{ title: 'Herkimer County Democrat. (Frankfort, N.Y.) 1843-1854, April 13, 1853, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-04-13/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-04-13/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-04-13/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn83031097/1853-04-13/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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'’TERMS—$2 A ^ m u z F i i r * ]Lii>erty, l^t<ir5uty, a,nd Equality*^ HERIIMEE, ¥E D N E SD # lO R H IG , APRIL 13 . 1853 . |1 50 IN ADVANCE. NEMBEETsiT fi^svltim zv <SDtujts Bem o £ rat» ^irBLISKED EVEEY -WEnNESDAI MOENINS A t M e rliinie^, HiJirSi. C o ., IS'. Y. ROBERT EARL, i C. C. WITHERSTENE ( P r o p r i e t o r s . TERMS tesideuce of vilh ■The Democrat •will he left at th« fesideuce of village subscribers at $2,00 a year. Mail subscribers, $2,00 per year, or $1 50 in advance. _ ____________ R a s e s of Advsa'tisaiig:. One square or less,one insertion,.. ,$0,-50 Each subsequent insertion,.............. 0 2-5 One square 3 months, ___ • .............. 3 00 One square 6 .months,................ . 5 GO One square one year,. . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 00 [rp-A liberal deduction willSe'iqade tothos whoadvertise by the year. book 'AND JOB PSINTINd In all its branches, executed with neatness ■a.nd dispatch, and on reasonable terms. Air. V. B. PALMER is our authorize^ Agent in the cities of New Tork. Philadelphi'^ and Boston. All contracts made by Air. P ’ ized by us and Boston. Vvill be duly 'PSETBY. For the Herkimer County Democrat. The sun is gay through all the day. The stars bedeck the crown of night, The sun makes rainbows in the spray. The moon weeps silver on the height, ^ As merrily as long ago AVhen life knew not a winter’s snoiv And tvhy, ah! me. my heart should be ' Less gay than then; I sigh to tell, For still the clay is bright to me. And still I iread the starlij; dell, AVith step as true, and eye as bright. As in youth’s season of delight. But gone’s the gleam that from the beams Of sunlight woke my soul to glee. And mournful seem the lovelit dreams That night’s star daughters taught to me; For where the sun and moon beams p'layed, The ones I loved, and lost, are laid. Herkimer, April 13. 1S53. THE TALE;TELLBjh_ \THE F I R S T C R O S S W O R D . You seem happy, Aimetu always.— I have never been in a family where the husband and wife seemed more so. “ Well done, Ka,te,” said Mrs. Hunt ington, laughing, you have used the word seem only twice in that short sen tence. And you hare a begging way about j’oii, as if you were really in ear nest to hear something about married life, before taking the fatal step. Jt is •well Harry is not here to see the look of sadness in the eye of his bride elect. He might fancy her heart w? s full of misgivings instead of wedding finery. “ Don't laugh at me, Aniiett; talk with me as you used to do. I love Harry, you know, and yet I have many misgivings about married life. I see so few who are realh' happy in this re lation—I mean happy as I should wish to be. You seem to come nearer to it than any one else. Do you ever—?” “ Quarrel ? no, not often, now. We had T)ur breaking in. I believe it must come to all sooner or later.’’ “ Do tell me about it, wifi you, An- nett ?” • , - “ Yes, if you are very desirous of it. You may learn something from it.” “ I was a romantic girl, as you well know. Some few friends I had whom I loved dearly; but these friendships did not quite satisfy my heart. Some thing more it craved. I hardly knew ■what, until I loved 'my husband. When we were first married, 1 used sometimes 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 always responded, yes, and more so. With us the romance of mar ried life, if I may call it so, held on a long time'. For my part 3 was con scious of a pleasurable excitement of feeling when we were together. I en joyed walking and riding alone with him. The brightest hours 6f day were those in which we sat down alone to gether, to ’■alk or read. For a long time I felt a gentle resti;aint in his presence. 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 in the way of sit ting down stupidly with my husband, or of . having nothing to talk about but the children and the butcher’s bill. I made a business of remembering every pleasant thing which I read or heard or thought, to tell him, and when all these subjects were exhausted, we had each of us a bobby we could ride, so that we were never silent for want of something to say..' Thus we lived for a year .or two. I was very happy. I think people were often surprised to see us continue to enjoy each other’s soci ety ■with so much zest. But there was this about it. 'As yet I had nothing to try me. We werd boarding; I had no care, and bis ten derness and interest was a sovereign panacea for the little ails and roughness which must Fail to us iti our best es tate. This could not last, howevef, for ever. He became more and more oc cupied in his business, and I at length had a house and baby to look after.— Then, for the first time, our mutual for bearance was put to the test. Hither to we had been devoted to each other; now the real cares of life passed upon US, so as often really to absorb our en ergies. I was the first to feel the change. It seemed to me as if some thing was overshadowing tis. Some times I w'ould get sentimental, and Iheivould have ferrCttedit all out, and, we should have settled it there; but I felt ashamed to.'* I sipped my coffee in silence,’ The golden; moment passed, and my good angel thok bis flight,— Pride bad^the'day. I even began to be vexed at his enjoying a good dinn *r so much and so easily forgetting what had caused r^e^so nmeh suffering. He was very busy on that day, and did not stay with me as long as usual to chat, but went off whistling even more cheer- ingly .than when he came. ^ rwent jip into the nursery and sat '.down to think it over. Baby was asleep; the rain was pattering against the win dows ; the wind was rising; and to me the world looked dreary enough, I had tired myself all out getting up such a dinner, and nn-w the excitement was over and I felt the reaction. I began to ask myself \vhat I had got for it.— Just nothing at all. My husband either did not or would not see that there was anything to be reconciled about. I blamed him for his insensibility.— “ 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 all.” I had a doleful afternoon of it. I was restless enough; trying first one employment and then another, but find ing 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 without success. ’’ “ Annett,” said he at length in a kind tone, “ do not you feel well to day ?” “ Not very,” said I, with a sigh. ' “ What is the matter ?” “ My bead aches; the baby kept' me awake almost all flight.’^ Thjs was the truth but only in part, and I felt guilty,as I said it. $hen he 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- I felt this wa^ 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 wished to have the trouble- cleared away; not bridged-over ; and I determined to hold out until it should come to this and he shouldjsee and feel that Lcould not ba made happy after a cross word, without a scene of mutual contrition and forgiveness; so I would not stay and be re^d to, but told him I must go to bed. 1 1 -ft him in his easy chair, and his study lamp and book and bright fire, in regular old bachelor style, and went off into my nursery and then to bed, and cried myself to sleep — You laugh, Kate, as if you thought I was a fool. I think so myself now. How did it all end, Annett?” I held out a week becoming every day more ahd more sad, and sulky, I may as well calllt. When I #as left alone, I used to take my baby up and cry over' him as if my 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 his conduct to pain me every time we met. Either be was too attentive or not attentive enough;^ talked too much or too little. He bore my moody*lll-humor most. _ patiently, thinking I was ill. One day track again. I began to calm myself i b® came home, and told me he-had ob- with the reflection, that if there had j tained a week’s leave of absence, and been a great wrong done I was riot the j bad engaged a carriage, and I must only one to blame for it. I was dread- pack up myself and baby, and be ready fully sorry that I had spoken cross to i to start off in an hour. He was go- ;him, but I thought he ought to be sorry | ing to take me home to my mother’s, too. Before my baby had finished cry-! *’ We may as well have a journey as ing, I came to the conclusion that I pay doctor’s • bills, Annett,” said he; would not exhibit signs of penitence and as to., have you drooping about in until I saw some in him. *• j this style any longer, I am not going to. So 1 bathed my face, that no traces , We will send off old Bridget, -lock up of tears might remain, dressed myself our house, run away from all care, and with extra carp, and went down to old have some fun.” Bridget, to give '8bme very particular He looked up so kindly that I could directions abb'uti the- dinner. I did have fallen upon hiS neck and wept my this with a martyTdike spirit. I meant heart out, to think hnw'n|lyl ft^^>een; to try my best to rnal^ him sorry for but there was no time thep'ttf tidk*it his injustice, I resolved to rj»prbach over. I hurried away ta^pa(^, ,]l»xt-ie-\ him with a first-rate dinner, gpod as fore I was half through with the p^fc- his mother coul.d cook. To whet the | ing, I resolved that I would tell Irim.- edge of my delicate reproof, I ,%iade. i the whole story from beginning to end .V,,, i The moment I esme to ^is detemiinu- tion, the load was gone ; my heart seemed light as a feather; the expression think he did not love me as he once did* As I look back now. I am con vinced that here was my first ^wrong step. Indulgence in these moods-weak ened my resolution. It was an injus tice to him of which L ought not ,4o have been guilty. It left me; too, with a wounded feeling, as. if f , Jiad been wronged, which began fo affect nay spir- Once,-I had for some time^carried about this little sore spot in u^y heart . I kept the matter all. to mpelf, for ! was in part ashamed and in part too proud to speak of it Here was^ an- pQier wrong step. ^ TJiere \v%s no secu rity of happiness in married life, but in the most perfect confidence. ■ There came a season of damp, chilly weather. One morning I got up fuel ing very irritable. I ^ad taken cold, ray head ached, and my baby had been wearisome during the night, , In my kitchen I had a cross, ignorant servant girl, and^ on 'this particular morning she had done tier very worst for break fast. The beef-steak was burned to a cinder; the eggs were like bullets; the breald was half baked; and the coffee, which was our main stay, was execra ble. My husband was very patient with all this, until i f came to the coffee, and this upset him. He put his cup down; and said in a half-vexed tone, 'I. d.Q Vvish we could ever have any good coffee. Annett, why cannot you have it.inado as my mother does ?” This was the drop too much for me, and I boiled over. “ You never think any thing on our table fit to be eatenj” said I—and I almost started at jhe sound of my own voice—“ you had better live at bom.e if you are not sat isfied, or else provide me with deC'ent servants. I cannot do everything— take care of my baby all night, and get the breakfast too.” I did not know before that I was so very unreasonable,” said he in a tone of injured feeling. Pie sat a few minutes, then rose, left his untasted breakfast, on his hat and went off. When I heard the door shut behind him, all my temper left me. I went into my room, locked myself in, sat down and cried like a child. This was the first cross word I had ever spoken to mj'- husband. It seemed to me as if some sudden calamity had be fallen us. I worked myself up to such a pitch of feeling, that I walked about the room, wringing mjr hands. Oh ! it is all ov* with us !” tho’E I ; “ we shall never be happy' together again in this world !” This thought made me unspeakably rriiserable. I felt ar if a black pall had fallen around me, and in future there was only blank ■darkness. In my misery I sought.to comfort myself by blaming him. “ He need not have spoken so to me. at any rate,” said L out loud; “ he might have seen how I felt; it was too much for any one to hear. It really was notone bit kind in him. It is. plain enough that he does not care for my comfort h.e once did. Then to be always telling me what nice things his mother cooks, when he 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 I had to run before I was through with-my cat alogue of grievances, yet I had gone- far enough to get well on the wrong “ \What do ydiffeab,” said he, look- ipg more-and raie ^zzled. “ How can,yd I j ^ knowing ?” said I. Then I begf beginning, and told the whole sc’y. How I arose, feel ing irritable, anjwasprovoked to speak the first cross how he told me my things werebt as nice ashis moth er’s and went o| y « e d ; then how he got over It, a n q o ^ t all about-jt and would.not help e ^ f e e l good natured b;^ saying hn vy ssjrry. How I had biboded over'it ll ifce week—how it had festered a w iit^ny l^art and pois oned all my enjo;rti' What torrents when alone as I yer with us, we in a§ we had once SELECT POETRY. with ray. owit hands a most qs«e]lent cup of. coffee; * One o’clock came at last,* though t _ thought it never would; the* do0r o-1 of my countenance—the tones of my pened, and I heard his quick sfep-in | yoice changed. I was conscious of it tile hall. Of all things in this world hir ! and he noticed it as soon as I joined was whistling ! He came tp' lhr table! him at the appointed hour, with a bright face, from whieh^every “ Why, Aunett,” .said h trace of the morning’s cloud had dis appeared, and he sat down and looked around with a pleased expression. “ Why, Annett,” said he “ what a nice dinner.” “ lam glad you are pleased,” said I, in a subdued tone. “ Capital,” said he, “ the best roast we have had this season.” He was so much taken up with my delicate reproof, as not to notice that I was out off spirits. I was half pleased and half provoked, but I kept rather still making little conversation except* ing in reply, to him. After desert I handed him a cup of coffee. He was quite astonished.— “ Why, Annett,” said he “ I do believe you went to work to*day to aee what you could do.” He had hit the truth,.though without the least suspicion of the cause. My fiftt impulse was to be honest and out with it, by replying, “is it as good as your mother' makes This would have given the key to the whole story; said 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 thiid party.” “ No, no, Annett, that would be leaving out the very cre.am of it. Tell me how you settled it.” “ Well, we rode on enjoying the change until towards dark. Baby then fell asleep. It was a rery quiet hour —everything about us was beautiful and peaceful. I felt deeply, and I long ed to have all in my heart pure and peaceful. Tears of real penitenc^ came into my eyes and before I knew ft, they were dropping upon the baby. My hus band turned and saw them. “ Why, Annett,” said ho, with the utmost surprise, “ what is the matter?” - “ O, I am so sorry,” said I. “ Sorry for what, love,” said he, “ are you not happy? Does anything troubfe you ?” “ I am so sorry,” said I that I have been so ugly this week'” of tears I bad si thought it was'^ never should lovel loved. “ I\' He heard me llioiigh wfthout mak ing a single reman and then he burst into a loud laughJ “ I want to klq’iv, Annett.” said he, “ if this is whjt has ailed you this week ?” i . ■ “ Yes,” said I. jlFpon this ho check ed our Dobbin, «|id began ''to turn round. What are yotgoing to do?” said.I.' “ Going back,’’saih he, “ If that is all which is the ratter with you.” I laughed heart|y as he d i^ for now my sin was confesedji very happy; but I pulled the jthcr rein and drew the whip lash ovr Dobbin’s ears, and away he went likta .bird towards my mother’s home. 1 ‘ But we made a ^solution then, Kate, that if either had aught against the other, it should be settled before the sun went down ; t l i t we might go to sleep, if not at ^“ ieace with all the world,” at least at Kj|ce with each oth er, forgiving and fopiven. This reso- ihtion we have faitfifeliy kept, and have never seen anojll’er week of such misery as I have beAtelling’you about, and I trust I never mall. I hope you will find in your nev relations Kate, all the enjoyment wehow do. This is the best wish I can qler you—-and that your first cross wordmay also be your last.” f A FBOTESTANT iTAB^IAfiE IN SYRIA- In a letter dated Mosul, Nor. 18th, Rev. Mr, Williams martions an incideu# of some interest: ' My preparations .for a missionary tour are crowded iato rather close quarters by the ‘ comiifg off^oi) Sunday pext o f the first\ Protestant^ w.Qddl?5^; marriage J should say, for there will bo no wedding till the next day. To unite a couple is a short affair in English, but to get off enough Arabic to suit Orien tal taste on such an occasion, hoc est 'opus. By the way, if we succed, i. e., it the heart of the damsel’s father faii not, it is a great thing because all our leagued enemies have said lione of their girls should be given to tfie Prostestant young men, and as there are no mar riageable girls among the few Protest ants, the case looked quite unpromising, but we shall unquestionably carry it, notwithstanding the threat o f the great excommunication upon the family of the girl.” “ Saturday evening, Nov. 20. - IVe have just gained a victory over the Chaldeans, (papists,) who put forth their strongest eflbrts to prevents young man of our community taking a bride from their sect. It has occupied all our time for two days, been carried be fore the Kadi and Meglis, (Judge and Common Council,) and has this after noon terminated in our favor. I mar ry the couple to-morrow, D. V. Our little flock who were last night exceed ingly cast down are to-night in very high spirits. Their very existence hung on their success to human appearance. Monday, Nov. 22. The marriage ceremony was yesterday completed at our place of prayer. , More than 150 were present—no disturbance. Our vic tory is complete, and we have the sym pathy of the masses with us.” ‘ JT\ An acquaintance of ours, and, by .the by,«a very clever fellow, who has much ofteuer visited the theatre and concert room, than the church, was per suaded by his wife last Sunday, the first time since their marriage, which occur red several year^ ago, to accompany her to St. John’s church. He sat very uneasily until the fine toned organ broke forth in the grandest strains of delight ful harmony; he listened with breath less attention 'antil the last note died away amidst the echoing arches of the vaulted roof, when, forgetful of the sa cred place he was in, he loudly and in voluntarily applauded by striking with his cane vehemently on the floor; and did not discover his mistake until the C 02 IE XO ME Ilf KY D 5 EAM 8 . BT G eo . b . pr e n t ic e . Come in beautiful dreams, love, Oh! come to me oft, Wlien the light -wing of sleep On my bosom lies soft; Oh! come when the sea In the morn’s gentle light, Beats low on the ear Like the pulse of the night— When the sky and the wave Wear the loveliest hue, When the dew’s on the flower, And the stars on the dew. Come in beautiful dreams, love, Oh! come ahd we’ll stray Where the whole year is crowned With the blossoms of May— sound is sweet s of love*; Where each sound is sweet As the coo of the dove And the gales are a As the breathing Where the beams’ kiss the waves. And the waves kiss the beach, And our warm lips may catch. The sweet lessons they teach. Come in beautiful dreams, love, Oh! come and we’ll fly Like iwo winged spirits , Of love through the sky; With hand clasped in hand, On our dream wings we’ll go. Where the starlight and moonlight Are blending their glow; And on bright cloiids we’ll linger Of purple and gold. Till love’s angels envy .-The bliss to behold. ed to be much attached to him, and had been led from her home and duty. He sought out the author of his ruiii, planted a poinard in his heart, fled the country, and sought the wilds of Amer ica, where he originally intended to live in disguise the life of a hermit, and die alone in Lis cave on the mountains ; but, driven by necessity, for be was anxious to hear from his 'paints, ho ping to learn something of her he would but could not forget; often’ with heav ing bosom and tearful eye, he would ex claim ;—“ My God forgive her for all I have suffered” it became necessary for him to visit the city. He was destitute' of means, and in a moment of despera tion, betook himself to the highway and was successful in his first attempt. According to his own account, the struggle was great,^ut all things were made subservient to the one passion, a desire to hear from his home, which he never did. On his last visit to his old friend, she with trembling hand, gave him a handbill offering a reward for his arrest. He read it and exclaimed, “My companions have often remarked, that they wqndered I had not long since been shot; they complimented my cour age, when standing unarmed by chance, before the traveller, and demanding his money. They little knew ho’.v my heart bad been crushed, and the winge l bullet from the weapon of the wayfar er could have taken nothing^that was worth possessing.” He read the hand bill again ahd again, then looked ear nestly in the face of the old woman, and said, “ it is time I should diej but 1 would not die the death of the felon.” He took the hand of his old friend, grasped it firmly ; and passed off into the mountain. Some days after having missed his visits they so ight and found him dead near the mouth of his cave. He was buried in the valley in a rude coffin, and for many years an unchissel- ed stone marked the spot where re.-ted the remains of the bofd and daring out law, Lewis, the robber. MOCELLANY. MOUNTAIN EOBBSE OF THE .WEST: OR THE PENNSYLVASriA GII. BLAS. The vicinity of “ Doubling Gap,” (a day’s ride from Baltimore, by way of Harrisburgh, Carlisle and Newville.) within the last half century was the theatre of many extraordinary feats of one Lewis, the mountain robber or rob ber of the west, the Pennsylvania Gil Bias. One of his eaves is within sight of the White Sulphur Springs, about half a mile up -the east range. It was his retreat when hard pressed by the myrmidoms of the- law. He was loved and feared by the inhabitants therea bouts, who were very scarcely distribu ted over, the eoqii^r^-, living miles a- p a r t. , - He was,41ie leader of pi>l}and of des perate men,' one of wirom wasf named Djonnely, who was atWieked biefed-thirs- ty fellow, and frequently, in their ma rauding parties, prevented from com mitting murder by the exercise of that influence which Lewis had acquired over his uneducated mind—at times by cosily presents, at others by presenting a pistol a t ‘his head, saying, “ if you strike I will blow out your brains.”— Many a traveller’s life has thus been saved. Lewis’ band extended entirely over the mountains of the State, and were by him distributed in the vicinity of parts most frequented by trtvellers. All had their caves, and frequently e- merged from their hiding places as hun ters, mixing among the inhabi^nts.— Lewis never joined them except o n bus iness. He was of good education, bqt a misanthrope. He visited in the dress of a gentleman, the cities of Philadel phia and Pittsburgh, mixing among the attending their assemblies^ and learning their raoyements. - On one occasion, on the mountain, with rifle in hand, pistols and knife by his side, with Dorvneljy, who was most-, * . ■ , . , . - j n Iv mth him, he ordered a traveller on i horsehaok. from Pittsburgh, on’his way I get a cord. They that sow the wind, to Philadelphia, to stand and d eliver.- | “ whirlwind. A mpn “a- He was obeyed, Lewis started as ho Paoity undeveloped, is only a« orgain lAZY Energy is the true mark of genius. Ralph Waldo Emejson, in one of his recent lectures, describes with the clear sweep of a painter, the vital necessity of energy and labor to even the most gifted. In the present day of steam and putictuality the lazy mah,,no mat ter IloW extraordinary his aequiremefits mnst always feirbebind in the race of human iife. He says: Genius unexerted, is no more genius than a bushel of acorns is a forrest of oaks. There may be epics in men’s brains, just as there are oaks in acorns, but the tree and the book must come out before we can measure them. W'e very naturally recall here that large class of grumblers and wishers, who spend the time in longing to be higher than they are, while they should haye been employed in advancing themselves. These literally moralize on the injus tice of society. Do they want a change —vyho prevents them ? If you are as high as your faculties permit you to rise in the scale of society, why should you complain of men ? It is God that arranged the law of precedence. Im plead him or be silent I If you' have capacity for a higher station, take it— what hinders you ? How many men would love to go to bed dunces, to be braked up Solomons ? You reap what you have sown. They who sow dunce ANECDOTE OP THE PRESIDENT. A correspondent in Washington fur nishes Us with an anecdote of General ; Pierce, which will give our readers some ’* idea of the man ithout the politician. , A few days since the President appoint- _ ed an individual to a respon'^ib'© and' ^ lucrative office in a distant part of - country, on the recommendation of two . • U. S. Senators, and the Senate con firmed the appointment. This gratify ing event produced an exhilerating ef fect upon the successful applicant for office, who so far forgot himself as to , indulge in a “ glorious jolification.” As he was lodging in a fashionable hotel, his disgraceful conduct became known, and was freely commented on—indeed, it became the' “ town talk ” The Sen ators who had recommended him to the favor of the President, finding that he had disgraced himself, and was unwor thy of confidence, waited upon the President, stated the facts, and asked for his removal from office. “ Gentle men,” said the President in reply, “ this man was nominated by me, on jmur recommendation, and at your so licitation, to an office under the govern ment, and the nomination was con firmed by the Senate. You now say that his habits are intemperate, and that he is unworthy of the situation.— But if I were to remove him now, the consequence would be inevitable ruiri to him. -Thesbame and disappointment attending his dismissal from office un der suob circumstances would lead him to ^nd-solace in the intoxicathig bowl, a< d he would b> come a confimed ine briate, w’ler.as if tnis conversati n is repeated to him, he . may and probably will reform, and become a s )ber and exemplary citizen. I shall not remove him from office for this offence—but this, as it has been the first, so it will be the last time I can forgive him,’*— Boston Journal, ^ I?* Two loafers met upon the wharf yesterday, and passed the “ compliments of the season.” »“ Jim,” said one, “ have you seen Hall, he’s looking for you ?” “ H all! what Hall ?” was Jim’s answer. “ \Why Aiou-Lidll, >ou fool.” “ Pshaw,” responded Jim, “that's a poor ‘ sell,’ and you wouldn’t have ,caught me if I had’nt been hurt last nigh^t when John tripped me up.”— “ John who ?” said Jim. “ Demi-john, you numskull.” (p^ Our old friend Mrs. Partington, of the Boston Post, asks in her well known sweet toned simplicity, if there “ isn’t some claws in the revived stat- utes pf Massachusetts against cats ?” and^adds: “ It seems to me there ought to be for my poor Paul once got terri bly torn in his flesh and trowsers by one, and for nothing at all, either, but just sitting down on her—and the cloth cost a dollar a yard.” OCT Many of the farmers in Orange county and vicinity have disoontinned the sale of milk, and resumed butter making, in anticipation of an increased demand for that article in New York the coming season, in consequence of 'the influx of visitors to the World’s Fair. eyes of the ^whole oongregatjqii were resting upon, .iiiffi. His confusion can be better imagined than described.— O n . Nonpareil. DI?’ The kl^xican General Avolas rfit-, cently addressed Justice McLane, of Bfownayijle, Texas, threatening to bom bard the town if certain practices on this side were not suspended. Tjtie fol lowing is the Judge’s reply: D ear G enebau . — e have received your appreciated nojte of this date. Let l!br rip! D7* “ Well. Pat which t,k© way to Burlington.” “ Hpw did y© kpow ray name was Pat?” “ Oh, I guessed it.” \ Look here, Pete,” said a know ing darkey, “ don’t stand' dar on de railroad!” “ Why, Jo ?” “ Kase, if de cars see dat mouf ob yours dey tink it am de depo, and ran rite in!» O ne H undred M iles per H our . - obeyed. Lewis started as he P^^ity unueveiopea, is omy an looked'at Wm aod said, “ i ” jtat w ilf “ A Maine Yankee, anaonnees, through isT rass'^lf’you * e L™™Ste™on'’the ' =‘’’8 ““ wood— (the National Intelligencer, the ‘P o ti o n IS a pass , If y ^ are im | Scripture for it, that “ a living of an improved locomotive, which, he dosiabet.er.L n a d e a d lion...,IfyoS miles per hour! The'writer further lassed on without molestation.” He ^d recognized the traveller as one who had done him service when in trouble in Pittsburgh. Donnelly com plained of this prodigality, this waste of money as he termed it. Lejvis silenced him by pointing his unerring pistol at his head, saying, “ One more word from you-and you are a (lead;raan. fie was a friend of ours.” This extraordiqfw’y man, Lewis, would iccasionallj go dowji from bis mountain home, with gun in .hand dressed as a hunter, and visit among the people, to iWhom h e was always liberal and'kind, often relieving their necessities, and contributing largely to their comforts ; indeed, some of them were mainly sup ported by him. lie required excitement to sustain nature ; it seemed necessary for his very existence. His manners were courteous—indeed, polished. His education seemed to be a finished one. His countenance was sad and melan choly; there seemed to be some corroding care eating away .his heart. Hia early histbry, as rCiafed byhlnaselfitoan elder ly woifian, ^ wjdowed mother of one of his pensioners in the valley, who used to expostulate .with him on the impropriety of his lawless life, and beg him to return to society., was full .of in terest, bordering on romance. He was a Frenchman of middle stature ^and age, and wore the scars of many a bat tle, which he has shown and described often t© his old friepd, to whopj he con fided his history. He bad been an offi cer in thp French army, and was the only- sou of parents who were comfort- bly situated- in life. On his return from arae was jraur t - Then, be the powers, if ye air so good | his last campaign, his wife, who was at guessing, ye’d better guess the Way handsome, as he safo, with mmiy a d®®P to Burlington !” i sigh and bitter tear, loved him audseem- uld go up, go—if you would be seen, shine. At the present day, eminent position in any profession', is the result of hard, unwearied labor. Men can no longer Iffiey have ^got^to° hammer ^it out by | gineer and railroad man wiHv on exam- says he has been acquaftited with the details of these improvemeiits, “ which are so palpably correct in theory, and feasible in practice, that evCTy civil en- stead}’ and rugged blows. The world is no longer clay but rather iron in the hands of the workers. C];.AMS.— It is estimated that'New York wholesales and retails clams to the value of $600,000 per annum.— Some 2100 craft of various sizes, val ued at $150,000, are engaged in the clam trade. About 8000 persons are variously employed in the trade. The principal markets for their sale are feshington, Fulton and Catharine.— The principal fisheries are along the ^hore of Atlantic Co. in New Jersey. There are extensive fisheries at Rocka- way, Shincoek, Patchogue and Fire Is land on the southern coast of Long Is land, and at Cow Bay apd Little Bay Neck on the souqd. Some are obtain ed from Virginia. The clams are gath ered mainly with a “ scrape and tongs,” Th^re are three classes pf dealers who make a living by selling clams before they reach the .consumer— the diggers, the W'holesale, and -the retail* dealers.— Claras.are sold by the retailers at' from twenty-five cents to $2 a hundred.— Large quantities are pickled -and sent as far as California.—-IV. Y. Mirror. (IT* liQuis Napoleon is said to have been once desirous of marrying the daughter of General Lafayette. n.7*’ Twenty miles of new houses are| built in London every year. ination, at once recognise and admit as the desideratum, even to the extent of safety and speed above indicated.”— The next Congress, it is said, is to he invited to secure its adoption, and give to the world the result of the first ex periment. ■ T he H eart . —The heart may be the seat of ail kind influences and gen erous impulses, yet it may experience SO little it craves, so little that is geni al to it, so little that invites its trusts, or rewards its devotion, that it shall turn all.its feelings within; it shall put itself forth as . dreading -some bum it has so often received on its ventures ; it shall prefer its own withering _to de struction by yiqleuce of rude hands; it shall he disgusted with the foying and trusting wlfich it all th® while feels it self born to andhorp fori - A N o v e i . I dea .— The Legislaiur© of Penhsylvania has, among other pTojeclSj a bill for an incorporation to raise chickens. That’s the kind ? in for chickens.— We go. ID* “ Grandma, at what cgHliofadieS- lose their relish for gallantry ?^’ “ Inc- deed ray dear, £ do not know ; yon must ask some one-older than I a m .” . IE?*’ I f a min cannot find ease within himself, it is to little purpose to seek i t • elsewhere. ‘ , - '
