..." You have perhaps heard," said ,the comforter," of the beautiful Joanna of Xa ples, who was taken and strangled 1" " I have a confused recolleclion ,ans wered the mourner. . • " 'mtW. relate to vitt,' rejoined he," thO adventures of a -sovereign who was L.:: throded in my time, after. supper, and who' died in a desert' island." "1 know. the whole story.," replied the lady. '"'Well,,then, let rne . tell you what hap: penek,tO 'another great prinelesild• whom I have, taught philoSophy - fyShO.spetikS of nothing .hut 'her misfortunei do_ wish, avid, that I should, riet v ihink,,.Of mine ?" said the lady. ." Because;?:.tins,, wered the philosopher, " you ought not reflect on then . ] ;, when: 'so.many ,great dies have been so unfortunate i :ir does ' , not beeome you to de'Spaii •: Think of .Hecuba ---think of 'Niohe." •rfpfied! , the lady, "if I. had lived in. their time; or in that.of the bedutiftil prineessei;anikif, to eon.sole them, yaw had' related my , misfor tunes, do you think they 'would have !is tened to your. The next day the philosopher 16st his , only 'sotv—he was ready 16 eXpire with grief. The , lady made out a list of all the kings who had lost their children, and ari' ricd it to the philosopher. He read it found it perfectly correct, but 'he Aid not weep the less. . Three months after, they met again, and were mutually astonished"Lat..eaCh- °thee's' cheerfulness. They eau to be erected a beautiful - statue to Time, ),fith this inserip: tion—" To him who consdles."—Fieneh of Voltaire. Smoky Days in Autumn. A correspondent says: "I am sure the. atmosphere cifour American..Nutumn has become more clear and transparent than it was thirty oi,-forty, or even twenty year's since. Then we had long intervals of smoky weather in Autumn, the whole air . suffused with a soli haze which took a Warm golden 'hue in the sunshine. SometiMes, too, if I recollect aright, the atmosphere was filled with an odor as of burnt leaves" or herbage. ln a great measure, I hove no doubt that this smoky appearance must have been caused by fires in the woods, sometimes accidentally kindled at that dry season of the year, by' fires made by the settlers in clearing their land among the vast tracts of heavy forest lying to the %Vest, of the older settlemehts,,and by fires kin dled by the Indians and write hunters in the immense grassy prairieS west of the Ohio. It was the common practice of the hun ters of that country which now forms the Western States, to set fire to the dry rank herbage of the prairies every autumn, and the flames swept unchecked 'overa vast space, till they expired in the edge, of the woodlands which bordered the water courses. In a day or two they would have traversed a 'prairie as large as one 'or our counties, and a thousand prairies would be sending up their enormous train of smoke at once' in all the vast region which forms the valley ofThe illis.sissippi and its auxilia and its more southern tributaries, D'art the lakes, to the Red River, embracing ten degrees of latitude. It is impossible . that such enormous quantities pr'smoko sent up into the atmosphere should not affect its cle . arness for leagues around, and the wind blowing almost continually from the West would carry the fine particles over the coun try along the Atlantic, and diffuse them. to an almost boundless extent. At present, the burning of a prairie in- the valley of the Mississippi, is a much less fre quent occurrence. In Illinois, in Missouri, and the neiv States of lowa and WisconSiii, they arc sometimes fired by accident, and the flame creeps over them before the wind, but with less noise and rapidity than former ly, for these vast plains having been depas tured and deflowered in surnnier t z by the, nu mergus herds that range them there is far less of the dry herbage to feed'it. The set. tiers use 'every precaution to prevent these accidents, as the fire often seizes their fen ces and endangers their wheat Stacks and houses. IC is no doubt the case, that some part of the haze observed in our autumn, belongs naturally to the state of the attnosphere. The, south wind at that season,.and in win ter, brings With it a' certain diraneaa of the utrriosphere. It is'noiso thiclt, nor ab'white as that often observed in England with an east wind, when, though the ,sky is perfect ly cloudless and blue overheard, the . horizon is veiled in a kind Of dry fog„tind objects at a little 'diStance,' are undistingulaltable. As the fires in the weeds and grassy wilder derness oG the west grOW more and more unfrequent we shall soon be able to distin guish how much of the smoky tipparmice of the quiet autumnal days, when' the sun seems to wink in the' sky, and you can al most hear to look at its orb with the naked eye, is owing, to the presence or real smoke, and how much to the. condition of the tit , : mosphere.—N. Y. Post. To Punrrr WATEn.i—it is not as gene:- rally known as it ought to be, that pounded alum possesses the property of Purifying . water. A large table-spoonful of pulverized altim, sprinkled into. a hogShead of water, (the water stirred round• at the' time) will, after .a lapse of a few hours ) , by precipita ting to the bottom the impure particles, So purify it that it will be fourid to possess nearly all the freshness and clearness of . the finest' spring water, A pailful, containing four gallons may be, purified by tc,single' tea-spoonful. Wunx the girls quit coquetting—when lawyers get honest, and printi3rs get their dues, look out: for the millenium. If : our subscribers would flock, in ,and"pay up - sve might fix the• day ; until they do, however, we will not prophesy more definitely. T is said:thati there:is apiece in Duchess county; N. Y., uhere. ihe .:children are So fat and . greasy 'that they, have to .be rolled in sand to keep them from slipping oat of bed. A otxttmott is liko a jug without 'a ban. dle, there's no taking hold of him. ,'' '• . • iD.ITOR 'ANtirT,ROPRiF;TOIt::7 • Avildi.LE,-No;09. The Peasant's . gtratakeisi. 4 - word.spolten 41t, random p r rpir . es ) 1 ofmere, utility than the befit concerted Renee - it happens, that TOoliolleit when men of talents tail:l 4 art. ; illaStration ; Ofthis,•tmertion,.:wo 191 present our readers.with the coliewipgil story, from'en French called "ForfeitS Redeemed:" • poor eitnple t•Peatant, :of the mired Cricket, being heartily: tired:Of:his; daily' fare of,brown, bread, and Cheese, Yesoll'ed . whatever might ¢e ,the•consequonce, tn_prOn . dire to hiMself; by . hcoleor'hy 'eroii,k,thieet sun* uOus:ntea • Having taken' 'this rageous and nOble resolution, the:neit thing , was to advise a plan - ctod;:put itintoexceP...: Lion, and here his good . fortune befriended him. The:wife -of a' rich' nabob. in; The .' neighborhood of his cottage,.duringtite.ate.''., settee of her husband, lost n•valuable-44t : ', mond ring ; she offered a, reward to j etty person, who would recover it, Or give any •r, tidings of the jewel; but no - one was likely to do either ; for three of her Own focitmen, of whose fidelity she had•.not- the smallest doubt, had stolen it. The 10s3 sooh reaeh-••••11 r. ed .our glutton's ears. . . - ; ; " I'll go," ,crieshe ; " I'll say Pm trcon., juror, and I will discover where the gem is hidden, on condition of first receiving three splendid , meals.-• I'shall fail, 'tie true; -Whit then ? I shall be treated as an imposter* and my back and side may suffer for it ; but my hungry stomach will be filled I" - To concert this scheme, and put it intok ••, practice, was but the work of ft - moment the' nabob was still absent.' The'ladyi .t anxious for- the recovery of her- ririg,nel cepted the offered terms-; a sumptuous din , . .1 ner was prepared, the table was covered with the richest viands ; eipectiiVe wines every ,sort were placed on - the-sidelxittni.. We may think ho* much he'ate.:'''An nt tentive footman, one. of the secret thieves;` 4 filled him with drink ; our conjuror; gorged; : • "'Tis well I have ; the first I" The servant trembled, et the amhigious, words, and ran to his companions. 1 - He has found it out, dear'frienda ; is a cunning man ; he said' he had. the first v. who could he mean but me?" "It looks little like it," -replied the second. , thief; '‘z I'll wait on ' him to.night; as yet you may have 'mistaken his meaning, should he Sneakin the same WO we must deedmti, At' bigot a sapper nt or a couitot aloei men was set before the greedy Cricket, who, filled his paunch till he could.eat The - second foOtman watched - him all The •-• while. When satisfied, he rose; exclahni • ing-- ' " The second is in my sack, and, cannot_ escape me."_ - Away fl ew the affrighted 'robber.' „ ' «We are lost !" be cried ; " - Or iteols` alone can save us." ".Not so," answered the:third O.' fly and be caught, we swing; tend hint, at to.morrows meal, and .should ;he .thert, speak as before, I'll own the theft to hint,: and °frer some great reward to seieertils' froth punishment, "and that he'maideliiei • the jewel to the lady Without betra3qng its 1”. They all agreed... On the .merrow . ,out:; peasant's appetite was still the spne ;." at, last, quite full, he exchiiraed— • " My task is done ; the third, thanit' is here ." ••,. " Yes," said the trembling culprit, "Jherd , is the ring, but hide our shame, and you ; shall never - good fare trOin;":;''' " Be silent," exclaimed' the' astonished Cricket, who little thought that what he hask spoken of•his. meats; would , have made. !he r ' • plunde r ers, it al betray themselves, ".sile,nt,l, ha ve l." Some',geese Were feeding before the &WS . , he-went 'out, and' having' seized' th?f • largest, forced the ring dotin its•throakeint.: then declared that the goose .had swallowed : the, jewel. The goose was, killed,.and the dim - nand found. In the nienntitrie, the . nabob turned,..and was iiieedtilous.: " Sortie crafty knave, madam," 'said !lie "either-lhe . thief oi his abettor ; has; with : it concerted scheme, j wrought :. op your easy; faith. But soon try hispairers or nation: I'll, provide Myself wititti'mear likewise: "• ."` ' • No sooner said than dono;< between two' dishes. the mysterious' faro was hid4criyAle2 falso : conjurar, was told-to declare h what was, the concealed cheer,. on pain of being'well. Xcaten should_ho' fail: .4 .1 " Ales !" he mattered out; "p cior thOu art taken." - ' :;, He's right," the ,nabob ezied, ll ,giya , , him a purse of gold honor. such Jalenta. as his." It was a little cricket 'in the dish. . our glutton, by four random speeches, giin'.! ed:threci hearty meals, comfort filinlire f aak . a most brilliant ~ieputation ,mr•tt cunning. man. ••- . A NEWLY triArried ,couple; .rift!in carriage, .were 'overturned, wherc4pott bystander, said it was' <<a shockiti night: "Yes," said' the. ,deritteinaii, 14 tki sceb l etiiiito just iveddeil fait oidsoisoon." 'q .1 , • • , Jams, are . you Coullale4detit di4 Ncy, I was convateeCnt yestoOrty,Aiut,„ I took- medicine last night, , aod.worked OW." • t , • 44 Orr, for'n Lodge in some vast wilder; ness," as the Odsl'rellow suid,.on !goy, to California. ' II 1.1 . E ES
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers