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tttJtm
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tsccUaneous.
TAKING THE CENSUS.
Our next encounter tvas with an old
lady, notorious in her neighborhood for her
garrulity and simple mindedues3. Having
I been warned > f her propensity, and being
Notice oi these sales must be given in^a public ; somewhat hurried when we called upon
gazelle sixty days previous to the day of saie.
Notices for the sale of personal property must
|e civen ill like manner, forty days previius to
the day of sale.
Notice* to the debtors and creditors of an estate
m ,i«l also bo published forty days.
Notice that application will he made to the Court
0 f Ordinary, for leave to sell band or Negroes,
must he published for four months.
Citations for letters of Administration, must he
nohlished thirty oats—for dismission from Ad
ministration, monthly siz months—for dismission from
(J-iardianship. forty day*.
IU-LKS for foreclosure of mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months—for establishing lost
papers, for the full Spare of three mouths—for com
pelling titles from Executors or Administrators,
where bond has been given by the deceased, the
full space of thru months.
Publications will always be continued according
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
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All business of this kind will receive prompt at
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Letters on business must be tost faid to en
title them to attention.
o etr£.
A LAY OF LOVE.
BY GEflRfiE 1). PRENTICE.
Yet once again I’ve seen thee.
And my every thought is thine.
Ay, a kueel to thee in worship
As to an idol shrine.
In mv spirit’s silent chambers
Where hope may never he,
Or.e lonely light is burning—
Tis a holy love of thee.
I see thee—oh, I see thee
In the shadows on the river.
I see thee in the moon’s sweet beams
That on the bright lake quiver:
I sec thee in the mists that move
Like spectres o'er the streams
And at midnight deep I see thee
In the shadowy w orld of dreams.
her, we were disposed to get through bus-
! iness as soon as possible. Si riding into
j the house, and drawing our papers—‘Ta
king the census, ma’anrt!’quoth we.
iAh! well! yes! bless your soul, take a
I seat. Now do! Ate you the gentleman!
j that Mr. Fillmore has sent on to take the !
.scfts/s? I wotidet! well, how vva3 Mr. Fill
more and family when you seed him?
We told her we had never seen'the Pres- j
ident, did’nt know him from a side sole !
leather:’ tve had been written to lake the
census.
‘Well, now, there again! love your soul! |
—Well, 1 ’spose Mr. Fillmore writ you a j
letter, did he? No! Well there’s mighty j
| liftle here to take down—times is hard; but i
| it looks like people can’t get their jest j
rights in this country; and the law is all for !
j the licit and none for the poor. Did you I
, j ever hear tell of that case my hoys lias got
agin old Simpson? Looks like they will |
| never git to the end on it. The children
I will suffer. I’m mighty afeard. Did you j
| ever see Judge B ? Yes? Well, did
! you ever hear him say what he was agwine |
j to do in the hoys case again Simpson; No!
j Well, 'squire, will you ax him the
j next time what I say; I’m nothing
hut a poor widow, and my boys has got no
| lat nin, and old Simpson tuk’em in. It’s a
I mighty hard case, and the will oughtn't
| never to a been broke, hut ’
Here we interposed, and told the old
i lady that our time was precious. After a
; good deal of trouble we got through with a
j description of the members of her family,
and the 'statistical table’ as fares the article
j cloth.’
‘Mrs. Stokes! give me tho value of your
poultry, or say you mill not! Do one
thing or the other.’
‘Oh, well, dear love your heart, I reckon
I had last year, night about the same as I’ve
got this.’
‘Then tell me how many dollars worth
you have now and the thing’s settled.’
‘I’ll let you see for yourself,’ said tho
widow Stokes, and taking a ear of corn out
of a crack between the logs of the cabin,
and shelling tiff a handful, she commenced
scattering the grain, all the while scream
ing, or rather screeching—’chick—chick—
chick—chick-ee —chick-ee- chick-ee—eel’
Here they come, roosters, hens and pul
lets, and little
chirping, flying and fluttering over beds,
chairs, and tables ; alighting on the old
woman’s head and shoulder’s fluttering
against her sides, pecking at her hands,
uties he was cdtWe.r.mng, he made full a-
mends by eating her share with his own.
Prowling about in the larder one even-
ing, he chanced to spy a raw beefsteak.—
He immediately made it a subject of attack
upon his better half. ‘What are you doing
with this steak? Didn’t I order sausages
for breakfast?’
‘Yes, my dear, but you spake of Thomp
son’s being in town, and I thought it likely
—that is, possible—that instead of going to
the club you might bring him home to din
ner; so I bought the meat this morning in
order to be ready against a surprise.’
‘Just as if it were possible I should bring
chicks—crowing, 3 cackling' 1 “ h ° me to di,,e ’ wilhou * 8 ivin 8 Y'"*
Three days after this conveisation, as
Mrs. Bil e was cleaning tile parlors,
and had the carpets up, her husband
came in about two o’clock, with two
and creating a din and confusion altogether i • , , . , , . . , .
indescribable. The old lady seemed de- I r,e,lds ’ W |''T he had , ur 8 ed rt,,t of the,r
lighted, thus to exhibit her feathered ‘stock,’ j ° 03 ! j ,,c,a . ' l,n | er ,
and would occasionally exclaim-’s nice I °, fcou ? e l « e ^ ^tch had to,be prepar-
passel, aiut tliey--a nice passed’—But she
never notild say what they were worth; no
“How many yards of cotton cloth did
I you weave in 1S50, ma’am?
“Weil now!—less see! You know Sally
! Higgins that used to live-in the Smith set-
1 tlemenl?—poor thing, her daddy druv her
off—poor gal, she couldn't help it. i dare
! say. Well, Sally she come to stay long
1 vvi’ me when the old man druv her away,
| and she was a powerful good hand to
weave, and I did think she’d help me a
! power. Weil, arter she’d bin here awhile
; her baby it took sick, and old Miss Stringer
she unde:tuk to help it—she’s a powerful
good hand, old Miss Stringer on roots and
j yearbs, and sich like! Well she made a
sort of a lea, as I was sayitig, and 3he gin it
| to Sally’s baby, it got wus—the poor cree-
i ttir—and she ein it tea, and looked like, the
I more she gin it tea, the more ”
“My dear madam, I am in a hurry—
please (ell me how many yards of cotton
• you wove in 1850. I want to get through
and go on.”
“Well, well, whn'd a thought you’d 'a
| bin so snappish. Well, as 1 was sayiu’
I Sail’s child hit kept gitin wus, and old Miss
Stringer, she kept a givin’t the yarb tea;
till at last the child hit looked like hit would j
j die any how. And ’bout the time the child
I was at its wusl, old Daddy Sykes he cutn
along, and lie said if we’d git some night
! shed berries, and stew them with a little
cream and some hogs lard—now old Daddy
Sykes is a mighty fine old man, and he gin
the boys a heap of mighty good counsel
’bout that case—hoys, says he, I’ll tell you
what you do, you go and ”
‘Old lady,’ said we, ‘do tell about your
cloth, and let the sick child and Miss Strin
ger, Daddy Sykes, the boys and the law j
' suit go to grass. I’m in a hurry!’
‘Gracious bless your dear soul! don’t git J
aggravated. I was jist a tillin' you how it j
TJcIUfCtj?. come I did'(it weave no cloth last year.*
~ '~r- ‘Oh, well, you did’nt weave any cloth :
A New Way to DcJ"cat n Hill. A^bHI to ] aS ( year. Good! we’ll go on to the next
article.’
•\es! you see the child hit begun to j
swell and turn valler, and hit kep a wal- j
lin’ its eyes and a moanin’ and 1 knowd—’
‘Never mind about the child—just tell me ‘
raised last I
I ,ee tliee—oil, I see thee
In the gentle flowers of spring.
And in the tint the rainbow wears
Upon ils fleeting wing;
I see thee in the sunset lines
That gush along (he west.
And I see thee in (he deiv-Hrop
That gems the rose’s breast.
I hear thee—oh, I hear thee
In (he murmuring of (he waves,
And in the soft and twilight gush
Of fountains frotn their caves:
I hear thy voice’s music
In each sound that wanders by,
In the cadence of the night bird,
Aud the wind’s mysterious sigh.
I hear thee—oh, I hear tliee
In the chime of evening bells,
And in the tone that o’er the deep
At solemn twilight swells;
I hear thee in the forest lyrps
Swept by the breath ol even.
And in the low, deep spirit-voice
That tells the soul of Heaven.
I love thee oh. I love thee—
There’s naught in the’bright blue skies.
No lovely thing of earth hut brings
Thy sweet form to my eyes;
I love thee, and there’s not a sound,
A tone to my spirit dear,
A breath from nature’s lip, but gives
Tby voice to my ravished ear.
I love thee—oh, I love tliee—
Thou art in the darkest hour
To my soul a star, a fount, a bird,
A music-tone, a flower;
I love thee,and thy dear thought thrills
Each fibre of my fiame.
Like Heaven’s own lightning, and my heart
In each throb calls thy name.
I love—oh, I love thee.
And I would these words were borne
To thee on every holy breeze
Of eventide and morn;
I love thee, and I would those words
Were written on the sky.
And on each star and flower and leaf
That greet thy gentle eye.
persuasion would bring her to tho point;
and our papers at Washington contain no
estimate of the value of the widow Stokes’s
poultry, though, as she said herself, she had
‘a mighty nicepassel.’
Correspondence of the Journal of Commerce.
A PICTURE.
Suspended above the sketch last noticed,
is a portrait, which my friend values least
of all the pictures in his collection, but to
which I frequently turn when disposed to
vent my spleen because the affairs of life
have gone contrary to my wishes or antici
pations. I remember once having occasiou
to visit a friend’s nursery when his favorite
child was indulging in a fit of the sulks,
and secretly condemning the discipline
which sought to turn the tide of childish
humor by showing the offender, in a glass,
his own angry and distorted countenance:
but T am now inclined to think there was
more philosophy in it than I then suspect
ed. Did men know what a faithful record
the countenance generally keeps of their
inward passions, and how soon the ebulli
tions of spite, or the overflow of bilious hu
mors, wear channels in the lineaments of
the face, they ivoultf he, I am sure, more
watchful of these outgoings.
The face before us may he used as a
monument to warn us all against indulging
in a fretful or fault-finding disposition, for
these attributes of character are channeled
upon every feature. A young man who
who thought mote of that portion ofhis?//t-
dcrstandiug which assisted his locomotion,
ed at short notice, was rendeted still more
j uncomfortable by a scries of ill natured re
marks, from the husband, upon improvi
dent house-wives, who could not see, the
length ( f their nose, what was likely to be
wanted in the family!
One moderately cold evening li; came
home with a pretended chill, and nearly
So. 49.
A KUSS ON DEMAND. .
nr m-ourun. j ^uice; only when my nephew married, 1
It was a very peculiar sound, someth.ng j n, }’ 3e ^ to P a y y our claim,
like the popping of a champagne cork,! ‘Fairly trapped, by Jupiter! exclaimed
something like the report of a small pocket j Seatterly, in an extacy of delight,
pistol, but exactly like nothing but itself.— j l S r op—stop, cried the unhappy garden-
It was a kiss. * ! er> recoiling from the withered face, bears
A kiss implies two parties—unless it he j ded and s ^ ar P 0030 of the ancient spin-
one of those symbolical kisses produced by a * er >‘l relinquish my claim 111 write a
one pair of lips, arid tvafied through the air ! rec fjP t ’ n * 11 ^'
in token of affection or admiration. But
this particular kiss was genuine. The par
ties in the case were Mrs. Phebe Mayflow
er, the newly married wife of honest Tom
Mayflower, gardener to Mr. Augustus
Seatterly, and that young gentleman him
‘N*>, sir,’ sai ! Scatter!)’; ‘you pressed me
for payment this moment—and you shall
take your pay or I discharge you from tny
employ.’
‘I am ready!’ said the spinster, meekly.’
‘Tom shuddered—crawled up to the old
self. Augustus was a good hearted, rattle lady—shut his eyes—made up a horrible
brained spendthrift, who had employed the
two or three years which had elapsed since !
his majoiity in making ’ducks and drakes' |
of the pretty little fortune left him by his j
defunct site. There was nothing very bad
about him, except his prodigal habits, and j
by theso he was the severest sufferer— i
Tom, his gardner, had been married a few
weeks, arid Gus, who had failed to he at the j
face, and kissed her while Mr. anJ Mrs. S.
stood by convulsed with laughter.
Five minutes afterwards Tom entered
the gardener’s lodge, pale, weak and
trembling, and sunk into a chair.
‘Give me a glass of water, Phebe!’he
gasped.
‘Dear! what has happened?’ asked the
little woman.
‘Happened! why, that cussed Miss Ver-
wedding, and missed the opportunity of, .. -
•saluting the biide,’ took it into his bead j juice's paying Mr. Seatterly’s debts?
that it was both proper and polite that he *W»in
should do so on the first occasion of his
meeting her subsequently to that interest
ing ceremony. Mrs. Mayflower,the other
1 set the house on fire in his efforts to prove | P ar, y interested in the case, differed from
i • .• .. . . i '. . I „ i .l. .. i ji _ _ j
i his assertion that “the place was as cold as
j a barn.’ A few evenings later, on perceiv-
j ing that some extra attention had been be-
| stowed upon the fire, to render the parlors
i comfortable with an outside atmosphere at
j zero, he found himself in quite a fever,
opened every accessible window and door
I on the first floor, and even sent a servant up
! three pair of stairs to throw hack the scuttle
I leading to the roof, declaring that he fek
stifled with the heat. Having succeeded
| by this process in reduciugthe whole house
j to the vicinity of freezing point, he sudden-
[ ly remembered au engagement, and went j
out to pass the evening with an acquain
lance, leaving his poor wife to enjoy all j
the benefits of such a thorough ventilation. ‘
‘My dear,’ said his wife to him one morn- <
ing, f what would you like for supper?’
‘I wish, Mrs. Bile, that I might leave j
home one morning without having this i
question dinged in my ears,’ was his char
acteristic response. ‘VVliat is the use of'
my supporting a wife, if I must attend to j
the house keeping?’
The good lady ventured no reply, altbo’
she knew that her question was evaded that
he might have an opportunity of finding j
fault. Night came, and with it Mr. Bile, -
hut ten times more dismal than the shadows i
than he did of his mental cultivation usually j which preceded him. Almost before the I
designated by the term, and who had been
all his the victim of a passion for displaying |
a small foot—used to say of whom he met
with a very lugubrious countenance, “Foot-
fellow, I suppose his hoots hurt him!” The
original of this portrait would seem to have
been in the same condition mentally, as the
other was physically; some portion of his
superior nature must have been encased in
attire too strait for it; and thus the whole
mental organization kept in a state of irri
tability. I commend this explanation of
such phenomena to all future psychologists;
for on no other ground yet discovered, can
they be fully acc muted for. The merchant
when his ship goes down at sea, uninsured
— the lawyer when he loses an important
door had closed upon him, he called out to
know why supper was not ready.
‘It is ready,’ said his help meet, from the
dining-room, and he took his place at the
table. ‘I have cooked some oysters,’ she
said, placing before him a savory stew,
which might have satisfied an epicure.
‘Now, Mrs. Bile, if you havn’t gone and
doue it! But its what I might have expec
ted.’
‘What it is the matter, my dear?’ asked
his wife, quietly.
‘Why you have gone and stewed a dish
of oysters, which iffried, would have been
fit for a prince.’
A single flush of triumph came from
those meek eyes, as she replied, ‘I felt a lit-
case—the stockholder when caught in a lie uncertain as tohoto you might like them
corner”—in short, every man, when the j best, and so 1 had part of them fried.'
amend the charter o.’a Buffalo and Mis
sissippi Railroad Company, passed the
House of Representatives of the Indiana
kcislature, and went to the Senate, where
it was stolen to prevent its final passage.
Lcding out a Secret.—“What are you t/ie value of the poultry you
current of his affairs is disturbed by contra
ry winds, or his designs baffled by unfore
seen obstacles—may lose his self possession
for the moment, and vent his ill humor on
all who approach him; the current, howev
er, soon resumes its regular flow, the cloud
passes from his brow, and his face beams
once more with thesntishine of renewed hope.
Not so, however, with the man pictured up
on the canvass; like Death in the poet’s
apostrophe, his ill humor had “all seasons
for its own.” He was never gay and cheer
ful: his sky was never cleat; or if there
came across his horizon a chance gleam of
about dear?” said his grandmother to a little
buy, who was sliding along the room and
casting fugitive glances at a gentleman
who was paying a visit.
"1 am trying grandmama, to steal papa’s
bat nut of tho room without letting that man
■*e it,” said he, pointing to the gentleman,
•’for papa wants him to think he’s out.”
An exchange paper says that the children
year.
‘Oh, well—yes—the chickens you mean.
Why, I reckon you never in your born
days see a poor creetur have the luck that
I did — and looks like we never shall have
good luck again, for ever since old Simp
son tuk that case up to the Chancery
court ’
‘Never mind the case; let’s hear about
sunshine, it was always, like an April smile,
followed quickly by a pursuing shadow.
He was not a man of fierce, angry pas
sions; it were well for tiiose around him if' lovely, than when I sit and gaze upon it,
he had been; for a storm must have an end, j after having been myself under the same
Now the stew was his favorite, hut he
felt pledged to prefer the fried; at last he
compromised the difference, by eating a
large share of both, on the plea that noth
ing should be wasted.
Remember, reader, that this is no fancy
sketch, but a veritable portrait of a man who
enjoyed only the contraries of life while he
lived, and whose memory shows no green
spot where charity may plant a flower to
relieve the dreariness of the retrospect.—
The artist, who fashioned this faithful re
semblance, took a 9tern pleasure in showing
to the restless spirit who employed him,
how legible was the language which his
fretful temper had written on his counte-
And it never seems to me more un-
him in opinion, and the young landlord
kissed her in spite of herself. But she was
not without a champion, for at the precise
moment when Seatterly placed his auda
cious lips in contact with the blooming
cheek of Mrs. M., Tom entered the garden
and beheld the outrage.
‘What are you doing, Mr. Seatterly,’ he
roared.
‘O,nothing, Tom, but asserting my rights!
I was only saluting the bride.’
‘Against my will, Tommy,” said the
poor bride, blushing like a peony, and wi
ping tiie offended cheek with her checkered
apron.
‘And I’ll make you pay for it, if there's
law in the land,’ said Tom.
‘Pooh! pooh! don’t make a fool of your
self,’ said Seatterly.
‘I don’t mean to,’ answered the garden
er, dryly.
‘You’re not seriously offended at the in
nocent liberty I took?’
‘Yes I be,’ said Tom.
•Well, if you view it in that light’ an
swered Seatterly, ‘I shall feel bound to
make you reparation. You shall have a
kiss from my bride when I’m married.’
‘That you will never he.’
‘I must confess,’said Scattetly, laughing
‘the prospect of repayment seems rather
distant But who knows what will happen?
I may not die a bachelor after all. And if
I marry—l repeat it, my dear fellow—you
shall have a kiss from tny wife.’
‘No he shan’t,’said Phebe. “He shall
kiss nobody but me.’
'Yes ho shall,’ said Seatterly. ‘Have
you got pen, ink and paper, Tom?’
‘To he t-ure,' answered Tom. ‘Here
they be, all handy.’
Seatterly sat down and wrote as follows:
The Willows, Aug.—,18—.
‘Value received I promise to pay Thom
as Mayflower, or order, one kiss on de
mand.’
Augustus Seatterly.
‘Theere you have a legal document,’
said the
to the
folks, good bv.’
‘Mistakes will happen in the best regula
ted families,’ and it so chanced that in the
autumn of the same year, our bachelor met
at the springs a charming belle of Balti-
Well?
‘Weill presented my promissary note—I
he handed it to her—and—and—O! murder
Pee bten kissing the old woman!’
Phebe put her arms about his neck and
pressed her lips to his, aud Thomas May
flower then and there solemnly promised
that h8 would never more have anything
to do with kisses on demand.
EXCELLENT ADVICE.
There is no good reason why a man who
works for a living should i.ot occupy the
most elevated social position. There is no
reason why a respectable man should not
he respected, or why an honorable man
snould not he honored; and if any man in
this country is looked down upon or despis
ed, it is his own fault as well as his misfor
tune. The richest man in New York gets
only his board and clothing for taking care ,
! of his property. A man who works for a
j dollar a day, may eat as wholesome food,
wear as comfortable clothes, and sleep in as
j clean a bed. The same sun and stars shine
for both, the same breezes blow, the same
| waters dance in the light, the same flowers
I shed their perfumes. Nature is kind to all
j her children. But if a man voluntarily
| makes himself a blackguard, an outcast and
a filthy wretch, he cannot reasonably ex
pect to he treated as a gentleman. Men
get their deserts; and it is well to under-
. stand this, and to stop complaining useless
ly anJ unjustly. It does no good, but much
harm.
The first requisite for a gentleman is in
telligence, and that is within the reach of
every man who has the common share of
brains. There is no rnan, I care not how
hard his labor, who cannot spend one hour
every day, and generally, one day in every
week, in study. And this, in a few years,
will furnish any man with a vast store of in- :
telligence.. But this is not enough, fora
very learned man may be wholly unfit for
society. Attention to personal decency,
manners and morals, are necessary to res
pectability. No roan can respect himself
who neglects these; and self-respect is the
basis of respectability. I must be plain.—
No person of any refinement can eudure a
man who is uncleanly in his person and
habits. Let no man talk about tespecta-
syself under the same
gloomy cloud. The moment my eye rests
upon it, the murmursjof discontent die upon
my lips. Like Scroge, who witnessed his
own death scene. I am frightened at the
are so dirty in a place on Cope Cod, thet a *l ,e chickens, if you please.
i c J . r it,» «...
mother frequently goes into the street, and
washes the faces of a half dozen children
before she finds her own.
It was a pertinent and fofteiable saying of
the Emperor Napoleon, that “a handsome
worian pleases the eye, but a good woman
pleases the heart. The one is a jewel, and
the other a‘treasure.’,
A man being asked if he would like to
IlY
Bless you, honey, the owls destroyed in
and about the best half that I did raise.
Every blessed night they’d come and set
on the comb of the house, and hoo, hoo,
hoo, and one night in particklar, 1 remem
ber, I had just got up for the night-shed
salve to ’int the little gal with—
‘Well, well, what was the value of what
you did raise?’
‘They got so bad—the owls did — that
and the furious tempest, when spent, leaves
a purer air, and brighter sky. He was like
a London fog, which keeps hack the morn
ing, darkens the meridian, and hastens the
return of a gloomy evening. In a word, j thought of leaving such a record behind me,
to return to our first figure, his faculties, and I hurry away from the blighting shad-
like a foot in a tight boot, were subject to a ow, lest it he daguorreotyped upon me too
constant irritation of some sort, which kept ! deeply to he effaced. It were far better,
up in him a perpetual overflow of spleen. j melhinks, for the soul to walk through this
How he ever came to be married, was a | world good-naturedly in slippers, than to
mystery to all his acquaintances, and can I be so tightly encased in cares, as to lose all
only be explained by the supposition that j relish for existence. A fretful temper is
his wife, who was a remarkably meek, pa- | opposed to sound Christian philosophy, as
tient woman, wished for an opportunity well as the morals of all the heathen schools;
like young Chuzzlewit’s friend, Mark Tap- and one possessed with such a torturing
ley, to come out strong under adverse . demon, should lose no time in having the
the young man as he handed the paper i biIity who doe8 not keep h ; 8 wbo j e pelson
3 grinning gardener. ‘And now, good sweet and dean> A sensitive lady smells a
foul man as soon as he enters a room, or
gets into an omnibus, or even passes her in
the street, and she turns her nose away from
him with disgust. I know that there are
, men w ho wear fine broadcloths, and women
more, to whom he lost his heart tneonti- ; wboflaunt ; n 8alin s. who are disgusting sav-
nently. H.s person and address were at- in lheir uncleanliness, but such per-
traenve, and though his prodiga lly had im- 8ons capnot be re3p ected bv others, and
pa.red h.s fortune, still a rich old matden mtJ8t bave a con , e mpt for themselves. The
aunt, who doted on nun, Miss Persimmon j temperance societies have done much tore-
Vetju.ee, promised to do the handsome form babit8 of drun kenness; but they have
thing by him on condition of h.s marry.ng ; left untoucbed a v i ce almost as injurious
and settling quietly to the management of ; and - fe ag d ; 3gustinsr . M en stupifv their
his estate, bo, under these circumstances. I senses> destroy tbeir ' bea | tb9f and ’ make
he proposed, was accepted and was mar- lbemse |ve3 loathsome, by the use of tobac-
ried, and brought home bis beautiful young • Cf) j t ; s aTI execrable habit—neauseating,
bride to reside wit i Miss Verjuice at the , spendthrift, and in every way un-
Willows. i man | yi to say ungentlemanly. It was
In the early days of the honeymoon, one ; firat ] earned 0 f
savages—it is still only wor-
fine morning, when Mr. and Miss Seatterly j ^ by 0 p t be[n- It a habit every parent
and the maiden aunt were talking together
in the garden, Tom Mayflower dressed in
his best, made his appearance, wearing a
smile of most peculiar meaning.
‘Julia,’ said Augustus carelessly tohis
young bride, ‘this is my gardener, come to
should guard his children against, and eve
ry man should avoid or abandon. No roan
should dare to pollute the air breathed by
refined ladies with the odors of the poison
ous and filthy weed. There are many who
cannot endure it, and who will not tolerate
ness is being kind gracefully. A well-
meaning, thoughtful person can seldom go
amiss. Try to be of service to every one,
and to injure the feelings of no one; to be
just and kind to all; and yon have the es
sentials of the most courtly breeding. As
to the mode of entering a room, and of ma
king a bow, you cannot want for models.—
These things are easily learned by imita
ting others. The safe rule is to avoid dis
play—to do what is quiet and simple, and
natural, and not to attempt display, which
is always ridiculous. If you are in doubt r -
any time as to wbat you should do, you
have on ly to observe how those do who are
ample. All these things are very easy—
much easier than learning a trade. It is
It is easy to eat with a fork instead of a
knife; to drink from a cup instead of a sau
cer; to precede a lady up and down stairs;
to pick up a fan or a handkerchief; to apol
ogize gently when you make a blunder, and
to beg pardon when you offend. Manners
are easy to learn, to every one who wishes
to he agreeable. A pure life and unspot
ted honor may belong to the laborer, as
well as to the prince. The cultivation of
tho intellect is every man’s right and duty.
As long as workingmen are vulgar, ignor
ant, coarse, unclean and brutal, they will be
despised and oppressed. Just as soon as.
they respect themselves, they and their
rights will be respected.—Sunday Timet,
A tavern-keeper, once upon a time, hav
ing acquired considerable property grew
very careless, and so offended the lawyers
by whom his house had for many years been
visited that during a crowed session of the
court, they with one accord forsook him,-—
leaving behind them the following
PARODY ON THE DECLARATION OF IN
DEPENDENCE.
When in the course of human events, it
becomes necessary for a half-hungry, half-
fed, imposed on set of men, to dissolve the
hands of landlord and boarder, a decent res
pect for the opinions of mankind requires
that they should declare the causes which
have impelled them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident;
all men are created with mouths and stom
achs; and they are endowed by their creator
with certain inalienable rights, among which
are, that no man should be compelled to
starve, out of mere compliance to a land
lord, and that every man has a right to fill
his 6tomach and wet his whistle with the
best that’s going.
The history of the present landlord of the
White Lion is a history of ropeated insults,
exactions and injuries, all having in direct
object the establishment of an absolute ty
ranny over our stomachs and throats. To
prove this, let facts be submitted to a can
did world.
He has refused to keep anything to drink
but bald-face whiskey.
He has refused to set upon his table for
dinner anything but turnip soup, with a lit
tle rouge beef and sour-crout, which are
unwholesome and not designed for the
public good.
He has refused to let his only servfint,
blink-eyed Joe, put more than six grains of
coffee to one gallon of water.
He has turned looso a multitude of mus-
quitoes to assail us in the peaceful hours of
the night and eat up our substance.
He has kept up, iu our beds and bed
steads, standing armies of merciless sava
ges, whose rule of warfare is undistinguish
ed destruction.
He has excited domestic insurrection a-
mong us, by taking bitters before breakfast,
and making his wife and servants do the
same before dinner, whereby there is often
the very deuce to pay.
He has waged cruel war against nature
herself, by feeding our horses with broom
straw and carrying them off to drink where
the swine refuse to wallow.
He has protected one-eyed Joe in his viU
liany in the robbery of our jugs, by pre
tending to give him a mock trial, after shar
ing with him the spoils,
Ha has cut oil our trade with foreign
ports, and brought in his own bald-face
whiskey, when we had sent him to buy bet
ter liquor abroad; and with perfidy scarcely
paralleled in the most barbarous ages, he
has been known to drink our foreign spirits,
aud fill up our bottles with his own dire
portions.
He has imposed taxes upon us to an en
ormous amount against our consent, and
without any rule but his own arbitrary will
and pleasure.
A landlord whose character U thus mark
ed by every act which may define a tyrant
and a miser, is unfit to keep a boarding
house for Cherokee Indians.
Nor have we been wanting in our atten
tion to Mrs. B., and Miss Sally. We have
appealed to their native justice and magna
nimity; we have conjured them to altera
state of things which would inevitably in
terrupt our connexion and correspondence.
They, too, have been deaf to the voice of jus
tice; we are, therefore, constrained to hold
all th ee of these parties alike inimical to
our well being and regardless of our comfort
We therefore make this solemn declara
tion of our final separation from our land-
life mravor __ i• j • * 1 * ,L » 6 I • 1 U ") 14 ,UCI aiifoioc , CJtjniiMl, SIIQUIU lOS0
ftn ’ ' that considering ' they tuk the old hens as well's the young j ciicumstances. If she had been animated • evil spiiit exorcised
th* „ eSS ° 1 e times, and the weakness of cb j c kons. The night I was tolling ’bout, I | by any such desire, she was gratified to re-I
liv!,^ Uernni ? nt ’ 16 WOU l d not Cafe a ^ out i I heard somethin’s-q-u-a-M, s q u a-1-1! and | pletion, for there was scarcely an hour of ...
fTl nto limn Imlf ..f I ■ . . * . . ^ * . • * _ . ... . m ill sir q roll «•</<>
fttg more than balfof it.
I lw cold accounted for.— The Boston Post
'‘W'unis for the lecent cold weather by
^ppostngthat Sir John Franklin in going
,,!, 2h the north west passage, forgot to
" nut front door after him.
1 fenfire says a Mr. Bentley has been in-
■ el for severely wounding a stranger
ai) a - v -e, alleging as a reason that he
^ h 1 know but the stranger was a robber.”
He didn’t know;” added Prentice,” and
f,) he axed him,”
Th
Here is only one tiling worse than ig-
faDCe, an 1 that is conceit. Of all intrac-
* l,e f°ols, deliver us from an overwise
'i ou may make idiots philosophers—
’ aon t ever think of driving common
•j ^ ‘"to the heads of conceited persons.
r ,e - v ,Jre as impregnable to argument as
’•falta is to an apple dumpling.
. ^' it Had.—A little giil just past her fifth
;j' !,lv liile chatting about the beaux that
ifni tW ° sex ’ n l h 0 same house,
v, ' ! e mature age, being a«k3d, “what do
: J fiean by beaux. Annie?” replied, “why,
l mem - ■ - v -
contentment—these be th e
says I, I’ll bet that’s old Speck, that nasty j the twenty-four, in which her meekness P^ ars °f felicity. And they stand up
men that have not got much sense.,’
»»ari':. TenZ ° ^‘ ,W once sa '^ a g ras P’ n P*
"< 'lit 115 t‘»at if he had the whole
' H i, ,,,t : l " scJ in a single field, he would
•id®'r Sll ’ s ^ e( l without a patch on the out-
,,r potatoes.
^ 1o Girls.—The young men fall
ft h
' ' e ‘ r knees before you; but remember it
fiev ^ infa,,tr y before cavalry, that
TV con fl ueron< ^ kill, or as the hunter
vi rl ; 0,1 ? on bended knees takes aim at his
Paul.
oudacious mvl’s cot; for I seen her go to j
: roost with her chickens, up in the plum !
| tree, fornest the smoke house. So I went '
to wliar old Stringer was sleepin’ and says ‘
I Miss Stringer! Oh MissS ringet! sure’s j
t you’re born, that stitikin’ owl’s got old I
I Speck out'n the plum tree! Wei!, old Miss j
Stringer she turned over ’pon her side like j
and says she,what did you say, Miss Stocks? j
and says I ’
We began to get very tired, and signified j
the same to the old lady, and begged she j
> would answer us directly, and without cir
cumlocution.
‘Love your dear heatt, honey. Pm tell-|
, in you as fast as I kin. The owls they got j
worse and worse after they’s swept old
Speck and all her gang, they went to wor k
on ’'others; and Bryant (that’s one of my
boys) he ’lowed he’d shoot the pestersome
cteeters—and so one night arter that, wc
heart: one holler, and Bryant, he tuk the
ole musket and went out, and sure enough,
there was owley, (as he thought) a selten’
on the comb of the house; so he blazed
awav and down come —! what on airth
did come down, do you reckon ; when he
fired?’
‘The owl, I suppose.’
‘No sich thing, no sich thing! the owl
warn’t thar. 'Twas my old house cal come
a tumblin’ down, apittin’ aputterin, and
scratchin,’ and the fur a flyin’ every time
shejijmped. like you’d a busted a farther
bed open! Bryant he said, the way he come
to shoot the cat instead of the owl, he seed
somethin’ white *
was not put to the test. straight in the temple porch, the house ichere
“Mrs. Bile, do you intend to sleep all glory dwclleth."
day?’ would rouse her up at six in tho i
morning. “Mysterious Knockings."—A branch of
“I thought, my dear,” she would reply, the mysterious knocking family have recent-
gently, “that you would not like to he dis- ly arrived in this city, (Lowell, Mass.) and,
turbed. we believe, occasionally give lessons. At
“Very much afraid of disturbing me, all least, we recently heard an amusing case of
of a sudden, when you’ve been thrashing a- spiritual revelation from them since our nr-
bout all night!” rival. It seems that a party of Democrats
Taking refuge in silence, she descends to and Freesoiler3 called npon them to ascer-
the kitchen to look after the morning re- tain whether Sumner would be elected
past. Her husband had declared the day Senator. Having seated themselves, with
before, when they had mackerel for break- | long faces, around the table, a coramunica-
fast, that these was nothing he so much tion was immediately opened with the spir
relished at this meal as mutton chops. She j it of old Andrew Jackson. The answers
had accordingly purchased the choicest in j were for some time extremely equivocal
maiket, and now watched them nervously | and unsatisfactory; but the moment the
until they were done to a turn. Breakfast question was put whether Summer would
was speedily announced, and Mr. Bile soon i be elected, and whether the spirit favored it,
made his appearance, but with a face as ' there was such a succession of rappings as
dismal as the countenance of mortality in the almost to shake the building. The solemn-
ancient wood cuts.
‘ What’s this,’ said he, taking one of the
chops upon his plate, and turning it over
contemptuously, “as I’m alive, if you hav
en’t broiled a mutton chop.”
•Why that is the way every body cooks a
chop.’
•Then 'every body' is an ignoramus, and
looking and anxious inquirers around the
table could hardly keep ilteir places, and
supposing of course that the spirit of Old
Hickory would be delighted with the idea
of electing a Freesoiler, they immediately
called for the alphabet, and, breathlessly
waiting for the response, spelt out the fol
lowing; By the Eternal! if you elect him
ought to live on husks! A mutton chop J I’ll soon he among you in the ' flesh." This
should bv fried in its own gravy, and then unexpected answer, together with another
the juices of the meat are preserved. Bui
I suppose,’ he added with a sneer, “that you
cooked them to suit your own appetite.’
Having thus succeeded in destroying any
particular craving on her part, for the lux-
series of rumbling knockings in every di
rection so frightened the visitors that they
rushed out of the house iu great coufusion
as though the Old Hickory was in tiuth at
their heels.
pay his respects to you honest 1 om May- ' tbe company „f those who use it. What it j
flower, a. very worthy fellow, I assure you. i cos ts any man for tohacce, who uses it, is - .
Mrs. Seatterly nodded condescendingly j su ( bc ; e nt. if added to the present cost of his lord ’ a,,d cast our defiance in his teeth.
to the gardener, who gazed upon her with ; c ) 0 i|,ing, to dress him with elegance. Ah! AJnrrti.imn Ho !• - ,t, r «irJ man
open eves of admiration. She spoke a i ow cbean aild s’.mrfle is this eleeance Adverti tn g- H® is a shrewd man who
fe»w»rJ,U. him, inquired about bi-i_ft. Afew Ze,hmi" 6 , “o'JEST*. 1 Tb “ "
his flowers, fee., and then turned away with j work n f a tasteful tailor, a decent regard
the aunt, as if to terminate the interview
But Tom could not take his eyes of her,
and he stood- gazing and admiring, and
every now and then passing the hack of his
hand across his lips.
‘What do you think of my choice, Tom?’
asked Seatterly, confidentially.
‘Oh! splendiferous!’ said the gardener.
‘Roses and liflies in her cheeks—eh?’
said Seatterly.
‘Her lips are red as carnations, and her
eyes as blue as larkspurs,’ said the garden
er.
‘I’m glad you like your new mistress;
now go to work, Tom.’
‘I beg pardon, Mr. Seatterly; but I called
to see you on business.’
‘Well—out with it.’
‘Do yon remember anything about salu
ting the bride?’
•I remember I paid the customary hom
age to Mrs. Mayflower.’
Well, don’t you remember what you
promised in case of your marriage?’
‘No!’
Tom produced the promissary note with !
a grin of triumph. ‘It’s my turn now, Mr.
Seatterly.’
•What do you mean?’
‘I mean to kiss Mrs. Seatterly.’
‘Go to the duece, you rascal.’
O! what is the matter?’ exclaimed both
the ladies, startled by Scalterly’s exclama
tion, and turning back to learn the cause.
‘The fellow has preferred a demand
against me,’ said Scattetly.
•A legal demand,’ said the gardener
sturdily, ‘and here’s the document.’
‘Give it to me,’ said the old maiden aunt.
Tom handed her the paper with an air of
triumph
'Am I right said he.
'Perfectly young man,’ replied Miss Ver-
advertises.
over. It is simply putting your goods,
wares, merits, plans, suggestions, bargains,
&c„ into the eyes of the universal public.
Everybody reach the newspapers nowa
days. A good advertisement is like taking
every man and woman in society by the
. vest, button-hole or arm, and privately
display. I he difference of* single dollar wh i 9pering to tbem important matters,
in an article of dress may make the whole tbey
to the prevailing mode, and a certain neat
ness and simplicity is all! Elegance is
never gaudy, never outre, never out of
fashion, nor in the extreme of fashion. It
allows of few ornaments, and no studied
ence c
may
distinction between elegance and vulgari
ty. A single tawdry ornament may spoil
the effect of the best tailor’s workmanship.
Tho slightest eccentricity of cut betrays the
inborn rowdy.
And manners—where is the working
man to learn them? Ho may be clean—he
may be dressed with propriety; he may
have a ceitain degree of intelligence; but
manners make tho man, and he must have
manners? It is easy to speak plain Eng
lish and avoid slang. It is easy not to swear
or use vulgar expressions. It is easy not . prietor, said: ^
to blow one's rtose with his fingers, or pick j “I Wish to see your partner?
his teeth with his fork, or laugh and talk “I have no partner, air.”
loud and boisterously, or spit, or do any-j “I beg your pardon, sir, and hope you will
thing vulgar, or offensive, or ridiculous.— excuse the mistake. ’
What a tnan must do then is to avoid all i “Oh there s no harm done; but
seemly things. Manners are in a great de- made you think there^was two of us?’
Who are they that succeed in business?
The one who stirs up the public; or those
who make no more noise than a church
mouse?—Of course, the former. The man
of enteprise and intelligence always puts
himself and his merits straight before the
public eye, and keeps them there. It’s tbe
only way to make money, get a reputation,
or be anybody.
A wag entered a store in London, year*
ago, which had for its sign, “The Two Ba
boons,” and addressing himself to the pro-
what
gree negative. They consist in not doing ,
what is offensive. “Cease to do evil—learn
to do well.” Break off all bad habits—
cultivate all good ones. Why is it that the
manners of workingmen are, to such a de- j
gree, coarse, offensive, and even brutal?—
Why should they deliberately uncivilize :
themselves? They wish to be respected
— they have the capacity and desire for so- ;
cial enjoyment—they might cultivate the ^
graces and amenities of life; but tbey pre- j
fer a brutality which thfy probably conaid-
er manliness, forgetting that the noblest and j
bravest Spirits the world ever saw were
kind, and gentle, and delicate in their de
partment. Benevolence, or kindness, is
the foundation of good manners. Polite-
“Yoursign—The Two Baboons.’
The red-headed woman who stuck her
head out of the window in——street, in a
dark night last week and caused an alarm
of fire, has been put under bonds to keep
her “light” less exposed till the next new
moon. Exchange paper.
Send heron to New York, and we will
have her put in tbe cupalo of the City
Hall, to light the illuminated clock!—Day
Book.
Daring a recent trial, a female witness
was asked if the woman upon whom Tin ofs
fense was committed, was, previously to tbe
affair, chaste? "Yes.’^wie tbe reply, “abe
was chaste about a quarter of e mile.”