{ title: 'Herkimer Democrat. (Herkimer, N.Y.) 1854-1855, August 16, 1854, 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/sn92061595/1854-08-16/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn92061595/1854-08-16/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn92061595/1854-08-16/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn92061595/1854-08-16/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
Image provided by: New York State Library
H E H I I M E ^ E M O O f i A T . O. O. W tT H E R S T IN E , EDITOR AND DEOPEIETOB. THE H E R E I m S d e m o c r a t . Is pnWislied every W idnesdat MoEiciNa < Herkimer, Herkimer County, 1ST. Y., and will per annum, or $1,5( RATES OE ADYEETISINQ. One square or less, one Insertion,. . . $1 00 Each subsequent insertion, ............... 0 25 One square 9 months, ............. . S 00 One square 3 months, . • • • • • • • • • • » 4: 00 One square 6 m o n t h s , 5 00 One square one year ......................... . 8 00 liberal deduction w ill be made to those who advertise by the year. BOOK AND JOB PRINTING, in all its branches, executed with neatness and dispatch, • n reasonable terms. THE BLIND BOY. the followinj for through : It was a blessed lowers was a blessed summer’s day 5 The flowers bloomed, the air was mild, ■j.he birds poured forth their lay, And everything in nature smiled. In pleasant thought I wandered on Beneath the deep wood’s simple shade. T ill, suddenly, I came upon Two children who had hither strayed. id tly put— ? was blind. The children knew But all th( And I not that I was near— icealed me from their ley said I well could hear, :ould see all they might do. blind boy, „ very long ; So do you see him in his joy. And is he as pretty as his song ?” “ Yes, W illie, yes,” replied the maid, “ I see the bird-on yonder tree,” The poor boy sighed, and gently said, Sister, I wish that I could see !” , are very fair, ives are on the tr« i pretty binis are singing there j How beautiful for one who sees ! “ Yet I the fragrant flowers cah smell. And I can feel the green leafs shade, And I can hear the notes that swell From those dear birds that God has made. “ So, sister, God to me is kind, Though sight, alas ! He has not given ; But tell me, are there any blind Among the children up in Heaven “ No, dearest Willie, there all see ; But why ask me a thing so odd ?” “ O, Mary, He’s so good to me, I thought I’d like to look at God.” ^Ere long, disease his hand had laid On that dear boy so meek and, mild j His \vidowed mother wept and prayed That God might spare her sightless child. He fell her warm tears on his face, ■ And said, “ O ! never weep for me, I’m going to a bright, bright place, Where Mary says I God shall see. there, dear Mary, too ; when you come there. “ And you’ll coaai But mother, dear, when you Tell Willie, mother, That ’tis you— Yon know I never saw you here !” He spoke no m-'re, but sweetly smiled. Until the final blow was given 5 When God took up the poor blind child. And opened first his eyes—in Heaven. fletkimcf Pcmo^^at T E R M S - f 2 A Y E A R . “ ILBbcrtr, F r a g ility ,> % itd B q itallty ” $ 1 5 0 I N A D V A N C E . TOLUME III. BERKIMEB, WEDNESDAY Y M I M , ATJOUST 16,1854. mmm so. M iss T O D D , M . D . , —OU— A D I S E A S E OF T H E H E A R T . FEOJr THE TOfiTFOLlO OF A. YOTOG LAWYER. The days of my clerkship were end ed I rny exaraiuation was over; I was admitted; wrote myself “ Nehemiah Hubbs, Attorney,” put up toy new bright little sign, and in ray native vil lage began my professional career. No 1 did not either; I am mistaken; I in tended to pursue the honorable practice of the noble profession to which I had dedicated my talents and learning, in the place of my birth, buj never was truer word penned than the time-hon ored proverb, ” A prophet has no honor in his own country.” I believe if I bad remained in the village of Grreen Briar till my head was white, they would have thought of me as nothing but a boy, and would have feared to trust me. Ev^en after my sign was put up nobody called me Mr. Huhhs; I was still “ iYe” with old and young, and “ i¥e” I would have remained to this day *had I re mained in Green Briar. Only one case claimed my attention during the three mouths of my patient continuance in Green Briar, after being admitted to the bar, and that was the case of an unjusj^ly impounded pig, “ feloniously abstracted, your honor, frem the small but secure spot in which my client had trustingly deposited-him, and maliciously driven to the public enclosure called a pound for the vile purpose, doubtless^ of compelling my client, in his poverty and destitution; to pay the enormous fees which had been demanded of him, in order to ex tricate the animal from his unpleasant situation and restore him to the bosoih of his family!” By this I meant the client’s family, the pig having none of his own; it was a figure of speech, undoubtedly, the family not inhabiting an Irish cabin, but still it rounded off the period, and sounded well to me, as I repeated over and over again my maiden speech, pacing up and down the floor of my lit tle ofiioe. In this my first case, I vras successful so far as to rescue the im pounded animal and save my client from the paymentof an unjust demand; but it brought ho silver to my pocket, neither, to my surprise, did it seem to faring honor to my name.' The elo quence of my speech did not form the theme, as I fondly hoped it would, of paragraphs in the village newspapers* or of discussion at the corner of the streets, neither did it bring to my ofiice a rush of clients for which each day I vainly made ready. It was plain that I should never rise to distinction in Green Briar, and so I came to the sud den determination to remove from that pleasant spot and settle iti some great city where nobody knew or had evtf heard of m e; where above all there was not a soul to call me “ JVlp,'’ .. There I was more successful, and soon had the opportunity of forming a very advantageous partnership; busi ness increased; money began to come in slow at first, but after a time more plentifully, and all things seemed proi perous in my*outward circumstances. But alas! as we are so often told poet ically, there is no sweet without its bitter, no rose without its thorn; and trouble oame to me in the shape of dis ease, insidious, and slow in its ap proaches at first long feared and sus pected, but at length betraying itself so plainly, that 1 would blind myself no longer to the truth. Yeat I was without doubt a victim of disease of the hearC ; not metaphor ically, dear reader, for never had that organ beat with a quicker pulsation at the approach of mortal women; so far as the gentler sex were concerned, I was a perfect stoic ; but that there was organic disease about my heart, I could not doubt, and if ever the symptoms disclosed themselves unmistakably they did so in my case. There was flutter ing, palpitation, irregular action, and at length pain ; I ceuld not work ; life had lost its zest; the fear of sudden death was over with m e; I could enjoy nothing. If I had anything to leave or anybody to leave it to, I should have made my will, for 1 was quite sure I should either drop down some day life less in the street, or that the morning would soon come when the power to rise from my bed would have left me. I remained at my boarding house, and found no comfort in anything but my cigar and my dread disease grew worse and worse. As yet I had con sulted no physician; I think, from the apprehension of having my fears con firmed ; but as I sat by my window one day, smoking as vigorously as ever, gazing abstractedly across the street, my attention was arrested by a modest little sign upon the opposite blind—“0. L. Todd. M. D.” WhUe thinking whether it would be best to make trial of a physician’s skill, a sudden twinge and flutter decided m e ; yes, I would send for Dr. Todd add know the worst at once ! Summoning the only male servant belonging to the establishment, I told him to step and ask Dr. Todd to come and see me as soon as possible. The boy grinned. - “ What are you laughing at?'’ I ask ed, “ is not Dr. Todd a good physi cian ?” “ Oh, yes, sir,” he answered, \ I be lieve she is a very good physician, but she hasn’t never tended anybody here.” ” She !\ said I to myself, “ the boy surely has Welch blood in his veins, they always she everything.” The boy soon returned, saying “ the Doctor wasn’t home, sir, but I left your name on the slate.” In the course of the afternoon, as I lay upon the sofa, with my hand press ed upon my head to still its irregular pulsations, there was a soft step at my door. “ Come i n !” I called out, and to my surprise in came the neatest, bright est, and most cheerful little woman it had ever been ray lot to meet, “ You sent for me, I believe?” she Said, in a quick, brisk, pleasant way. I? No, madam; you are laboring under a mistake.” “ Ah ! I beg pardon,” said the little woman, “ I found on my slate the name of Mr. Hubbs, number fourteen, Mrs. Grey’s boarding house, with a request that I would call and see him.” “ Your slate, madam?” I exclaimed, my astonishment increasing every mo ment, “ you surely are not a - - ” “ Physician! yes, sir,” she interrupt ed quickly, “ I ’m a physician; Dr. Todd.” ** Extraordinary !” was all I could say, for though I heard at a distance of the existence of such beings, this was the first introduction to a female prac titioner of the esculapian art. It was rather awkward, but since she had come, I determined to make the best n f it, and acquaint the lady Doctor with my case. She felt my pulse, asked numerous questions as to my symptoms, and then in her quick, bright way. exclaimed— Nervous ! nervous! that's all, de- ^pend upon it. Excuse me, sir, but by the air of your room I presume you are much given to smoking.” I plead guilty. ‘*And how many cigars do you usu ally smoke in a day ?” ' “ I could not tell; I never counted ; as soon as I threw away one, I took another usually,” “ Hum ! cigar in your mouth pretty much all the time, e ii ! phew, too?” , Again a reluctant confession was \wrung/rom me. “ I presume you sit up late, smoking all the time?” “ Yes, ms’am, smokingandreading.” “That’s i t ! No disease of the heart at all, sir; nothing but tobacco; it’ll make you fancy anything; it’fl drive you cra zy, if you don’t take care. Now will you promise to follow my advice dose- iy, or not ? If not, I will take my leave immediate^.” I promised, submissive as a lamb. “ In the first place, then, throwaway all your cigars and tobacoo, and promise to buy no more.” , With a sigh given to my sole coeiso | - latioor, I said I would do. a t fhf di rected. as to diet, ekerdse, early hours, &c.— Perhaps she saW, too, that cheerful companionship was one thing T needed, and. 80 she remained a while, talking with great glee and spirit, about mat ters and things in general; and jpromis- ing to call and see me the next morn ing, she left. I had not felt SQ well in a gripat while; indeed J had not given my heart a thought since the llttie woman enter ed the room. . The next morning I found myself watching impatiently for the arrival of my little Doctor. She came, bright and cheerful as the day before. What a perfect little sunbeam she was! _ could not help growing better under her care, andtheinfldenCe of her cheer ing presence, and yet I managed to contrive some ache or pain every day, as an excuse for the continuance of her visit*. At length I found that my heart, which had long been quiet and appa rently free from disease, began to flut ter and palpitate again, but I observed it was only when I heard this little woman’s tap at my door, or felt her soft fingers on my wrist. In short,'as she had driven the disease out of my heart, that little woman herself had walked into it. I could no longer blind myself to the fact; and when she one day told me that I was now off the sick list and out of her hands, I determined that she should not so easily get out of mine. So I told her, that as she had now given ease to my heart in one respect, she must not leave till she had done so in another, or I should be worse off than I was before. The little woman looked perplexed. Then I stated my case, and explain ed my symptoms a second time, show- ing-her the distressed state of my heart, ami she alone could cure it. The for mer disease she had cured by an occa sional visit, the latter could only be cured by her promising to come and take up her abode with me, as resident physician. She understood me now, and by the way she pressed her hand on her own little fluttering heart, one would bare thought the disease was contagiousand f verily think it was. So now we attempted to cure each other, and next we are both to appljto a clergyman, who to to^ form faatwoeir us a life-partnership, as lawyer and physician. But one thing troubles me of which I had not thought till now; that it is necessary to have our cards engraved. Married.people are usually “ Mr. and Mrs. so and so,” or “ Mr. such a one and lady,” but will any one please to be so kind as.to tell me how I and my little wife* are to be designated. Will it be “ Mr. and Dr. Hubbs,” or “ Mr, and Mr*. Hubbs, M. D..\ or as the ladies are going ahead so fast in these days of Woman’s Rights, will I sink into still lesser insignificance, and shall we be “ Dr, Todd and gentleman ” or must 1 drop the name of Hufabs alto gether and become a Todd, too I— Somebody please tell me how to have those cards engraved! A S ingular F act . —Is it not singu lar that the name of God should be spelled with four letters, in so many different languages? In LatinJt is Deus. French-^Dieu. Old Greek—Zeus. German—Gott. Old German—Odin. Swedish—Godd. Hebrew—Adon. Dutch—Herr. Syrian—A dad, Persian—Syra. Tartarian—Idga. Solavonian—Belg or Boog. Italian—Idio. Spanish—Dias. East India—Esgi or jSerai. Turikisb—Abdi. Egyptian—^Aumn or Zeut. Japanese—-Zain. Peruvian—Lian. Wallachin—Zene. Etruian—Chur. Tyrrhenian—Eher. Irish*—Dieh. Croatioq—Doga. . Margarian—Oese. Arabian—AUa. Dalmatian—Bogt. There are several other languages in which the word is marked with the same peculiarity. Is there any other that is ?—Jffoching Sentinel., B est R ight to - the B ed . —One mght a judge, military officer, and a priest, all applied for a lodging at an inn where there was but one spare bed, and the* landlord was called on to decide which had the better claim o f i|io three. “ i have lain fifteen year.s in the gar rison of'B.” said this officer. “;i have sat as judge twenty years at R.” said the judge- “ With your leavo gentleman, I have stood in the ministry twenty-five years, at -N.” said the priest. “ Thai settle* the dispute,” said the landlords, ''‘You, Mr.* da]g||p/hive Iain fifteen year# ; yon Mr* JnSge have sat twenty year#; but the aged pastor has stood five and twenty year*, so lie cettainly^has the best right to the bed.\ Bayird Taylor Mayf Chink is the Many more directiopf she ga»t Ihett country ip tje n^id-^tgiejiy^. WOES AW a Y, BOYS-1 BY HEBfty TSSBALl.. Work aWay wbUv JW inay, When you once begin, boy* j NeJer stay by th«^iway, ‘l|y*0 wish to win, boyrl. Idler folks may gazq ; NeVer wiind^^yw.on,' boys ! Make the most i^WiRy day*--- Honest labor merihrpraise J along, hard aM strong^ * rouwishio will, boy* 1 ^ Work away While yoii may, laving.pnce begun, boys; .ving.pnce begun, t . Never stay b y the way. Or you’il.be outrun, beys ! There’s enough for to do, ' And it must be dpne', bo}*s ! Idleness will rast.tiiasotil-- Honest labor brightka* all. So never stay by tbs way, ■Having once begun, boys j Plod alongj hard-aofl slrobg, • Oriyoq’4 be outrun b oy*! . Work away whue you may; Time is on the wing, boys ! Never w’aste your time in play— Work away and sing, boys ! Summer days will »ooil be past, ‘ Winter’s coming on, boys ! Honest labor brings us wealth. Length o f days, and joyous health, So. never stay by tU* way. If you once begin, boys ; Plod along, hard and strong— That’s the way to win, boys ! THE HAPPY PAIR. Says Dick to Jack, ’ says Jack, “ they only joke ; sight since, we spoke !” You wrangle with’youj “ Pooh ! pooh !” s£ ■ ’Tis now a forlni THE BKOKEN-HEARTED. BY GEORGE D . PRENTICE. About two years ago, I took up my residence for a few weeks in a country village, in the eastern part of New Eng land. Soon after my arrival, I became acquainted with a young lady appar ently about seventeen years of age.— She had lost the idol of her heart’s purest love, and the shadows of deep and holy memories were resting like the wing of death upon her brow. I first met her in presence o f the mirthful. She was, indeed, a creature to fie admired; her was garland-^ ^edby the young yearV sweetest flow ers, and her sunny treSses were hang ing beautifully and. low upon her bo som ; and she moved through the crowd with such floating unearthly grace, that the bewildered gazer looked almost to see her fade away into the air, like the creation of a pleasant dream. She seemed cheerful, and even gay ; yet I saw that her gayety was but the mock ery of her feelings. She smiled, but there was something in her smile which told me that its mouruful beauty was but the bright reflection of a tear; and her eyelids at times pressed heavily down, as if struggling to repress the tide of agony that was bursting up from her heart’s secret urn. She looked as if she could have left the scene of fes tivity, and gone out beneath the quiet sfars, and laid her forehead down upon the fresh, green earth, and poured out her stricken soul, gush after gush, till it mihgled with the eternal fountain of purity and life. I have lately heard that the young lady of whom I have spoken, is dead. The close of her life was calm as the falling of a quiet stream ; gentle as th e ; sinking of the breeze, that lingers for a time around a bed of withered roses, and then dies for very sweetness. ** It cannot be that earth is man’s only- abiding-pi ace. It cannot be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float a moment upon it* surface, and then sink into nothingness and darkness. Else, why is it that the high and glorious aspirations which leap like angels from the temple of o u r!. ^ hearts, are forever wandering abroad Jacob Reese. unsatisfied ? Why is it that the rain bow and the cloud comes over us with a beauty that Is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse on their faded loYeliness ?• Why is it that the stars whch hold their festival around the midnight throne, are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, and for ever mocking u« with their unapproach- ble glory ? And* finally* why is it that bright.forms of human beauty are pre riNGER MARKS. A mason was employed to thin-whiten the wails of a chamber. The fluid used was colorless till* dried. Being alone in the room, he opened a drawer, examin ed a pocket-book and handled the pa pers, but finding no money, placed .all thiqgs as they were, forgetting that twelve hours’ drying would show the marks of his wet fingers. But these tell-tail finger marks, which he little thought any one would ever see, posed his guilt. Children, beware of evil thoughts and evil deeds! fl'hey have all finger marks which will be revealed at some time. If you disobey your parents, or tell a falsehood, or take what is not your own, you make sad finger marks on your- character. And so it is with any and all sin. It defiles the charac ter. . It betrays those who engage in it by the marks it makes on them. The marks may be almost if not quite color less at first. But even if they should not be seen during any of your days on earth—which .is not at all likely-^yet there is a day coming in which finger marks or sin stains on the character will be made manifest. Never suppose that you can do what is wrong without having a stain on your character. It is impossible. If you in jure another, you, by that vep^ deed, injure your own .«elf. If you disregard the law of God, the injury is sadly your own. Think of it, ever bear it in mind, children, that every sin you commit leaves a mark upon yourselves. Your character should ba a coating of pure • truth. Let truthfulness ever be manifest. Beware of sin—“ and be 'Sure your sin will find you out ;’’ for it makes finger marks which, even* should they not be seen by those around you on earth, will yet be seen to your condemnation at the bar of God. TEE WIFE or GEN- JACKSON. The influence of this woman over her husband is said to have been very ex traordinary. She was of obscure origin, and totally uneducated ; yet she inher ited from nature those fine and noble traits of her sex to such perfection that ber power was very great. Gen. Jack- son was attached to her in early life, but by some means or other the matter was interrupted, and she marned an other. who proved a villain, and the connection was a most unhappy one.— Gen. Jackson became interested in her, and the consequence was a divorce— after which he married her. She is said to have possessed none of those accomplishments which are supposed to adorn fashionable life'; reared in the back woods, seeing and kno^ving but little of refined society. Yet her fine person, strong affections, and good sense, the three essentials of a woman, enabled her to take hold with irresisti ble force of the bold, strong, and fiery warrior and statesman to whom she was wedded. It was the lion held, in the embrace of the . fawn. The influ ence she exercised is said to have bor dered on the superstitious. He im agined that no power or act of bis could succeed, or be curried out, averse to her will, or in opposition tp her feelings.— She seemed his guardian angel by day and by night; holding in her hands Ms life, bis fate, his all. An intimate friend of his says, that so long as he lived, be.wore her miniature near his heart, and never alluded to her except in a manner so subdued and full of rev erence that the listener was deeply im pressed with her trahscendant worth.. sented to the view, and then tak^n from uaf, leaving the thousand stream* of affliction* to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our heart* I We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow never fades j where the stars will be spread out before itoltke the Islands that slumber on the ocean; and where the beautiful heiijp that here pass before us like visions, will ati^ in onr presence forever. ffT^* The great source of pleasure is variety, Uniformity must tire at last, though it be uniformity of excellence. Wclove to (ixpeot, and when expectation Is disap^inted,’ Or gratified, we want to be again expecting. There is a great deal of poetry, and a vast deal more truth in-the fol lowing ? , GoJ and-tfes doctor we alike adore, e. Just on the brink* of danger, not before t The danger patsed, both i r e alike requited; God is forgotten, and the dootox slighted. iT?‘Here is'a singular occurrence we find “ going the rounds.” We copy it from the Centerville (Va.,) Times, the editor of which vouches for Its entire truth:— “ Under the obituary head in to-day’s paper will be found the death of Mr, Jacob Reese. On the day of his death, Mr. Reese was engaged id seeding oats, and towards evening was startled by a voice, apparently at his elbow, saying, ‘ You may sow but you shall not reap.’ He looked around, and seeing no one, continued his work of seeding, attribu ting it, as he afterwards said to his im agination. At every step, however, the warning was repeated, and at last, un able to bear it, he proceeded home to his wife. Hew’as persuaded by her that it was oiily Imagination, and find ing that he had no fever, and did not complain of any unusual indisposition, she induced him to return to the field. There, however, the sam.e solemn warn ing voice atfended him at every step;— “ You may sow but you shall not reap !” and in a state of extreme agitation again quit work and went home. He took an early supper, apd was shortly after at tacked with a swelling of the throat, and before sunrise the next piorning wa's a corpse.” The late Rowland Hill once said, on observing some persons enter his chapel to avoid the rain that was fall ing, “ Many persons are to be blamed for making their religion a cloak; but I do not think those much better «flio make it ah umbrella!” CURIOSITIES IN CHEETA. Here is a man leading a white goat with Only three legs, which h© wishes to se|l, but on a careful examination we perceive that one of the fbre legs has been neatly amputated while the animal was young. There are half a dozen gaming-tables, each surrounded by its crowd of players ahd speptatoi The Chinese are inveterate gamblers, and as the stakes at many of these ta bles are as low as a single cash, few are so poor that they cannot make a ven ture. One of the methods has some resemblance to the “ little jokers,” so well known at our race courses. The player has three sticks, the ends of which are thrust-through his fingers.— There is a hole through each of the other ends, which are held in his hand ; a cordis passed through one of them, and the play consists in guessing which one, as the cord may be transferred from one to the other by a quick move ment of the fingers. I put a “ cash” on the'board, make a guess, and win a cake of suspicious looking candy, which I give to the nearest boy, to the great merriment of the bystanders. There are also stands for the sale of pea-nuts, reminding ns of the classic sidewalks of Chatham street, and-for the sake of Young America, we must invest a few cash in its favorite fruit. But here is an entertainment of an entirely novel character. A man, seated on the pave ment, holds in h|s band a white porce lain tile, about a ^ o t square. This he overspreads mth a deep blue color, from a sponge dipped in a thin paste of indigo, and asks us to name a flower. I suggest the lotus. He ex tends bis fore-finger, crooked, flexible as anr elephant’s trunk, and a* sharp as if the end had been whittled off—gives three or four quick dashes across the tile, and in ten seconds or less, lo I there is the flower, exquisitelj drawn and shaded, its snowy cup hanging in the' midst of its long, swaying leaves. Three more strokes, and a white bird, with spread wings, hovers over i t ; two more and a. dog stands beside it. The rapidity and precision of that fore-fing er seem almost miraculous. He covers the tile with new layers of color, and flower after flower is dashed out o f the blue grovLUd.-—Bayard Taylor , , *' the depfesence . ;A .Q u iet W om a n . —A quiet woman is like a still wind, which neither chills the body nor blows dust in the face; her patience is a virtue that wins the* heart of love, and her wisdom makes her wit well worthy of regard; she fears God, and'flietb sin—showeth kindness and loveth peace. Her tongue is tied to discretion, and heart is the harborer of goodness; she is a comfort in ca lamity, and in prosperity a companion; a physician in sickness, and a musician in health; her ways are the walks to wards heaven, and her guide is the grace of the Almighty; she is her hus band’s down bed, where his heart lies at rest; and her children’s glass in the notes of her grace, her servants’ honor in the keeping of her house; and her neighbors’ example in the notes of a goodnature; she scorns fortune, and loves virtue, and out of thrift gatbereth Charity ; .she is a turtle in her luve, a lamb in her meekness, a saint in her heart, and an angel in her soul. In sum, she is a jewel unprizeable, and a joy unspeakable; a comfort in nature unaccountable, and a wife in the world unmatchable. A n U n q u iet W oman .— An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose de- . D5*Th®te is a good story of an ec- centti||ftdy of unfortunately acquisltivn habits^o the effect that she was on qne occafsoft' so affected by a charity ser mon as to borrow a sovereign from her neighbor^ and—put |t in hey own pocket. From Mrs. Child’s Life of Hopper. FRIEND ISAAC T- HOPPER. Upon one occasion, Friend Hopper went into the Court of Chancery and kept his hat on, according to Quaker fashion. While he was listening to the pleadings, he noticed that a person who sat near the Chancellor fixed his eyes upon him, with avery stern expression. This attracted the attention of lawyers and spectators, who also began to look at him. Presently an officer tapped him on the shouldeXi and said : “ Your hat, sir ?” “ What is the matter with my hat ?” inquired he. ' ■ “ Take it off,” rejoined the officer; “ you are in His Majesty’s Court of Chancery.” ‘• That is an honor I reserve for His Majesty’s Master,” he replied. ‘‘ Per haps it is my shoes thou meanest.” “ The officer seemed embarrassed, but said no more; and when the Friend had stayed as long as he felt inclined, he quietly withdrew. One day when he was walking with a lawyer in Dublin, they passed the Lord Lieutenant’s castle. He expressed a wish to see the council chamber but was informed that it vras not open to strangers* “ I have a mind to go and try,” said he to his companion. “ Wilt thou go with me ?” “ Noj indeed,” he replied, “ and I would advise you not to go.” He marched in, however, with his broad beaver on, and found the Lord Lieutenant surrounded by a number of gentlemen. “ lam an American,” said he; “ I have heard a great deal about the Lord Lieutenant’s castle, and, if it will give no offence, I should like very much to His lordship seemed surprised by this unceremonious introduction, but smiled and said to a servant, “ Show this American whatever he wishes to see.” He was conducted into various de partments where he saw pictures, stat ues, and ancient armor, antique coin, and other curious articles. At parting, the master of the mansion was extreme ly polite, and gave him much interest ing information on a variety of topics. When he rejoined his companion who had agreed to wait for him at some ap pointed place he was met with the in quiry, “ Well, what luck ?” “ Ob, the best luck in the world,” ho replied, “ I was treated with the great est politeness.” •“ Well, certainly, Mr. Hopper^ you are an extraordinary man,” responded the lawyer; “ I would not have ven tured to try such an experiment.” When Friend Hopper visited tho House of Lords, he asked the Sergeant- at-Arms “ if he might sit upon tho throne ?” “ No, sir. None but His Majesty sit* there.” “ Wherein does His .Majesty differ from dffier'’men inquu-ed he. “ If his head were cut off w'ouldn’the die ?” “ Certainly he would,” rejoined tho officer. “ So would an American,” rejoined Friend Hopper. As he spoke, he step ped up into the gilded railing that sur rounded the throne and tried to open the gate. The officer told him that it was locked. “ Well, won’t the same key that locked it unlock it ?” inquired he; “ is this the key hanging here ?” Being informed that it was he t^ok it down and unlocked the gate. He re moved the satin covering from the throne carefully dusted the railing with his handkerchief, before he hung the satin on it, and then seated himself in the royal chair. “ Well,” said he, “ do I look anything like His Majesty ?” The man seemed embarrassed, but smiled as he answered, “ Why, sir you fill the throne very respectably.” . There were several noblemen in the room, who ,seeined to be extremely amused at the unusual proceedings. an awl, her eye the poison of a cocka trice, her hand the claw of a crockodile, and her heart a cabinet of horror; she is the grief of nature, the wound of wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of titoV; her pride ie insupportable, her anger unquenchable; she fears no col ors, she cares for no counsel, she spares no persons, nor respects any time; her conTimand is must, her reason, toilt, her resolution shall, and her satisfaction so ; she looks at no laws, and thinks of no lord; admits no command, and keeps no good order; she is a cross, but not of Christ; and a word, but not of grace; a creature, but not of wisdom; and a servant, but not of God. In sum, she is the-seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of bitterness, and the digestion of death. A necdote of P eter C artw right . -While he was preaching, years ago, General Jackson entered the church, when a pastor seated in the pulpifgave his “ Brother Cartwright” a nudge, and whispered that the old hero had'just come in—^as much as to advise “ now to be particular in what you say.” But Peter to the astonishment of every one* louder thap eve^jk||^imed---- Who cares for G e j^ P ^ e k s o n f—- He’ll go to hell as any body, i f he doesn’t repent.” When the sermon -—home made one—was ended a friend asked the General, what he thought of that rough old fellow and received ffir an answer, “ Sir, give me twenty thou- khd such men.'and I ’ll whip the world, including the devil 1” ID“ “ Jack”, said one sailor to anoth er, ” I don’t wnnfc hurt your feeling*, bul Shiver my timber* if I ffonl believe you stole jwatch.” W ives AND C arpets . —In the selec tion of a carpet, you should alwayspre- fer one with small figures, because the two webs of which the fabrics consist are always more clostly interwoveu than in carpeting where large figures raeanor is not to bedescribed but in wrought. tremities; her voice is the pricking of *(J'^here is a great deal of true philoso phy in this, that will apply to matters widely different from the selection of carpets. A man commits a sad mistake when he selects a wife that cuts too large a figure on. the green earpet of life—iu Other words, makes much display. Tha attractions fade out—^the web of life be comes worn and weak and ail the gay figures that seemed so charming at first, disappear like summer flowers in au- Many a man has made flimsy linsey- woolsey of himself, by striving to weave too large a figure, and himself worn nut, used up, and like an old carpet hanging on the fence, before he has lived out half his alloted days of usefulness. Many a man wears out like a earpet that is never swept,, but by the dust of indolence. Like that same carpet, he needs shaking or whipping—he needs activity, something to think of—-some thing to do. Look out then for the large figures ; and there are those no\v stowed away in the garret of the world, awaiting their final consignment to the cellar, who, had they practised this bit of car pet philosophy would to-day be firm and bright as a Brussels fresh Trora the loom, and everybody exclaiming; “ It is wonderful how well they d o !” ff?-If soma person should tell you something about something he heard somebody say about something that wa 8 said by some friend u f his, depend uponjti there is sotfle reason to think that your informant bnows something about it, 03*’ ” A dreadful little for a shilling,” said a penurious fellow to a physician, who dealt out an emelic; “ can’t you give more ?” C':\
