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Bl r MEIERS V BEYFORD.
WHOLE NO. 2770. VOL 53. 5c 1 ec t P o c t vtj . TO jp WILL (The following exquisite love sons is the compo sition ot" Joseph Rrennan, a voting [ri-hman, one of the exiles o! MS, who died recently of consump tion in New Orleans, at the age of eight-and-twenty. Nothing could be more beautiful than this ballad— wh ch ougnt to be set to music, since only the voice of the "sweet singer" can do justice to its tender pa thos and passion :] Come to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee, Pay-time and night-time I'm thinking about thee, Night-time and day-time in dreams 1 behold thee— Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. Come tome, darling, my sorrows to lighten. Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten, Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, Come in thy loveliness, queenly and holy ! Swallows wiii flit round the de-olate ruin, Telling of Spring ant! its joyous renewing; And thoughts of thy love and its manifold treasure Are circling try heart with a promise of pleasure. Oh. Spring of my spirit, oh. May oi my bosom— Shine out on my soul till it bourgeon and blossom— The waste of my lite has a rose-root within it, And thy fondnes- alone to the sunshine can win it. Figures that move like a song through the even- Features lit up by the reflex of heaven Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each ether; Smiles coining seldom, but childlike and simple, And opening their eyes from the heart of a dimple ; Oh, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming ! You Lave been g'ad when you knew I was gladdened. Dear, are you sad now to hear! am saddened? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love— As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love— -1 cannot weep but your tears will be flowing— You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing— -1 would not die without you at my side, love— You will not linger when I shall have died, love. Come to me, dear, ere 1 die of my sorrow, Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow; Strong, swift, and fond as the words which 1 speak, With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, Come, for my heart in your absence is weary— ila-ie, for my spirit is sickened and dreary— Come to the arrn< which alone could caress thee— Come to the heart which i throbbing to press thee! __. fc __ >T|L| rr - |MMI - ■■mstVJP.t'Wa 111 i s £ £ i I an c o us. THE TELL-TALE HEART UV EDGAR A. TOE. Art is long and Time is fleeting, ,\iil our hearts though stout and brave, Still, like mtilfled drums, are beating, Funeral marches to the grave.— LONGFELLOW. True!—nervous—very, very dreadfully ner vous I had been, and am; but why will you say that lam road ? The disease had sharpened my senses; not destroyed, not dulled them.— Above all was the sense of hearing acute. 1 heard all tilings iti the heaven and in the earth. J heard many things in hell. How, then, am 1 rnad ? Hearken : and observe bow healthi ly, how calmly, 1 can tell you the whole sto ry. It is impossible to say how the first idea en tered my brain : but, once conceived, it haunt ed me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. 1 loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He bad never given tne insult. For bis gold ] had no desire. 1 think it was his eye—yes it was this! He had the eye of a vulture—a pale blue eve, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold ; and so, by degrees—very grad ually—l made up my mind to take the life oi the old man, aud thus rid myself of the eye forever. Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen nie. You should have seen how wisely J proceeded I with what caution with what foresight—with what dissimulation I went to work ! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I kilied him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of Insduor and opened it—ah, so gently ! And then, when I fi3d made an opening suffi cient fir my head, I first put in a dark lantern, all closed, so that no light shone out, and then J thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in.— I moved it slowly—very, very slowly —so that 1 might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me ari hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that i could see the old man as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this ? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously—oh, so cautiously : —for the hinges creaked. I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did tor seven long nights—every night just at midnight—but I found the eye al ways closed : and so it was impossible to do the work : for :t was not the old man who vexed ne, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, v-hen the day broke, 1 went boldly into his chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he bad passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, in leed, to suspect that every night, just at tweive, J looked in upon him while he slept. Upon the eighth night I was more than usu ally cautious in opening the door. A watch's rri.nute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Yever, before that night, had I felt the extent ci my own powers—of my sagacity. I could 23 oi> fi ri> ®a i scarcel)* contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there 1 was, opening the door little j by little, and the old man not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. 1 fairly chuck led at the idea. And perhaps the old man ! heard me; for hr moved in the bed suddenly, as if startled. Mow you may think that I drew back—but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,)' and so I I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, aarc; 1- kept on pushing it steadily, steadily". 1 had got my ftead in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man. sprang up in bed, crying out "Who's there ?" I kept quite still and said nothing; for an hour I did not move a muscle, and in the mean time I did not bear the old man lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening ; just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew that it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief, Oh, no! it was the low stifled sound that rises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many anight, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has swelled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distract me. I say 1 knew it well. 1 knew what the old man felt,and pitied him, although I chuck led at heart. 1 knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in bed. 1113 fears bad been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in thechimnev: it is only a mouse cross ing the door:" or, "it is merely a cricket which lias made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he had found all in vain ; because death, in approaching the old man, bad stalked with his black shallow before him, and the shadow had now reached and en veloped the victim. And it was the moral in fluence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel—although he neither saw rior heard me—to feel the pressure of my head within the i room. When T had waited a long time, very pa tiently, without hearing the old man lie down, I resolved to open a little, a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it—you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily—un til at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shut out from the crevice and fell upon the vnlfure eye. It was open, wide, wide open ; and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with per j feet distinctness—ail a dull blue, with a hideous , veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones ; but 1 could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray, as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot. And now—have I not told yon that what 1 vou mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses ?—now, I say, there came to my ear a low,dull, quick sound—much swell a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. it was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier : into courage. But even vet T refrained and kept still : T scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motion less. T tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo ofthe heart increased. It grew quicker and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew loud • er, I sav, louder every moment! Do you mark me well ? I have told you that 1 am nervous— so I am. And at that hour ofthe night, and a rnid the dreadful silence of that house,so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable wrath. Yet for some minutes longer, I refrain ed and kept still. But the beating grew louder, i louder. 1 thought the heart must burst! And now a new anxiety seized me, that the sound would be heard by a neighbor. His last , hour had come! With a loud yell I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once—oniv once. In an instant I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bpd over biin. I then sat upon the bed anil i smiled gaily to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the walls. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. 1 removed the bed and examined tlie corpse.— Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. The old man was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more. i If vnu still think me mad you will think so no longer when I describe the precautions I i took (or the concealment of the body. The night waned, and 1 worked hastily but in si lence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut ofl the head, arms and legs. 1 then took up three planks from the flooring of the cham ber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cun ningly, that no human eye—not even his—could have detected anything wrong. There was no thing to wash out —no stain of any kind—no blood spots whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub caught all—ha! ha! V\ hen T had made an end of these labors it was four o'clock, still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. ] went down to open it with a • light heart ; for what had I now to fear I There entered three men, who introduced themselves with perfect suavity as officers of the police. A shriek had bepn heard bv a neighbor during the night ; suspicion of foul play had been aroused ; information had been lodged at the police office, aud they (the officers) had been deputed to BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 13,1857. search the premises. 1 smiled, for what had Ito fear ? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, 1 said, was my own, in a dream. The_old man I mentioned was absent in the country. I took mv visitors all over the house. I bade them search—search well. At length I led them to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturb ed. In the enthusiam of my confidence I brought chairs into the room and desired them here to rest from their fatigues : while I, in the wild audacity ot my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which re posed the corpse of the victim -Ihe officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease.— They sat, and, while 1 answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long. I felf' myself getting pale, and wished them gon£ My head ached, and J fancied a ringing in mv • ears : but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it contin ued and gained definiteness, untill at length t T found that the noise was not within my ears. No doubt T now grew very pale; but I talk ed more fluently, an;! with a brightened voice. Yet the sound increased—and what could 1 do ? I It was a low,dull, quick sound —much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath ; and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quick Iv, more vehemently : hut the noise steadily in creased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a ; high key and with violent gesticulation ; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone ? 1 paced the floor to and fro with , heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the ob- 1 servations of the men ; but the noise steadily increased. O God! what could I do? I foamed—l raved—l swore! I swung the chair upon which I had sat, and grated it upon the i boards; hut the noise arose above alt and con tinually increased. It grew louder—louder— louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard not ! Almighty God ! —no! no! They heard thev suspected—thev knew. They were mak ing a mockery of my horror! This I thought, and this I think. But anything better than this 1 agonv! Anything was more tolerable than this derision ! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer. I felt that I must scream or die. And now—again!—hark! louder! louder! I louder! louder ! "Villains," I shrieked, "dis semble no more ! I admit the deed I tear up I the planks ! —here! here ! —it is the beating o(i his hideous heart!" _ > I THE NEWSPAPER. The newspaper, which a few years ago was a luxury, is now, at least in America, a neces sity. The vast amount of labor and talent be stowed upon the leading journals of the day, the close attention paid to their numerous de partments, when combined with the extraordi nary facilities enjoved for the rapid communi- cat ion of intelligence, now about being rendered by submarine telegraphic commu nication across the Atlantic, effect an end which realizes one of the grandest conceptions of the human mind. Among the most mysterious and unfathoma ble attributes of the Deity are those which en dow Him with the power of beholding all things, and of being everywhere at the same time. It required centuries of human advancement be fore any invention could be made to render these qualities even in the slightest degree imi tahle bv man. Boundless space spread out be fore him in wearving perplexity, separating the human familv and the localities of the earth, by barriers surmountable only through protracted and wearving toil. But now, reader, behold what, through the agency of the newspaper, as sisted (>v the magnetic telegraph, has been ac complished ! The world is summoned up in judgment before von. Your morning's paper furnishes von with a concise history of the transactions, near and remote, of the previous dav. An infinite number of sharp eyes have watched everv interesting phase of life, and you are daily presented with the result of their ob servations. We gave long been accustomed to the perusal of telegraphic despatches from every portion of our widely fextended Confederacy; but the advancing march of science is about to bring the whole civilized earth equally within our intellectual grasp. The newspaper is the daguerreotype of the world* Jhe lleeting shadows of its grave and gnv, tragic and comic, wonderful and common place, scenes and doings are adroitly seized, permanently fixed, and a brilliant panorama of human life presented every morning. The great purposes served by newspapers are familiar to all, and need not he recited here. It is impossible to estimate their influ ence upon the human mind and upon human destiny. There is scarcely an article in the whole range of the consumption of civilized men whoes relinquishment would not he more cheerfully acceded to. It at once educates, informs, protects, defends, improves and elevates the people ; and it performs a most important purpose in all their transactions, and in all things affecting them, whether commercial, industrial, political, literary, or social.—For ney's Press. A CONNOISSEUR IN ART.—A down-easter strayed into the square in front ot the City Hall yesterday morning, and planted his brogans firmly in front of the bronzed statue ol T ranklin looking upwards to the benignant face of the old philosopher with great apparent interest. 'What old fellow's likeness is this,' asked he of a bystander. 'That sir, is a statue of Benjamin Frank lin. 'Statevv of Franklin, eh! Wal, Fve red all about him. Putty good old feller in his way. Never fit much in the revolushun, but was great on soft soddering the French. But I say yeou; how darned yallerhe is." Freedom of Thought and Opinion. HOW MAJOR ANDRE MET HIS FATE. Although Andre's request as to the mode of his deatii was not to be granted, it was thought ; best to let him remain in uncertainty on the subject: no answer, therefore, was returned to his note. On the morning ofthe 2nd he main tained a calm demeanor, though all round him were gloomy and silent. He even rebuked bis servant fir shedding tears. Having breakfasted he dressed himself with care in the full uniform of a British officer, which he had sent for to New . Aork, placed his hat Upon the table, and accost ing tiie officers on guard—" lam ready," said he., any moment, gentlemen, to wait upon you." He walked to the place of execution e between two subaltern officers, arm in arm, V'Rh a serene countenance, bowing to several gentlemen whem lie knew. Colonel Tallmadge accompanied him, and we quote his words.— " When he came within sight of the gibbet he appeard to be startled, and inquired, with some emotion, whether he was not to be shot? Be-; j ing informed that the mode first appointed for j bis death could not consistently be altered, he exclaimed, 'How hard is my fate !' but imme diately added, 'it will soon be over." I then shook hands with him under the gallows, and retired." While waiting near the gallows, until preparations were made, says another au thority, who was presnt, he evinced some ner vousness putting his foot on a stone and rolling it ; and making an effort to swallow, as if checking a hysterical affection of the throat. All things being ready, he stepped into the wagon ; appeared to sin ink for an instant, but recovered himself and exclaimed,. "It will be but a momentary pang."—Taking off his hat and stock, and opening his shirt collar, he de liberately adjusted the noose to his neck, after which he took out a handkerchief and tied it over his eyes. — Being told by the officer in command that his arms must bp bound, he drew out a second handkerchief, with which they were pinioned*. Colonel Scammel now told him that he had an opportunity to speak if he desired it. Hisonlv reply was, "I pray you to bear witness that I meet my fate like a brave man." The wagon moved from under him, and left him suspended.—He died almost l without a struggle. He remained suspended for about half an hour, during which time a deathlike stillness prevailed over the surround- j ing multitude.—His remains were interred within a few yards ofthe place of his execution; j whence thev were transferred to England, in i | 1821, by the British Consul then resident in t New York, and were buried in Westminster ; '"'Ah!- v, near the mural monument which had' j been erected to his memory.— lrvine's Life of j George Washington. MODE OF BURYING IN BUDDHlST—Buddhist priests and on their decease, are interred in a sort of miniature pagoda. There are two modes of burial. Any one remarkable for de votion and virtue who dies at a good old agp, is buried in a sitting posture, just as priests usual ly sit in the presence of their idol, reciting prayers, with their legs drawn utider them, the hands clasped, anil the head drooping on the breast. The deceased is, in this position, put in to a large earthen jar, with another jar placed over the head. The two are hermetically sealed, and built all around with brick and mor tar, in the shape of a pagoda, about ten feet in height. Occasionally they take the bodies of devoted Buddhists, commit them to the flames, and search for a relic celled shmjle. On find ing this they lodge it in a casement like a small pagoda. The ordinary class of priests and priestesses are not so highly honored on leaving the world. Their remains, bones, or (if burnt) ashes, are cast into a hollow pagoda. The cases are carefullv lodged about the monastery and grounds.— Mile's Life in China. BI.ESSI.NGB OF BANKS.—They foter and extend the credit system by which honest men are constantly ruined and rogues constantly enric lied. They tax the labor of the producer for the support of the idleness of the non-producer. They drive forty millions of coin from this countrv every year, and substitute for it irredee j ma hie paper. They lock up in bank-vaults as much more that should he in the pockets of the people who : have labored for it. They give employment to thousands of non- P'oducers who continually abstract from the deposits of wealth of the country without retur ning anything to it. Tiiev induce periodical panics, by which all industrvjis checked. Thev have ruined a thousand firms, within the last three months, within the limits of the United States alone. Thev have thrown a half million of people" within the last three months, either totally or partially out of employment. Thev are at this moment levying in this city of Petersburg, a tax of thirteen per cent, upon the labor of the mechanics and tradesmen, in the shape of a premium on money—the only sort of a tariff which the strongest gov ernment would not dare to levy upon its , subjects. They refuse to meet their obligations when ever it is convenient, and defy the law. Thev enhance prices by making what they call money, cheap. Such are a few ,f the benefits resulting from that-legalized iniquity known as banks of circula tion.—Petersburg, J a., Democrat. Cur.E FOU CIIOLIC IN HORSES. —A gentleman in Baltimore, publishes tiie following receipt for the cure of cholic in horses, which, in his own case effected a speedy cure : .'1 ounces sqirits of turpentine, 1 ounce tincture of opium. He adds, "If relief is not obtained in one hour, repeat the dose with one ounce of best powdered aloes well dissolved together. Of course these ingredients must be adminis tered properly diluted. GOOD ADVICE. Judge Strong is the very magistrate who made his mark, when quite a youthful lawyer, bv the ingenious counsel which he gave a client, and cleared him entirely and very unexpectedly. He practised in Jefferson County, and a pris oner being arraigned for theft, who had no counsel, the Court appointed young Strong to that service, directing him to confer with the prisoner, and give him the best advice he could under the circumstances. He retired with his client to an adjacent room for consultation, and when an officer was sent to inform them that the Court was waiting Strong, was found alone, and returned with the officer into the Court room. "Where is your client ?" demanded the Judge "He has left the place," replied the lawyer. "Left the place !" cried the judge. "What do you mean, Mr. Strong?" "Why, your honor directed me to give him the best advice I could under the circumstances. He told me he was guilty, and sol opened the window, and advised him to jump out and run. He took my advice, as in duty bound, and by this time he is more than two miles off. THE SESSION DIDN'T MEET. —The Sandy Hill Herald tells the following as happening in that neighborhood last fall: A clergyman of our acquaintance was called übon bv an elder in his church, who urged upon the D. D. the importance of his introducing the subject of politics into his pulpit—telling him that there were great moral question involved in (he then coming election, &.c. After patiently listening to the argument of the Fremont elder, the min ister asked, 'Do you, as an elder oi the church, advise me to introduce politics into my sermons?' 'I do,' was the reply. 'Let a meeting of the session be called, and if'a majority decide that it is my duty to preach politics, I w ill commence next Sunday,'said the Minister. 'lt shall be done,' said the elated elder; but 3s he was hurrying away to give the required notice preparatory to the assembling of the session, the minister called out: Remember, good brother, that if they decide that it is my duty to preach politics, I shall advise my bretheren to vote for Buchanan. It is unnecessary to say that the session was not called upon to decide the question. "I GUESS YOU CAN COME." —We heard a good story a day or two ago, which we tell, manger the risk of its being second-handed; and it is too good a story to offend even those whose sect it hits. Some good lady, at the outset of Universal ism, conceived a holy horror at the blasphemy of its bold supporters in pretending that all would be saved. It was preposterous, outrageous; in the spirit that filled her, she wouldn't have a man in her house who belmved in the abominable doctrine. She kept a boarding house, and applied a test of belief to all who sougiit to obtain board. The first who offered was a sea captain, and she began with— "Do you believe that all the world will be saved?*' "No madam," said he. "How many do yo think will be damned?" continued she. "Oh!" said he, "I don't know—perhaps a million." "Well," the old lady remarked, in a tone of content, "well that's better than none at all; I guess you can tome."— Lynn's Reporter. POPULAR DELUSION. —It is an error to sup pose that a man belongs to himself. No man does. He belongs to his wife, or his children, or his relations, or his creditors, or to society in some form or other. It is for their especial good and behalf that he lives and works, and they kindly allow him to retain a certain per centage of his gains to administer to his own pleasure or wants. He has his body and that is all, and even for that he is answerable to society. In short society is the master, and man is the servant: and it is entirely according as society proves a good or bad master whether the man turns out a good or bad servant.— Punch. THE LOVE OF HOME.—It is only the shallow minded pretenders who make either distinguish ed origin a matter of personal merit or obscure origin a matter of personal approach. A man who is not ashamed of himself need not be asha med of his early condition. It did happen to me to be born in a log-cabin, raised among the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a ppriod so early that when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney and curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence of a white man's habitation between it and the settlements on the rivers of Canada. Its remains still exist ; I make it an annual visit. I carry my children to it, and teach them the hardships endured by the generations before them. I love to dwell onthetender recollections, the kindred ties, the early affections and the narration and inci dents which mingle with all 1 know of this primitive family abode. I wept to think that none of those who inhabited it are now among the living; and if I fail in affectionate venera tion for him who raised it, and defended it a gainst savage violence and destruction, cherished all domestic comforts beneath its roof, and thro' the fire and blood of seven years' revolutionary war, shrunk from no toil, no sacrifice, to save his country and raise his children to a condi tion better than his own, may my name and the name of my prosperity be blotted from the mem ory of mankind.— Daniel Webster. To PREVENT WRINKLES. —\oung woman, would vou have wrinkles in your face? " Not for the world,'' you reply. Then cease fretting, and murmuring and repining. Rise at early dawn, take the broom, sweep the floor, make the beds, get breakfast yourself,and when you go out don't wear your wafer soled shoes! By all means douse your worse than detestable corsets. TERMS, S2 PER Vi IK. NEW SERIES VOL 1, NO. LL jyMither! mither! what have you done? said a little newsboy to a greenhorn who had just tied his horse to a|spruce pole, as h< thought on Third street Philadelphia. 'Donel'said the fellow,'what do you mean' I haint been doin, nothin, as 1 know" on.' 'Why yeth you have, thir: you've hitched your hoth to the magnetic telegraph, and you'ii be in New York in less than two minutes, if you don't look out.' I he man untied his horse with nervous anx iety, and jumping into his wagon diove hastily down the street. Of?" A gentleman crossing a bridge, said to a countryman whom he met: 'I think this narrow causeway must be very dangerous, my friend: pray are'mt people lost here sometimes?' 'Lost' No sir, I never knew any bodv lost here in all mv life. There have been several drowned, but they were all found again.' Of?"If you don't want a woman i go astray, the sooner you provide her wi-ii r. baby the better. A blue e\'ed boy will do more toward* kepping Mrs. Gadder's morals sw>-.-?, than all the sermons that were ever prea- ' :.—Fanny Fern. you are looking very smiling what has happened ?' 'The most delightful thing. J caught mv Jenny by surprise, this morning in her wrap per, and without hoops, and I got the font his* I've had since whalebone skirts came into fashion.' L , of Maine, speaking the other day of his earlier days remarked that al though he was a boy when the Ami nean Revo lution commenced, yet he remembered ai! a' out it—having received his information from his father, who kept the run of public affairs, Rung a warm libertine.' Of?°Musselman writers speak of an ignorant Arab, who, being asked how he knew any thing about the existence of a God, replied 'Just as I know, by the tracks in the sand, whether a man or beast has passe; there, so, when I survey the heaven, with its bright stars, and the earth, with its productions, do I feel the existence and power of God.' KP~Brudder Bones, canyon tell me t:. 'differ ence 'tween dying and dieting? Why, ob course I kin, Samuel. When you diet you lib on nulfin, and when you die you hab nuflin to lib on. Well, dat's diffunt from wot I tor; it was I tort it was a race atween de doctrin" stuff and starvation, to see wich ud kill fust! KP*"How do you know that the plaintiff was intoxicated, on the evening refer r i to 7 " said a country court judge to the witness on the stand. "Because I saw him, a few minutes after supper, trying to pull off his trousers with a boot-jack." Verdict for the defendant. Kir"A gentleman hearing a lady praising the eyes of a certain prominent clergyman, wrote the following : I cannot praise the doctor's eyes, I never saw his ela nee divine, For when he yray% he shuts his eye.-, And when he preaches he shots mine ' KP*"Why is it," asked a Frenchman of a Switzer, "that you Swiss always fight for monev while we French only fight for honor '" "I suppose," said the Switzer, "that each fight for what they most lack." KP°"Father, are there any boys in Congress?" "No, my son—why do you ask that question "Because the papers said the other day that the members kicked Mr. Brown's Bill out of the house." [CP"An independent man is one who blacks his own boots and shoes, who can live without whiskey and tobacco, and shave himself with brown soap and cold water, without a mirror, says a knowing contemporary. LEAKY ROOFS. —A correspondent says. Four pounds of rosin, one pint of linseed oil, thorougly mixed and applied with a brush, while hot, will effectually stop leaks by the sides of chimneys, skylights, or where an L or wing is joined to the end of a house. KF*A LITTLE AIR. —"You need a little sun and air," said a physician to a maiden patient. "If I do," was the cute reply, "I'll wait till I | get married." Bolus looked thoughtful, and thought it was best. ° KP*"Have you "Blasted Hopes?" asked a lady of a green librarian, whose face was much swollen by the toothache. "No, ma'am; but I have a blasted toothache." KF"Diogenes, being asked of what beast tl< bite was most dangerous, answered, "Of wild beast, that of a slanderer ; of tame, that of a flatterer." [CP*A young boarding-school miss being asked why the noun bachelor was singular, re plied "because it's very singular they don't get married !" KP*The Turks have a proverb, that 'the devil tempts other men, but idle men tempt the devil.' KF"The world is made of atoms, eternity of moments. KjP"Sally, what time do yoar Jbiks din p "Soon as you go away—that was Missu or ders ?" Kp"Why is a donkey like an Illinois corn field ? Because he's some on ears. BfP"Colman, the dramatist, was asked it hr knew Theodore Hook. "Yes," replied the wit, "Hopk and eye are old associates."