Newspaper Page Text
HAPGOOD & ADAMS,
VOL. 39, NO 46.
family Journal, Druofrb
lo rrritom, Sgrirulturr, literature, (Bfturation, lornl
Sntrlligtnrr, anh ijje Jkms
JULY 4, 1 355.
of tl;t Dai.
ONE DOLLAR AND riFTT CENTS
FU AIlVXi I ADVABCB.
WHOLE NO. 2022
JULY. BY [...] HARDY, JR.
It If te gionoatf Summer time,
Th winds ar soft and low.
And o'r the hills, sunlight and shade
Alternate come and go ;
The voice of summer sweet is heard,
-Among the leaves and corn,
for winds are full of whisperings
At eve and early morn.
Yes, glorious Summer now Is here.
With ail hr lengthened train.
She sways her golden sceptre o'er
The fields of rip'ning grain ;
The flowers along the river's side
Are bending down, as though
They wished to clasp their shadow In
The crystal depths below.
A gladsome voice is stealing from
The distant bourne and brake.
The cloud, that float upon the air.
Are sairror'4 in the lake ;
And softly trips the purling brook,
On silver feet along.
While from the bashes on its hack, '
The birds poor forth their song.
The world seems very fair and bright.
The sunlight sweeps our brow.
But it will be as beautiful
A few short years from now !
With lightsome step July will come.
With cool, refreshing show'rs.
With laughing brook with singing birds,
With sunshine and with flow'rs.
The streams will glide as gently on,
With music sweet and low.
Upon whose banks at eventide
We roamed so long ago.
The same bright sun will still persoe
His trackless coarse on nigh.
And stars as bright and beautiful
Will still gleam in the sky ;
Although the earth will be as fair.
The birds sing on each bongh.
They will not sing their song for us
A few short years from now !
Por ev'ry living tiling on earth.
Must shortly droop and die.
And we shall soon have passed away
Like ehmd-tinis from the sky.
JULY. BY [...] HARDY, JR. Choice Miscellany.
[From Lover's Legends and Stories of Ireland.]
O'Toole and St. Kevin;
A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH.
" This, sir," said my guide, putting
himself in an attitude, "Is the chapel
of King O'Toole av coorse y'ive heerd
o' King O'Toole, your honor ?"
" Never," eaid I.
"Musha, thin, do you tell me so?"
said he ; " by gor, I thought all the
world, far and near, heerd o' King O'
Toole well, well, the darkness of man-
kind is ontellible. Well. sir. you must
know, as you didn't hear afore, that
there was wanst a king called King O'
Toole, who was a fine ould king in the
ould ancient times, long ago; and it
was him that owned the churches in the
"Surely," said I, "tie churches were
not in King O'Toole's time?"
"Oh, by .no means, yer honor troth,
its yourself that's right enough there
but you knew the place is called 'The
Churches,' bekese they wor built afther
by St. Kavin, and, and wintby the name
o' the Churches iver more; and therefore
av coorse, the place bein' so called, I
say the king owned the churches and
why not sir, seein' Iwas his birthright,
time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well,
the king, you see, was the right sort
he was the rale boy, and lovedport as
he loved life, and huntin' partie'lar ; and
from the rising o' the sun, up he got,
and away he wint over the mountains
beyant afther the deer, and the fine
times them wor ; for the deer was as
plinty thin, aye troth, far plintyer than
the sheep is now ; and that's the way it
was with the king, from the crow of the
cock to the 6ong o' the redbreast.
"In t-'iis counthry, sir," added he,
speaking parenthetically in an under
lone, "we minn u unlucky to kill the
redbreast, for the robin is God's own
Then, elevating his voice to its former
pitch, he proceeded :
'Well, it was all mighty good as long
as the king had his health ; but, you see,
in coorse o time, the king grew owld,
hv rftisnn hp V9 stiff in his limbs and
when he got sthricken in years, his heart
failed him, and he was lost entirely for
want of divarshin, bekase he couldn't go
a huntin' no longer, and by dad, the
poor king was obleeged at last for to get
a goose to divart him."
Here an involuntary smile was pro
duced, by this regal mode of recreation,
" the royal game of goose."
" Oh, you may laugh, if you like,"
said he, half affronted, " but it's tliruth
I'm tellin' you ; and the way the goose
divarted him was this-a-way : you see,
the goose used for to swim acrass the
lake and go down divin' for throut,
(and not finer throut in e.V. Ireland than
the sume throut,) and cotch fish on a
Friday for the king, and flew every oth
er day round about the lake, divart in'
the poor kiDg, that you'd think he'd
break his sides Iaughin' at the frolicsome
tricks av his goose ; so in coorse o' time
the goose was the greatest pet in the
counthry, and the biggest rogue, and
divarted the king lo no end, and the
oor king was as happy r.s the day was
long. -So that's the wav it was ; and all
went on mighty well, antil, by dad, the
goose got sthricken in years, as well as
the king, and grew stiff in the limbs,
like her masther, and couldn't divart
him no longer ; and then it was that the
poor king was lost ccniplate, and didn't
know what in the wide world to do, see-
in' he was done out of all divarshin, by
raison that the goose was no more in
the flower of her blame.
"Well, the king was nigh broken
hearted, and melancholy intirely, and
was walkin' one mornin by the edge of
the lake, lamcntin his cruel fate, an'
thinkin' o' drown'n' himself, that could
get no divarshin in life, when all of a
suddint, turnin' round the corner be
yant, who should he meet, but a mighty
dacent lookin young man comin up to
'God save you,' said the king, (for the
king was a civil spoken gintleman, by all
accounts) 'God save you, says he to the
. 'God save you, kindly, says the young
man back to him again ; 'God save you,
King O'Toole,' says he.
'True for you,' says the king, 'I am
King O'Toole,' says he, 'Prince and
plenny-penny-tinchey o these parts.
But how kem you to know that ?'
'Oh, niver you mind,' says Saint Ka
vin. For you see,' said old Joe, in his un
der tone again, and looking very know
ingly, 'it was Saint Kavin, sure enough
the saint himself in disguise, and no
'Oh, niver mind,' says he, 'I know
more than that,' says he, 'nor twice
'And who are you that makes so
bowld,' says he ; 'who are you at all at
Oh, niver you mind,' says Saint
Kavin, 'who I am ; you'll know more o'
me, before we part, King O'Toole,' says
'I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your
acquaintance, sir,' says the king, mighty
' Troth, you may say that,' Bays St
Kavin. 'And now, may I make bowld
to ax how is your goose, King O'Toole?'
'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know
about my goose ?' says the king.
'Oh, no matther, I was given to un
derstand it,' says St. Kavin.
Oh, that's a folly to talk," says the
king ; 'because myself and my goose is
private friends, and no one could tell
you," says he, 'barrin the fairies.'
'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says
Saint Kavin, f7 I'd have you to know,'
says he, 'tliat I don't keep the likes o'
You rnigM do worse, then, my gay
fellow,' says the king, 'for it's they could
show you a crock o' money as aisy as
kiss hand ; and that's not to be sneezed
at,' says the king, 'by a poor man,' says
'May be, I've a betther way of makin
money myself, says the saint
' By gor,' says the king, ' barrin'
your'e a coiner," Bays he ; 'that's impos
sible!' ' I'd scorn to be the like, my lord !'
says St Kavin, mighty high, 'I'd scorn
to be the like,' aays he.
'Then, what are you ?' says the king,
'that makes money so aisy, by your own
'I'm an honest man,' 6ays Saint Ka
vin. 'Well, honest man, (says the king,)
how is it that you make your money so
'By makin' ould things as good as
new,' says Saint Kavin.
'Blur-an-ouns, is it a tinker ycu arc ?'
says the king.
No, (says the saint,) I'm no tinker
by thradc, King O'Toole ; I've a bet
ther thrade than a tinker, (says he,)
what would you say, (says he,) if I
made your old goose as good as new ?'
My dear, at the words o' makin' his
goose as good as new, you'd think the
poor ould king's eyes was ready to jump
out iv his head. 'And, (says he,)
troth, then, I'd give you more money
nor you could count, (says he,) if you
did the like ; and I'd be behoulden to
you into the bargain.'
'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint
'Faith, then I'm thinkin' a trifle o
change would do you no harm,' says
the king, lookin' up sly at the old cau
Leen that Saint Kavin had on him.
I have a vow agin it, (says the saint,)
and am book sworn, (says he,) never to
have gold, silver, or brass in my compa
ny.' Barrin the trifle you can t help,' says
the king, mighty cute, and looking him
straight in the face.
You just hit it, (says Saint Kavin,)
but though I. can't take money, (says
he,) I could take a ftrf acres o' land, if
you'd give them to me.'
'Willi all the veins o' my heart, (says
the king,) if you can do what you say.'
'Thry me ! (says Saint Kavin.) Call
down your goose here, (says he,) and
I'll see what I can do for her.'
With that, the king whistled, and
down kem the poor goose, all a one as
a hound, wadlin' up to the poor ould
cripple, her masther, and as like him as
two pays. The minute the saint clapped
his eyea on the goose
"I'll do the job for you, (says he,)
King O'Toole I'
'By Jaminee, (says King O'Toole,) if
you do, I'll say you are the cleverest
fellow in the Bivin parishes.'
'Och, by dad, (says St Kavin,) you
must say mcie nor that my lion's not
so soft all out (says he,) as to repair
your ould goose for nothin. What'll
you gi' me, if I do the job for you ?
that's the chat,' sajs Saint Kavin.
'I'll give you whatever you ax, (says
the king,) isn't that fair ?'
Divil a fairer, (says the saint) that's
the way to do business. Now, (says
he,) this is a bargain I'll make with
you, King O'Toole : will you gi' me all
the ground the goose flies over, the
first offer afther I make her as good as
I will,' says the king.
You won't go back o' your word ?'
says Saint Kavin.
Honor bright !' says King O'Toole,
howldin' out his fist
Honor bright, (says Saint Kavin back
again,) it's a bargain, (says he.) Come
here ! (says he to the poor old goose,)
come hare, you unfort'nate ould cripple,
(says he,) and it's I that'll.make you the
With that, my dear, he took up the
goose by the two wings, Criss o' my
crass on you, (says he, markin' her to
grace with the blessed sign at the same
minute and throwin' her up in the air,)
whew !' says he, jist givin her a blast to
help her r and with that, my jewel, she
tuk to her heels, fly in' like one of the
aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many
capers as a swallow before a shower of
rain. Away she wint, down there, right
forninst you, along the side of the clift,
and flew over Saint Kavins' bed, (that is,
where Saint Kavin's bed is now, but
what not thin, by raison it wasn't made,
but was conthrived afther, by Saint Ka
vin himself, that the women might lave
him alone,) and on with her undher Lu
duff, and round the ind av the lake
there, far beyant where you see the
watherfall, (though, indeed, it's no wa
therfall at all now, but only a poor dhrib
ble av a thing ; but if you seen it in the
winther, it id do your heart good, and it
roarin' like mad, and as white as the
dhriven snow, and rowlin' down the big
rocks before, all as one as childher play
in' marbles, and on with her thin risrhl
over the lead mines o' Luganure, (that
is, where the lead mines is now, but was
not tlun, by raison they worn't discover
ed, but was all goold in St. Kavins time-
Well, over the, ind o Luganure she
flew, stout and sturdy, and round the
other ind av the Utile lake, by the Church
es, (that is, av coorse, where the Church-
is now, but was not thin, by raison they
wor not built, but aftherwards by Saint
Kavin,) and over the big hill here over
your head, where you see the big clift
(and that clift in the moutain was mado
by Fan Ma Cool, where he cut it acrass
with a big swoord, that he got made a
purpose, by ailacksmith out o' Rath
drum, a cousin av his own, for to fiht a
joyant giant that darr'd him an the Cu-
ragh O'Kildare ; and he thried the swoord
first at the mountain, and cut it down in
to a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith,
sure enough, it's the same sauce he sar
v'd the joyant, soon and suddent, and
chopped him in two, like a partie, for
the glory of his sowl and owld Ireland,)
well, down she flew over the clift, and
fluterin' over the wood there at Poulan
ass, (where I showed you the purty wa
terfall and by the same token last
Thursday, was a twelvemonth sence, a
young lady, Miss Rafferty by name, fell
into the same watherfall, and was ni"li
hand drounded and indeed would be to
this day, but for a young man that jump
ed in after her ; indeed, a smart slip iv
a young man he was, he was out o Fran
cis street, I hear, and coorted hersence,
and they wor married, I'm given to un
derstand and indeed a purty couple
they wor.) Well as I said afther
fluttcrin' over the wood a little bit, to
plaze herself, the goose flew down, and
at the fut o the king, as fresh as a daisy,
afiher flyin roun' his dominions, jus, as
if she hadn't flew three perch.
Well, my dear, it is a beautiful sight,
to see the king standin' with his mouth
open, lookin' at his poor ould goose fly-
in' as light as' a lark, and betther nor
ever she was : and when she lit at his
fut, he patted an the head, and 'ma vour
neen, (says he,) you are the darlint o
'And what do you say tome, (says
St Kavin,) for makin' her the like ?'
'By gor, (says the king.) I say noth
in' bates the art o' man 'barrin' except
And do you say no more nor that ?'
says Saint Kavin.
'And that I'm behoulden to you,'
says the king.
' But will you gi'e me all the ground
the goose flewn over ?' say the Saint
I will, (says King O'Toole,) and
you're welkim to it, (says he,) though
it's the last acre I have to give.'
But you'll keep your word thrue ?'
says the saint.
As thrue as the sun, says the king.
It's well for you, (says Saint Kavin,
mighty sharp,) it's well for you, King
O'Toole, that you said that word, (eaid
he,) for if you didn't say that word, the
divil receave the bit o' you goose id ever fy
agin,' says Saint Kavin.
' Oh, you needn't laugh, (said old Joe,
half offended at detecting the trace of a
suppressed smile ;) you needn't laugh,
for it's thnUh I'm tellin' you.'
Well, when the king was as good as
his word, Saint Kavin was plazed with
him, and then it was that he made him
self known to the king. 'And, (says
he,) King O'Toole, you're a decent man,
(says he,) for I only kem here to thry
you. You don't know me, (says he,)
because I'm disguised.'
Throth, then, you're right enough,
(says the king,) I didn't perceive it (says
he,) for indeed, I never 6c:en the sign o'
spcr'ts an you.'
Oh ! that's not what I mane, (says
St Kavin, ) I mane I'm deceavin' you
all out, and that I'm not myself at all.'
'Blur-an-agers ! thin, (says the king,)
if you're not yourself, who are you ?'
'I'm Saint Kavin,' said the saint,
'Oh, Queen iv Heaven!' says the
king, makin' the sign o' the crass betune
his eyes, and fallin' down on his knees
before the saint' Is it the great Saint
Kavin, (says he,) that I've been dis
coorsiu' all this time, without knewin' it,
(says he,) all &3 one as if he was a lump
iv a gossoon? and so you're saint?'
says the king.
' I am,' says Saint Kavin.
' By gor, I thought I was on'y talk
ing to a dacent boy,' man, says the
Well, you know the differ now, (says
the saint ;) I'm Saint Kavin, (says he,)
the greatest of all the saints.'
' For Saint Kavin, you must know sir,
(added Joe, treating me to another par
enthesis,) Saint Kavin is counted the
greatest of all the saints because he
went to school with the prophet Jeremi
ah. Well, my dear, that's the way thai
the place kem, all at wanst, into hands
av Saint Kavin ; for the goose flewn
round everey individyial acre O'King
O'Toole's property you see bein' let into
saycret by Saint Kavin, who was mighty
'cute, cunning, and so, when he done
the ould king out of his property, for the
glory of God, he was plazed with him,
and he and the king was the best o'
frind iver more afther, (for the poor ould
king was doatin', you see,) and the king
and his goose as good as new, to divart
him as long as he lived : and the saint
supported him afther he kem into his
property, as I tould you antil the day iv
his death and that was soon afther ;
for the poor goose thought he was ketch
in' a throut, one Friday ; but, my jewel,
it was a mistake he made and instead
of a throut, it was a thieven' horse-eel ;
by dad, the eel killed the king's goose,
and small blame to him ; but he
didn't ale her, bekase he darn't ate
what Saint Kavin laid his ble ssed hands
Howsumdever, the king never re
covered the loss iv his goose, though he
had her stuffed, (I don't mane stuffed
with pratecs and inyans, but as a curios
ito,)aud preserved in aglasscase, for his
own divarshin ; and the poor king died
on the next Michaelmas day, which was
remarkable. Troth it's thruih I'm tellin'
you; and when he was gone, Saint Ka
vin gev him an illigant wake and a
beautiful berryin'; and more betoken,
he said mass for his sowl, and tuk care
av his goose.
To Sportsmen. A correspondent of
the Scientific American communicates the
following which may be of value to
" Wash your gun barrels in spirits of
turpentine by dipping a rag or sponge
fastened on your gun rod into the liquid,
and swabbing them out three or four
times, when they will be cleared from
all impurities, and can be used almost
instantly, as the turpentine will evapo
rate and leave the barrels dry ; even if
they are a little moist it will not prevent
their going off, like water. After being
washed thus, there is no danger of rust
as when water is used. I am an old,
experienced gunner and have prac
ticed this for years, and found it u-c-ful."
A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH. [From the N. Y. Cor-of the Albany Express.]
A PERSONAL SKETCH FO MADAME
JUMEL, WIFE OF AARON BURR.
InLossing's Field Book of the Revo
lution there is a pictures of a house on
this Island that was erected one hundred
and fifteen years ago, and which was at
one time the head-quarters of General
Washington. It is situated near the
High Bridge, over the Harlem river, and
though really T.ithin (he city limits, is
surrounded by forest and dells, giving it
a rural and wild aspect The grounds
are beautifully improved, the gardens
laid out in taste, and everything around
the establishment bears the marks of re
finement and wealth.
On this historical spot lives a venera
ble woman, whose history has been var
ied as the changes in her country's pro
gress have been rapid. Madame Jumel
is a native of Providence, Rhode Island.
Her maiden name was Miss Bowen. She
came to this city about the year 1798,
and in 1805 was married to Monsieur Ju
mel, a native of France, but then a refu
gee from the bloody massacre of St Do
mingo. They did not live long together
from incompatibility of temper, or some
other cause. He soon afterwards died,
leaving her three millions of francs in
She frequently visited Paris, always
living in a style commensurate with her
husband's pretentions and wealth. She
moved in the highest circles, both in
France and in this country, of thi t day,
and received the court and homage of
the most distinguished men of the time.
She subsequently married Aaron Burr,
somewheie about the year 1816, but
they, too, soon separated. After his
death, she continued to live in seclusion
at her stalely residence on this island,
with the exception of occasional visits
She was there soon after Louis Napole
on became Emperor, and was at the
Tuilleries on the occasion of a grand ball,
where the Emperor recognized her as the
widow of his old friend (which one tra
dition does not state.) A friend of mine
visited Madame Jumel a few days ago,
and this has brought freshly to my recol
lection (he romantic incidents of her che
quered career. Her residence is described
as an earthly paradise, minus the an
gels. Everything that art can achieve, or
taste desire, or money procure, may be
found there. Costly paintings, (and
among them a genuine Ruben's,) arti
cles of vertu, presents from ncble and dis
tinguished persons, autographs and eve
rything that is considered rare and cost
ly, and curious, may be seen there in
Madame Jumel lives the life of a re
cluse. She knows nothing of, and will
have nothing to do with her neirrhbore
around Foil Washington, with a verv few
exceptions. Even the boys have a judi
cious fear of her, and trouble neither her
orchards nor her flower-jrardens, nor
anything that is hers.
Every evening a gun is fired off on her
premises to warn intruders. Very few
persons ever solicit permission to view
her grounds, and only a favored minori
ty of these ever have their petition gran
ted. This old lady, now seventy-eight years
of age, has one penchant, and that is for
gathering around her refugees from Eu
rope. She is always taking care of a
flock of them, and to make them useful,
whenever a good musician comes along
she gets him the instrument with which
he L most familiar, and in this way she
keeps up a very pleasant band of music,
which entertains her by their repeated
Madame Jumel, from having mingled
so much in the best society, has all the
courtly graces and blandness of manner
which distinguished les dames d' Uonntur
of the last centuiy. To society and the
world generally 6he bears herself very
haughtily, forbidding anything like ap
proaches to familiarity. She is as much
of a despot in her own dominions as any
monarch who sways the sceptre. She
likes her mode of living, has wealth
enough, has seen the world, outlived the
desires of life, and will conseqenlly prob
ably never again emerge from the quiet
enclosure of her elegant residence. She
has a beautiful niece living in Bordeaux,
who is married, and to whom her prop
erly will most likely descend.
Tub six degrees of crime are thus de
fined. " He who steals a million is only
a financier. Who steals a half million is
only a defaul:er. Who steals a hundred
thousand a rogue. Who steals fifty
thousand a knave. But he who steals a
pair of boots or a loaf of bread is a
scoundrel of the deepest dye, and de
serves to be lynched."
To enjoy to-day, stop worrying about
to-morrow. Next week will be ju it as ca
pable of taking care of it-self as this one
is. And why shouldn't it ? It will
have seven day?- more exjierience.
We believe that oppression and every
other form of wickedness in the earth
shall cease, that "every plant which
our Heavenly Father hath not planted
shall be rooted up : " but we believe
that this can only be accomplished by de
throning that principle of Selfishness,
which reigns in the human heart, acd
establishing in its stead that principle of
Benevolence which pervades the Gospel,
which fills the bosom of its divine Au
thor. It is not owin;r to the want of a
clear perception of the atrocious nature
and lamentable effects of Slavery, that
so many are found who are willing, un
der various pretences, to sustain it ; it is
owing to the want of strong moral prin
ciple. The strange proceedings of our
American Congress for the last few years
furnish abundant evidence of this. The
"Fugitive Slave Act," with all its atro
cities, was supported by men who had
formerly advocated, with eloquence and
apparent sincerity, the cause of Human
Freedom ; who, in their speeches, had
presented such accurate pictures of Slave
ry as to prove that they possessed a clear
and thorough understanding of its nu
merous and appalling enormities. From
a speech, of essay, of one of them, an
extract, full of truth and pathos, found
its way into one of our school books.
Southern men could not endure that se
vere exposure of their deep depravity ;
and they threatened to exclude the
book from their schools. And yet its
author, with many others equally patri
otic, assisted to pass the Fugitive Slave
Bill. Modern Patriotism is not Christi
anity -it can never supply its place.
Had these men been governed by the
pure principles of the Gospel, no imagi
nary, or real danger of a dissolution of
the Union, no hope of personal elevation,
no dread of the loss of wealth, or fame,
or southern favor, could ever have indu
ced them to do what they knew to be
morally wrong, what they knew must
greatly augment the horrors of that sys
tern which they had so eloquently de
The passage of the "Kansas Nebraska
Bill" must be ascribed to the same want
of moral power in men of strong intellect
and extensive Knowledge, men fully
aware of the numberless crimes and mis
eries that flow from the institution of
Slavery, aware of the fearfid conse
quences of its extension to those territo
ries. Had there been none to support
that measure but infatuated southern
men, who refuse to acknowledge, or
even to see that the existence of slavery
in their states is a dire calamity to them
selves, it could not have succeeded. It
must be supported by northern men,
who had long been accustomed to regard
slavery as a great moral and political
evil, as the direst curse that Jiad ever
fallen upon their country. And they
did support it ; and we are beginning to
see soroo of its results in the brutal out
rages that are constantly occurring in
the territory of Kansas. It was not be
cause they lacked intelligence, not be
cause they did not clearly perceive the
nature and design and probable conse
quences of this measure, that they sup
ported it ; it was because they lacked
that strength of moral principle, posses
sed only by those who have imbibed the
spirit of the Gospel. It was mean, con
temptable, hard-hearted Selfishness, the
governing principle of irreligious men,
that perpetrated this great wickedness.
ANECDOTE OF NICHOLAS.
During an interview which Martineff,
the Russian comedian and mimic, suc
ceeded in obtaining with Prince Volk
honsky, High Steward, the late Emper
ror Nicholas walked into the room unex
pectedly, yet with a design, as was soon
made evident Telling the actor that he
had heard of his talents, and should like
to see a specimen of them, he bade him
mimic the old minister. This feat was
performed with so much gusto that the
the Emperor laughed immoderately ; and
then to the great horror of the poor actor,
desired to have himself " taken off,"
"Tis physically impossible," pleaded
Martinetf. " Nonsense," said Nicholas,
"I insist on it be-ins' done." Finding
himself in the horns of a dilemma, the
mimic took heart of grace, and with
promptitude and presence of mind, but
toned his coat over his breast expanded
his chest, threw up his head, and assum
ing the Imperial port to the best of his
power, strode across the room and back,
then, stopping opposite the minister, lie
cried in the exact tone and manner of the
Czar, " Volkhonsky ! pay Mr. Martineff
1,000 silver roubles." The Emperor
for a moment was disconcerned, but re
covering himself with a faint smile he or
dered the money to be pai 1.
It is witii old li icli' lots us wish old
it .d ; it i.s Ii trd to p-1 litem sUirtid, but
w hen tin y do take i.uue tlit.-y b'iru pro
In this westward tide of humanity
that ever ebbs this breathless crowding
of the American people towards the set
ting sun there seems to be a kind of
mamia, an active cause of which we are
entirely unconscious. Why is it that
year after year we hear again and again
the cry of " to the West, to the West !"
No one can tell the why, no man really
knows. We oalv know that such is the
nature of this people, that there is a
something in the very word West that
leads thousands to leave their Eastern
homes and " go West."
It is as though this Universal Yankee
Nation were engaged in one grand cotil
lon, and the only call in that national
dance was " Forward AH 1" All alon?
the New England coast, the cry goes up
morning and night, the live long year,
of. Forward All ! New York answers it
and every State in the Union falls into
the line, and away go the old and young,
the rich and the poor all bound for the
beautiful and limitless country termed
" away out west."
And so to-day reader, we find our
selves on the Western bank of the great
Missouri here where eighteen months
ago no while man lived where the Otoe
and the Omaba held sole possession
where the rich lands of the Nebraska,
cultivated only by the band of nature,
brought forth its yearly yield of flowers,
that wasted their sweet perfume upon
the desert air, and nothing more.
We are here, but there is no change.
The Otoe and the Omaha are going,
going West, the rustle of their step has
not yet died away, the clatter of their
arrow-quivers, and the war song of the
young men yet lingers in the air of the
The foremost wave, the head sea in
westward tide has struck the western
shore of the Missouri river, and now,
though thirty-five miles back of us, no
white man lives. The cry is raised
here, forward all, the ring of the ham
mer and the axe, the clink of the anvil,
the roll of the Printing Press, and the
panting of the steam-mills, give token
that the call is obeyed.
Forward all ! and away over the prai
ries the rumble of the emigrant's wag
on and the lowing of his cattle answer.
BY THE SOLOMON IN ORDINARY TO THE BRITISH NATION.
I. An umbrella upon thine arm may
make it ache, but should rain come, the
umbrella will preserve thy clothes.-
Choose betwixt a trifling pain and a tail
II. Other persons were born about
the same time as thyself, and have been
errowin? up ever since, as well as thou.
Therefore be not proud.
III. Preserve few secrets from thy
wife ; for if she discover them, she will
grieve, not that thou hast kept from her
thy secrets, but thy confidence.
IV. Yet confidence may be mispla
ced, as when thou goest out in thin pat
ent leathern boots, simply because the
pavement before thiuc own door has
V. The girl who is destined to be thy
wife, although now unknown to thee, is
sure to be living somewhere or other.
Hope, therefore, that she is quite well,
and otherwise think politely about ber.
VI. Educate thy children, lest one of
these fine days they educate thee in a
school with no vacations.
VII. 0 how good was Nature, tnai
placed great rivers near great towns !
VIII. A traveller, journeying wise
ly, may learn much. Yet much may
also be learned by him who stays at
IX. An insane person may lie to thee,
and yet be innocent, and thou mayest
lie to him, and be praiseworthy. Now
all perse ns are somewhat insane, but do
thou beware of lying, as a general rule.
X. Heat expands things, and there
fore in hot weather the days are length
ened. Moral heats sometimes expand
thy mind, but they tend not to the
lengthening of thy days.
XI. I do not say to thoe, " Marry,
for it wiil exalt thee," yet was there sub
tle meaning in those whose usage it was
to say, "Marry, cjme up."
XII. Cool thintrs are used to cure
fever, yet the orei-coolness of a friend's
act will throw thee into heat.
XIII. We know nothing, and yet it
is knowing something to know that thou
Njutaow Escapk. A lady entered a
dry goods store in street, and ex
pressed a desire to see some wool delaius.
The polite clerk, with elegant addrees,
showed her a variety of pieces of fine
texture and choice coloring. After toss
ing and examining to her heart's content,
she observed: "The goods ajre part
cotton, sir." "My dear Madam," re
turned the shopman, " these goods are
as frve from cotton as your breast is"
(the lady stares) " fr,ce from guile"
Thj following good storr is told of
Member of Congress from Ohio :
" The venerable Gen. B was for
several consecutive years returned to
Congress ; and as the hotels and board-
ig houses in Washington city in those
days, were all on a par, or rather below
par, the members were in the habit of
occupying, year after year, the same
rooms, ine table of Gen. H.'s board-
ig -house (which was kent br a widow
la.dy and her two daughters) was regu
larly furnished with stereotyped dinners,
and at 'one end of the table always ap
peared a broiled mackerel. Gen. H.,
nose seat was near the fish, had iraaed
so frequently upon it, (for it never was
touched except by the cook, ) that he knew
it all 'by heart Now if the distinguish
ed Representative had any one peculiar
vhtue, it was an affectionate desire to
make every person and everr creature
around him happy. In the course of
time, Congress adjourned, and Gen. H.
paid his bill to the widow," and got ready
to start lor home. The stage stood at
the door ; and the old erentleman. show
ing the goodness of his heart, took the
widow by the hand and Dressing it bada
- a O
her farewell ; then kissing the daughters,
saia ne wouJd like to see them in Ohio,
and furnish them with good husbands,
kc.; but even this wag not all. The
black boys, who stood along the walls,
were not forgotten, and grinned as he
handed each a silver dollar. As he pas
sed around the' breakfast table, which,
was not yet " cleared off," he saw his
old friend, the mackerel. The tears
came into his eyes, and raising it by the
tail, with his thumb and finger, parted
with it, saying : " well, good bye, good
bye, my old boy ; you and I have served
a long campaign together; but (wiping
his eyes) I suppose we shall meet again
next winter. Good bye. The old gen
tleman rapidly left the house, and jump
ing into the stage, rattled off, and fortu
nately for his ears, the widow never saw
him again." Yankee Blade,
ROMANCE OF INDIAN LIFE.
A private soldier, writing from Fort
Laramie, March 12th, mentions the fol
lowing incidents of the massacre of Lieut.
I. will give you two facts connected
with the massacre, which I have never
seen in tte newspapers. A musician,
one of the party, owned or married a
squaw, and on the unfortunate day,
when she saw danger threatening the
troops, she rallied her father and her
brother to preserve her lover. When he
fell wounded, she rushed to him to pro
tect him from the arrows or perish witH
him. Her father shot several arrows at
the other Indians, and was wounded
himself in the zealous defense of the sol
dier. Then he sat down and wept, as he
could do no more. The hostile Indiana
then rushed on the wounded soldier, tore
him from the embrace of his faithful
squaw, and scalped him before her eyes.
After this she could not be prevailed up
on to eat or drink, and starved to death,
dying in nine days, and glad to go to re
gain the presence of the spirit of one she
loved so dearly. The only soldier that
reached here alive was found by an In
dian, who, instead of scalping him, min
istered to his wants, carried water to hi a
hiding place, and endeavored to bring
him into the fort during the night, but
being unable or afraid to accomplish his
purpose, he turned back to Mr. Bor
deau's house, bearing the soldier, and
four Indians overtook him and wished to
kill the wounded man, or as they said,
"that dog." The reply of the noble,
friendly savage was, " this white man
must live, or I must die," and he bore
him off in safety. " Such generous deeds
should be remembered.
Maxims tor Yooao Mxir. Never be
die. If your hands cannot be usefully
employed ; attend to cultivating your
Drink no intoxicating liquors.
Keep good company.
Make few promises.
Keep your own secrets.
When you speak to a person look him
in the face.
If any one speaks evil of you, let your
life be so virtuous and upright that none
will believe him.
You had better be poisoned in your
blood than your principles.
When you retire, think what you have
done during the day.
Your character cannot be injured ex
cept by your own acts.
Ths editor of the Eliuira, N. Y.,i&
publican has found oat whero the Know
Nothings assemble. It is in a cave clos
by the town, the entrance to which, a
hole just large enough to admit oue man
at a time. The last one takes the hoist
with. him. and thus they defy detection.
Ba. timely wise, rather than wise- in