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PAPA, WHAT IS A NEWSPAPER?
Organs that gentlemen play, my boy,
To answer the taste of the day, my boy,
Whatever it bp,
They hit on the key,
And pipe in full concert away, my boy.
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.