The Columbia spy. and literary register. (Columbia, Pa.) 1848-1848, July 29, 1848, Image 1
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR IN ADVANCE.] AND LITERARY REGISTER. "S • S, 0 .2, 1 11. 4. GEO. W. SCHROYER, Editor and Publisher. Office—Front Street, three doors above Locust Tmucs.—The SPY is published every Saturday morning at ilia low price of St per annum IN ADVANCE, or one dollar and fifty cents, if not paid within one month of the time of subscribing. Single copies, THREE CENTS. No paper will be discontinued until all arrearages are paid. No subscription received, or paper discontinued, for a less period than six months, Letters to receive attention, must be post-paid. TERMS OF ADVERTISING. [Fifteen lines or less to the square.] Advertisements will be inserted three times at the rate 01 St per square; for every subsequent insertion after the third, 2f.i. cents wi ll be charged. The number of immrtions desired must be marked, or the advertisement will be con tinued until ordered out, and charged accordingly. A liberal deduction will be made on the above prices to yearly advertisers. HO! 8O! YOU'RE Getting Bald, are You q Well, that is a misfortune and not a crime, but to remain bald, when so fine an opportunity offers to restore your hair, by a faithful and liberal use of Jayne's Hair Tonic, is but lit tle short of crime. This valuable preparation excites the scalp to a new and healthy action, cleanses it from.Tscurf and dandruff, prevents the hair from falling off, cures those eruptive diseases which often appear upon the head, and in a majority of cases produces a fine growth of new hair. It also gives the hair a rich and beautiful appear ance. For sale at W. A. LEADER'S July 1, 1148-tf Golden Mortar Drug Store. SUMIV/EIX COMPLAINT. This disease now prevails to an alarming extent, and thousands of helpless children will be carried off by it unless tamely relief be afforded them. This relief may always he had by applying to that most certain and pleasant remedy, Jayne's Carminative Balsam, which never fails. It has frequently made cures of Sumner Complaint after physicians of the highest standing have pronounced the child Its actually in the strugglesof death. Try it—try if you have any love or compassion, or even mercy, for your helpless children— Why will you let them die ? when a certain remedy may be had by calling at W. A. LEADER'S Golden Mortar Drug Store, Front street Columbia, July 1, IS4S-tf PB.O7VX T333:11 HERB DOCTOR, Front Street, Columbia, to the SICK AND AFFLICTED EVERY WHERE.- Every one of you arc now called upon to visit the Herb Doctor—lie has a medicine called the Indian Speci fic. It is of the utmost importance that you should all take a supply with you to the different section of country to which you belong. You well know what scourges the Dysentery, Bloody Flux, Summer Complaint, Cholera Morbus, Cholera Infantum, or other disorders of the bowels are. If you desire that none should die of these complaints; if you wish to be a blessnig to your neigh bors, to keep death out of your own family and thousands of families around you—if you are a philanthropist, come, I charge you, come, get the Herb Doctor's Indian Specific. Do you ask the question, will this Medicine cure these diseases? I tell you candidly,—it has never failed! Never! Never! In the most hopeless, despair ing eases, after physicians have exhausted every means known to them, after patients have laid weeks, when there was no prospect of is cure, and the disease had taken that fearful turn, consumption of the bowels • then, at this critical period, this wonderful medicine. t h is s gill of God, was used, and health again was obtained. The Herb Doctor feels constrained to urge it upon you, if you wish to have an easy conscience to rest upon your bed at night. feeling you have done good. not to neglect when ever you visit Columbia, to call before you leave and get this medicine. If you neglect it, and you see this disease. again making its ravages amongstyou, how will you feel! It will come to your mind thus. NVell, I could have pre vented this, I could have saved my child, I could have saved my wife. You will think of this many of you, when you are dying.. The Herb Doctor is determined to leave no stone un turned—to use every exertion to cure, if possible, all that is curable, and that too by the simple Herh Medicines.— He believes the day is not far distant, when the gifts of God. the blessed healing herbs, will be more prized— when they will be all that are looked to as medicine— when the giver of poisons will be ashamed to show his worse than guillotine head—when man will be inure ex empt from disease—when his days will number ut least iourscore, and he will stand erect, of manly size, full of nerve, a being of health ; when pail faces and palsied limbs are nowhere to be found. It should be had in every faintly ; every house far and near, should have it, and it any person, young or old, has any derangement in the bowels, immediately use it. It is only prepared for diseases of the bowels, and for them it is an absolute specific. It was among the lialtans the remedy was first discovered; from them the recipe was obtained. It is my wish that the bills of mortality should be considerably lessened this summer; and to aid me in this good work I call upon every well-wisher We have large quantities prepared, and are ready to fill all orders front every section. As soon as you read this notice, come, or if it be impossible to do so immediately, then make a note of it in your memorandum book, and as soon as convenient call at MARTIN & BELLING'S Medical dispensary, Front street. Columbia, July 1, ISIS.-Im TUE PARLOR MAGAZINE FOR NOTHING !!! Start not, gen tle reader, at the announcement, nor set it down as the last humbug of the day. It is a fact, however aston ishing, that the publisher will be happy to prove to those who are skeptical on the subject. Any person wishing that MAGNIFICENT NATIONAL ENGRAVING of the SIGNERS OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPEN DENCE, engraved on steel by ORAISBY, and considered fully equal to the one formerly sold at 820, may obtain a yearly subscription to the Parlor Magazine, free of charge, by remitting 83, the lowest price of the Engraving, to the office, 135, Nassau et. To those unacquainted with the Magazine, we would say, it is a monthly devoted to morals, literature, and the best interests of society, containing 3= pages of original matter, from the best writers, with two beautiful illustra tions, second to none, in each number, one steel, and the other expressly adapted to the Ladies and colored in the best style of the art, with other occasional illustrations and music. Price $5 per year. It is designed, not simply to charm away an idle hour. It is chaste and elegant in all respects, free from all injurious trash—pure and ele vated in the highest degree, and worthy a place on the tables of the most virtuous and refined. The better por tions of the public, and the press, have bestowed upon it the most unqualified commendation. The volume com mences with May, and makes over 400 pages, with at least 24 illustrations. The Nos. may be exchanged at the end of the year for bound volumes, at the office and else where, and, with the engraving, will readily sell for an advance upon the cost—the subscriber thus obtaining the Fending of one of the best magazines for nothing, and /cav ing a profit besides. The Engraving is taken from TRUMBULL'S great painting in the Rotunda at Washington, and contains the Portraits of all the distinguished signers. Its size is 21. by 31 inches ; engraved in Ormahy's best style, and consid ered by good Judges equal to any thing of the kind in the country. No American family should be destitute of ibis work. Persons wishing to save TWO DOLLARS, or obtain this splendid Magazine fur nothing, will please forward three dollars post paid at once, and thus secure an early:impression from the plate. The engraving can lie sent to any part of the United States, at a postage of 16 cents. N. D. Agents wanted to obtain subscribers for this Magazine, and to sell the Parlor Book by J. T. Headley. .E. E. MILES, 135, Nassau street H , Clinton all. iyls'4S4it 30NESS ITALIAN Chemical Soap cures Pimples, Blotches, Salt Rheum, Scurvy, Erysipelas, Sore Heads, Old Sores, Sore Beard and Barber's Itch, Chapped and tender Flesh, Freckles, Tnn, Sunburn, and changing Dark, burnt or Yellow Skin to a purr clear wliite as smooth and soft as all infant's. Anil, In fact, every kind 2 of ow.. fion and disfigurement. Read these certificates : From the N. 0. Sentinel, Oct., 1844. One of our subscriber, Mr. 11. Leonard, informs us that he has been cured of old, scaly Salt Rheum, of eighteen year's standing, on his bead, fingers and hands, by a cukc of an article much advertised lately—we speak of Jones's Italian Chemical Soup. He also informs us that he has tried its erects on Ids female slave Rose, much marked with sun spots, and he found in two weeks her skin much clearer and whiter. James Eltham, a planter in Jersey City, was cured of carbuncles and pimples, which he was of with for manyyears, by a part of a cake of Jones's Italian Chemi- So. Persons in purchasing this must always ask for Jones's ITALIAN CHEMICAL. SOAP,—and perhaps, as many who have been cheated, with the counterfeits, will be too much discouraged to try the genuine, we say to such, try this once—you will not regret it; but always see that the name of T. Jones is on the Wrapper. Sold at 82 Chatham at., New - York, and by Ft- 'WILL IAMB, Agent for Columbia. je24'4B-6m VITMEIMMICS TEABERRY Tooth Wash, an immediate and et factual core for ell di.lease of the um ln Teeth For sale by Wht. A EAD THE COLUMBIA SPY Written for the Columbia Spy TO PECLIJEA. Romantic stream, T love to trace Thy graceful winding shore ; To sit and muse upon that race, Whose voice is heard no more. Alas! thou'rt now forsaken, lone— The light canoe is gone; Thy shady banks are left to mourn, The light, gay-hearted fawn. 'Twos here the Indian claimed a home, Ile sought no other land; lie loved to chase the deer, and roam Amidst his happy hold The dashing spray was his delight, TO break with sdt.ory oar ; For he alone could claim the right Of Pequea's pleasant shore. But 110 w he's gone, no trace is left, No mark of memory; Thy winding paths are all bereft, And none can speak of thee. His spirit guards with watchful eye, Some simple mound of clay; To warn the steps of passe rti•by , That here his fathers lay. Pequea! I love thee for that name, 'Tin now my happy home; But soon, alas! no more comm claim; My fate's decreed to roam. Of thee I'll often think and dream, Oft' sigh for thy green shades; Where oft' by moon-light's peaceful gleam, I've hied thy pleasant glades. And now ye wild rocks tow'rmg high, With mossy crag and cleft; Adieu' I leave but with a sigh, And mourn for scenes rve left. Adieu! Adieu! ye flow'ry bank., With colors bright and guy; 11l mourn thee lone, when far away ; A Mug farewell, Pequca. Wrightsville, July 17, 1848. A. R. Is THE COUNT AND COUSIN. El:=3 "Who is that beautiful girl to whom you bowed so familiarly?" said Charles Winstanley to Hor. ace Grenville, as they proceeded down the steps of the City Hotel. "That was Adelaide Walsingliam, your cousin and mine, Charles," said Horace: " really, you must have left your memories among the beauties of Paris, if you cannot recognize your nearest of kin." "You forget, llorace, that when I last saw Ad. chide also woo a livoly littlo hoydon acorn° ton years old : the lapse of seven years makes a won. drous difference in a lady, whatever it may do with a gentleman." " Nay, if you begin to discuss Time's changes, Charles, I must confess you cannot ccngratulate upon having escaped a. touch of his finger. Who, in that bronzed complexion and hirsute visage, could discover any traces of the smooth-cheeked boy whom I last saw on the deck of a French packet-ship some seven years ago. But tell me, why did you not write that you were coming home ?" " Because I did not knew my own inind, Horace; I really was nut quite certain about it until I had, been a week at sea. The odd pronunciation of my German valet having caused my name to be placed on the list of passengers as Mr. Stanley, it occurred to me that the mistake would enable me to return incognito, and I thought I would humor the joke, if but to see how many of my old friends would recognize me. I arrived last evening, and should now be a perfect stranger in my native city had not accidentally met you this morning; and even you, Horace, did nut at first know me. " Know you, Charles! who the deuce could even see you behind that immense growth of brushwood upon your lip and cheek 7 Do you really mean to wear those enormoes whiskers and moustaches 7" " Certainly not longer than suits my present pur poses, Horace. When I was in Germany, I learn. ed to wear moustaches fur the same reason that I learned to smoke the meerschaum—because every. body else did it. In Paris I reduced them a little, but did not entirely banish them, because there al so I found them the fashion. A lively little French lady, a passenger in our ship, wagered a pair of Paris gloves that I would not wear them a week in America; I accepted the bet, and for one week you will sec me 'bearded like the pard:" " Nay, if you like thorn," said Horace laughing, "you need not seek an excuse for wearing them; they are quite the fashion, and ladies now estimate a. man, not as they once did, by his altitude, but by the length of his whiskers." " I have no desire to win ladies' favor by wear ing an unshaven face," answered Charles. " But pray, Horace, tell me something more about our pretty cousin." " SI3O is as lovely in character, Charles, as she is in person, but she has one great fault; like most of our fashionable belles, she has a mania for every. thing foreign. Her manners, her dress, her ser vants, all come from abroad, and she has declared to me repeatedly her resolution never to marry an American." What is it that my fair countrywomen so much admire in their foreign lovers?" asked Charles. " Oh, they say there are a polish and elegance of manner belonging to foreigners which Ameri. cans never possess. Two of Adelaide's intimate friends have recently married scions of some ante diluvian German family, and our lovely cousin is ambitious of forming an equally splendid alli ance." "If she were to marry a western farmer," said Charles, with a smile, "she would reign over a principality quite as large and perhaps more flourishing, than usually belongs to these emigrant nobles." `Adelaide is a noble-hearted girl," replied Horace, " and I wish she could be cured of her folly." " If she is really a sensible girl, Horace, and that is her only fault, I think she might be cured." Horace shook his head. " Come and dine with me Horace—be careful to tell no one of my arrival—and we'll discuss the matter over a bottle of fine old Mai:kris, if you are not too fashionable to drink it." • • a • • • • • The windows oq Mr. Walsingham's house pour ed a flood of light through the crimson silk cur tains upon the wet and dreary-looking street, while the music heard at intervals told to the gaping crowd collected around the door, that the rich were making merry. The decorated rooms were brilliant with an array of youth and beauty, but fairest among them all stood the mistress of the festival. Attired in a robe of white crape, with no other portrv. Z elect .ale. COLUMBIA, SATURDAY, JULY 29, 1848. ornament than a pearl bandeau confining her dark tresses, she looked the personification of joy. "Cousin Horace," else exclaimed, as she saw her favorite cousin enter the room, "you have not been here these three days." And then in a lower tone she added, "Who was that splendid Don Wills kemmio with whom I saw you walking yester day?" Horace laid his finger on his lip as a tall figure emerged from the crowd at the entrance of the room—" Miss Walsingham, allow me to present you to the most noble Count Pfeiffenharnmer. The blood mounted into Adelaide's check as the Count bowed low over the hand which he hastened to secure for the next quadrille. There was a mischievous sparkle in Horace's eye, and a deep and earnest devotedness in the stranger's manner, which made her feel uncomfortable, though she knew not why. A single glance sufficed to show her that the Count was attired in a magnificent court suit, with diamond buckles at the knee, and a diamond band looping up the elegant chapeau.trus which encumbered his arm. After some minutes she ventured to look more courageously at him. He was tall and exceedingly well-shaped ; his eyes were very bright; but the chief attraction was a beautiful mouth garnished with the must splendid moustache that ever graced an American ball-room. Adelaide was delighted. Ile danced elegantly ; not with the stiff, awkward manner of an Ameri can, who always seems half-ashamed of the undig nified part he is playing, but with a buoyancy of step and gracefulness of motion perfectly unrivalled. Adelaide was enchanted. He spoke English very well; a slight German accent alone betrayed his foreign birth, and Adelaide did not like him the less for that. It is true she felt a little queer when she found herself whirling through the waltz in the arms of an entire stranger, and her brow flushed with something very like anger when she felt his bearded lip upon her hand as he placed her in a seat, but this was only the freedom of for eign manners. The evening passed away like a dream, and Ad. elaide retired to her room with a burning cheek, and a frame exhausted by what she deemed plea sure. She was too much excited for sleep, and when she appeared at her father's breakfast-table, (a duty she never neglected,) it was with such a pale cheek and heavy eye that he was seriously alarmed. "These late hours will kill you my child," said ho, as he kissed her forehead; " I shalt return at noon, and if I find you still so languid, I shall send ter Dr. -." So saying, he stepped into his carriage and drove to his counting room, where, immersed in business, he quite forgot Adelaide's cheek, until the dinner hoar summoned him from his dingy office to his stately mansion. As he entered the door, he rccol. lectcd Adelaide's exhausted look. " Poor child," murmured lie, . I wonder how she is?" A low musical laugh struck on his ear as the servant threw open the Ma wing.room, and the sight of her radiant countenance, looking more brilliant than ever, as she sat between Cousin Horace and the Count, soon quieted his fears. Mr. Walsingham, in common with roost Ameri. cans of the olden time, had a great prejudice . g oinot foreigners, "If they are real lords," he used to say, "they don't want my daughter; and if they arc not real lords, my daughter don't want them." His notions of the Teutonic charac ter were founded upon the wonderful stories which his mother used to tell him about the Hessians, and vague ideas of ruffians and child-eaters were asso ciated in his mind with everything German. The coldness with which lie saluted the noble Count, formed a striking contrast to the cordial warmth with which ho grasped the hand of his nephew. "Glad to see you, Horace—couldn't speak a. word to you last night, you were so surrounded with pretty girls. By the way boy"—drawing him aside—" who is that hairy.faced fellow 7" " That is Count Pfeiffenhammer, uncle." "Count Pipehammer ! Well, the Germans have certainly an odd fancy in names. Pray, what, is his business!" . _ .. _.. "Business!" said Horace, laughing; " why, his chief business at present is to receive the revenues of his principality." "Principality t—tudget— a few barren acres with half a dozen mud.hovels on it, 1 suppose. It won't do; Horace—lt won't do! Adelaide deserves something better than a mouthful of moonshine. What the deuce did you bring him here for 7 I don't think I could treat him with common civility if it were not for your suite." " Then for my sake, dear uncle, treat him civilly, and I give my word you shall not repent your kindness." Every day saw the Count paying his devoirs to the lovely Adelaide, and always framing some very winning excuse for his visit. A boquet of rare ex otics, or an exquisite print, or a scarce book, or a beautiful specimen of foreign mechanism, were sure to be his apology. Could any girl of seven. teen be insensible to such gallant wooing, especial. ly when proffered by a rich young nobleman, who wore such splendid w !tinkers, a nd whose moustache and imperial were the envy of all the aspirants after ladies' smiles. Adelaide soon began to dis cover that, when the Count was present, time flew on eagles' wings ; and when, after spending the morning in her company, ho ventured to make ono of the gay circle usually assembled in her drawing. room at evening, she was conscious of a degree of pleasure for which she was unwilling to account. His intimacy with her cousin Horace afforded him the opportunity of being her companion abroad as well as at home; and in the gay evening party, the morning promenade, or in the afternoon ride, the handsome Count was her attendant. A feeling of gratified vanity probably aided the natural goodness of Adelaide's temper, and enabled her to endure with exemplary equanimity the rail. leries of her young friends; but she was not so tranquil when her father began seriously to remon strate against this imprudent intimacy. "You have bad all your whims gratified, Ade laide," said he ; " now you must indulge one of mine. Adopt as many foreign fashions as you please, but remember that you never, with my eon. [ sent, marry any other than an American. 11Iy fortune has been made by my own industry—my name transmitted to me unsullied by my father, who earned his patent of nobility when he signed the Declaration of Independence, and no cmpty.ti tied foreigner shall ever reap the fruit of my toil, or teach my daughter to be ashamed of her repub lican father." The earnestness of these admonitions from a pa. rent who had never before spoken except I" !f. , " words of unbounded tenderness, tirst led Adelaide to look into the depths of her own heart. She was• almost terrified at her own researches, when she found that she had allowed the image of the Count to occupy its most hidden recesses. Bitterly did she repent her folly. " I wish ho were an American," sighed sbe ; "yet, if he were he would not be half so pleasing. How devoted his manners are—how much feeling in all he says and does:" Poor Adelaide ! she was like the fascinated bird —she dreaded his power, yet she could not with draw herself from his influence. She could not conceal from herself that the manners of the Count, too, were greatly changed. From the courtly gal. lant, he had gradually become the impassioned lover. He treasured her every look and word, and she keenly felt that in exposing her own peace of mind she had also risked the loss of his. This state of things could not long exist without an explanation. Six months had scarcely passed since Adelaide first beheld the noble stranger, and already her young cheek had lost its glow and her step its buoyant lightness. She was sitting alone one morning, brooding over her melancholy fore bodings, when the door opened, and the object of her thoughts entered. Seating himself beside her, he commenced a conversation full of those grace ful nothings which women always love to hear, but Adelaide was in no mood for gayety. The Count intently watched the play of her eloquent fea tures, and then, as if he divined the tumult of her feelings, suddenly changed the topic to one of deeper interest. He spoke of himself—of his vari. ous adventures—ofhis personal feelings, and, final ly, of his approaching departure for Europe. Ad elaide*. cheek grew paler as he spoke, but she suppressed the cry which rose to her lips. The Count gazed earnestly upon her, then seizing her hand and clasping it between his own, lie poured forth the moat passionate expressions of enaction. Half fainting with the excess of her emotions, Ad elaide sat motionless as a statute, until aroused by the Count's entreaties for a reply. With bitter self.reproach, she attempted to answer him. Falteringly but frankly, she stated her father's ob jections to her union with a foreigner, and blamed herself for having permitted an intimacy which could only end in suffering for both. " Only tell me, Adelaide, that your father's pre judices are the sole obstacle," said the Count pas. sionately ; say but that you could have loved me, and 1 shall be content." Adelaide blushed and trembled. "For the love of Heaven, answer me but by a look :" Timidly that downcast eye was raised to his, and he was answered. " Adelaide," he resumed, after a moment's pause, "we may yet be happy. Could you love the hum ble citizen as well as the noble Count ?" A slight pressure of the little hand which lay in his, and a flitting smile on the tremulous lips, was sufficient reply. " Then hear me, Adelaide," said her lover ; " I will return to my country—l will return my hon. ors to him who bestowed them, and then I may hope to merit —" My utter contempt!"—cried Adelaide, vehe mently. "What resign your country—forfeit the name of your fathers—desert your inheritance of duties ! No, Count Pfeiffenliammer. If a lovo of freedom led you to become a citizen of our happy land, none would so gladly welcome you as Ade laide Walsingliam ; but never would I receive the sacrafice as a tribute to transitory passion." " A transitory passion, Adelaide !" "Could I expect stability of feeling in him who can so easily abandon his native land, and forget the claims of his country? You have taught me a bitter lesson, Count. No American would have shown such weakness of character as I have wit nessed in him whom I fondly beleivcd to be all that his lips professed. Would we had never met," ad. dal she, bursting into tears. "Adelaide," said the Count, "you love me— those precious tears assure me that you love me. Be mine, sweet one ;—your father will not be in exorable—he adores you." " And therefore," said she, " you would have me make him miserable for lite. Because he looks upon me with idolatry, you would have me dese. crate the image he has worshipped. Count Pfeif. fenhanimer, we must part ! You do not under stand my naturc—l have been deceived in you 'l O "You hove! you have been deceived, my own sweet cousin !" cried the Count, as he covered her hand with passionate kisses. " You have reject ed Count Pfeiffenhammer—will you also refuse the hand of your madcap cousin, Charles Winstauley, whose little wife you were seven years ago." Adelaide started from her seat in wild surprise. "What means all this?—Charles Winstanley ! the Count!" The sudden revulsion of feeling over powered her, and cousin Horace entered the room just in time to see her sink fainting into Charles Winstanley's arms. Now the anger of the lady, when ahe recovered and learned the trick which had been practiced upon her—the merriment of Cousin Horace—the entisfaction of the father, and the final reconcilli alio!: of all differences—may they not be far bet ter imagined than described ? A few weeks after, a splendid party was again assembled in Mr. Walsingliam's drawing.roorna ; but Adelaide was no longor the life of the party. Attired in bridal array, and decked with tho rich jewels which once sparkled on the person of the false Count, she sat in blushing beau ty beside her cousin Charles, who, now that he had shaven off his moustache and reduced his whiskers, looked like what he really was, a true American. " But why, Charles, did you woo me in such out landish guise ?" whispered she, smiling. " Because, sweet, you vowed to marry none but an outlandish wooer. Plain Charles Winstanicy would never have been allowed the opportunity of winning the heart which Count Pfeiffenhamtner so closely beseiged.." "Ay, ay, Charles," said the happy father, "if American women would only value a man for the weight of his brains rather than the lightness of his heels, and the strength of his principles rather than the elegance of his manners, we should have less of foreign foppery and more of homely virtue in our country." ltliscellancous. From the New York Spirit of the Times. DUCKS IN SUMMER. , TENNESSE, May 15.1848 Dear "Spirit"—There is no doubt about its being true; and it's a good one, if I can hit on the right way of telling it. Aaron was a tall, strapping fellow, near seven teen. You never saw a more susceptible youth.— Being good looking, the girls were as easily emit. ten with him. They used to flock out to the coun try on Friday evenings and stay till Monday morn ings. Talk of a colt: There's no such romp as a town girl turned loose in the country. She races, she jumps, she climbs the trees, shaking the wild cherries down upon the timorous beau beneath her. Oh, she is the most beautiful, winning, delightful stature in the world. Moses was much younger than his cousin. He knew Aaron was taking on about that naughty lass, May Stclton. And May was in love with Aaron. May and Troup, and Sue, and Pay, all came out one Friday evening, with Mose's sister, Angeline. Mose goes off early, Saturday, to let Aaron know. Aaron was for running over to his aunt's. "No," says Mose ; " bring the gun ; the woods are all full of squirrels; wetnight kill a dozen walk ing the two miles." The road led along the creek bank. Aaron was in a brown study, thinking of May. Mose was look ing up in the tree tops and among the bushes, am. ions for a pop at something. It was the shadiest and quietest of places. So far no game. " Let's leave the road a hit, and go to the bend of the creek," said Mose: " it's so out of the way, [81,50, PAYABLE AT SIX MONTHS. nobody ever disturbs it. We 'II see something there." And they did. Let it be dated July 25. "Sh !" hissed Mose, through his teeth. " What is it?" asks Aaron, roused a little. Most put his hand to his car. " Ducks—the biggest kind!" "This time o' year ?" "I ace 'cm I" "Give me the gun!" "No—couldn't think of it!" Klick•klack! " Well, blaze away I—they 'ii fly if you go nearer." "The bushes are in the way," says Mose, bring ing the piece down from his shoulder. "Shoot anyhow!" insisted Aaron, impatiently. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" says Mose, turning palo as death, and dropping the gun on the ground. " What 's matter ?" said Aaron, running up. "It's the girls in a-swimming." They sat down still as snow-flakes. They were white as the petticoates strewn on the pebbly beach. Their teeth chattered. A long silence. At last Aaron looked slowly round at Mose, with the meanest sort of countenance. Move's face, as he returned the glance, was a regular sheep-killing one. They crept along like snakes. They reached the tree. Mose, being the lightest, gave the gun to Aaron, and climbed far out on a branch over the creek and got into a squirrel's nest. Aaron wasn't quite so high. It was a pretty sight in course. You've read about nymphs, syrens, and so forth? They couldn't compare. flair loose, and floating on the waves ; arms, &c., &c., glistening in the water. Polly was white as snow. Sue was plump as a patridge in pea time, and sat in the waves like a bird in its nest. Troup was slim all over, excep the upper works. Aaron promised not to look at Angeline it Mose wouldn't wink at May. Impossiblq! Ange• line sported gracefully like a native of the clement, and May was a black-eyed houri, couleur de rose, from toe to brow. They splashed and paddled, and chatted like mad. Sir, the tree began to shake. Aaron had a ter. rible buck-ague, and little Mose began to smoke and burn, commencing at the ears. There was a louder noise than usual among the unconscious bathing beauties. Aaron stretched his already elongated nook, at the same lime hitching the gun forward. Unfortunately, the trigger caught in a vine, and it went off with a more deaf. ening report, it seemed to the parties, than ever echoed from a cannon's mouth. It was the climax of the adventure. Mose tumbled, from the excite ment, plump into the creek, between Sue and Polly. The gals! they DOVE madly, stranged, and put up the bank, their white backs gazed at by the watery eyes of the fish hawk that had pounced among them. They are robed in a twinkling, but not one with her right dress on. Aaron dashed into the woods.' There was a terrible scream as he ran right into their midst. All spilt in different di rections, and came dropping in one after another, at Mose's mother's. The boys took a long turn into the woods, and did nut get back before night. They said they had boon deer hunting, and hadn't seen the creek. Ti,E GIRLS ABFEARED TO BELIEVF. THEM! THE PRINTER. A printer is the most curious being living. Ile May have a HANK and COINS and not be worth a penny—have SMALL CAPS, and neither wife nor children. Others may run fast, but he gets along the swiftest by comma fast. He may be making IMPRESSIO?iS without eloquence; may use the LYE without offending, and be telling truth; while oth. cm cannot stand when they set, he can err stand ing, and even do both at the same time—may make use of rURNI TORE, and yet have no dwelling—may make and put away ri, and " never see cr pie," much less cat it during his life—be a human being and a star at the same time—may mess a great deal and not ask a favor—may handle a SHOOT/NO IRON, and know nothing about a cdnnon, gun, or pistol—he may move the LEVER that moves the world, and be as liar from moving the globe as a hog with his nose under a mole hill—spread MEETS without be. ing a housewife—he may lay his FORM on hia RED and yet be obliged taideep on the floor—he may use the t without shedding blood, and from the earth may handle the • s ''—ho may be of a. nett.- ING disposition, and yet never desire to travel—he may have a sitter's row•, and nut be deformed— never be without a case, and know nothing of law or physic—be always CORRECTING hie Eanoas and yet growing worse every day—bave without ever having the arm of a lass around him —have his Eons: locked up, and at the same time he free from jail, watch.house, or any other confine. ment. They arc as fond of titles In the East, as we are in the great West. Among his other high sound. ing titles, the King of Ave has that of " Lord of Twenty-four umbrellas:* This looks as if he had prepared himself for a lung reign = "My brethren," said Swift, " there ere three kinds of pride—the pride of birth, the pride of riches, and the pride of talents—but I shall not now speak of the latter, none of you being liable to that vice." = An absent minded gentleman, retiring at night, put his dog to bed and kicked himself down stairs He did not discover his mistake till he went to pip, and the dog tried to snore. = " %Vibe is the master of this house:" said a gen. tleman, as Le rode up to a public house. "I am, sir," said the inkeeper, " my wile has been dead those three weeks." Horn says-- A juvenile friend of ours would argue with us that he was a supporter of royalty, since he had the prints of Wales on his back." Mrs. Partingtoa says she never received but one synominous letter in her life, and that spoke para. gorically of all her acquaintances. "The distracted state of -public tranquility," is mentioned in the newspapers. What on earth can that he ? A cannon in China is a great many miles away; but the man who fires it is a cannoneer. Russ Borrr.E.—The devil's crucible, in which he ma lts a ll the fine geld of a man's nature. A spoon is a thing that ie often near a youngla dy's lips without kissing them. e.l love thee gin." as the husband said bib clattering wife. When is a man not a man 1 When a is a [WHOLE NUMBER, 947 THE OCEAN. AY REV WALTIOt COLTON, C. S. :lA.vr. "They that go down to the sea, in ships, and do bus iness on the great waters—these sea the works of the Lord, and fits wonders to the deep:, The moat fearful and impressive exhibitions of power, known to our globe, belong to the Ocean. The Volcano, with its ascending cloud of flame, and falling torrent of liquid fire ; The Earthquake whose footstep is on the ruin of cities, are circum- scribed in the desolating range of their visitation. But the Ocean when roused in its chainless strength, shakes a thousand shores with storm and thunder. Navies or oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its crest, and whole armaments, manned by the strength and courage of millions, perish among its bubbles. The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and broken by mountains ; but on the plain of the deep it rushes unresisted : and when its strength is at lust spent, ten thousand giant waves which" it has called up, still roll its terrors onward. The avalanche shaken from its glittering steep, if it rolls to the bosom of the earth, melts away and is lost in vapor; but if it plunge into the em brace of Ocean, this mountain-mass of ice and bail is borne about for ages, in tumult and terror— the drifting monument of the Ocean's dead. The mountain lake, and the meadow stream, are inhabited only by the timid prey of the angler; but the Ocean is the home of the Leviathan, his ways are in the mighty deep. The glittering peb ble, and the rainbow-tinted shell, which the retir ing tide has left upon the shore are scarce worthy its care—and the watery gem which the pearl di. ver reaches at the risk of his life, arc all that men can filch from the treasures of the sea. The groves of coral which wave o'er its pavements, and the halls of amber, which glow in its depths, are beyond his approach save when he goes down amid their silent magnificence, to seek his burial monu ment ! The island—the continent—the capitols of kings —are worn by time, washed away by the wale, consumed by tbarime, or sunk by the earthquake. But the Ocean still remains, and still rolls on, in the greatness of its unabated strength; and over the majesty of its form, and the marvels of its might, time and disaster have no power. Even the vast clouds of vapor, which rise up from its bosom, roll away to encircle the globe : and on distant mountains and plains pour out. their watery treasures, which gather themselves again, in streams and torrents, and return with exulting bounds to their parent Ocean. These are the mes sengers which proclaim, in every land, the exhaust less resources of the sea. But it is reserved for "those who go down to the sea in ships, to see the works of the Lord, and Ilis wonders in the deep." Man, also, has made the Ocean, the theatre of his power. The ship in which he rides the element is ono of the highest triumphs of his skill. At first, this floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly urged by the laboring oar. The sail at length arose and spread its wings to the wind. Still when the lofty promontory had sunk from sight, and the orbs above hint were lost in the clouds, he had no power to direct his course. But the secret of the magnet is at length revealed to him, and now his needle settles to the polar star with a fixedness which love lies stolen as the em blem of its constancy. Now, however, he can die. perm with sail and oar and flowing wave. lie constructs his engine of flame and vapor, and o'er the vast solitude of the sea, as o'er the solid earth, goes thundering on. his track. On the Ocean, too, thrones have been lost and won. On the fate of Actium was suspended the empire of the world. On the gulf of Sabitnis the pride of Persia found a grave, and the crescent set forever in the waters of the Navarino. While at Trafalgar, and the Nile nations held their breath, as each gun, from its.adamantine lips, spread a death shade around the ships, like the hurricane eclipse of the sun. :=l= THE MORAL OP THE TELEGRAPH- Call in Dr. Chtiste ! Ask him for a Galvanic dose! A man must have the power inbim to write of such an invention as the Magnetic Telegraph. Lightning reduced to a medicinal agent! And the cloud in an apothecary shop! So that chemistry has fairly risen to the region of astronomy and claimed Companionship with Heaven. Wonder o'crtopping wonder I Men often turn prophets un awares. Orators have long been talking about the lightning-like mind," and lo! truth was envelop. ed an the words. It is all reality. Depend upon it, the age of type and printing.presses is terminating. The type was only typical. The press has pressed intellect beyond itself. Steam is too slow. Two hundred and thirty-two degrees are too high in the scale. Lightning can be promptly manufac tured. And then, its sympathies are so quick, as to reach its object at once, asking but a wire for tho announcement of its revelationi. And then, its language is so pointed ! Think of that and stare at it! The human tongue is gracefully roundt , cl off, and it must speak - in rounded periods. Fire-flames arc sharp. Lightning loves points. If it ever take a ball-form woe to you. See the token in tall rods for house-defence. —moue, agent a point and mark the submissiveness. So much for that point and now for another. We used to fear that materialism would engross all the great inventions, and physical man be only profited. Things are otherwise ordered. Give to matter, the railroad. Corporiety may rejoice at it. So may merchandize. So may soldiers. See now the of fect. Thought has its wire-path. Make the con nexion and apply the power. Letters, words, sen. tenceo, fly, fly, fly ! One transmission and a city moves with the diffused excitement. New York shouts back to Washingson borne Washington's echoes have died away beyond the Potomac. And mark the triumph of mind over matter. The news is made known while your Locomotive puffs off steam. Talk no more about steam. It is but a step beyond horse-feet. Hush about the wind. It's most blustering pretensions are gone. Mag. nctism absorbs the stock of glory. What more, 0 man! You have the sunshine to do your painting and the lightning your talking! Say, what morel Your path is now in the firmament. Go higher. Faith waits to perfect science. A fervent prayer .-.n reach the Throne sooner than the Telegraph can communicate words to your heart. Religion needs no inventions. Rejoice for thecae complete! Joe Kelly's ghost visited his wife. "Molly," says he." Pm in purgatory at this present," says be. "And what sort of a place is it 7" says she. .Faix„" says he, "it's a sort of half-way house between you and heaven," says Joe," and I stand it mighty aimy after laving you," says he. "My son." said an affectionate mother to her hopeful heir, who was ins short time to get mar ried, "you are getting thin." " Yes, mother." he replied, " I am, and I expect shortly that you will wee my rib."