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JF>4■ • • Ugounutl of political anfo General Hclos-Jn Jpboafe of <&pid gliglrfs. VoL- vni._BATH, THURSDAY WORM AH, SKI>TB>1BBR 15, 1853. '".no. 13. <£jlt (Bnsttrn <£intrs Id PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING, BY GEO. E. NEWMAN, Editor aud Proprietor. Office In north end of Pierce's Block, third story, corner of Frout and Broad Streets. Torma. Tr paid strict/y ih advance—per aimuiu, $1,50 If payment is delayed 8 mos., 1,75 . If not paki till the close of the year, 2,00 O’ No patter will he discontinued until all arrearages are pakl, Unless at the option of the publisher. rrr Single copies, four cents—for sale at the office, and at Stearns’ Periodical Depot, Centre Sheet. jj, All letters and communications to be addressed post paid, to the Publisher, Bath, Me. S. M. Pkttexoill k Co., Newspaper Advertising Agents, No. 10 State Street, and V. B. Palmer, Scollay’s Building, Court Street, Boston, are Agents for this paper, and are authorized to receive Advertisements and Subscriptions for us at the same rates as required at this office. Their re ceipts are regarded as payments. C|e JSforg Ctller. From the New York Tribune. LIFE AT THEFIVE POINTS. THE TWO PENNY MARRIAGE. 1 Mr. Pease, we want to be married.’ * Want to be married—w hat lor V * Why, you see we don’t think it is right For us to be living together this way any lon ger, and we have been talking over the matter to-day and you see-’ * Yen, yes, I see you have been talking over the matter over the I Kittle, and have come to a sort of drunken conclusion to get married.— When you get sober, you will both repent of it, probably.’ ‘ No, Sir, we are not very drunk now, not so drunk but what we can think, and we don’t think we are doing right—we are not doing as we were brought up to do by pious parents.— We have been reading about the good things you have done for just such poor outcasts as wre are, and we want you to try and do some thing for us.’ * Read ! Can you read? Do you read the. Bible?’ ‘Well, not much lately, but we read the newspapers, and sometimes we read something good in them. How can we read the Bible when we are drunk?’ ‘ Do you think getting married will keep you from getting drunk?’ ‘ Yes, for we are going to take the pledge too, and we shall keep it, depend upon that.’ * Suppose you take the pledge, try that first, and if you can keep it until you wash some of the dirt away, and get some clothes on, then 1 will marry you.’ * No ; that won’t do. I shall get to think ing what a poor, dirty, miserable wretch I am, and how 1 am living with this woman, who is not a bad woman by nature, and then I will drink, and then she will drink—oh, cursed rum !—and w hat is to prevent us ? But if we wrere married, my wife would say, ‘ Thomas’ —she would not say ‘ Tom—you dirty brute,’ don’t be tempted; and who knows but w'e might be somebody yet—somebody that our own mothers wouldn't be ashamed of.’ Here the woman, who had been silent and rather moody, burst into a violent flood of tears, crying, ‘ Mother, I know not whether she is alive or not, and dare not inquire ; but if we were married and reformed, 1 would make her happy once more.’ ‘ I could no longer stand the appeal/ said Mr. P., ‘ and I determined to give them a trial. I have married a good many poor, wretched looking couples, but none that looked quite so much so as this. The man was hatless and shoeless, without coat or vest, with long hair, and beard begrimmed with dirt, lie was by trade a bricklayer, and one of the best in the city. She wore the last remains of a silk bonnet, and something that might pass for an old, very old dress, once a rich merino, appar ently without any under garments.’ * And your name is Thomas—Thomas what V ‘ Elting, sir. Thomas Elting, a good true name and a true man, that is, shall be, if you marry us. * Well, well. I am going to marry you.’ 4 Are you ? There Mag, I told you so.’ 4 Don’t call me Mag. If I am going to be married, I will be called by my right name, the one my mother gave me.’ 4 Not Mag. Well, I never knew that.’ 4 Now Thomas, hold your longue, you talk too much. What is your name ?’ Matilda. Must I tell the other? Yes, I will, and I never will disgrace it. I don’t think 1 should ever have been as bad if 1 had , kept it. That bad woman who first tempted me to ruin, made me take a false name. It is a bad thing for a girl to give up her name, un less for that of a good husband. Matilda Fra ley. Nobody knows me by that name, in this bad city.’ 4 Very well. Matilda and Thomas, take each by the right hand, and look at me, for I am now going to unite you in the holy bonds of marriage, by God's ordinance. Do you think you are sufficiently sober to comprehend its solemnity?’ 4 Yes, sir.’ 4 Marriage being one of God’s holy ordi nances, cannot be kept in sin, misery, filth ond drunkenness. Thomas, will you take Matilda to be your lawful, true, only, wedded wife?’ 4 Yes sir.’ * You promise that you will live with her, in sickness as well as health, and nourish, pro tect and comfort her as your true and faithful wife; that you will be to her a true and faith ful husband ; that you will not get drunk, and will clothe yourself and keep clean.’ * Never mind answering until I get through. You promise to abstain totally from every kind of drink that intoxicates, and treat this woman kindly, affectionately, and love her as a hus band should love his wedded wife. Now ail this, will you, here before me as the servant of the Most High—here in the sight of God in Heaven, most faithfully promise, if I give you this woman to be your wedded wife:’ ‘ Yes, I will.’ 4 And you, Matilda, on your part, will you promise the same, and be a true wife to this man !’ 41 will try, sir.’ 4 But do you promise all this faithfully ?’ * 4 Yes, sir, I will.’ ‘ Now, Thomas,’ says the new wife, after I bad made out the certificate and given it to her, with an injunction to keep it safely—4 now pay Mr. Pease, and fet us go home and break the bottle. I homas felt first in the right hand pocket, then the left, then back to the right, then he examined the watch-fob. 4 Why, where is it?’ says she,4 you had two dollars this morning!’ 4 Yes, I know it, but 1 have only got two cents this evening. There, Mr. Pease, take them, it is all I have got in the world ; what more can I give ?’ Sure enough, what could he do more ? I took them and prayed over them, that in part ing with the last penny, this couple migh have parted with a vice, a wicked, foolish practice, which had reduced them to sucli a degree of poverty and wretchedness, that the master pow er of rum could hardly send its victim lower. So Tom and Mag were trasformed into Mr. and Mrs. Elting, and having grown somewhat more sober while in the house, seemed to fully understand their new position, and all the ob ligations they had taken upon themselves. For a few days I thought occasionally of this two penny marriage, and then it became absorbed with a thousand other scenes of wretchedness which I have witnessed since I have lived in this centre of city misery. Time wore on and I married many other couples— often those who came in their carriage and left a golden marriage fee—a delicate way of giv ing to the needy—but among all I had never performed the rite for a couple quite so low as that of this two penny fee, and I resolved I never would again. At length, however, I had a call for a match to them, which I refused. 4 Why do you come to me to be married, my friend ?' said 1 to the man. ‘ You are both ter rible drunkards, I know you are.’ 4 That is just what we want to get married for, and take the pledge.’ 4 Take that first.’ 4 No, we must take all together, nothing else will save ns.’ 4 Will that?’ 4 It did one of my friends.’ 4 Well, then, go and bring that friend hero ; let me see and hear how much it saved him, and then I will make np my mind what to do; if I can do you any good I w ant to do it.’ 4 My friend is at work—he has got a good job and several hands working for him, and is making -money, and won’t quit till night.— Shall I come this evening ?’ 4 Yes, I will stay at home and wait for you.’ I little expected to see him again, btit about 8 o’clock the servant said that a man and his girl, with a gentleman and lady, were wailing in the reception room. I told him to ask the gentleman and lady to walk up to the parlor and sit a moment, while I sent the candidates j for marriage away, being determined never to j unite another drunken couple, not dreaming that there was any sympathy between the par- I j lies. liui Uiey would not come up; they wanted to see that couple married. So 1 went down and found the squalidly wretched pair in company with a well dressed laboring man, for he wore a fine black coat, silk vest, gold watch chain, clean white shirt and cravat, pol ished calf-skin bools; and his wife was just as neat and tidily dressed as anybody’s wife, and her face beamed with intelligence, and the way in which she clung to the arm of her husband, as she seemed to shrink from my sight, told that she was a loving as well as pretty wife. ‘ This couple,’ says the gentleman, ‘have come to be married.’ * Yes, I know it, but I have refused. Look at them ; do they look like fit subjects for such a holy ordinance ? God never intended those whom he created in his own image should live in matrimony like this man and woman. I cannot marry them.’ ‘Cannot! Why not? You married us when we were worse off—more dirtv—worse clothed, and more intoxicated.’ The woman shrunk back a little more out of sight. 1 saw she trembled violently, and put her clean cambric hankerehief up to her eyes. What could it mean ; Married them when worse off? Who were they ? ‘ Have you forgotten us V said the woman, taking my hand in hers, and dropping on her knees; ‘we have not forgotten you, but pray >for you every day.’ ‘ If you have forgotten them, you have not forgotten the two penny marriage. No won der you did not know us. I told Matilda she need not be afraid or ashamed, if you did know her. B(tt I knew you would not. How could you ? We were in rags and dirt then. Look at us now. All your work, sir. All the blessings of that pledge and that marriage, and that good advice yon gave us. Look at this suit of clothes, and her dress—all Matil da’s work, every stitch of it. Come and look at our house, as neat as she is. Everything in it to make a comfortable home ; and oh, sir, there is a cradle in our bed-room. Five hundred dollars already in bank, and I shall add as much more next week when I finish my job. So much for one year of a sober life, and a faithful, honest, pood wife. Now' this man is as good a workman as I am, only he is bound down with the galling fetters of drunk enness, and living with this woman just as 1 did. Now he thinks that he can reform just as well as me , but lie thinks he must take the pledge of the same man, and have his first ef fort sanctified with the same blessing, and then w'ith a good resolution, and Matilda and me to watch over them, I do believe thev will suc ceed.’ So they did. So may others by the same means. I married them, and as I shook hands with Mr. Elting, at parting, he left two coins in my hand, with the simple remark that there was another two penny marriage fee. I was in hope that it might have been a couple of dollars this time, but 1 said nothing, and we parted with a mutual God bless you. ~ When I went up stairs I tossed the coins into my wife's lap with the remark, ‘two pennies again, my dear.’ ‘ Two pennies ! Why, husband, they are eagles—real golden eagles. What a deal of good they will do. What blessings have fol lowed that act.’ ‘ And will follow the present, if the pledge is faithfully kept. Truly, this is a good re sult of a Two Penny Marriage.” That was a good remark of Seneca’s when he said—‘Great is he who enjoys his earthen ware as if it were plate ; and not less great is he to whom all his plate is no more than earthenware.’ Pride hides our own faults, and magnifies the faults of others. fjjtsnllang. Removing a Ring from a Young lady’s Finger. Dr. Castle, of Boston, communicates to the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal, the fol lowing ingenious method, devised by him, for extricating a young lady’s finger from a ring which was too small for her. We give his story in his own language : “ An interesting young lady, about 17 years of age, had presented to her a gold ring, which she forced over the joints of her middle finger. After a few minutes the finger commenced swelling, and the ring could not be removed. The family physician, Dr.-, was sent for,' but could do nothing. The family, and the young lady, especially, were now in the greatest consternation. A jeweler was sent for. After many futile attempts to cut the ring with cutting nippers, and to saw it apart with a fine saw, and after bruising and lacer ating the flesh, warm fomentations and leeches were applied, but all without affording the slightest benefit. Dr.-requested my pres ence, with the compliment that ‘perhaps my mechanical ingenuity might suggest some thing.’ 1 at once proceeded to the house of the pa tient, and found the young lady in a most de plorable state of mental agony, the doctor em barrassed, and the family in a high state of excitement. I procured some prepared chalk, and applied it between the ridges of swollen flesh, and all around the finger, and succeeded in drying the oozing and abraded flesh ; then w ith a narrow piece of soft linen 1 succeeded in polishing the ring, by drawing it gently round the ring between the swollen parts. 1 then applied quicksilver to the whole surface of the ring. In less than three minutes the ring was broken (by pressing it together,) in four pieces, to the great relief of all parties. In a similar manner, (without the chalk,) I some time since extracted a small brass ring from the ear of a child, who, childlike, had inserted it into the cavity of the ear. The op eration was more painful and tedious, but was equally successful. The modus operandi: The quicksilver at once permeates the metals, if clean, (with the exception of iron, steel, platiua, and one or two others,) and amalgamates with them. It immediately crystalizcs, and renders the metal as hard and as brittle as glass. Hence the ease with which metals amalgamated with quicksilver can be broken.” • The Dishonest Convert. Upon a certain occasion, a man called on him with a due bill for twenty dollars against an estate he had been employed to settle.— Friend Hopper put it away, saying he would examine it and attend to it as soon as he had leisure. The man called again a short time after, and stated that he had need of six dol lars, and was willing to give a receipt for the w hole if that sum were advanced. This prop osition excited suspicion, and the administra tor decided in his own mind that he would pay nothing till he had examined the papers of the deceased. Searching carefully among these, he found a receipt for the money, men tioning the identical items, date and circum stances of the transaction ; stating that a due bill had been given and lost, and was to be restored by the creditor when found. When the man called again for payment, Isaac said to him in a quiet way, ‘Friend Jones, I un derstand thou hast become pious lately.’ He replied in a solemn tone. ‘Yes, thanks to the Lord Jesus, I have found out the way of salvation.’ ‘ And thou hast been dipped, I hear,’ con tinued the Quaker. ‘Dost thou know James Hunter ?’ Mr. Jones answered in the affirmative. ‘ Well, he also was dipped some time ago,’ rejoined Friend Hopper ; ‘hut his neighbors say they didn’t get the crown of his head un der water. The devil crept into the unbap tized part, and has been busy w ith him ever since. I am afraid they didn’t get thcc quite under water. I think thou hadst better be dipped again.’ As he spoke, he held up the receipt for twenty dollars. The countenance of the pro fessedly pious man became scarlet, and lie disappeared instantly.—“Isaac T. Hopper, A True Life,” by Mrs. Child. “I want it now!” Was the half uttered soliloquy of a despair ing mechanic, on Saturday evening, as his em ployer told him to call on Monday morning for the six dollars due him. Monday morning ! Ij is all the same to the millionaire. He has abundant credit with the butcher, the baker, the coal-man, the grocer, in short with every body. They are all only too happy to trust him. If he wants to take a ride on Sunday with his family, to the High Bridge, the livery stable man is ready to furnish him w ith a car riage. If he has a fancy for a couple of wood cocks, the game-merchant will send him the nicest and fattest, and wait his own time for payment. Should wife or children want shoes, they can have an unlimited supply on credit. In fact, the millionaire doesn’t really need money, everything he or his family may want can be got without money. But with the me chanic, the working man, the case is entirely different. Forced by the extortions of land lord to remove every year further and further up town, he has no chance to make acquain tance and establish a credit with the small, cautious German dealers of the avenues.—His butcher sells only for cash—the grocer w’ill not trust nobody will give a day's credit.— Our poor mechanic has been working like a dog for those six dollars; they are worth twice as much to him now—to day—as they will be forty-eight hours hence. He meant to have' j a little feast to-night—for even six dollars will J feast a poor man and his family—and perhaps 1 even to have taken an excursion to Hoboken to ! morrow, to let the wife and children breathe [ and rest. But now, your thoughtless, heart- j less, cruel indifference has made them all gloo my and miserable over Sunday, the poor man’s precious holiday. He can’t, like you, go out and borrow what he wants—nobody lends the poor man money! and so, he must go home with a heavy heart—feed his family on cod fish and potatoes, and come to his work on Monday morning, grumbling and discontented just because you did not give yourself the trou ble to be just. Shame on you, oh rich man ! Napoleon and Masked Balls. Great as was Napoleon’s repugnance to masked balls, he was induced to attend one of them : when, for the first and last time in his imperial life, he is said to have participated in the dance. He had ordered ten different dresses to be taken to the apartment designed for him, but in each disguise he was detected. Several of his marshals often amused them selves with a good laugh at his utter failure in his attempt to unplay the emperor. ‘ Do you know,’ said Napoleon, when ral lied on ihe subject, ‘ that I was regularly dis covered by a jcunc (fame, who seemed to be an accomplished intriguant; and yet, would you believe it, with all my efforts, 1 could not rec ognize the flirt. Josephine was present during this conversa tion, and^unable to restrain herself any longer, fell to laughing immoderately. Thus the dis covery at last came out that she had been the jcune /fame herself. During the carnival of that winter, the masked balls at the opera were frequented by all the upper classes, and were particularly amusing. Josephine, tvas very anxious to have Napoleon see one, but he would not go. ‘ Then I shall go without you, mon ami,' replied the Empress. ‘ Do as you like, was the response, as the Emperor rose from the breakfast table. At the appointed time, Josephine left for the ball; but the very moment she had set out, her husband sent for one of the femmes dc charnbres to learn exactly how she was dressed. A\ ith a game to play, the Emperor resolved to do his part well ; so, with Duruc. another officer, and his own favorite valet, all com pletely masked, he entered a carriage, and arm-in-arm entered the ball-room. Napoleon was that night to have the name of Auguste, Duroc was to be Francois, Ac. They made the tour of the apartments, and not a person resembling Josephine was visible. He was about leaving, when a mask approached, and rallied him with so much wit, that he had to stop for a reply; but he was somewhat em barrassed, which, lieing perceived by tire mask, harder repartees fell thick an<l faRt.— The crowd mingled in the giddy and electric movements of the bal masque, but at every turn this mask whispered low in his ear a state secret of little importance in itself, but startling to Napoleon. At length, he ex claimed, after one of those whispers— ‘ Comment diable! Who are you?’ And thus he was tormented for nearly an hour, till he could endure it no longer, when he withdrew in disdain and disgust. When he entered the palace that night, he learned that Josephine had some time before retired to her room. As they met the next morning, Napoleon said— ‘ So you were not at the ball last night ?’ ‘ Indeed I was.’ ‘ But I assure you I was there.’ ‘ And you, monami,’ with a half-suppressed smile she continued, * What were you about all the evening?’ ‘ I was in my cabinet,’ said Napoleon. ‘ Oh, Auguste !’ replied the Empress, with an arch-gesture. The whole secret was out; Josephine had donned a costume, of which her femme de chamhre knew nothing, and Napoleon enjoyed and repeated the joke a thousand times. It were all in vain to hope that her husband, in any costume, could move without having his identity immediately detected by a woman of such keen perceptions as Josephine. The Pacific Railroad—A Novel Idea. A writer in the Scientific American propos es to build the Great Pacific Railroad, not on the ground, but about eight feet above it. Ho would have the whole distance piled, and on these piles he would place the roadway. The idea is a novel one, and if a road could be built equally strong on this plan as on any oth er, we do not see what is to prevent the pile driver from triumphing over the barrow and pick-axe. Grant that there be no objection to the strength and longevity ot such a road, and it possesses advantages that place it far in ad vance of any other mode of construction. In the first place, it would be free from dust: secondly, it would never become obstructed by snow drifts ; thirdly, it would be somewhat springy in its nature, and thus allow locomo tives to make better time with less wear and tear than they experience on roads made per fectly solid. That a road built on piles can be rendered practicable, is shown by our Hud son River Railroad people. Between Albany and New York there are some twenty miles over which the rails arc laid on piles. Just below Hudson there is one single stretch of upwards of four miles. This portion of the road wears as well as any other ; w hile its entire freedom from dust makes it one of the most pleasant pieces of the whole route. The proprietor of the pile road proposes also another improvement. Instead of placing cars above the rails, he intends to let them hang between them. By means of a properly shaped axle, this is very easily done, and when it is done, one hundred miles an hour can be made without any fear whatever that : the cars will fly from the track or bring up in j a gravel pit. A road built upon piles, the j Scientific American says, can be constructed j for $10,000 per mile. If ibis be so, it would make the whole cost ot the New York and | San Francisco Railroad less than thirty mil- 1 lions of dollars, which is some seventy mih lions of dollars less than a road can bo built for on any other known plan. A road resting on piles would have very little grading to do. Where tfye land declined, the level could be preserved by driving the piles a smaller dis tance into the earth ; where the land ascended, the same level could be preserved by driving the piles into the soil an increased distance. The Streets of Genoa. A correspondent of the Columbia (S. C.) Banner writes from Genoa that a stranger, on visiting that famous city, is immediately struck with the tall houses and exceedingly narrow streets. The latter, he says, vary in width from six to-(perhaps in two or three instances) thirty-fire feet—the great majority being from ten to fifteen or twenty feet, while the former contain from six to nine stories, lie contin ues :—‘ Several times I have stood between two houses, on opposite sides of the street, and looking up, observed—perhaps 100 feet overhead—their tops apparently tilting tow ards each other, and only separated by the space of fifteen or twenty inches, through which a scan tv supply of light found its way, while the sun’s rays were denied a passage, except for a few feet during the middle of the day. The effect, though very dark, is visibly apparent. Al though the climate is very warm, the inhabit ants suffer very little from the heat, there be ing always plenty of shade and some air.— \ cry few vehicles are seen, as there is no room for them, but in their place you observe a few sedan chairs, and many asses, the latter riding as well as ridden, for no one but an ass would ride on such animals, and in such a place. Everything seems curious, and you may lose yourself (w hich Mr. Dickens says is a great comfort when you are idle) twenty times a day if you like, and turn up again un der the most unexpected and surprising diffi culties.’ A Gas Well. L. S. Griswold furnishes to the Cincinnati Gazette the following account, under date of Wellington, Aug. 20 : “ Mr. Benjamin Clifford, who lives about half a mile east of this village, was digging a well near his house yesterday. After digging some twenty feet, he commenced boring for water, and having bored about three feet, gas began to escape from the orifice, which was four inches in diameter, with a bubbling and hissing sound that could be heard some rods from the well. A match-was applied to the current some inches above the ground, and it ignited in an instant, and burned until a late hour last evening, when the blaze was extin guished and the hole stopped. This morning, I went down with a number of our citizens to ascertain more about it, and see what were the prospects of its continucnce; and wre found on approaching the well that there was gas enough yet; a noise much like that of a boiling cauldron of water was heard in the bottom of the well, caused no doubt by the escape of the gas through the w\uter w hich hud settled around the orifice. The plug was taken out, and a match again applied to the stream of gas, about two feet from the ground, and as before, it was instantly lighted, and burned up at times from five to six feet. The warmth of the blaze could be felt by the hand at the top of the well, and for several feet around, the burning gas could be smelled. It was burning when we loft, and was to he left open until 12 o’clock to-day. From present appearances, it will afford gas enough to light every dwelling in our village ; and if it should continue, our citizens will very soon appropriate it.’ Novel Way of Holding a Horse. A gentleman travelling through Germany, thus describes a novel method of fastening a horse, which he saw put in practice by a Ger man blacksmith:— ‘ As soon as breakfast was over, I generally enjoyed the luxury of riding about town, and in passing the shop ot a blacksmith, the man ner in which he tackled and shod a vicious horse amused me. On the outside of the wall of the house two rings were firmly fixed, to one of which the patient’s head was lashed close to the ground ; the hind foot to be shod stretched out to the utmost extent of the leg,*was then secured by the other ring about five feet high, by a cord which passed through a cloven hitch, fixed to the root of the poor creature’s tail. The hind foot was consequently very much higher than the head ; indeed it was quite exalted, and pulled so heavily at the tail, that the animal scented to be quite anxious to keep his other foot on terra firma. With one feet in the heavens, it did not suit him to kick ; with his nose pointing to the infernal regions, he could not conveniently rear ; and as a heavy hand was constantly pulling at his tail, the horse at last gave up the point, and quietly submitted to be shod.’ Fast Men. The vicious die early. They fall like shadows, or tumble like wrecks and ruins into the grave—often when quite young, almost always before forty. The wicked ‘ liveth not half his days.’ The world at once stifles the 'truth, and assigns the reason by describing the dissolute as ‘ fast men ;’ that is they live fast; they spend their twelve hours in six, getting through them while others are in the glory of life. ‘ Their sun goes down while it is yet day.’ And they might have helped it. Many a one* dies before he need. Your men oi genius, like Burns and Byron, to whom, when dissipated and profligate, thir ty-seven is so fajal ; and your obscure and nameless ‘ wandering stars,’ who waste their youth in libertine indulgence—they cannot live long. They must die early. They put on steam till they blow up their boilers. They ruif at such a rate, that the lire goes out for want of fuel. The machinery is destroyed by reckless speed and rapid wear. Nothing can save them. Their physical system cannot stand the strain they put to it; while the state of their minds is often such that the soul would eat the substance of the most robust body, and make "for itself a way of escape from the inces sant hell of its own thoughts.—T. Binncy. Shopping. She stood beside the counter, The day he’ll ne’er forget, She thought the muslin dearer Than any she’d seen yet; He watched her playful fingtrs The silks and satins toss, The clerk looked quite uneasy, And nodded at the boss. > * Show me some velvet ribbon, Berage and satin ture,” She said, M I want to purchase !’* She gave the goods a jerk; The clerk was all obedience. He travelled “on his shape,” At length with hesitation, She bought a yard of tape. Neutralizing Offensive Odors. The North British Agriculturist furnishes a statement of Lindsey Blyth, in relation to a very successful experiment for destroying a most offensive smell in a stable, arising from the decomposition of urine and dung. He tried the mixture of Epsom salts and plaster ; of paris, (gypsum)—f the most wonderful ef fects followed and the stable-keeper was de- ! lighted.’ Previously the stable was damp ^ and unwholesome ; and if closed for a few hours, the ammonical vapors were suffocating. After sprinkling the sulphates underneath the straw, and along the channel of the drain, the smell disappeared, and even the walls became drier. He recommends as an economical pre paration for this purpose and for sewers, mag gesia limestone dissolved in sulphuric acid (forming sulphates of magnesia or Epsom salts,) with a portion of super-phosphate of lime (made by dissolving bones in sulphuric 1 acid)—these, at the same time that they retain the escaping ammonia, also add greatly, by their own presence, to the value of the ma nure. Uncertainty of the law. A laughable illustration of the heading of this article occurred in Illinois lately, as will ! he seen by the following from the Peoria News :—Mr. II. was out hunting with his rifle, and crossing the field of Mr. C., a Fren chman, Mr. C.’s large dog attacked him sav agely, while Mr. C. stood looking on, with out attempting to call off his dog ; 15. getting out of patience, shot the dog, and he fell ap parently dead. C. in high dudgeon, forthwith got out a warrant, and had 15. arrested for kill ing his dog—swore to the killing, and wns corroborated by two of his neighbors, who were present at the shooting. The magistrate j fined 13. ten dollars and costs, which amounted | to about ten more. 15. paid the fine and costs, ! and when the parties got home from the trial the dog had got home also, and was not killed, 15. then got out a warrant against the French man and his two associates for perjury, in swearing 15. had killed the dog. They were frightened, and madepeaco with J5.,paid back his twenty dollars, and ten more for his trouble, and no trial was had ; and when the parties re turned home from the last suit, lo ! the dog was dead. - Don’t be in a Hurry. The philosopher of the Williamsburg Daily : Times moralizes for the consolation of young J ° I ladies who want to get married and can't, as follows: She stood beside the altar when she was six teen. She w as in love; her destiny on a crea ture in fashionable clothes, with an empty pocket. lie ‘ came of a good family,’ how ever, and blood, you know, is something.-^ She looked lovely as she pronounced the vow. Think of a vow from auburn hair, dark eyes, and pouting lips, only sixteen years old ! She stood beside the wash-tub when her twenty- i fifth birth-day arrived. The hair, the eyes and the lips were not calculated to excite the j heart. Five cross young ones were about the \ room some crying, some breaking things, and one urging the immediate supply of the lacteal secretion. She stopped in despair, and sat j down, and tears trickled down her once plump j and ruddy cheeks. Alas! Nancy, early ; marriages are not the dodge. Better enjoy \ youth at home and hold lovers at a distance un- ' til you have limb, and muscle and heart, to J face the frowning world and family. If a chap really cares for you, he can wait two or three years, make presents, take you to concerts, I and so on, until the time comes. Early mar riages and early cabbages are tender produc tions. The course of true love never docs run smooth. A young gentleman of our (Liver pool Albion) acquaintance lately found it so; and so, as he thought, to punish the hesita^ ting fair one, rushed ofF and married himself to another. He was a splendidly handsome fellow. The subject being talked of at some party, one of the company asked, ‘ Was it not very sudden ? I did not know that he was even acquainted with her.’ Upon some one answering, ‘ He was a foolish fellow, and be ing angry with Miss-, determined to mar ry the first girl he met in his pique,’ a young j lady who was present, innocently exclaimed, ‘ Oh, hear me, I wish he had met me in his pique /’ We never heard of a better specimen of thinking aloud. Cattle fed on sour food, prepared by fer menting rye flour and water, into a kind of paste, and then diluted with water, afterwards thickened with hay chaff, (that is hay, cut small,) are said to fatten quickly. This plan is adopted in France to a considerable extent, and has been introduced years ago in this coun try. Although not generally adopted it is deserving of consideration by graziers. With respect to the efficacy of acid food for fatten ing animals, there is, on most other subjects, a variety of opinions. It is well known that swine derive more benefit from sour milk, than they do from milk in a frcsli state, and there is no doubt but there are particles which promote digestion, and facilitate the consump tion of a larger quantity of food, and conse duently expedite the fattening of cattle. Ag riadtor. 3Joolt nnb fob printing. Having recently made extensive adtttitiona to <mr form^ variety of S>a,AIH ABB PARS? TOE TYPE, ■'he proprietor of tfm Eastern Times U now prepared to ex sente with meavwk*, and oespatc#, every detcription of Job Work, siich as ( irrulnr,, Bill-hrnrfa, Cards, Cntalagaes, Blnnk*, Programmes, Shop Bill*, Bn be I*, Asciioa and Hand Bills, Ac., Ac. 3 I 1 iWtlcutne attention paid to BISflOTBIB IPIB2ISyf2I,II3STCBo in *** beti and promptly answere.1. w^wm/IJL'w®'^ Bath, June ti, 1H&J. 1 U*' K' Nt-WMAH. The LiGHTMNG.-it'mlTb^en toencow age some timid people who are religiously or constitutionly alarmed at lightning, to state the doctrine of chances. As a general thing, the lightning docs not strike within the space of a square mile more than once a year. If a person is a rod distant he iB seldom if ever killed. Now, there are 70,400 square rods in a square mile; and if the lightning struck rod after rod, it would take one hundred and nine ty years to go over it ; but it smites here and there, and that it will smite any special rod there is not more than one chance to a hundred billion. Again, other things being equal, the chance diminishes as it regards a low obicct, «b the difference between the square of it* height and that of a lower, so that with a per son six feet, and a tree sixty feet, there is but one chance ouv of 3564 of the person’s being struck. If he w:.ll go close to a tree, or in a house without a rod, his danger is proportion ally increased. Again, objects non-conductors when dry become good conductors wet. A dry silk umbrella, if not tipped with a metal lic substance will ward off the lightning ; but if wet, not. Get lightningrods for your hous es, and see to it that the fastenings be much smaller than the rods, that the rods enter the earth and fear not the * red artillery.’ A Beautiful Extract.—'There is no one thing more lovely in this life, more full of the divinest courage than when a young maiden, from her past life; from her happy childhood, when she rambled over every field and moor around heT home ; when a mother anticipated her wants and soothed her little cares ; when brothers and sisters grow from merry play mates to loving, trustful friends; from Christ mas gatherings and romps ; from summer fes tivals in bower or garden; from the rooms sanctified by the death of relatives ; from the secure backgrounds of her childhood, and girl hood and maidenhood ; looks out into the dark, and unilluminatod future, away from all that; and yet, unterrified, undaunted leans her fair cheek upon her lover’s breast, and whispers— ‘ Dear heart! I cannot sec, but I believe.— The past was beautiful, but the future I can trust-—with t/icc /’ A Farmer's Wife in* the Oloex Time.— Sir Anthony Fitzherbcrt, Chancellor to Henry VIII., thus describes a model farmer's wife : ‘ It is a wyve's occupation to winnow all manner of cornes, to make malto, to wash sn ironying, to make hay, shere corn; and in time of neds to help her husband to fill the mnek wnyne or dung-cart, drive the plough, load hay, come, and such other. And go or ride to the market to sell butter, Cheese, chekyns,capons, hens, pigs, geese, and all manner of cornsc.* To Clean Combs and Brushes.—To enough tepid water to cover the bristles, not the top of the brush, add a few drops of the spirit of hartshorn, an onnce of which may bo had at any apothecary’s ; dip the brush in sev eral times, shaking out the water carefully, and the mixture will work like a magic, leav ing it clear and pure, needing only to be dried by a towel ; no rubbing is needed. Combs may be done in the same way without injury to them, Kind words are the brightest flowers of earth's existence ; they make a paradise of the humblest home that tho world can show. Use them, and especially round tha fireside circle. They are jewels beyond price, and more pre cious to heal the wourded heart, and make tha weighed down spirit glad, than all other bless ings the earth can give. A Nobleman who painted remarkably well for an amateur, showing one «f his pictures to Poussin, the latter exclaimed, ‘Your lordship only requires a liule poverty to make you a complete artist.’ The Sabbath in Paris.—A Society has heen founded in Paris for 4 Sunday repose.’— Its principle of action is moral suasion. The signers of the agreement engage to do no work on the Sabbath, nor to cause others to work, and to neither buy nor sell. They agree to give their custom to such tradesmen and mas ter workmen as conform to their ideas on the subject. This is thought to be nothing more than just, as an indemnity is certainly due to such as voluntarily renounce labor on the most profitable day in the week. The other day a small boy came tearing round a corner with his rags fluttering in the wind, his face smeared w ith molasses and a shingle flourishing in his hand, while he was shouting to another hoy, about the size of a pepper box, who stood near a quarter of a mile down the street. ' Oh Bill, Bill ! get as many boys as ever you can and as many shin gles as ever you can and come up the street, round the corner as soon as ever you can, for there's a great big large hogset of. lasses bust ed on the pavement—busted all to smash.’ ‘ I could writedown twenty cases,’ says a pi* ous man, ‘when I wished God had done other wise than lie did ; but which I now see, had I my own will, Would have led to extensive mischief.’ A Boston papet thinks, that stealing 4 tnirt^ ister's coat while preaching, and the sexton’s hat while wailing upon a stranger into church, is running rascality into the gronnd. When an extravagant friend wishes to bof* row your money, consider which of the tWo you would rather lose. A grave digger, who buried a tnan hy tho name of Button, sent the following bill to the widow : ‘To making a Button hole, $1.’ One of the latest Paris fashions for gentle-1 men is the ‘ barber pole ’ pattern tor trousers : the stripes ascend spirally round tho log, giv ing the wearer the appearance of a double-bar^ relied corkscrew. The life-labor of Dr. Judson—the Burmese Bible—has, by a recent governmental change in the Burmese Empire, become accessible tu three millions of pagans.