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THE iEGIS & INTELLIGENCER.
$1.50 PER ANNUM. TO FARMERS, P LACK SMUTS & OIILR3. fPiIE Undersigned. MOTesSOIS to Jackson -■ \ Allen, erter l<> Fanners and mtiers HONE DUST Anil oilier Fertilizers, ai their Warehouse, niotiih of Deer Creek, which they will sell as low as the same cun he had in the Slate. They also buy GRAIN at lull rales in Cush. A supply of CO&L, Both Stove Coal and Coal for Blacksmiths, will be kept on hand. To Blacksmiths and others thev offer IRON, STEEL. NAILS. Agricultural Implements, &c. At the same place lately occupied hy Jack son &. Allen. WARFIELD Si ALLEN, nihlO Darlington, Md. FRESH AND SEASONABLE GROCERIES, DRY GOODS, &C. THE undersigned having removed his Store Irorn Perryimnisvdle to Aber deen, lakes this niethoil of informing his friends and the public that he is prepared to furnish Goods of every description, as low as they ran he had in the country.— 11 is slock is I irge and selected with great cure, and comprises BRTaOOBS. GROCERIES HARD .JARE, BOOTS, SHOES, HATS , CAPS, Bacon, Mackerel, Salt, In short, anything that can he found in an extensive and well regulated country store, which will he sold at moderate prices for Cash. PIOiU3E Of all kinds taken in exchange for Goods, at the highe-o market price. - G. F. WALKER. jan!3-v Aberdeen. Harford Co,, Md. Franklinville Store Baltimore County. KELP constantly on hand a large and well a-soited slock ol all kinds of Goods adapted to the wants of the public, such as Dry Goods, Groceries, BARDWAHSV NOTIONS, CHINA AND GLASS WARE, In fact any and every variety of articles necessary to a well assorted stork, i.ll of which will be sold at very lowest Cash prices. The Factory being in operation, it affords a fine market for GfiTOxa*3r mnwsnt, for which the highest prices will be paid. The public are invited to call. fe26 MW IMS. THE undersigned have just received a ■* large and well selected stork of Goods suitable for the season. They are con stantly making up the neatest work, and the newest and most fashionable style of Bonnets for the FALL and WIN- MnSjj) TER, to which they invite the atten lion of the citizens of the town and the surrounding country. They also de sire tin occasional call from their Baltimore friends, when they want something of ex tra style and finish, as they are aware that (he undersigned ran and will take pleasure in pulling up work of that description. In addition to all styles of Bonnets, they keep constantly on hand a variety of LADIES’ AND GENTLEMEN’S $MAt.£ WARE, Such as Ribbons, Laces,Gloves, Hosiery, Suspenders, and many other ariinles in the Notion line. Thankful for the liberal patronage here tofore given the firm, they expect by strict attention to business to merit its continu ance. M. J WRIGHT & MITCHELL, Washington street, two doors north of the Railroad, and next door to Nixon’s Hotel, Havr'b-db-Grace. sep2s LIME ! X.Z315 ! LI s* E! THE subscribers, successors to Cook & Hi les, lake this method of informing the pub) c that they are prepared to fur nish them with a sup nor ipiali’y of UJV SLA CKK I) LIME , delivered at aov of the accessible landings on the tributaries of the Chesapeake Bay, dining the naviga ble season, and respectfully solicit their patronage. Ordeis should be given thirty days in advance , and addressed to the firm at H a vu f.-de-G ha c f„ .Md. deeD-ly JAMESCOOK & CO. WANTED. — A FARM nr tract of LAND, lor which Ca.-h will he paid. Address, L KEMBLE, Box SSO, P O , Baltimore, Md. dw23-ly " LBT US CLING TO THE CONSTITUTION AS THE MARINER CLINGS TO THE LAST PLANK WHEN THE NIGHT AND TEMPEST CLOSE AROUND HIM.” T E /EMS AN) INTSILHEKCER IS ei'UUSIIKD EVERY FRIDAY MORNING, II V BATEMAN & BAKER, AT One Dollar and Fifty Cents Per Annum, IN ADVANCE, OTHKIIWISE TWO DOLLARS WILL HE CHARGED. RATES OF ADVERTISING. Onesi]iinre, (eight linos or less,) three inser tions, SI.OO. Em:h subsequent insertion 25 ets. One sipi ire three months, $3.00; Six months, $5.00: Twelve months, SB.OO. ; Husiness cards of six lines or less, $5 a year. No subscription taken for lets than a year. l |Uflicnl. | CELESTIAL FROLICS. Tin* sun li id put his ntrht cap on, And cover’d o’er his bond, When counties stars appear’d amid The curtains round It is bed. The moon arose, most motherly, To take a quit t peep How nil the stirs behav’d while he Her sovereign was asleep. She saw them wink their silvery eyes As if in roguish play ; Though silent ail, to her they seem’d As if they’d much to say. So. lest their frolics should disturb The sleeping king of light. She rose so high tlvtt h*r mild eye Could keep them all in sight. The stars, abash’d, stole softly hack, And look’ll demure and prim; Until the moon began to nod, Her eyes becoming dim. Then sleepily she sought her home. Tint’s somewhere—who knows where? But as she went, the playful stars • Commenced their twinkling glare. And when The moon was fairly gone, The imps with stlverv eyes i Had so much fun it woke the sun, i 1 And he began to rise. He rose in glory ! from his eyes Sprang forth a new-born day ; Before whose brightness all the stars Ran b si iI \ away. | The Spinning Maiden's C.oss. Without tun w ills nf Vienna, at a little 1 distance fruiu the inly, stands a Gallic cross. It res. in hies the crosses i r •iceil in mem. ry of our English Q teen Ele nor along tlie way by which her body wis ear j ried to tlte tomb, and the architecture j bears evidence of the twelfth or thirteen'lt j ueutury. The n miu by wbieh this cross is j generally known is “Die Spionerinn am ' Kreuz,” or ‘‘the Spinning Maiden’s f Ci oss, ' ’ and a tom bing interest is attached i to it on account of tbo story from which i , ■ it derives its name. Toward the end of the eleventh centu- \ ry, the eloquent voice of P. ter the Her mit resounded through Christendom, call-! . ing loudly on the young, the uoble, and | i the brave to rise to anus, and win back ! | the Holy Sepulchre of their Saviour from \ the sacrilegious hands of the infidels. ' Geoetously and unanimously warm hearts i responded to bis cry, "To arms, Ohris ' nans, to arms, and rescue from the infi ■ dels the tomb of Jesus Christ I” Hus-, I bands, lathers, brothers, flocked to his I standard, ready to conquer or to die, and • ilie tendir mother, the devoted wife, re-1 ■ strained the sob of anguish and the tear of I grb f, until the pang of separation was en ■ doted that they might send forth their be ' loved ones wi h firmer courage to the first ’ crusa e. Among.t the young an lar tout : who took up arms at the call of the her mit was Wenzel, a youthful citizen of Vi enna, betiuthed to a beautiful girl named F Margar. t. Hi; was brave and noble, be loved and admired by all who knew him ; j j sue, gentle, modest, and pious, was chiefly jremuikcd for the constancy with which she was to be found kneeling before the j , image of the Blessed Virgin in the Basil tica of St. Stephen Ciicumstunces had! j already for some time delayed the mar riage of Wenzel and Margaret, when he , was called away by tids summons to the • Holy Land. We may guess the mingled pride and pain ol their parting. Ds bitterness was Fi tor a moment forgo'ten in the glorious i, mission on which be was to enter. But I when all was over, and the gleaming arms jot the Christian warriors were no longer I to be distinguished in the distance the full j sense of btr avement came upon Margaret, I and her heart grew heavy almost with despair. Months rolled away ; tidings r Lott* a distance were then vague and un-1 ’ certain. None could tell when they so. uld learn news of the absent, or bow I lar that news might be founded upon I , truth. Heavily the hearts at home snikj and sickened j Lai. whilst' many others . sought by frivolous amusements to dis perse the cloud tbit rest d on them dur ( mg this season of suspense, Margirel gave t herself more unreservedly to solitude and [ player. ; One, two, throe years rolled away. vVen rel Was still absent, bis tale still uncertain, I when news come fmni the E st tiiat the • Holy City was rescued from the infidels— | the Holy 8 pulebre oiice more guarded by I Christian worshippers Gladness ligbtedij Inp every couu euunce, and even selfish I 'anxieties were forgotten iu the universal 1 PET. AIR, MI). FRIDAY MORNING, MARCH 24, 1565. rejoicings. .Many a brave warrior return ed t" his home, and tilled with pious grati tude the gentle hearts that had so deeply suffered during his absence, but Weitz.l was s'ill away. A prey at length to all the tortures of suspense and doubt, Margaret began to haunt the path by which the soldiers had departed on the ci osade, and strain her eyes for some distant messenger of lidiugs from her absent lover. Pilgrims came by; she questioned them, but they knew noth ing of Weuzel. At last his name was re- i cognized by one. Yes, he knew the brave young warrior of Vienna ; he had fought gallantly, hut had been taken prisoner hy infidels, and now lay pining in their dun geons, not to be redeemed but by a ran som of one hundred picors of gold. Mar garet heard with feverish rapture. Hu was still alive. He might be ransomejl He would then return. She was not trou i (Jed even by the largeness of the required sum. Her only anxiety was to lose no lime to working for it. Her skilful lin gers were well accustomed to the distaff. She bad plied it daily for the poor since ! Wenzel departed ; it had solaced her lone liness to wo k fur the n. 'But now it was j for him. How swiftly flew her fingers, how little they seemed to accomplish ! Day by day she took Iter place on the slum! from which she last watched his lie- 1 parturo beyond the city walls, and there, 1 from early morning to the last ray of oven- ■ ing twilight, toiled unceasingly, never raising her eyes, but to blos j the pilgrims or the passers-by, who dropped, with heartfelt sympathy, a little offering into the spinning maiden's store. Day by diy her work grew rapidly, mid her treasure fast accumulated. In vala her former companions chided her folly in attempt ing an impossible task. In vain they told her that Weuzel was probably already dead, or ha I forgotten his betrothed, for the wealth and beauty of some d tinsel iu a foreign land. Indignantly she spurned the accusation from her heart, and constant to her trust in his fidelity, spike not, but plied her distaff still more rapidly. Bur the frail form and lender heart faded .and fainted under su much toil and inx'utv. — It Im l already bee uue a painful effirt to or sop with mt the city walls, and though i her fingers rested not, they trembled ovr their work. Wien behold, one day, while the sun was lingering iu the western horizon, and the vesper boll of St. Steph en’s broke the stillness of the h mr, a pr grim, iu a shepherd’s dress, comes feebly, as with long travel, towards the spot where the maiden still pursued her weary 1 tasa. Sie raised her head at the sound nl i footsteps coming from the Erst. It may be that he brings tidings of W-mzd Tueir looks mat, and she started trim hr seat. It is he,oho long-lost, the tender ly-beloved friend, for whom she had so patiently toiled aud suffered. He had either escaped, or by some exchange of pns oers, regaiue 1 bis liberty. Sulfite it, j lie was onet m ire by her side, as faithful as her constant love deserved. The return of Wenzel brought buck lightness to tbe sep of Margaret, and a joyous flush upon her jaded cheek. Their nuptials were celebrated with joy and thankfulness, and their wtdded life was blest by Him, to whom they had alone looked for comfort under all their j former sorrows. But, alas! it was of 1 brief duration. Margaret hud but rallied for a little season. Wttbin two years she sunk gently away, like a flower that dies before its time if some sudden shower! boils too heavily upm it, and Weuzel j laid Iter in the tomb wilh a bitterness of grief proportioned to the attachment wiiieh had bound tlieir hearts lovingly together. The gold she hid so hardly earned had been kept as an evidence of Iter unweary- i ing and steadfast atf'ction, but when she was no mure, he b ought it forth, and with it raised a pious memorial of bis be loved Margaret, a cross above the spot where they had part d and mel. And thus arose the Spinning Man leu's Cross. Never to Old to Learn. Socrates, ai an extreme age, learned to play on musical instruments. Cato, at eighty years of age, thought proper to lea'n the Greek language. Plutarch, when between 70 and 80, commenced the study of Latin. B iccaeeio was thirty-live years of age when he commenced the study of polite literature ; yet ho became one of tbe great masters of tbe Tuscan dialect, Dante and Petrarch being the other two. Sir Henry Spelmun neglected the sci ences in his youth, bnt commenced the study of them when he was between fifty and sixty years of age After this lime he became a most learned antiquarian. I Colbert, tbe famous French Minister, at sixty years of age returned to his Latin and law studies Ludovico, at4he great age of one hun- 1 deed and fifteen, wrote the memoirs of bis own times. A singular exertion, noti -ed by Voltaire, who was himself one of the most remarkable instances of tbe progress- j ing of age in now studies, Ogilby, tbe tran-lator of Homer and Virgil, was unacquainted with Latin aud j Gr. ek till he was past the age of fifty. Franklin did not fully counueuce bis philosophic pursuits until he had reached his fiftieth year. Aecurso, a great lawyer, being asked why be began the study of law so late, an ew red that indeed be began late, but he could therefore master it sooner. Dryden, in his sixty-eighlb year, oum- X mooced the translation of the Iliad ; and hi- most pleasing productions wero writ ten in his old ago. The Blind Princess. The blind young Princess of was presented to tbe Princess Eugenie at Sebwalbacb- a few days ago, and tbe ut most interest and sympathy were excited by her story * The lady is well known all over ’Germany ; her princely domicil is vi-ited every year by crowds of strangers, i The beautiful portrait by Dornelius in one i of the salons is examined with much in- : terest and every one departs little dream ing that the largo and soft blue eyes seem ing to look from the picture so full of sweetness and benevolence, have in life no power to return the glances of sympathy and kindness directed toward them Tlio story of the princess is perhaps the mo?t touching romance of - the nineteenth century. As a child she had been stolen from the ginlens of the very chateau she now inhabits. A careless nurse, bent on her own enjoyment, bad suffered her mas tor’s child to wander toward tbo riv-r, and when, in answer to tbofraoiic appeals and search made in every direction, no sign of the infant’s presence could be discover ed, it was concluded that she had fallen into the river and got drowned. Thu despair of tbe mother was beyond description ; but the idea of the child’s death, accepted by all beside, was rejected by her. Toe river had been dragged, n> trace of the corps®’bad been found ; and so after a few years' time, when the death of the prince, her husband, had releised her from the obligation to remain in the chateau, she gave up the domain into the hands of her brother-in-law, and set out upon a strange pilgrimage all ov r the con tinent, fully convinced that she would find one day or o'her, fho obje -t of her search. The sums of money soent iu the pursuit, die time, the toil, the anxiety a'osorbe 1 upon every high road, need not ho de scribed. During the embassy of Prince Tallyrand, she came to London, and was received by Q men Alolaide with the ut most kindness and sympi hy. Sion aitcrwtrd she went once more to the South, still bent on finding her lost child. One day, the carriage climbing I slowly up one of the ste p hills in the' neighborhood of Lmoinne, she was a ecus- j ted tiy a biggir woman, holding by the j hand a poor blind girl fir whom she was imploring alms. The girl In ikuj gentle and sweet tempered, re-embluig in no way the harsh vixen wbom she callel mother. Toe inmate of the carriage had fallen into a dose, an 1 the ivonnn bile (lie girl to sing to arouse the lady. Tieso ig was a vulgar dirty belonging to the district, with n > r on nice to insure attention, an 1 yet it woke ttie lady from her trance ; sum ithing j in her voice remiu led iter of a sister lost miny years years bifort, and she stopped the postillion witilo she questioned th • girl as to her origin. Tie day and hour wore come at last ; every wor I uttered by i the maiden confirmed the suspicion of i i lenity. Mem try was confused—it had vanished with h'-r sight —hut by doit of threats and promises the woman was made to confess that she h id purchased the girl when quite au infant, from a beggir wo man like herself, who owned to have de prived her of sight in order to excite com passion. The locality whenee the child had been taken was proof sufficient of the truth. The princess returned home with her poor blind companion, and devoted her whole life to the prospeot of cure as she had done before to that of discovery. But all attempts failed, and her mother then gave herself up entirely to the education of her helpless charge, lu this she suc ceeded perfectly, and the princess is con sidered one of the most accomplished re citers of (Inland aud Schiller in all Ger many. Before dying, her foul mother reaped her reward in the marriage of her daughter with the young prince, her neph ew, aud this consolation is the greatest which could be felt by her friends. The young princess recite 1, with the must ex quisite clearness and pathos, two scenes! Ironi "Count Egmont” and "The Diver” on the visit to tile o opress, while the im- . perial lady listened entranced, and the large tears rolling down her eheeks as she gazed on the wreck which the wickedness' and cupidity of man had mate of one of the most beautiful works of God’s own creation.— London Paper. Effect of Laziness. — A lazy boy makes a lazy mao just as sure as a crook 'd] sapling makes a crooked tree. Think of that, my little lads. Who ever saw a; boy grow up iu idleness that did not make | a lazy, shiftless vagabond when be was old enough to be a man, though he was not a man in character, unless he had a fortune left him to keep up appearance ? The great mass of thieves, paupers, and crimi nals hate come to what they are by being brought up to do nothing useful. All those who are good, men now, and useful to tl.e community, were industrious when they W"fe boys. If you do not like to work now, a love of iud -stry can soon be acquired by habit, So, my little reader, I want you to look around at once for something to do, iu doing which you can benefit somebody. Shun idleness us you Would the evil one. What’s in a Name?’’ —A bookseller in Philadelphia lately received an order from the country for a book called "In a Garden.” He sent what was desired— Tennyson’s “Enoch Arden,” which the rural bibliopole having heard somewhat hastily pronounced, understood to mean what she wrote. Washington Irving used to make bis friends merry about an English bookseller who ordered “The Earl ol ILnuboro,’’ instead of “The Alham bra. ’’ The Oldest Uan in the World. Wo will not assert that the oldest of living men is a resident of Wisconsin, hut challenge any other State or country to produce a man nr woman who has attain ed the age reached by Joseph Cr le, now residing in the town of Calc lonia, in ( this State. During the French Revolu -1 tion one Jean Claude Jacob, a member of the National Assembly, was called thej | “Dean of the human species,*' “the eldest | ot men.” On his smeared, worn face were I plowed the furrowing* of one hundred and j twenty years. But our “Dean of the j human species” is nearly twenty years | older than Claude Jacob, who did not | complete bis one hundred and twenty-first year. Jos. Crele was born in Detroit, of French parents. Tlie record of his bap-: tism in the Catholic church of that city j allows that he is now 139 years of age! lie has been a resident of Wiscon-in for . about a century. Whenever metition is made of'the oldest inhabitant, there need lie no question as to the person—Joseph Crele is undoutelly the man. Ho was first married in New Orleans, 109 years | ago. S mie af'er he settled at Prairie du Chien, while Wisconsin was yet a province ol France. Before the Revolutionary war, J lie was employed to carry letters between l Prairie du Cliieu and Green Bay. It is j hut a few years ago, that he was called as ' a witness in the court, in a case involving the title to certaiu real estate at Prairie du Chien, to give testimony in relation to events that transpired eighty years before. | Me now resides with a daughter by his ! third wife, who is over seventy years of, age. The residence of the family is only ! four or live miles out of Portage City.— From citizens of that place we learn that the old man is still active, is able to chop wood, and to walk several miles He speaks English quite imperfectly, but con verses fluently in the French language He stoops a little under the burden of years, but not more than many men of seventy. In person, be is rather above the medium height, spare in flesh, but ; showing evidences of having been in his prime a man of sinewy strength. Con cerning liis habits, a subject of much in terest in connection with such an instance of extraordinary longevity, wo have been able to learn but Is tile, except that he is an inveterate smok-r. A very good da ■ guei rooty pe picture of him. taken in 1859, mly be seen at the roons of the State Historical S iciety,— Mullson ( Wisconsin’) Journal. Hiw Girard Became Rich. His neighhirs, the merchants of Phila d Ipliia, deemed him a lucky man. Mmy [ of them thought they could do as well us ho, if they only had his luck. But the i great volumes of his letters and papers, i preserved in a room in Girard College, : show that his success in business was not j duo, in any degree whatever, to good for tune. Let a money-making generation | take n ite, that Girard principles iuovita-1 bly produce Girard results. The grand, j the fundamental secret of his success, of all success, was that he understood his business. He had a personal, familiar knowledge of the ports with which he traded, the commodities in which he dealt, the vehicles iu which they were carried, the dangers to which they were liable, 1 and the various kinds of men through j wtiom he acted. lie observed everything I and forgit n tilling. He had done every-1 thing himself which he had occasion to 1 require others to do. His directions to his captains and supercargoes, full, mi uute, exact, peremptory, show the hand j of a master. Every possible contingency 1 was foreseen and provided for; and he dem mded the most literal obedience to the maxim, “Obey orders, though yon break owners.” He would dismiss a cap lain from his service forever, if he saved the whole profits of a voyage by departing from his instructions. He did so on onej. occasion, Add to this perfect knowledge : of his craft that ho had a self-control j which never permitted him to anticipate! his gains or spread too wide his sails;! that his industry knew no pause; that he! was a doge, hard bargainer, keeping his i word to the letter, but exactipg his right to the letter ; that be had no vices and no ! vanities; that he had no tclerat on for | those calamities which result from vices and vanities ; that his charities, though , frequent, were bestowed only upon uu i questionably legitimate objects, and were j never profuse ; that be was as as wise iu , ! investing as skillful in gaining money ; that ho made his very pleasure piotitable | to himself iu money gained, to his neigh borhood in improved fruits and vegetables; that be had no family to muintaiu and in dulge; that he held in utter aversion and ‘ contempt the costly and burdensome os tentation of a' great establishment, fine ' equipages, and a costly retinue of ser- j vants; that ho reduced himself to a j money-making machine run at the mini-1 mum of expense ; and we have an expla- j nation of jjis rapidly-acquired wealth. He used to boast, after lie was a mil lionaire, of wearing the same overcoat for 1 fourteen winters ; and one of bis clerks, ' who saw him every day fur twenty yours, declares that he never remembered having seen him wear a new looking garment but once. Let us note, too, that he was an ad 'pt in the art of getting men to serve him with devotion. He paid small sala- ' ries, and was never known in his life to 1 bestow a gratuity upon one who served i him ; hot he knew how to make bis hum blest clerk feel that the master’s eye was j upon him always. Violent in bis out- j breaks of auger, bis business letters are! singularly polite, and show consideration ' YOL. IX.—NO. 12. I f r the health and happiness of his sub ordinates.—James Pnrton. A Settler. A teacher in a western county io Can* j ada, while making his first visit to his “constituents,” caine into conversation with an ancient “Varmount” lady, who had taken up her resilience in the “baek j woods.” Of course, the school aqd for* I iner teacher came in for criticism ; and | the old lady, in speaking of bis predeoes- I sor, asked , “Wa’al, master, what do you j think he iarnt the scholars ?” “Couldn’t | say, ma’am—pray what did he teach j “VVa’al, he fold 'em this ’ere airth was reound, and went aeround and all that sort o’ thing. Now, master, what do you think ab mt sich stuff? Don’t yu think ho was an ignorant feller?” Unwilling | to come under the category of the igno i rami, the teacher evasively remarked : “It really did seem strange; but still there are many learned men who teach these things’’ “Wa’al,’’ says she, “jf the airth is reound and goes reound, what | holds it un ?” “Oh, these learned men say that it goes around the sun, which holds it up by virtue of the law of attrac ! tion.” 1 The old lady lowered her ‘sp’ n os,’ and, 1 byway of climax, responded : “Wa’al, if ' these high-larnt men sez the sun holds up the airtfi, I should like to know what holds the airth up when the sun goes down !” I rears of Fashion.—Wigs went out 1 ; at last with powder, and patches, and j hoops. The French Revolution brought ;in new fashions. Men brushed up their hair straight from their foreheads, accord inr to the Brutus fashion of the Republic. Women cut their hair short at the back, wearing little crisp curls that left the neck entirely free, with room for an imaginary axe to fall cleanly; this mode was called ala guillotine. For fashion seldom ap proaches even the sensible ; you must nev er expect her to bo serious; she was not . ’ shocked into sobriety of demeanor even by the Reign of Terror. The scaffolds still wet and crimson, she instituted Bats a Virtime, into which none were admissible hut those whom the executioner had de prived of a relative or relatives, and every dancer was to wear a band of crape round the left arm. “Peace bo to the dead, let us dance to their memory,” as Mr. Car lyle puts it. A Warning to Euchre Platers. —A young man in Rochester, who is fond of euchre, and also very fond of the daugh ter of a pillar of one of the orthodox ; churches, w.is taking tea at the house of his adored a short time since, and had j some fruit cake offered him. Bein_r some what confused on account of his situation, s the cake was held out to him, he cried I out, “I pass !” The father hearing him, j and having played some in his younger i days, was horror struck at his infatuation for game, and thought he would teach him a lesson. He spoke bluntly, “ You pass, j do you ? then I order you up—and there’s i the door; 1 shall make a march !” A Funny Mistake.—Old ncgro,slum , bering, with his feet pointing to a glim mering fire. Opens one eye, and gets a glimpse of them, as they stand up in the , obscurity. Mistakes them for two little negroes, and cries, “Gif frum ’fore me !” ! and relapses into sleep After awhile [ opens the other eye, and still seeing the intruders, says, “Gif frum ’fore me, I say; I kick you in do fire if you don’t; I will j shu’ !” His dreams not being pleasant, ! he soon opens both eyes, and still seeing the little pests, he draws up his foot for the threatened kick, hut is alarmed to see j the enemy advance upon him, and ex claims, “Wha’, where you coinin’ to now? Humph ! my own foot, by golly !” £JAn Irishman being asked by his | angry master what ho did to the degevry j day to make him cry out as if cruelly j treated, replied, “Cruelly trailing him, j yer honor—not I! I never could hurt a poor dumb cratur in my loif; but yer honor bade me out his tail, aud so I cut only a little bit every day, to make it more easy for him.” benevolent individual recently forwarded by express to the “retired phy sician, whnse sands of life are nearly run out,” a largo, though unpaid package, which, on being opened, was found to contain a half bushel bag of the article of which he was in suoh evident need— sand ! dat, Sambo ? You say you was at de battle of Bull Run ! when I sees you at New York on dat night!”— “Yes, Julius, you did, for sartin. Yer see, our colonel, says he, ‘Boys, Strike for yer country and yer homes !’ Well, some struck for de country, but dis chile he struck for home. Dat .-plains de mat ter, yer see!” late philosopher saya : “Before people take the leap through tne weeding ring they should be quite certain that the blanket of connubial contentment is bold tight on the other side. friend, “Has your sjst’-r got a son or s. daughter?” .swored, “Upon my sowl, I don’t know whether I’m an uncle or an aunt!” * Josh Billings says “Tow bring r.p j a child in the way he should go—travel | ‘hat way yourself.” Solomon couldn’t, improve on that.