Newspaper Page Text
Thus saying, and striking his forehead,
anl uileiing a loud and hitler scream, he
rushed away.
Judith sank down by the dead body of
Walter, and hi! tears fell upon his face.
Her cries reached the encampment where
her parents and others of her lace were.
They hastened to the woo l from whence
her cries proceeded, and found her stretch
ed upon the ground, her arms encircling
the neck of the dead. They raised her in
iheir arms and tried to.soothe her, but she
screamed tlse more wildly, and seemed as
one whose •senses grief had bewildered.
“Judith,” -said her father, ♦* speak to
me, bairn —wha has has done this ? Vi as
it’*—
“ Gemmel !—wicked Gemme! !” she
cried : and in the same breath ailded, No !
■no! —it wasna him! It was me!—it was
tne ! It was fause Judith.”
Gemmel Gisme, however, had dropped
his pistol on the ground when he beheld
his victim fall, and one of the party tak
ing it up, they knew him to be the mur
derer. Lussha Fleckie, touched by his
daughter's grief, and disappointed by his
dream of vain ambition being broken,
caused each of his parly to take a vow
that they would search for Gemmel Gimme,
and whoever found him should take blood
for blood upon his head.
And they did search, but vainly for Gem
ini I was no more heard of.
Twelve months passed and autumn had
come again. A young maniac mother,
wilh a child at her breast, and dressed as
a gipsy, endeavored to cross the Tweed
between Northam and Ladykirk. The j
waters rose suddenly, and as they rose she
held her infant closer to her bosom, and
sang to it; but the angry flood bore away
the maniac mother and her babe. She
was rescued and restored to life, though
not to reason, but the child was seen no
more.
For thirty years the maniac mother con
tinued at intervals to visit the fatal spot,
wandering by the river, stretching out her
arni=, calling on her child, saying, “Come
to me—come to yer mother, my bonny
bairn, for ye are heir o’ Riccon, and why
should 1 gang shoeless amang snavv !
Come to me—it was cruel Gemmel Graeme
that murdered your bonny faither —it was
na’ me!”
It was January—the body of a gray haired
woman, covered with a tattered red cloak,
was found froatn and dead, below North
are Castle. It was the poor maniac Judith,
the once beautiful gipsy. Some years
afterwards an old soldier who had bpen in
foreign wars, came to reside in the neigh
borhood, and on his dearth bed requested
that he should be buried by the side of Ju
dith, and the letters G. G. carved on a
stone over his grave,
THE PINE THEE SHILLING.
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
Captain John Hull was the mint master
of Massachusetts, and coined all the money
that was made there. He was in anew
line of business, for, in the early days of
the colony, the current coinage consisted
of the gold and silver money of England,
Portugal and Spain. These coins being
scarce, the people were often forced to bar
ter their commodities instead of selling
them.
For instance, if a man wanted to buy a
coat, he perhaps exchanged a bear skin i
for it. If he wished for a barrel of molasses,
he might purchase it with a pile of pine
boards. Musket bullets were used instead
of farthings. The Indians had a sort of
money called wampum, which was made
of clam shells, and this strange sort of
specie was likewise taken in payment of
debts by the English settlers. Bank bills
had never been heard of. There was not
enough of any kind, in many parts of the
country, to pay their ministers—so that
they had sometimes to take quintals of fish,
bushels of corn, or cords of wool, instead
of silver or gold.
As the people grew more numerous, and
their trade with one another increased, the
want of current money was still more sen
sibly felt. To supply the demand, the
general court passed a law for establishing
a coinage of shillings, sixpences and three
pences. Captain John Hull was appoint
ed to manufacture the money, and was to
have about one shilling out of every twen
ty, to pay him lor his trouble of making
them.
Hereupon, all the old silver in the colony
was handed over to Captain John Hull.
The battered silver cans and tankards, 1
suppose, and silver buckles, and broken
spoons, and silver buttons of worn-out
coats, and silver hilts of swords that had
figured at court —all such curious old ar-
ticles were doubtless thrown into the pot
together. But by far the greatest part of
tl'ie silver consisted of bullion from the
mines of South America, which the Eng
lish bucaneers, (who were little better than
pirates.) had taken from the Spaniards, and
brought to Massachusetts.
All this old and new silver being melted
down and coined, the result was an im
mense amount of splendid shillings, six
pences. etc. Each had the date of 1652 on
one side, and the figure of a pine tree on the
other side. Hence they were called pine
tree shillings. And for even - twenty sibl
ings that lie coined, you wsH remember.
Capt. Hull was entitled to put one shilling
into his own pocket.
The magistrate soon began to suspect
that the mint master would have the best
of the bargain. They offered him a large
sum of money, if Ins would give up that
20th shilling, which he was continually
dropping into his own pocket; Capt. Hull
declared that he was perfectly satisfied
with the shilling. And well he might be;
for so diligently did he labor, that in a few
years, his pockets, his money bags, and
his strong box, were overflowing with pine
tree shillings This was probably the case
when he came into possession of grand
father's chair to iest himself on.
When the mint master ha I grown very
! rich, a young man, Samuel Sewel by name,
came a courting his only daughter (his
| daughter whose name I do not know, but
we will call her Betsey) was a fine, hearty
damsel, by no means slender as some young
ladies of our own days.
On the contrary, having always fed
heartily on pumpkin pies, doughnuts, In
dian puddings, and other Puritan dainties,
; she was round and [dump as a pudding.—
; With this round rosy Miss Betsey did
1 Samuel Sewel fall in love. As he was a
young man of good character, industrious
in business, and a member of the church,
the mint master very readily gave his con
sent.
“ Yes, you may take her,” said lie, in
his rough way, “and you will find her a i
heavy burden enough.”
On the wedding day, as we may suppose, !
the honest Hull dressed himself in a plain j
-colored coat, all the buttons of which were j
: made of pine-tree shillings. The buttons !
I of his waistcoat were sixpences, and the
j knees of his small clothes were buttoned j
) with threepences. Thus attired he sat
j with great dignity in his grandfather's
chair; and being a portly old gentleman,
he completely filled it from elbow to elbow.
I On the opposite side of the room, between
i the bridemaids, sat Miss Betsey. fShe was j
blushing with all her might, and looked j
like a full blown peony, a great red apple,
or an)’ other round and scarlet object.
I There too was the bridegroom, dressed
i in a fine purple coat, and gold lace waist
coat, with as much other finery as the
Puritan laws and customs would allow
him to put on. His hair was cropt close
to his head, because Gov. Endicott had
forbidden any one to wear it below the
ears; but he was a very personable young
man, and so thought the bridetnaids and
Miss Betsey herself.
The mint master was pleased with his
new son-in-law—especially as he had said
nothingat all about her portion. So when
the marriage ceremony was over, Captain
Hull whispered a word or two to his men
servants, who immediately went out and
soon returned lugging a pair of scales.—
They were such a pair as wholesale mer
chants use for weighing; a bulky com
modity was now to he weighed in them.
“ Daughter Betsey,” said the mint mas
ter, “go into one side of the scales.”
Miss Betsey, or Mrs. Sewel, as we must
now call her, did as she was bid, like a
dutiful child, without any questions or why
or wherefore ; but what her father could
mean, unless to make her husband pay for
her by the pound, in which case she would
have been a dear bargain, she had not the
least idea.
“And now,” said honest John Hull to
his servants, “bring that box hither.”
This box to which the mint master point
ed, was a huge, square, iron-bound, oaken
chest; it was big enough, my children, for
all four of you to play hide and seek in.
The servants tugged with might and
main, hut could not lift this enormous re
ceptacle, and were finally obliged to drag
it across the floor.
Capt. Hull then took a key out of his
girdle, unlocked the chest, and lifted its
ponderous lid. Behold! It was full to the
brim of bright pine-tree shillings, fresh
from the mint, and Samuel Sewel began to
think that his father-in-law had got posses
sion of all the money in the Massachusetts
Treasury. But it was only the mint mas
ter's honest share in the coinage.
Then the servants, at Captain Hull’s
command, heaped double handsful of shil
lings into one side of the scales, while
Betsey remained in the other. Jingle, jingle,
went the shillings, as handful after handful
was thrown in, till, plump and ponderous
as she was, they fairly weighed the young
lady from the floor.
“There, son Sewel!” cried the honest
mint master, resuming his seat in grand
father’s chair, “ take these shillings for my
daughter’s portion. Use her kindly, and
thank heaven for her. It is not every wife
that is worth her weight in silver.”
The children laughed heartily at this
legend, and would hardly be convinced
but that grandfather had made it out of his
own head. He assured them faithfully,
however, that he had found it in the pages
of a grave historian, and had merely tried
to tell it in a somewhat funnier manner.
“Well, grandfather,” remarked Clara,
“if wedding portions now-a-days were
paid as Miss Betsey’s was, young ladies
would not pride themselves upon an airy
figure, as many of them do.”
J(fe£r~ To preserve your health, drink
water and get married early. Putting off
matrimony has broken down more consti
tutions than consumption everdid. Think
of this and set your heart on dimity, with
out time.
$35“ “ Ah, John, my uncle has been in
New York and your'n hasn’t.”
“Well, what of that - !” said John, “my
uncle has been in jail and your’n hasn't.”
Dick says about the prettiest thing
to behold is, an accomplished woman, af
ter she has upset and broken her lamp,
gathering up the fragments, and wiping up
the oil.
Every pound weight of cochineal
contains seventy thousand insects boiled
to death! so that the animal sacrifice of
insect life, to procure our scarlet and crim
son dyes, amounts to about forty-nine mil
lions of these small members of creation.
The last expression of the veteran
General Gaines to his friends was, -‘My
knapsack is packed, and lain ready for
the last march.”
BGf” Rousseau tells us that, to write a
good love-letter, you ought to begin witli
| out knowing what you mean to say, and
to finish without knowing what you have
’ said.
Baiiaii© 0 ©aaiiii Q
ujsLiij]
SUNDAY READINGS, For Deo. 2.
THE DESPISED SAVIOUR.
,“Ile je ilej: is it amt rejected of men.”—la. iiii.
I 3 ’
‘I liese words are spoken of Christ: let
j us view them
| As the record of an awful fact. Here is
the Son of God despised and rejected of
i men. This was the case when he appear
j cd in human form, to accomplish the work
lof salvation ; and it is so now. To whom
is the statement applicable 1 To thosewho
deny his Godhead. Such individuals des
pise and slight his person, reject his claims,
| and refuse to acknowledge his divine cre
jdentials. Those who despise his blessings.
Hb has pardon, peace, joy, and all needful
I blessings to bestow; but the language of
I thousands is, “Thy gifts be to thyself.”
Those who neglect his ordinances. The voice
■ from the closet, the sanctuary, the Scrip
i tures, and the domestic circle, is, “He is
• despised and rejected of men.” Let us re
gard these words.
As the utterance of a sorrowful lamenta
tion. Here is the complaint of agood man.
Our grief is excited when we think of the
excellency of the Object despised. “ lie is
despised.” But is there any real ground of
offence in him 1 No. He possesses every
! thing calculated to draw forth our affections
|to him. We are grieved when we think
of the conduct of those who despise him. They
are guilty of the greatest folly, ingratitude?
and rebellion ; they are “ sinners against
their own souls.” Consider the words
As the exposure of a gieat sin. Those
who are guilty of it despise the best Friend.
one whose friendship sweetens our mercies,
soothes our sorrows, and enriches our
souls. They reject the richest blessings, pre
ferring the dust of earthly pleasures to the
diamonds and jewels of spiritual enjoy
ments. They expose themselves to the great
est misery. An awful punishment awaits
those who “crucify to themselves the Son
of God afresh.” Let me earnestly pray to
behold the glories and excellencesofChrist
that Imay love him supremely, and beware
of despising his people; for what is done to
them he considers as done to himself. It is
between Christ and his Church as between
two lute-strings ; no sooner is one struck,
but the other trembles. When Saul perse
cuted the Church, Jesus said to him, “Saul,
Saul, why perseeutest thou me 1 ”
ga o§<gis a,a. aB3TT.
For Richards* Weekly Gazette.
TO MY ONLY SISTER,
i.
’Mid the turmoils of life
Neither care nor its strife,
Shall the warmth of our mutual harmony chill;
And though absent or near,
Thou shalt ever be dear
To this heart that forever will cherish thee still.
If.
As the clustering vine
When its loaves intertwine
With the fresh budding blossoms from one parent
soil,
While around they each clasp,
With still firmer grasp
As their growth is expanded and upward they
toil.
111.
To Affection’s embraco
£oon its pathway will trace
Around the fond heart that responds to its smile,
And becomes still more dear
Through each following year,
Though misfortune! oppress or temptations be
guile.
IV.
Let our hearts ne’er estrange
Through each season of change
Os sickness or sorrow, those cankering worms,
That sweet dreams of the past
Their bright sunshine may cast
O’er the spirit bowed down by Adversity’s storms.
V.
And, Oh ! may Love’s germ,
Rendered stable and firm
By the Sun of Contentment’s genial ray,
Like perennial flowers
In their evergreen bowers,
Ever flourish and bloom in perpetual day.
E H.
Charleston , <S. C., May, 1849.
HOW TO GET A WIFE.
Many are the methods which persons
ambitious of committing matrimony adopt
to secure a partner. Some conquer by the
power of gold, some by the force of intel
lect, some captivate the fair sex by their
beauty and accomplishments, and others
succeed by stratagem ami skill. Getting
a wife is very serious business, and one
which sometimes requires the exercise of
no little judgment and discretion, particu
larly’ when the chosen one happens to pre
fer some other suitor. The adage that
“ faint heart never won fair lady’,” is gen
erally true, and we were forcibly struck
with its application to a case which occur
red not long since within our own knowl
edge. Passing down Camp street the other
day, we met a friend who has just returned
from the North. After the usual civilities,
he informed us that during his absence he
had imitated the example of Benedict, by
taking to himself a better half. “What!
married,” said we. “ Why, how in the
world did that happen to you, who had
vowed that Move should transform you
into an oyster,’ before you would submit
to its power.”
“Even so.” replied he. “But listen,
ands will relate the circumstances of the
case. You know when I left here last
spring, a bachelor, little expecting that the
summer would bring me a change of con
dition. After rambling about the country
: for some time, rusticating at Harrodsburg,
I hunting in Illinois, fishing at Mackinaw,
| and gazing with wonder at Niagara, I
■ found myself one day at the United States
Hotel, at Saratoga. I had been there a
; few days, drinking the mineral waters,
‘sailing on the lake, waltzing and flirting
with the belles, and playing billiards with
the gcntlemci,, when one evening the com
pany at the United States was throw n into
commotion by the arrival of a beautiful
heiress from 80-ton. Who she was, I
knew not; but suffice it to say, that a
single glance captivated me. I never did
believe in love at first sight till that mo
ment, but then I was decidedly enamored;
i in fact, over head and eats in love. I strove
to resist the passion, hut it was no use; so
I thought the 1 est way was to yield to its
influence with good grace, and conse
quently I determined to marry the heiress.
But the next question was, howto gain the
object of my wishes. True. I had been
introduced to her and I always flattered
myself that I was rather good-looking, and
had a tolerably insinuating address, but I
had a rival, and worse than that, a favor
ed one. I made use of all the means that
I thought could make an impression on the
female heart. I made presents —I flattered
—but it would not do. I only made my
rival look on me with a jealous eye, and 1
seemingly, it had no effect on the lady.—
For some time I was in despair. What to I
do, I knew not; but I was satisfied there j
was no time to be lost, and that if the vie- j
tory was to be gained, it must be won soon.
Direct attacks having failed, I resolved to
bring strategy to my aid. The lady was j
remarkably accomplished; and, in fact.;
enjoyed the reputation of being something
of a blue-stocking, while her favored ad
mirer, I was convinced, was considerably j
more of an Adonis than an Apollo. 1
shaped my plaits accordingly. From hav- !
imr been cold and distant towards him I
° • .
suddenly became his most attached friend, i
and in a short time he made me the recipi- j
ent of his confidence, even rallying me j
several times on my previous attentions I
towards the lady in question. I soon dis- j
covered that although he was anxious for j
an immediate union, she was averse to it, i
and was de-iious to delay the affair for I
some time. One day he informed me that j
he had been unsuccessful in endeavoring
to persuade his enamorata to fix the day.
‘ What shall Ido V said he. ‘ I know she
is a great coquette, and if I don’t get her
now I know I never shall. And there's
her hundred thousand, too, I shouldn’t like
to lose that.’ ‘ Well, my friend,’ replied
I, ‘I would advise you to address some
poetry to her; take my word for it, that
will bring her to terms.’ ‘But my dear
fellow, I never made a rhyme in my life, 1
wouldn’t attempt such a thing; but per
haps you are a poet, have you ever written
any V
‘Oh! volumes of it; some of my pieces
were copied into Blackwood with very
flattering remarks; I think of publishing a
volume soon.’
I By Jove ! do you l Well, I’ll tell you
what we’ll do; you shall compose some
poetry and send it to her as if it came from
me.’
To this, of course, I immediately con
sented, and accordingly composed the fol
lowing, which I headed ‘lmpromptu.’
This I enclosed to the lady in a sheet of
highly scented embossed note paper.
Red are your lips, but redder not than thoso
Bright check- that rival the redness of the rove;
Deep is the color of the violet blue,
But bluer “tis not than thy bright eye’s hue.
Maid of Boston, ere we part,
Give, oh ! give me back my heart,
Let me nut forever sigh
Lest for thee I soon may die.
The note containing this beautiful com
position 1 directed a servant to take into
the parlor that evening, and deliver open
to one of the ladies present. At the pro
per time, sure enough, when a number of
iauico and gentlemen had assembled in the
saloon, in came this servant bearing the
note, which he presented to a iady', but not
the one for whom my friend had intended
it. ‘What is he doing!’ whispered he to
me; I he surely makes a mistake.’ ‘That
is true,’ said I, ‘but it cannot be helped
now.’ In the mean time the astonished
lady perused the delectable epistle, and
suddenly laughing out light, she declared
it could not be meant for her. ‘ What is it V
‘ what is it V cried every one— ‘ Do let us
hear it!’ She accordingly read aloud the
lines I had composed for my unfortunate
friend, and afterwards, looking at the su
perscription, said ‘lt is addressed to Miss
Emma .’ ‘To me !’ exclaimed that
lady—‘lmpossible! who would address
such stufi’ to me V She took the note, and
examining it found that she was in reality
its object, and perceiving the signature to
be that of her admirer, and my rival, she
directed towards him a scornful glance,
and immediately left the room.’
‘Well, what was the result ? 1 inquired
we. ‘The result? Why she rejected
him and accepted me. He vowed venge
ance, hut never carried his threats into
execution—and thus 1 became a married
man.
EXPANDING THE CHEST.
Those in wealthy circumstances, or who
pursue sedentary employments within
doors, generally use their lungs but very
little, —breathe but very little air into the
chest, and thus, independently of positions,
contract a wretchedly narrow, small chest,
and lay the foundation for the loss of
health and beauty. All this can be per
fectly obviated by a little attention to the
manner of breathing. Reccollect the lungs
are like a Madder in their structure, and
can be stretched upon the double their or
dinary size, with perfect safety, giving a
noble chest and perfect immunity from
consumption. The agent, and the only
agent required, is the common air we
breathe, supposing, however, that no ob
stacle exist, externally to the chest, such
as lacing, or tying it around with stays, or
tight dress, or having shoulders lay upon
it. On rising in the morning, place your
self in an erect posture, your chest thrown
back, and shoulders entirely off the chest;
now inhale or suck in all the air you can,
so as to fill the chest to the very bottom of
it, so that no more air can be got ; now
hold your breath, and throw your arms eff
behind, holding in your breath as long as
possible. Repeat that long breath as many
times as you please. Done in a cold room
is much more powerful in expanding the
chest. Exercising the chest in this man
ner, it will become very flexible and ex
pansible, ami will enlarge the capacity
and size of the lungs .--Common School
Journal.
PHYSICAL EXERCISE.
Mrs. Butler (whose horseback costume
we recently described) is said by C. Ed
ward Lester to be the of Mrs.
Sedgwick, the school-mistress at Lenox,
and, “of course, the young ladies are
trained up a-la-Kemble. Some of them
are celebrated for the success with which
they have perfected the imitation. One of
them, in particular, goes out with her mod
el teacher, in boy’s clothes, on hunting and
fishing excursions, and has even surpassed
Mrs. B. in some respects—for she can lay
one hand on a six-rail fence, with her
fowling-piece in the other, and vault it
with a bound, and she is said to be the
best shot in the country.” — Bee.
W e wish that more of our young ladies
would follow Mrs. Butler’s excellent ex
ample of abundant out-of-door exercise.—
We should then see fewer puny constitu
tions among them. The feminine costume
is not the most convenient, especially in
muddy weather, for pedestrian excursions
through the woods and over fences ; and
we do not see where the objection lies to
a lady’s adapting her dress toenable her to
take exercise with regard to comfort, neat
ness, and economy. And we trust that
the squibs of all the witlings of the press
will not induce Mrs. Sedgwick to discour
age her pupils in their healthful and invig
orating amusements and pursuits. They
will qualify themselves all the better for
wives and mothers thereby.— Bos. Eve.
Trans.
COURTING—ATTENTIONS.
An old paper says : “This is a subject
which, always important, is becoming pe
culiarly so, and we design to call the at
tention of the young people occasionally,
in hope of arresting an alarming and des
tiuctive evil.
‘Young ladies are bound to fall in love
as soon as possible, and bound to be bound
to a partner for life, as soon as the neces
sary preliminaries can be made—such as
getting a lover, fascinating him thorough
ly, being courted, having the question
popped, getting the wedding garments in
array, and inviting friends to see them
prettily married. The young mar. is bound
to be gallent and polite, and admire, with
out stint, all the pretty young girls known
and unknown : to doff the beaver, offer his
arm, invite to the ride, pleasant saunter —
in short, to all and sundries, indeed to show
his devotion and gallantry towards the sex,
until some enchantress throws her spell
around him, and he sinks, subdued, into a
common-place, indifferent, careless, Bene
dict.
‘Now out of these things grow difficul
ties. A young man admires a pretty girl,
and must manifest it ; he cannot do so for
the life of him. The young lady has a
tender heart, reaching out like vine tendrils
for something to cling to ; she sees the
admiration, is flattered, begins soon to love
expects some tender avowal, and perhaps
gets so far as to decide that she will choose
a white satin under a thin gauze, at the
very moment the gallant that she loves is
popping the question (good! ha! ha!)
to another damsel ten miles off. Now the
difficulty lies in not precisely understand
ing the difference between polite attentions
and the tender manifestations of sighing
love. Admiring a bealitiful girl, and wish
ing to make a wife of her, are not always
the same ; therefore it is necessary that a
girl should be on the alert to discover to
which class the attentions paid her by a
handsome and fashionable young gentle
man belong. It is hard to draw the exact
line of separation between polite attentions
and downright courting, but our great age
and extensive experience have enabled us
to observe enough to aid the young and
artless in deciding the matter.
‘First then—if a young fellow greets
you in a loud, free, hearty voice—if he
knows precisely where to put his hat, or
his hands—if he stares you straight in the
eye with his own wide open—if he turns
his back to you to speak to another—if he
tells you who made his coat—if he
squeezes your hand—if he eats heartily in
your presence —if he fails to talk very
kindly to your mother—if he sneezes when
you are singing, or criticises your curls,
or fails to be very foolish in fifty ways
every hour, then don’t fall in love with
him for the world ; he only admires you,
let him do or say what he will. But if he
be merry with every one else, but an;;t
with you —if he be anxious to see that
your tea is sweetened, and your dear per
so'.t well wrapped up when you go out in
the cold; if he talks very low and never
looks you in the eye,—if his cheeks are
red, or if he be pale, and his nose blueish,
it is enough; if he romps with your sis
ter, sighs like a pair of bellows, looks
solemn when you are addressed by anoth
er gentleman, and, in fact, is the most still,
awkward, stupid, yet anxious of your
male friends, you may go ahead and invoke
the shaft of Cupid with perfect safety, and
make the poor fellow too happy for his
skin to hold him.’
Boiled Cracked Wheat.—l will say,
for your gratification, (ami to .acknowledge
my own gratitude to the author,) that my
self and two room-mates in school noticed
an article in your Journal relating to boiled
wheat as a diet, and resolved to try it. We
like it very much, and think it very
healthy. Since we commenced eating it a
large number have followed our example,
and all pronounae it good, among whom
are the Preceptress of the school, Profes
sor Evans, and two other teachers. I can
heartily recommend wheat as a very cheap
and healthy diet. Your friend,
G. D. C.
GOING INTO MOURNING.
A few weeks ago our friend Clark was
lying sick with the billious fever. The at
tack was severe, and he believed death was
near. One morning he awoke from a short
l sleep to hear a hurried and smothered con
versation in the adjoining room, in which
: his wife took jiart. The first words that
i Clark caught were attered by his better
half:
‘On that ground,’ said she, ‘I object to
mourning!’
* Yes, replied another, but the world
j looks for it—it is fashionable, and one
might ns well be out of the world as to be
| out of the fashion.’
‘Here,’ thought Clark, ‘is a nice wife.
She thinks 1 am about to die—to be plant
! ed. if 1 may use the expression, in the cold
earth, and yet she refuses to go into mourn
ing for me. Ah me V
‘ Now that I am here, perhaps I had
better take your measure.’
‘The unfeeling wretch!’ exclaimed
Clark, ‘to think of sending for a dress
maker before I am dead! I’ll live in
spite!’
‘Well,’ mused the wife, ‘I believe you
may measure me. I will let you buy the
trimming, and let it be as gay as possi
ble.’
‘ What heartlessness!’ groaned Clark,
‘Woman-like though. One husband is no
sooner dead than they set about entrapping
another. 1 can scarcely credit it.’
‘Of course you will have a flounce!’
‘Two of them, and as the body is to be
plain I wish you to get the wide grimp to
j trim it.’
‘How will you have the sleaves trim
| med V
‘With buttons and fringe.’
‘Well—well—this beats all,’ sighed poor
I Clark.
‘When do you want the dress V enquir
ed the mantua-maker.
‘I must have it in three days. My hus
band wi>l then be off my hands, and I shall
be able to go out !’
‘Oh! horrible —horrible,’ ejaculated the
sick man, ‘I am only half dead, but this
blow will kill me.’
His wife heard him speak, and flew
quickly to his bedside. #
‘Did you speak, my dear,’ said she, with
the voice of an angel.
‘I have heard it all, madam,’ replied
Clark. ‘The mourning—gay dresses—
fringe—everything. O! Maria—Maria!’
‘ You rave!’
‘ Do you take me for a fool V
‘Certainly not, my dear.’
‘You expect me to be out of the way in
three days.’
‘ Yes, love, the doctor said you would
be well in that time.’
‘What means the dress'!’
‘lt is the one you bought for me before
yott were taken sick.’
•But your were speaking of mourning V
‘We were talking of Mrs. Taperly.’
‘Oh, that is it!’
‘Yes, love you know she is poor, and
the family is large, and it must inconve
nience her to find mourning for them all.
On this ground, I oppose it.’
‘ So—so that's it, is it V I thought you
were speaking of me, and it distressed me.
Let me beg of you to be more careful in
future.’
Clark was out in three days, and he
now laughs at the matter, which then ap
peared so horrible.
LARGE FLOWER AND BIRD.
j (n 1818, Dr. Arnold discovered in the
I islanu of Sumatra a flower, which he
named Rnffisia Arnold!, and which an au
thor has called, with much justice, ‘the
magnificent Titan of the vegetable King
dom.’ The human mind, indeed, has nev
er conceived such a flower; its circumfer
ence, when expanded, is nine feet; its
nectarium is calculated to hold nine pints;
the pistils are as large as a cow’s horns,
and the entire weight of the blossom is
computed to be abomt 15 pounds. Temple,
in his recent travels in Peru, states that he
shot a condor, and from notes taken on lhe
spot, gives the following dimensions of its
size : —When the wings are spread, they
measured 40 feet in length, and the quill
j part eight inches, in circumference. This
almost realizes the fabled rook of Sinbad,
in the Arabian Nights ; but its dimensions
is here given, rest on good and very rectnt
authority.
GREAT RESULTS FROM SMALL
BEGINNINGS.
The following is an extract from the
speech of Hon. Horace Mann, at the Na
| tional Common School Convention at
i Philadelphia:
“He who now now visits the North
western part of the State of New York, to
see one of the wonders of the world—the
Kalis of Niagara—may see also a wonder
of nature. He may see a vast iron bridge
spanning one of the greatest rivers in the
world, affording the safe transit for any
number of men or any weight of merchan
dize, and poised high up in the serene air,
hundreds of feet above the maddened wa
ters below. How was this ponderous j
structure stretched from abutment to abut- j
ment across the raging flood 7 How was ‘
it made so strong as to bear the tread of an |
army, or the momentum of the rushing !
steam carl Its beginning was as simple
as its termination is grand, A boy’s, play
thing, a kite, was first sent into the air; to
his kite was attached a silken thread, to
the thread a cord, to the cord a rope, and
to the rope a cable. When the toy fell
upon the opposite side, the silken thread
drew over the cord, and the cord the rope, j
and the rope the cable, and the cable, one
after another, great bundles, or oj
iron wire, and these being arranged side by
side and layer upon layer, now constitute
a bridge of such massiveness and cohesion
that the mighty Genius of the Cataract
would spend his strength upon it in vain
Thus, my friends, may great results be
educed from small beginnings. Let thi s
first meeting of the National Association 0 f
of the Friends of Education, be like the
safe and successful sending of an aerial
messenger across the ahyss of Ignorance
and Superstition and Crime, so that those
who come after us may lay the abutments
and complete the moral arch that shall car
ry thousands and millions of our fellow.
beings in safety and peace, above the gulf
of perdition, into whose seething fl on j,
they would otherwise have fallen anil
perished 1
Health —How to Preserve it.
icine will never remedy bad habits. It j s
utterly futile to think of living in glottony,
intemperance, and every excess, and keep
ing body in health by medicine. Indul>
gence of the appetite, and indiscriminate
dosing and drugging, have ruined the
health and destroyed the life of more per
sons than famine, sword and pestilence.
If you will take advice you will become
regular in your habits, eat and drink only
wholesome things, sleep on a matress, ami
retire and rise very regularly. Make a
free use of water to purify the skin, ami
when sick take counsel of the best physi
cian you know, and follow nature.
IP (D IE if* [E¥>
For Richards’ Weekly Gazeite.
FADING FLOWERS,
Respectfully dedicated to a young Lady of N, C
BY A CAROLINIAN.
The autumn season, said a beautiful and intelli
gent young lady, is always a season of sadness
to me, for then it is that the beautiful flowers
begin to fade and die. I look upon flowers,
said, she, ns emblems of human life,they bloom
for a short season, then fade, wither and die.
Though fairest flowers will fade,
And greenest leaves will sear,
It is he a use they were not made
For winter cold and drear.
In spring of life they bloom
’Mid breezes fredi and fair,
When sparkling dews of morn illume,
The spirit of the air.
When breath of Southern dime.?.
Expands through Northern dales,
Then lovely flowers appear betimes,
To decorate the vales.
Vet why should we complain,
That they must pass away :
We never can one flower retain,
Beyond its destined day
But z-phyrs soft, will bear
On wings of golden light,
Those flowers you loved to rear,
To yonder worlds more bright.
For flowers arc an emblem
Os hum in life below ;
Awhile the currents rough they stem,
Then fade and are laid low.
Like fragrance*of the rose,
The soul can never die ;
Though dust with Irnlred dust repose,
’Twill soar to worlds on high.
Mu/berry Knoll , N. C.
EJMSEEt
Stars.—A cotemporary lets off the fol
lowing :
“Woman—the morning star of infancy,
the day star of manhood, the evening star
of age Bless such stars; may we bask
in their influence until we arc sky high.”
Nothing Remarkable.—The “ Blade”
says : “ A young la ly out there is said to
he too lazy to get married.” Pooh! that's
nothing! We know of more than one
young lady a good deal too lazy for any
sensible man to think or marrying.
Very Natural.—The Mirror tells a
■ ,;ory of a man. who on a late rainy day.
fell in with 2 pretty girl in an omnibus
held his umbrella ovd. r her head, walked
home with her, was invited iO call again,
did, and now they are married.
Apology.—The printer of the Vella
published at Madisonville. Ky., apologize*
for the lack of editorial in his paper, as the
editor had been and was then pn a bust.
Delicate Compliment.—Haydn, on see
ing the portrait of Mrs. Billington. said to
the artist, (Sir J. Reynolds,) in the hear
ing of the songstress:
“ There is one error.' 1 ’
“ What is that 1” said the artist.
“You hare painted her listening to lb*
angels; you should have painted the an
trefs listening to her /”
The Telegraph. —A million of dollars
have been paid for messages on the vari
ous telegraph lines throughout the State*
during the past year,
Mental Derangement.—lt is ?laleJ
that three clergymen in succession, “bo
were appointed chaplains to the Liverpool
cemetery, have become mentally deranged
The circumstance it attributed to the con
stant repetition (sometimes as often as
times in a day) of the funeral service, an
the impressiveness of the sail spectacle ot
which they were habitually spectators.
A Good Rebuke. —When Garvcstok
who betrayed the Spaniards at Bergen"?
Zom to Queen Elizabeth,, came to
to give to her map-sty an account o
success, and to claim his reward, the
gave him a thousand crowns; huts* 1
him at the same time, “Get you oir ;
that 1 may know where to send “
want a thorough-faced villain.”
West India Ghosts. —A French r
man who had heard rum called S
went into one of our hotels afew cve '’
since, and ca'led for a glass, of p" nc
questing at the same time that it shoit-
made with “ ghost* from the fst n ‘ lJ