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_ A Journal of Political and General News—An Advocate of Equal Rights.
V0L~ m_BATH, MAINE, THURSDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 28, 18 52? NO. 19 li PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING UY GEO. E. NEWMAN. O.Uce in North end of Pierce’s Block, third story, cor ner of Broad ami Front Sts. TERMS.—One dollar ami fifty cents per annum,if paid strictly IN ADVANCE; one dollar seventy-five cents within six months ; two dollars, if payment is delayed to the end of the year. XT Any person who will send us five good subscribers, hsall be entitled to a copy of the paper for one year. KTNo paper will be di*c»nlinued until l arrearage* are paid, unless at the option of the publisher. XT Single copies, four cents—for sale at theofllce,and at Steams’ Periodical Depot, Centre St. Advertisements inserted at the usual rates. XT All letters ami communications to be addressed post paid, to the Publisher, Bath, Me. 8. M. Pettengill Sc Co., Newspaper Advertising Agents, No. 10 State Street, and V. B. Palmer, Scollay’s Building, Court Street, Boston, arc Agents for this paper, and are authorized to receive Advertisements and Subscriptions for us at the same rates as required at this oflice. Their receipts are regarded as payments. Yo L I T I C A L. Ojf* Let them tell their own sentiments : General Scott on Foreigners. ‘ 1 now hesitate between extending the pe riod of residence btjorc Naturalization, and a TOTAL REPEAL OP ALL ACTS OF CONGRESS on the subject. My mind inclines TO THE LATTER.’— IVinfield Scott. Greeley’s Opinion of Scott in ’4§ ‘Send a delegate to the Convention, if you can, for Clay; if not for Clay for Corwin ; if not for Corwin, for Seward ; if not for Sew nrd, for Taylor: hut Inst of at! for Scott.— Scott is a vain, conceited, coxcomb of a man. ( Ills brains—all that lie has—are in his epau lets, and if he should be elected President he would tear the whig party into tatters in less than six months. '—Horace Greeley. Weed’s Opinion of Scott in ’48. 'In the character of Gen. Scott there is much, very much to commend and admire. Rut the mischief is, there is WEAKNESS in all he says or docs about the Presidency. Im mediately after the close uf the campaign of 1840, he wrote a gratuitous letter, making himself a candidate, in which all sorts of un wise things were said to return and plague his friends if he should he a candidate. And since that lime with a fatuity which seizes upon men who get bewildered in gating at the W hite House, he has been suffering his pen to dim the glories achieved by his sword.'—Thurlow Weed. Henry Clay’s Opinion of military Hen. ‘ Belter that war, pestilence and famine should sweep over the land, THAN THAT A MILI TARY CHIEFTAIN SHOULD BE ELE VATED TO THE PRESIDENCY.’— Hen ry Clay. Gen. Scott on Naturalization. ‘ We are liberal enough to open the door to the children of foreigners who may be born here, without allowing their fathers to COME HERE TO HELP GOVERN US.’—Winfield Scott. Keep it Before the People That the Federal leaders opposed the war between the United States and Mexico; That they refused to vote for appropriations to feed and clothe the soldiers; That they opposed the acquisition of New Mexico and California; That they have encouraged malfeasance in office; That they have robbed the treasury of over two millions of dollars ; That they have violated their promises to the mcrchaut and mechanic; That they have declared the tariff question an obsolete idea; That they have sworn to repeal the fugitive slave law ; * That they have Apposed, and now combat tbe compromises of the Constitution ; That in the North they are allied to Aboli tionism, in the South to sectionalism, in the West to agrarianism, and in the East to mo nopoly ; That they are pledged to carry out the radi cal Federal notions of Hamilton, which gives to an arrogant minority the power to oppress the masses of the people, and the privilege to enrich themselves at the expense of the ma jority ; That Wm. A. Graham opposed the right of universal suffrage; That he voted and spoke against the tariff of 1842; That while Secretary of the Navy, he en couraged favoritism and nepotism; That he approved of the Galphin and Gardin er frauds; That he is pledged in the South to free trade, and in the North to rank abolition ism ; That he is in favor of direct taxation to supply the revenues to sustain the govern ment. KEEP IT BEFORE THE PEOPLE, » That Gen. Scott is the secret friend of abo lition agitation ; That he is opposed to the naturalization laws ; That he now uses his official position, and the funds of the government, to promote his election to the Presidency ; That he is now in the hands of William H. Seward, the man who preaches a higher law than the Constitution, and who is engaged in plotting the dissolution of the Union ; That he has frequently declared his adhe rence to the doctrine which created the United States Bank, and desolated the merchant and mechanic; That he violated the order of President Polk, while at the head of the army in Mexico ; That he quarrelled with his superiors, and insulted his subordinate officers ; That he maligned those who bravely fought in the war of 1812, in order the better to en large his own reputation ; ffhese are facts, and the Federal press can not disprove them. We invite any Federal orator or editor to show that any of the above assertions are not substantially true. The Contrast! Think of Washington—the father of his country—the pure-minded patriot—the able yet modest soldier—the wise, august states man—on the political stump, making elec tioneering speeches for himself for the Presi dency ! What irreverence in the thought! What profanation in the idea! And is it not a dese cration of the high office once filled by a Wash ington, a Jefferson, a Madison, and their il lustrious successors, that any one who aspires to that exalted station should perambulate the country, and play the demagogue 1 prating of his servioes to the country 1 indulging in sclf glorification on his military exploits!_talking of his love of “Irish brogue,” and of the for eign accent of the German citizen ’ and mak ing large professions of attachment for jiative and adopted citizens and all others who intend to become citizens before the second day of No vember 1 If we mistake not, the thing is thus looked upon by our citizens generally—by the whigs as well as the Democrats; and the people will mark their disapprobation of conduct so disreputable by their votes at the polls.—Age. WHO IS FRANKLIN PIERCE? The following outline of Gen. Pierce’s ca reer affords a sufficient and satisfactory answer to the above question, which ignorant men among the whigs sometimes amuse themselves by asking. A BRIEF OUTLINE OF THE I.1FE OF A PATRIOT AMI) STATESMAN. FRANKLIN PIERCE, » THE SON OK A REVOLUTIONARY SIRE, who fought at BUNKER IIILL, and throughout the war that tried men's souls ; If as barn at Uillxbarouijh, N. 11., NOVEMBER 23, 1S04. Graduated with distinction at Bowdoin Col lege in 1824 ; admitted to the Bar in 1827, taking a high position in his profes sion, and securing an extensive practice; in t 8 2 9 , ELECTED TO THE LEGISLATURE, serving with distinction, and such satisfaction to his constituents, that he was re-elected for the THREE SUCCESSIVE TERMS; in 1832, ELECTED SPEAKER, By a unanimous vote of the Democrats of the House of Representatives of New Hampshire; IN 1833, ELECTED TO CONGRESS; -in 1835 RE-ELECTED TO THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES so distinguishing himself hy his eloquence and services, that he was in 1837 ELECTED TO THE U. S. SENATE. He served in that body, with honor to himself and credit to his state, for five years, and in 1812 RESIGNED THAT HIGH OFFICE, and retired to private life and the practice of # his profession. His services in the Sen ate, however, were so highly appre ciated that on the resignation of Levi Woodbury, in 1813 he was offered the nomination of GOVERNOR OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, which he declined, and was, in the same year, appointed UNITED STATES DISTRICT ATTORNEY for New Hampshire. in 1815 he was appointed again UNITED ST ATES SENATOR, by the Governor of New Hampshire, but declined the honor. in 1816 he was tendered the appointment of UNITED STATES DISTRICT ATTORNEY BY PRESIDENT POLK, the honor and emoluments of which high of fice he, however, refused; reiterating his determination not to leave the pur suits of private life, except AT THE WILL OK HIS COUNTRY IN TIME OK WAR ! IN 1817 uii me uicdtiiii^ uui ui me war wiin luCXlCO, h# immediately VOLUNTEERED AS A COMMON SOLDIER, and drilled in the ranks as such. In the same year he was APPOINTED BRIGADIER GENERAL, BY PRESIDENT POLK. In the same year HE FOUGHT AT THE BATTLES —OF— CONTRERAS, CHURUBUSCO, MOLI N O D E L R E Y , and GA RITA DE HELEN, receiving the plaudits of Generals Scott, Worth and Pillow, as well as all of his brother officers and soldiers, for his conduct and bravery; and on the cap ture of the city of Mexico, and the virtual close of the war, RESIGNED HIS COMMI 'SION, and returned to his home and the practice of his profession, in which he has continued, loved, honored and respected by all who knew him, until 1852, when he was unanimously nominated by the National Democratic Convention, at Baltimore, for PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. lie has richly deserved all those high honors con -rred on him by his fellow citizens, by distinguished services to his Slate and the country at large. The exalted purity of his private and public character; his clear and discriminating judgment; his manly and un faltering consistency in the advocacy and defence of his political principles; his warm-hearted generosity, and amenity of disposition ; his ardent and active efforts in behalf of the great and glorious TRINCIPLE8 OF THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY Aided by an eloquence at once attractive, con vincing and effectual, have all conspired to make him unanimously recognized at home as NEW HAMPSHIRE’S FAVORITE SON ! while they have also so strongly appealed to the confidence and regard of his fellow countrymen throughont the Union, that in 1853, HE WILL, ON THE FOURTH OF MARCH, BE INAUGURATED AT WASHINGTON, AS THE CHIEF MAGISTRATE OF THE REPUBLIC ! Democrats! Continue to Work. Experienced politicians will see, with solici tude, the tone assumed hy a few presses that advocate the election of Pierce and King ; we allude to the statement they make, that the case is already decided, that the election is al ready made, and that the work of November second will be a “ mere formality.” It will be a matter of deep regret should this idea get to be so prevalent as to cause serious relaxation on the part of the democracy. It might be at tended with serious results, for there is no more fatal error than to be so confident of success as to despise an antagonist. In the late elections our friends estimated justly their political importance ; and it marks great steadiness of purpose and fidelity to the cause, that, in the face of such unparalleled ef forts as were made to affect the result, by de preciating the character of the candidates, and misrepresenting their position, .their democra cy stood so firm, and spoke in such powerful majorities. These results, however, will prompt the Scott whigs to stronger efforts, more disgraceful efforts than ever ; and our friends must be prepared to see a bold, un blushing, degrading renewal of their base charges. When Senator Jones could, by in sinuation, make the charge of cowardice— when Judge Conrad could fiatly assert that General Pierce was opposed to abolishing the Catholic test—when the other personal charges, which we do not choose to repeat, were got up, continued and basely used, before the Scott cause presented so unpromising a prospect, what may not be expected now? Depend upon it i Democrats, that never teas idea more fallacious than that the work of November second will be mere amateur work, a mere formality. The great leader of that party, the real head of it, William II. Seward, is second to no one in the Union for unscrupulous, adroit, efficient politi cal wire pulling; and he has about him a corps of kindred spirits, who stand ready, in all quarters, to do his bidding. Depend upon it, that NOW this party is at work harder than ever. In such a state of things, with the certainty that no stone will be left unturned to carry the election by the Scottites, it behoves our friends to prepare with all their power to meet them ; and to calculate that so far from being matter of furmalitt), the struggle on the day of the presidential election will be the most severe.— To overlook this would be unwise. It will he like a general’s refusing to animate his forces at the moment in the battle the onset was sure to be the most furious. No; let the democra cy be assured their united, zealous, perse vering EFFORTS WILL BE NEEDED TO ACHIEVE a triumph. Let, then, every exertion be made to rally the voters on the day of the elec tion, and this by quiet organization in the ranks. We would that this matter were at tended to in EVERY STATE, COUNTY, TOWN AND village ; attended to with a promptness and a thoroughness which the occasion demands.— There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to fear, but too great confidence of success, inspired bv the recent splendid triumphs. We trust that our friends will guard against this ; and in place of relaxation of effort, that they will in crease it so as to correspond with the impor tance of the struggle. With such appreciation of the nature of the contest—with such steady, quiet, united and efficient effort, all will be well! The signs everywhere are indeed auspicious. Where, since the nomination of Pierce and King, have the democracy been disappointed unfavorably in the results ? Was it not heartily welcomed all over the Union? Was not the banner of one party promptly thrown to the breeze ?— Has not the platform proved strong enough and broad enough to unite the democracy of the north and south, of the cast and the west, in a common bond of fraternity? Hoes not every demonstration of public sentiment rebuke that political intrigue which produced the nom nominalion of Scott, and the Janus faced policy of most of those who support him ; and mani fest itself in favor of the open stand taken, as to CONSTITUTIONAL PRINCIPLES and CONSTITU TIONAL obligations, by the Baltimore Demo cratic Convention, by the candidates that con vention put in nomination, and by the united Democracy of the Union? The American people—let their intelligence be insulted by unworthy appeals as much as it may be—like boldness, frankness, and decision in parties; and because the Democracy now stand before thecountry with these qualities fully displayed, they everywhere are indicating their inten tion to once more restore it to power.— Post. Pennsylvania The Democratic State Central Committee of Pennsylvania have issued the following Address to the Democrats of that State, con gratulating them upon the great victory just obtained, and bidding them prepare for the great contest in November. It is an elo quent appeal, its truths and appeals having an appropriateness to our own State: Democrats of Pennsylvania ! We con gratulate, we honor, we thank you for the effectual victory you have achieved. The night of doubt and fear lias passed away, ami ‘Aurora, from her dewy bed, with rosy cheeks,' rises, with beaming smiles upon you. The eyes of your brcihren through the Union were directed towards you, and their voices are heard from every quarter, ‘All hail, Pennsylvania !’ The news of your victory lias assembled them in spontaneous gatherings, waking the silent air with huz zas of congratulation, and the waters of the Kennebec, the Hudson, and the Alabama, have been reddened Willi bonfires lighted in your honor. And well do you deserve the glories which are showered upon you, for the Great Con stitutional Democratic triumph, which, under Providence, you have been the means of achieving, in behalf of our beloved Union.— The vullies and hills of Pennsylvania were the conceded battle fields of the great con test, and the fires of the enemy were con cent rated upon them. The allurements of gunpowder and gold, and the subtle serpent, slander, Imve been employed in the conflict, bui thanks 10 your unflinching aod indomi table manliness, they have all been em ployed in vain. Fellow Democrats! we owe a debt to the Past, and to the Future. To the Past, that our Union, and its foundation stone, Democ racy, shall be tnaititained by us, with watch fulness nnd vigor; and 10 the Future tlmt they shall pass to our pdsterity, unimpaired nnd triumphant. The party, calling itself nt presem, Whig, never have administered, and never will administer the government with success. The only two epochs of their legislative rule in Pennsylvania, and the Union, prove this proposition demonstrably. In the first, they entailed upon this Com monwealth the fatal inheritance of the Bank of the United States, which exploded to the ruin of nil who trusted it, and in the Inst they imposed upon the nation the infamous Bank rupt bill, nnd hunted down President Tyler for his noble veto of a National Bank. The Whig party, like a dissolving view, is now fading away. Inconsistency has been their characteristic and their ruin. They flatter the manufacturer with the cry of‘The Tariff of 1842,’ and they a "k him to support Mr. Grnlimn, who voted against it. They profess to be the only mlvocntes of the Iron interests of Pennsylvania, while they nullify an act of Congress designed to assist them, and select for the Vice Presidency of the Union a man, whose views, if adopted, would now and hereafter, limit the duty on iron to 20 per cent. They profess to have utterly abandoned the ideas of a National Bank and a Bankrupt Law, and they nominate for the Presidency of the United Stales, a man whose 'fixed convictions' are favorable to both. They were indebted, for their accidental pos session of tile government of Pennsylvania and the United States, to a party whom tfiey now repudiate, and seek, with indecent and aiiti-repnhlicnn acts, to ensnare the for eign vote. These are a lew of the lung cat logue of political crimes which have subject ed them to the distrust of the American peo ple. Democrats of Pennsylvania ! Another ef fort, and the great work is done. Give one day to your country. Let the second of No vember be to you a political Sabbath. Be not absent, not one, from the Polls. Duty, liunor, call on you. Wc are bound to re perform tlio victory of October. The De mocracy of Pennsylvania can always do a good thing a second tune, and do it better, it necessary. The enemy are boasting that they will come upon you while you are sleeping upon your trophies. Undeceive them. Come out in your might, and the day is yours. Democracy will triumph, and the pence of the Union is secure. Standing Committees of Counties ! Upon you devolves the task of calling to the Polls every Democratic soldier. You are receiv ing the thanks of the Democracy of the State for your late noble eflurts. Tire not. Be up and doing. May the spirit of that pure Democracy which has been the glory and the safeguard of the Union, animate you to action and to victory. Another Clincher to the Whig Lie on the Catholic Test. We find tlio following letter from the pas tor of the Catholic church in Manchester, in the Hartford Times : Manchester, N. II., Aug. 21, 1352. 1 consider in not only lair but an act of gratitude to Flunk Fierce to exculpate him from any implied or expressed coldness in advocating (lie abolition of I lie New Hamp shire ‘lest.’ I say an act of gratitude, for I assure you there is not another man in America who more rordially detesis higoiry and exclusiveness than he; nor was there one in ihe convention of this Stale, who so energetically endeavored to secure the re moval of the‘test.’ In the town meetings, called professedly lor its abrogation or re tention, he used all his brilliant eloquence to induce citizens to vote for its repeal. I repeat that the Catholics of this State owe him a deep debt of gratitude, which he lias unintentionally and frequently imposed on them. When the Catholic churches in Philadel phia were in (lames, he was the leader in calling a town meeting in Concord, and therein pleaded the cause of the Catholics, and particularly the safety of the Catholics in Concord. When some three or four years ago, em issaries from the New York society, sympa thizing with the Portuguese who were said to he persecuted, visited Concord and called a meeting to raise money, P:erce stood up and fearlessly pronounced their history a forgery. These and many other kindred facts in the life of Franklin Pierce, you may learn among the Concord Catholics, showing the disinterested honesty of the man, and that his aid and sympathy were tendered before he or any one dreamed of his being nomi nated for ihe presidency. I remain, sir, yours, truly, \V.m. McDonald. Husk Beds No one who has not tried them, knows the value of husk beds. Straw and mattresses would lie entirely tlone away with, if husk beds were once tried. They are not only more pliable than mattresses, but more dur able. The cost is trifling. To have busks nice they should be split after the manner of splitting straw lor braiding. The finer they are split the softer will he the bed, although they will not be likely to last as long as when put in whole. Three barrels full, Well slowed in, will fill o good sized tick, that is, after they are split. The bed will always he light, the husks do not become matted down like feathers, and they are certainly more healthy to sleep on. Feathers ought to be done away with, es pecially in warm weather. For spring, sum mer and fall, busk beds ought to he ‘all the go,’ and such will undoubtedly be the case when they are brought into use. There is no better time to procure the husks than when the corn is being harvested, and the linsks will be much nicer anti cleaner when the corn is cut up at the bottom and put in stocks. They do not become so dry and weather beaten. It is calculated a gootl luisk bed wiil last thirty years.—Ex. The Londoner.—This ledge of rocks, about a mile outside of Thatcher’s Island, is one of the most dangerous places on our coasts. It is about a mile in extent from north to south, and at low tide there is about n quarter of tin acre out of water. Within a few years past, government lias placed two beacons upon the rock, hut they have both been washed away. This year measures have been taken to place a shall on the rock, but the workmen have been tillable as yet to complete drilling the bole for it. Tltev can only work at the very lowest tides, in pleas ant weather, and then only a short time, os in the smoothest water, the sea will some times break over the rock five or six feet high. Tlte shaft which lias been manufactured for this purpose, is now at Rockport; it is of wro’t iron, 45 feet long, 23 inches in diame ter at the base, and 5 inches at the apex, and weighs 13 tons. At the apex is to he a cast iron frame 6 feet long and 5 leet in diameter. The hole in which the shaft is to he placed, will be live feet deep when finished ; but it is extremely doubtful if they will be enabled to set the shaft this season.— Gloucester Tele graph . MISCELLANY. From the Boston Traveller. The First Cross Word. • You seem, happy, Annette, always. I have never been in a family where husband and wife seemed more so.’ ‘ Well done, Kate,’ said Mrs. Huntington, laughing, ‘you have used the word seem only twice in that short sentence. And now yon have a begging way about you, as if you were really in earnest to hear something about mar ried life, before taking the fatal step. It is well Henry is not here to see the look of sad ness in the eye of his bride-elect. He might fancy her heart was full of misgivings instead of wedding finery.’ ‘Don’t laugh at me, Annette; talk with me as you used to do. I love Henry, you know, and yet I have many misgivingsabout married life. I see so few who are really happy in this relation—I mean happy as I should wish to be. Y’ou seem to come nearer to it than any one else. Don’t you ever-?’ ‘ Quarrel? no, not often now. We had our breaking in. I believe it must come to all sooner or later.’ ‘Do tell me about it, will you, Annette?’ ‘ Yes, if you are desirous of it. You may learn something from it.’ 1 was a romantic girl, as yon well know, Kate. Some few friends I had, whom I loved dearly ; but these friendships did not quite sat isfy my heart. Something more it craved. I hardly knew what, until I loved my husband. VV hen we were first married, I used some times to ask myself; now, do I find in this life all which I expected to find? Am I as happy as I thought I should be? My heart al ways responded yes, and more so. With us the romance of married life, if I may call it so, held on for a long time. For my part, I was conscious of a pleasurable excitement of feel ing when we were together. I enjoyed riding and walking alone with him. The brightest hours of the day were those in which we sat down alone together to talk or read. For a long time I felt a gentle restraint in his pres ence. I liked to be becomingly dressed, and to feel in tune. When dull, I made an effort to be social and cheerful, if he was present.— I had a great fear of getting into the way of sitting down stupidly with my husbaud, or ol having nothing to talk about but the children and tlie butcher’s bill. I made a business of remembering every pleasant thing which 1 read or heard or thought, to tell him, and when all these subjects were exhausted, we had each of us a hobby we cuuld ride, so that we were never silent for want of something to say.— Thus we lived for a year or two. 1 was very happy. I think people were often surprised to see us cuntinue to enjoy each other’s society with so much zest. Hut there was this about it. As yet I had nothing to try me. We were boarding, I had no care, and his tenderness and interest were a sovereign panacea for the little ails and roughnesses which must fall to us in our best estate. 1 his could not last, however, forever. He became more and more occupied in his business, and I at length had a house and a baby to look after. Then, for the first time, our mutual forbearance was put to the test.— Hitherto we had been devoted to each other ; now the real cares of life pressed upon us 30 as often really to absorb our energies. I was the first to feel the change. It seemed to me as if something was overshadowing us. .Sometimes I would get sentimental, and think he did not love me as he once did. As I look back now, 1 am convinced that here was my first wrong step. Indulgence in these moods weakened my resolution. It was an injustice to him, of which I ought not to have been guilty. It left me, too, with a wounded feeling, as if I had been wronged, which began to affect my spirits. Once, I bad for some lime carried about this little sore spot in my heart. I kept the matter all to myself, for I was in part ashamed and in part too proud to speak of it. Here was anoth er wrong step. There is no security of happi ness in married life but in the most perfect confidence. I here came a season of damp, chilly weath er. One morning I got up feeling very irrita ble. I had taken cold ; my head ached ; and my baby had been worrisome during the night. In my kitchen I had a cross, ignorant servant girl ; and on this particular morning she had done her very worst for breakfast. The beef steak was burned to a cinder ; the eggs tv ere like bullets ; the bread was half baked, and the coffee, which was our main stay, was exe crable. My husband was very patient with all tiiis, until it came to the coffee, and this upset him. lie put his cup down, and said in a half vexed tone, ‘I do wish we could ever have any good coffee. Annette, why cannot you have it made as my mother does?’ This was the drop too much for me, and I boiled over. ‘You never think anything on our table fit to be eaten,’ said I, and 1 almost started at the sound of mv own voice—‘you had better live at home, if you are not satisfied, or*else provide me with decent servants. I cannot do everything—take care of my baby all night, and get the breakfast loo.’ ‘ I did not know before that I was so very unreasonable,’ said he in a tone of injured feel ing. He sat a few minutes, then rose, left his untasted breakfast, put on his hat and went off. VV'heu I heard the door shut behind him, all my temper left me. I went to my room, locked myself in, sat down and cried like a child. This was the first cross word I had ever spoken to my husband. It seemed to me as if some sudden calamity had befallen me.— I worked myself up to such a pilch of feeling, that I walked about the room, wringing my hands. ‘ 0, it is all over with us,’ thought I; ‘we shall never be happy together again in this world.’ This thought made me unspeakably miserable. 1 felt as if a black pall had fallen around me, and in the future there was only blank—darkness. In my misery I sought to comfort myself by blaming him. ‘He need not have so to me, at any rate,’ said I, out loud', he might have seen how l felt; it was too much for any one to bear. It^really was not a bit kind in him. It is plain enough that he does not care'for my comfort as he once did. Then to be always telling me what nice things his mother cooks, when ho knows I am trying to do my very best to learn to please him ! It is really too bad.’ Don’t look so dreadfully sober, Kate. My baby cried just here, and 1 had to run before I was through with my grievances, yet I had gone far enough to get well on the wrong track again. I began to calm myself with the reflection, that if there had been a great wrong done, I was not the only one to blame for it._ I was dreadfully sorry that I had spoken cross to him, but I thought he otuht to be sorry too. Before my baby had finished crying, 1 came to the conclusion that I would not exhibit signs of penitence until I saw some in him. Sol bathed my face, that no traces of tears might remain, dressed myself with unusual care, and went down to old Bridget, to give some very particular directions about the din ner. I did this with a martyr-like spirit. I meant to try my best to make him sorry for his injustice. I resolved to reproach him with a first rate dinner, good as his mother could cook. Io whet the edge of my delicate re proof, I made, with my own hands, a most excellent cup of coflee. One o’clock came at last, though I thought it never would ; the door opened, and I heard his quick step in the hall. Of all things in this world, he was whistling! He came to the table with a bright face, from which every trace of the morning’s cloud had disappeared, and as he sat down looked around with a pleased expression. 1 " hy, Anncte,’ said he, ‘what a nice din ner.’ 11 am glad you are pleased,' said I, in a sub dued tone. 4 Capital,' said be, ‘the best roast we have had this season.’ lie was so much taken up with my delicate reproofs as not to notice that I was out of spir its. I was half pleased and half provoked ; but I kept rather still, making little conversa tion excepting in reply to him. After dessert, I handed him his cup of cof fee. He was quite astonished. ‘Why, An nette,’ said he, ‘I do believe you went to work to-day to see what you could do.’ He had hit the truth, though without the least suspicion of the cause. My first impulse was, to be honest and out with it by replying, Is it as good as your mother makes? This would have given him the key to the whole story—he would have ferreted it all out, and we should have settled it there; but 1 felt ashamed to. I sipped my coffee in silence.— The golden moment passed, and my good an j gel touk his flight. Pride had the day. 1 j even began to be vexed at his enjoying a good j dinner so much, and so easily forgetting what , had caused me so much suffering, lie was | very busy on that day, and did not stay with me as long as usual to chat, but went off whist | ling even more cheerily than when he came. 1 went up into the nursery and sat down to think it over. Haby was asleep ; the rain was pattering against the windows ; the wind was rising, and to me the worlJ looked dreary j enough. I had tired myself all out, getting tip j such a dinner, and now the excitement was over, I felt the reaction. I began to ask myself what I had got for it. Just nothing at all. My husband either did not or would nut see that there was anything to be reconciled about. I blamed him for his insensibility.— I ‘Once,’ thought I, ‘he would have noticed any ! change in my voice or any shadow which came over my spirits ; now, I can really be cross to him and he does not mind it at all.’ I had a doleful afternoon of it. I was rest less enough ; trying first one employment and then another, but finding nothing which would suit. I went down to tea, farther if anything, from the right point than I had been at noon. I sat dejected and silent. My husband tried once or twice to engage me in conversation, j without success. ‘ Annette, said he at length, in a kind tone, ‘do you not feel well to-day?’ ‘ Not very,’ said I, with a sigh. ‘ What is the matter ?’ ‘ My head aches; the baby kept me awake almost all night.’ This was the truth, but only in part, and I felt guilty as I said it.— Then lie begged me to go and lie down on the sofa in the parlor, and said he would read to me anything I would like to hear. 1 felt this was kind in him. It was like old times; the new times, you see, had been but a day, but to me it seemed very long ; yet it was not what I wanted. I wanted to have the trouble cleared away, not bridged over; and 1 determined to bold out until it should come to this, untl he should see and feel that 1 could not be made happy alter a cross word, with out a scene of mutual contrition and forgive ness; so I would not stay and be read to, but tuld bun I must go to bed. 1 left him in bis easy chair, wub his study-lamp and bock, mid bright fire, ill regular old bache lor style, and went off into my nursery, and then to lied, and cried myself to sleep.— You laugh, Kate, as if you thought I was a foul. 1 think so, myself now. ‘ How did it allend, Aunelle ?’ ‘ I held out a week, becoming every day more and more sad, and sulky, I may as well call it. When I was left alone, I used to lake my baby up and cry over him ns if iny husband was dead, and the child was all I had left in the world. Dear me! how unhappy I was, and every day added to it. I would find something in ins conduct to pain me every time we met. Either lie was too attentive or not atieutive enough ; talked loo much or too litile. He bore my moody ill-humor patiently, thinking I was ill. One day he came home and told me he had obtained a week’s leave of absence, and bad engaged a carriole, and I must pack up myself and buby, and be ready to start oS in an hour. He was going io take rue home to my moiher’s. ‘We may as well have a journey os pay Dr.’s bills, Annette,’ said be ; ‘and ns to having you drooping about in ibis stylo any longer, I am not going to. We will send off old Bridget, lock up our house, run away from ill cure ami hare some fun.’ He looked Up so kindly I Could hate fallen upon his neck and wept my heart out, to think how ugly 1 had been } but there was no time then to talk it over. 1 hurried away to pack, but before I Was halt through with the packing, I resolved that I would tell him the whole story from beginning to end.— The moment I Came to this determination, the load was gone J tny heart set filed light bs a feather; the expression of my conmr* nance, the tones of my voire, changed. 1 was conscious of it, and he noticed ir as soon ns I joined him, at the appointed hour. ' Why, Annette,’ snid he, ‘getting ready has cured you. We may as Well stay at home now.’ That will do, Kate. The rest of the story will sound sentimental to a third party.’ ‘No, no, Annette, that would be leaving out the very cream of it. Tell me how yotl settled it.’ Well, we rotle on enjoying the change un til towards dark. Baby then fell nsleep. It was a very quiet hour—everything about us was beautiful and |renceful. 1 fell deeply, and I longed to have all in my heart pure nnd peaceful. Tears of real penitence came into tny eyes, and before 1 knew it, they were dropping down upon the baby. My huslinnd turned and saw them. * Why, Annette,’ said lie, with the utmost surprise, ‘what it the matter ?’ ‘O, I am so sorry,’ said 1, ‘ Sorry for what, love,’ said he, ‘are you not happy? Does anything trouble you?’ ‘I am so sorry,’ said I, ‘that I have been so ugly this week.-’ •What do you mean?* said he, looking more and more puzzled. ‘ How can you help knowing?’ said !.—» Then I hegun at the beginning and told (he whole story. How I rose feeling irritable, and was provoked to speak the first cross word; how he told me my things were not as nice as his mother's, and went off vexed ) then how lie got over it, and fofgot all about it, and would not help rite to feel good na ttircd by saying he was sorry. How I had brooded over il all the week—how it had festered away in my Iteurt, and poisoned all my enjoyment. What torrents of tears 1 had shed when alone, as 1 thought it was all over with us, and we never should love again as we had once loved. He heard ine through without making a single remark, and then he burst into a loud laugh. ‘I want to know, Annette,-’ said lie, ‘if this is wliat has ailed you all this week r* * Yes,’ said 1. Upon this lie checked our Dobbin, nnd began to turn round. * What are you going to do?' said f. ‘Going back,’ said lie, ‘if ibis is all which is the matter with von.’ ‘I laughed heartily as lie did, for dow my sin was confessed, I felt very happy; but t pulled the other rein nnd drew the whip* lash over Dobbin’s ears, and away he went like n bird towards my mother’s home. But we made a resolution, then, Kate, that if cither bad might against each other, it should be settled before the sun went down; that we might go lo sleep, if not ‘ct peace with all the world,’at least at peace with each other, forgiving and forgiven.—1 This resolution we have taithfully kept, and I have never seen another week of such mis* ery ns I have been telling you about,nnd I trust 1 never shall. I hope you will find in your new relations, Kate, all the enjoyment we now do. This is the best wish I can of* fer you —and that your first cross word inay also be your last. A Sixpence for a Kiss. Coming down town in one of the Bowerjr omnibusses the other .lay, we were acci dentally one of a trio—two of whigh consist ed of a brace of mtlier pretty girls, whrf seemed to enjoy the ride remarkably. The singe did not get another customer until on the corner of Rivitigstoo street, a rather * spruce looking young man stepped in, who sealed himselt hy our side, evidently inspect ing the joyous tempting damsels opposite, with art eye of remarkable interest. They took little notice of him being evi dently engaged in earnest but laughing con fab. As the conveyance neared ttie intersec tion of Chatham Square with Division street, our young companion pulled the Btring, and shoving n two shilling piece to the driver, with the cabalistic interjection of 'two!'— look Itis change through the strop hole, and as lie retreated towards the door in the rear, suddenly put his nrm round the neck of one ot the unsuspecting maidens—the prettiest one—and bending his face to her lips, im printed a warm hearty kiss,, upon the twin clierrie^wliich composed the lips aforesaid! It was the action of an instant, and, in three seconds more he was out of lire stage and round the corner, with only one rogue ish glance over Itis shoulder. The poor girl turned pale, and then sud denly became remarkably red in the face* tire jjlush mantling to her very temples( while she hastily wiped the insult from her pretty labials with a neat white handker chief. • But he paid your fare, Sarah !’ whispered her sister divinity, as with a nudge of the el bow, she turned consolingly to the offended fair one. 1 Did he ? well, he can have a dozen more at the same price ! . There was a quiet but meaning Chuckle, and just then the driver gave the horses Urt reins. We were crowded farther away from the girls in the corner, moralizing tremendously on human frailty and wickedness ! Sixpence for such n kiss! Cheap isn’t it ? Bring in the Apples !—The apple majr lie culled the * staple fruit’ of New England. Il ranks among fruits as the potatoe does among vegetables. A writer in the last number of the Knickerbocker says: The apple is the companion of the winter evening, associated wilh a cheerful room, a liriabi fire, a pleasant tale, Scott’s novels or the Arabian Nights. Perhaps it is nearly bedtime. Your eyes grow dim. You are fatigued with sillily, with chess, with check ers, with books; you sigh, you yawn, you stretch your arms above your head. All of a sudden n happy thought strikes you.— Bring in the apples ! It is like magic.— The fool-lights now go up and the scene brightens. Toleration. The idea of toleratibn, strictly speaking, should not he known in our country ; because the freedom of thought and of opinion, and the unbounded exercise of that privilege in expressing our opinions, is an inalienable right, the right of every cit izen of one as much ns niiother, and there fore there should be no occasion for tolera tion. which implies subordination—that one is right, anti that others aie tolmttd. Let all be equal. It is of no consequence where these senten ces were foitnd ; they are worth treasuring up. A preacher once said—“ If you know anything that will make a brother’s heart glad run quick and tell it ; but if it is something that will only cause a sigh, bottle il up, bottle il up. ’ Wo never gel good bread for ourselves till wc be gin to for our brethren.