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News from all countries and climes, my boy, Advertisement; essays, and rhymes, my boy, Mixed up with all sorts Of (f)lying reports, And published at regular times, my boy. Articles able and wise, my boy, At least in the editor's eyes, my boy, And logic so grand That few understand To what in the world it applies, my boy Statistics, reflections, reviews, my boy. Little scraps to instruct and amuse, my boy, And lengthy debate Upon matters at state, For wise-headed folks to persue, my boy, The funds as they Nero and they are, my boy, The quibbles and quirks of the bar, my boy, And every week A clever critique, On some rising theatrical star, my boy. The age of Jupiter's moons, my boy, The stealing of somebody's spoons, my boy, The state of the crops, The style of the fops, - And the wit of the public buffoons, my boy, List of all physical ills, my boy, Banished by somebody's pills, my boy, Till you ask with surprise Why any one dies, Or what's the disorder that kills, my boy. Who has got married, to whom, my boy, Who were cut off in their bloom, icy boy, Who has had birth On this sorrow-stained earth, And who totters fast to the tomb, my boy The price of butter and grain, my boy, Directions to dig and to drain, my boy, But 'twould take me too long lo tell you in song A quarter all they contain, my boy. FAREWELL TO THE SWALLOWS 'll THOOIAS HOOD. Swallows, sitting on the eaves, See ye not the gather'd sheaves, See ye not the falling leaves ? Farewell ! is it not time to go To that fair land ye know? The breezes as they swell, 01 coming winter tell, Arad from the trees shake down The brown And withered leaves. Faiewcll! See ye not the altered sky ? Knew ye not that winter's nigh ? Farewell ! To those far distant lands Of gold, and pearl, and shell, And gem (of which they tell In books of travels strange): There range In happiness. Farewell ! Swallows, on your pinions glide O'er the restless rolling tide Of the ocean deep and wide ; Farewell In groves far, far away, In. Summer's sunny ray, In warmer regions dwell; And then return to tell Strange tales of foreign lands. That I like you might fly away, And I may some day tell, How they before me fell Conquered. Then calmly die, And cry And to each coming evil say— Farewell ! Yet 'tis my fate to live Here, and with cares to strive. Swallows, it is time to fly. Farewell! fie One of the privates in Jennison's regiment has written a new song to the tune of "Dixie," the last verse of which we give as a "specimen brick." AcWe've no respect for Pomp, or Dinah, put we're bound to have Miss South Carolina, Look away, away, away in Pixie. For they stole our forts and they stole our cannon, .And I wish to God they had sto]e Buchanan." 110- A. broker, not long ago, when escorting a fair damsel home asked her what kind of money she liked best. Or course the blushing beauty instantly sng,gested . matrimoney. " What rate of interest does it, bring?" inquired the man of current funds and wildcat doqu, meats. "If properly invested, it will double the original steel( gvery two years. ...„ 1 ., ‘. f. (ru (1 it 1 111 (ffian+ • _T_ l _ 326Lizer, Proprietor_ Mil VOL. 8. [From the Lutheran Observer.] Reminisences of John C. Baker,'D. D. BY REV. E. W. II UTTER. A man so amiable, so gentle, so sweet tempered, of such noble simplicity, so perfectly unspoiled by his labors and their rewards, as jOUN C. BAKER, is very rare upon this earth, even, among the ministers of the Gospel of the blessed Jesus. In his public aspects, as in his private, in his conversation and in his pulpit discourses, in the lecture loom, in the Sabbath School,. in the social circle, in the prayer-meeting, in the Synodical convention, in the various executive committees, and as a weekly visitor of the public secular schools, he was widely appreciated, highly honored, and sin cerely beloved. The man is lost from the world, but not his character nor his deeds. They remain. And although in life his great and varied abilities were inseperable from himself, now affection turns to them. Upon these memory de lights to dwell, for so exquisitely guile less was his nature—so modest was he, when his public successes were greatest —so contented with little things—so interested in humble persons and hum ble efforts—so surrounded by children and young people—so adored in remem brance of a domestic generosity and greatness of heart—too great ever to be fully unveiled here—that we delight to recur to his life and character often, as furnishing to his posterity a great and rare example, as sorely needed as it is missed. And let no hypercritic condemn us, that we indulge in exaggerated Pan egyric, for that, in the case of the sub ject of this sorrowing remembrance, is simply impossible. HIS IDEAS OF "A BISHOP." These are best conveyed by the re cital of a simple incident of actual oc currence.. It was the case in the pity of Lancaster, that a pious lady was taken to her reward in heaven, who had long been an active member of the Lutheran church under Dr. Baker's ministry. The husband was equally zealous as an Epis: copalian, and belonged to the flock of the lamented Assistant Bishop, Dr. S. Bowman. With manifest-propriety, both theso eminent Devines were called to the funeral, and took part in the ex ercises. Both accompanied the escort, on foot, to the Cemetery, outside the city, walking side by side,' On their slow return, the Episcopal Doctor, with sincere intentions, of course, and yet in a patronizing sense, not properly con sidered, expressed his regret that the Lutheran Doctor was not also an Epis copalian. Said he : "If you, Doctor Baker, belonged to us, with your talants, your efficiency, and y our excellence of character, long since would you have been called, by acclamation, to the high dignity of a Bishop.' ' "A Bishop, indeed," replied Dr. Ba ker, with earnest manner and gesticula tion, "a'Bishop, indeed ! I very much fear, my worthy friend and neighbor, you don't know who I am, whom you are talking with, whom yon are talking to." " I ought to know," replied the ac complished Doctor Bowman, "for we have been living near neighbors these twenty years and upwards." "So it would seem," rejoined the Lutheran Dr., " and yet I fear, never theless, that I am a stranger to you, and that you neither know who nor what I am." " And who and what are you, then," interrogated the Episcopal doctor, "pray tell me, quickly ?" " That I will do," was the reply, "in a very few words. Be it known to you, then, now, henceforth and forever, that 1 am the Right Reverend John Christo pher Baker, Bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran church of the Holy Trinity of the city of Lancaster . 1 That is my name, sir, and this is the office I am filling, and have been filling for more than twenty years." " You a Bishop 1 you. a Bishop 1" re torted the other doctor, with seeming surprise. " Well, sir, you were right; I did not know who and what you are, and now, lest I forget that you are a Bishop,"—suiting the action to ;the word—" I will make a knot in my Pocket handkerchief." " Make the knot, sir, make the knot," rejoined the Lutheran Doctor, who had the last word, "fer it is a fact." All this, it is needless to state, took place, on both sides, under the kindliest feelings. We verily believe, if ever there, was a Bishop, in the true sense,. anywhere, a wprthy successor of the. Apostles, it was John C. Baker._ Ottlfithernbtut VontsPrtutia lolling for tly 4fant4 Cult. MARIETTA, NOVEMBER 23,1861. I= There never lived a man who was more strictly conscientious in his pecu niary dealings. He Was exact to the half cent, if it was possible to be so, and we once knew him to walk eight squares, when he was quite lame, to pay his butcher a balance of three cents. He hated debt with an intense hatred, and was wont to quote the saying of John Randolph : "I have discovered the philosopher's stone—it is, pay as you got Of such consequence did he regard moral honesty to the Christian, that he habitually inculcated in all his sermons. One winter we attended his catechetical lectures, addressed to a large class of the youth of both sexes. In explaining the commandment: ''Thou shalt not steal," he inferred to the various forms in which the ungodly and unthinking violate the spirit of this commandment, if not the letter. Among the rest, he referred to the practice, so very com mon, of addressing letters to persons ex clusively on the business of the writer, and requring the individuals to whom they are written, to pay the postage, which was then charged at very high rates, and did not require, as now, to be pre-paid. "Now," said the Doctor, with his usual emphasis, "if at any time you have occasion to write to a friend, on business of your own, I exhort you, pay the post age on your letters, for it is enough, in all :conscience, that you lay claim to your friend's time and subject him to all this trouble, without making him pay for the privilege of serving you. And if you don't," he added suiting the action to the word, "you might almost as well thrust your hand into your friend's pock et and abstract so much of his money." Sound advice—alas, sadly neglected, even in our day ! It was eminently il lustrative of the adviser's own nice and scrupulous sense of personal honor and integrity. "He that is.faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much; and he that is unjust also in much." HIS REGARD FOR TILE POOR AND LOWLY Whilst he uniformly rendered all leg imate deference to wealth and station, there never was a man more elevated, by the serenity .of a calm and well-balanc edinind, above the petty and adventiti ous distinctions which divide society., Nothing would have astonished him so much, therefore, as nothing would have been more foreign to the truth, than the bare suggestion, that he had ever made the least difference between the rich and the poor. His dignity, in this re spect, was of that highest and purest sort, which has no occasion to vaunt it self, and which'is Yet never in the least afraid of loosing itself. He was gener ous and kind to all, black and white, high and low, rich and poor, teaching the favored of Fortune, by his example, to abate their stupid pride, and the children of poverty and obscurity, that Honor and shame from no condtion rise, Act well your part, there all the honor lies." Hence he preached with as much vehe mence to ten auditors, and they humble and unpretending German laborers and mechanics and their wives, as if he had been discoursing to a thousand learned Savans. More than once have we seen him, on the highway, and in the lanes and alleys,,engaged in familiar and ani mated conversation with hod carriers and wod-sawers, plasterhrs and brick layers, whose families he had visited, and whoni he knew to be, although sons of toil, exemplary and worthy. Hence the "common" peopie ever greeted him as a real friend and benefactor. This universal sympathy with his race, in ut ter disregard of all accidental differences, was one of his noblest and most charm ing traits. Nor did his regard for the poor and lowly involve on his part any condescension. It was the spontaneous acting-out of a native and genial benev olence, unsullied by any admixture ar rogance and pride. "Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate." HIS REHAILICABLE OPEN-HEATEDNESS Dr. Baker had fewer secrets than any man we have ever known. We. some times doubted whether he had any.-- Hence he never spoke, as in the manner of some, in whispers, as if in constant apprehension of being heard. On the contrary, he always spoke from the sur charged fullness of the heart, and his meanings.were neither ambiguclus nor suppressed. Talleyrand's sarcasm, that "language is an invention to conceal the thoughts." did not apply to him. What, he said he ment, and what he ment he said, and always in tones and sentences that every one could hear and under stand. We once sal him in converse 3Dllar a Year_ tion on the street, at a casual meeting of three or four of his most prominent church-members. As usual, he became very animated, and spoke at the top of his voice. With the utmost kindness, one of the party remarked : "Don't speak so loud, Doctor, the people are hearing every word you are saying." "Well, sir," responded he, with increased vehe mence, "suppose they do, what of it ? I am not saying aught whereof 'I have reason to be ashamed, and God forbid that I should ever say anything to any body which I would be unwilling that the whole world should hear." Blessed state of mind and heart that does not dred the proclamation of what is spoken in the ear and closet—"from the house tops," even before the day of final ac count NOT A WIT NOR A JOKER A dangerous talent in a minister of the Gospel is wit. To the man of the world, of gay and lively parts, and found of admiration, the ability to entertain with facetious repartees and pleasant drolleries, is without doubt an agreeable accomplishment. But the posessor is constantly exposed to the temptation of exercising this gift in ridicule of sac red things, and at the expense of the feelings of others. Great wits are hence seldom without some enemies. And still another common failing of theirs is, that they wander habitually ; from the simplicity of fact. To adorn a tale, if not to point a moral, they apply the var nish of their own exhuberant fancy, and at last forget that the excellence of a story is no apology for its falsity. Of this talent Dr. Baker was singularly de void. An agreeble companion and' an entertaining conversationalist, in the arts of the jester he was yet unpractised is a child. Of a pun, however smart, he had no manner of conception, and when others, by ingenious flashes, were convulsed with laughter, his risibilities unmoved, he• sat wondering what it all ment. Humor he had, anji tart irony, and withering sarcasm, but little imag ination, and wit none whatever. Let the following incident serve as a proof of his total inability to comprehend a jest. At a time when he was joining hundreds of couples in the course of a year in holy wedlock, a near relative re siding remote from him, had occasion to write him a business letter, and at the close referred to the fact of his of ficiating at so many marriages as a proof that he must be prospering financially, and asking whether he did not desire a partner in the business of marrying peo ple. On its very face this was a joke.— But the Doctor interpreted it as serious ly as he ever did in his life, and return ed an answer that he would be very glad to servo him in some other way, but he regretted to be under the neces sity, of saying, that he regarded his pro position as "impracticable!" With him, therefore, everything in life was a reali ty. happy constitution of mind for the Christian Divine ! "Avoid foolish jclst ing which is not convenient." HIS LABORS AS A MINISTER These were limited only by the meas ure of time and his powers of physical en durance. During the greater part of his ministry at Lancaster he preached thrice every Sabbath--morning and evening, to his large congregation in English, and in the afternoon, in the lecture room, to a small assembly of Germans. The Sabbath School he at tended regularly, opening it with singing and prayer, himself taking account of of the presence of each teacher and scholar, often numbering over five hund red, and announcing the number in at tendance, male and female. Not unfre quently he had a funeral on the sabbath besides. On Monday morning, notwith standing the exhaustive 'nature of his again "bright day labors, he was out again "bright and early," (fpr he was az early riser,) taking the round as a visitor of the secular schools, in which he exhorted and admonished the youth of the city.— Two evenings of the week he led the .prayer-meetings, one English and the other German, besides the-week-day lec ture, catechetical classes, funerals, com mittee-meetings, pastoral visitations, and attendance on the sick. We have known him, the year round, to have but One evening to himself, viz: Saturday,— All the rest were occupied by ministeri; al labor. And yet he never complained of being tired or weary. His language uniformly was : God has blessed me with a vigorous frame, good health, and I a sound constitntiOni, and it is my duty to devote them to his service." Truly, he was a faithful laborer in the Lord's vineyard. ' "Pray the Lord of the her- NO. 17. vest that he would send forth laborers of the harvest." THE SCENES OF HIS DEATH-BED The recollection of these we shall car ry to our own bed of death, they were so solemn and impressive. Lingering on the shores of time, and waiting to be launched into OA spirit-world, he was still the conscientious man, the tender father, the devoted friend, the affection ate, gentle-hearted, guileless Christian. Neither dreading death nor desiring it, he resigned his soul with sweet submis sion into the hands of his covenant-keep ing God, never once referring to any labors or sacrifice r s of his own, but his hopes brightened by an intensified re alization of the one great sacrifice for sin offered on Calvary. Of himself he said not a word, although he might have said so much, but of Jesus, the crucifi ed, he spoke with an earnestness and fervor never more to be separated from our mind. When he died many lost a friend ; nothing in creation lost an ene my. Earth bade adue to one of its no blest spirits—the hosts of heaven bade him welcome to their ranks. ' The hand that lays this poor flower on his grave was often clasped in his. If there were no reunion and no recognition in reseve, our sorrow would know to bound. But we hope to follOw him, as he followed Christ, through the portals of the tomb to the mansions of the redeemed, and there, in a new and rejuvenated state, to behold again the face and form of him whom none knew as we knew but to love, and none named with such knowledge, but to praise. "The mem:l ory of the just is blessed." Philadelphia, October 26, 1861. ANECDOTE TOLD BY DANIEL WEBSTER. —Hon. Daniel Webster had an anecdote of old Father Searl, the minister of his boyhood, which , has never been in print, and which`is too good to be lost. It was customary then to wear buckskin breeches in cold weather. One Sunday morning in the autumn, Father Sear! brought his down from his garret; but the wasps had taken possession of them during the summer and were having a nice time in them. By dint of effort he got out the intruders and dressed for meeting. But while reading the scrip tures to the congregation, he felt a dag ger from one of the enraged small waist ed fellows, and jumped about the pulpit slapping his thighs. But the more he slapped around and danced, the more they stung. The people thought him crazy, and were in commotion what to do, but he explained the matter by say ing " Brethren don't be alarmed. The word of the Lord is in my month, but the devil is in my breeches." " THEM HARNESS."-A poet says— " Oh, she was fair, but sorrow came, and left his traces there." What became of the rest of the harness he don't state.— Erie Dispatch Oh no, Further down the bill of poe try it says—" Come wi' me my lassie, and I'll take the to thy hame." The balance of the harness is still missing, however.—La Crosse Dem. You are mistaken about that. The same poet, speaking of the same young lady, slys—" And all the lines that sor row left have faded out in joy."—The rest of the harness is still missing.—Er. No,—still another piece has: turned up ; for further on the " poick" informs us, that—" Loving hands with simple flowers, had decked her for the bridal." Nothing has yet transpired, as to the whereabouts of the rest of the harness. CURING lloass.—At a late fair of the Maryland State Agricultural Society, the first premium was awarded for hams cured thus : To 150 lbs. of ham, take oz. saltpetre, four quarts of fine salt, with enough molasses to make a paste ; rub well on the flesh side ; let it lie for four weeks; then hang and smoke. Two* days before removing from the smoke house, paint with s black pepper and strong vinegar ; after which, bag them. A distinguished physician, who died some years since in Paris, declared " I believe that daring the twenty-six years I have practiced my profession in Paris, 20,000 children have`been carried to the cemeteries, a sacrifice to the absurd custom of exposing their arms and necks." Ntte e r put mach confidence in such as put no confidence in others. A man prone to ,suspect evil is mostly looking in his neighbor for what he sees in himself. Washington as a Hunter. General ashington, with regard' to fox-hunting, was a representative mao io his day, and was probably one of the best riders of his time—an accomplish ment which gave him dignity and effi ciency when he became the Commander= in-chief of the Revolutionary army.— His favorite horse, after he took up his residence at Mount Vernon, was a splen did iron-grey, approaching to blue, re joicing in the name of Blenheim. His house at the time referred to, was the central point, not only from the vicinity, but from Maryland, for gentlemen who were fond of the chase ; these friendly visits frequently extended for weeks, and each day made memorable by un bounded hospitality. Washington dressed, for a fox-hunt, must have been a most splendid speei men of a man, his fine person set off by the true sporting costume of blue eons. scarlet waistcoat, buckskin breeches, boots with yellow tops, silver spurs, velvet cap, and a showy whip handle supporting a long, tapering, but heavy lash. Thus adorned, and accompanied by Hill Lee, his huntsman, at the head of his friends and retainers, at early dawn he took the field, and in the ex citement of the chase none rode more gallantly, and no voice more cheerily made the woodland ring than his. The foxes hunted at this time were the grey species ; but there was an exceptioe, a black fox, that Washington frequently bunted, but without success. This ani mal, the history of which would, no doubt, be curious, would bid defiance to all pursuers, running from ten to twenty miles, distancing both dogs and horses. It was a boast of Washington that hia pack, numerous as it was, ran so- close that they could be covered with ablasket —an expression that is as suggestive as a volume could be, of the nice sense be had of the proprieties of the sport, and what a critical eye and judgement •he brought to bear in ,its enjoyment.— Washington's hunting establishment, though not entirely destroyed, was com paritively neglected whilihe was absent at the head of the army ; but on his re-. turn, Lafayette, with a thoughtful ap preciation of his old pon:imander's fond ness for field sports, sent him a pack of French hounds, of unusual size and speed, which Washington received with the liveliest expressions of delight, and which he used in favorable weather as often as every other day in the week; generally starting before sunrise, and , returning home to breakfast, made doub ly appreciated by the exercise and ei citement in the bracing, morning air. Occasionally the lady visitors of .Mt., ernon, mounted on their palfreys,would go out as charming witnesses of thesport; and dial they might gratify,theit.wishes without endangering life%or,limbWash?, ington caused roads to be cut through various places in the wood% so that by " short cuts"; the most eligible places :to see the chase could be reached; On these occasions, Washington was espec ially conspicuous; taller and-finer-mount ed than any of his companions, he'neith er spared himself nor his genlirmis steed, maintaining what seemed t'o' be'his in herited place, the lead, and at the death yielding to no man the honor of the brush. AGAINST. Low NECKED . TYRESSES:-BiSh op Timon, of Western New York hits is sued a letter addressed "to the honored and pious Christian women of the dio- Cese" upon a subjeet ivhich he - has'long refrained to touch,, though pressed ap parently by Divine impulse, low necked dresses. lie discoursed at much length on the modesty of dress, quoting largely from the Scriptures on the score of mor ality, and from the writings of Catharine Beecher, Dr. Ellis and others, as respects health. The Bishop trnsta.that Christi an ladies will receive his advice in the spirit in which it is given, and directs that the pastors under his charge touch upon the subject in their' discourses. NOT TO BE DISPISED.—An awkward looking youth made his appearance at the recruiting office at Lancaster, N. H., a few days since, and desired to inlist ,as a sharp-shooter. His extremely ver dant appearance created considerable merriment among the spectators, and it was proposed that he should try his shill on a head of Jeff. Davis at the required distance. Inspecting his rifle a moment, he raised , it and put a ball through the , side of the nose. The company suppos ing this to be 'a chance shot, made him fire again, when he put the second ball through the other side of the nose. He was then accepted without further cere mony. Ofir On his memorable journey home froni Washington, shortly lefe're his death, Senator Douglas remarked to a distinguished Kentuckian whom he chanced to meet at Indianapolis, "1 know your man' Breekinridge better than you do yourselves. Mark my words, sir within a sear from this time. John C. Breekinridge will be, a General in the rebel army!" The result shala how thoroughly Mr. Douglas did know' his former friend. The •. year has,bna half passed since the prediction was made, and to-day Mr. Breekinridge Adds a commission as Brigadier General in the rebel ariny under Buckner,. at Bowling' Green. er The man who took a bold stand has resolved to take it back again.
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