Newspaper Page Text
£l)c UkclUiiConGtitutionalist.
Old Series—Vol. 25, No. 18.
Anima.
BY JAB. R. RANDALL.
You came to me In feeble health, the hectic
on your cheek
Revealed to my adoring sight a body
frail and weak;
The lissome form, the glamoured eyes, the
spirit undefiled,
These, and a glimpse of early death, I saw,
beloved child!
And if, my guilty heart could dare to make
your heart its goal—
I did not love you ior your face—l loved
you for your soul!
You came to me a waif of God, unsullied by
deceit;
1 felt it sacrilege to kiss the shadows of
your feet.
And when your thoughts were magnified
beyond the dull terrene,
Med reamt you sat within the Heaven be
side the Nazarene.
And if my fierce emotions seared your be
ing like a scroll—
I did not love you for your face—l loved
you for your soul!
You came to me like manna dews—like an
embodied prayer;
Till your imploring accents turned the tor
rent of despair.
You made me feel the blight of Sin, the
majesty of Love,
And when I clutched an earthly crown, you
merely glanced above.
Oh, gladly for you would these hands de
mand the beggar’s dole—
,l did not love you for your face—l loved
you for your soul!
You left me, darling child, before the Prom
ised Land was won,
And it was hard for me to look upon the
living sun.
'Twas no ignoble whim that hoped to make
you mine alway;
My idol was no frenzy of the perishable
clay.
Apd if I kneel to you no more, jfeve by the
''Church-yard knoll, 1
I have "net loved you for ySur face—l’ve
loved you for your 'Soul!
God Pity the Poor.
BY M. A. M. m’MULLEN.
The wild, rushing winds of the tempest are
sweeping
The frost-fettered land like a spirit of
Wrath;
His fierce, icy breath with keen arrows is
piercing
‘The breasts of the wand’rers who stand
in his patli;
The earth in a trance lies enahr««de4 in si
lence,
The storm-king knocks loudly at window
and door:
The prayer of the pitiful fervently rises—
God shelter the homeless and pity the
poor!
God pity the poor who are wearily sitting
By desolate hearth-stones, cold, cheer
less and bare,
From which the last ember’s pale flicker
has faded,
Like Hope dying out in the midst of des
pair;
Who look on the wide world and see it a
desert
Where ripple no waters,no green branches
wave.
Who see in the future as dark as the present
No rest but the death-bed, no home but
the grave.
God pity the poor when the eddying snow
drifts
Are whirled by the wrath of the winter
wind by,
Like showers of leaves from the pallid star
iilies
That float in the depths of the blue lake
on high;
For though they are draping the broad
earth in beauty
And vailing some flaw in each gossamer
fold,
That beauty is naught to the mother whose
children
Are crouching around her in hunger and
cold.
God pity the poor! for the wealthy are
often
As hard as the winter and cold as its
snow;
While fortune makes sunshine and summer
around them.
They care not lor others nor think of
their woe ?
Or if from their plenty a trifle be given,
So doubtingly, grudgingly, often ’tis
doled,
That to the receiver their “charity”
seemeth
More painful than hunger, more bitter
than cold.
God pity the poor! for though all men are
brothers,
Though all say “ Our Father,” not mine,
when they pray,
The proud ones of earth turn aside from the
lowly
As if they were fashioned of different
clay;
They see not in those who in meekness and
’ patience
Toil, poverty, pain, without murmur en
dure,
The image of Him whose first couch was a
manger,
Who chose for our sakes to be homeless
and poor.
God pity the poor, give them courage and
patience
Their trials, temptations, and troubles to
brave,
And pity the wealthy, whose idol is For
tune,
For gold can not gladden the gloom of
the grave ;
And as this brief life, whether painful or
pleasant.
To one that is endless but opens the door,
The heart sighs while thinking on palace
and hovel;
God pity the wealthy as well as the poor.
My Dear Sir ; Asa clergyman, Ido
not concern myself with party poli
tics; butd take, however, a deep inter
est in the welfare of the country, and
in the integrity of its institutions. I
wish, therefore, to thank you for your
decided opposition to the appointment
of Mr. Caleb Cushing to the high posi
tion of Chief Justice of the United
States. I thipk the whole country owe
you a deep debt of gratitude for having
been the means of preventing that ap
pointment. Very respectfully,
Charles Hodge.
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
Celebrated Cases.
L
There lived in Paris, more than a
century ago, an old dame who kept a
shop in a honse hot very far distant
from the Place St. MilcheL She was
reputed rich, and was supposed to keep
money in the house. Her only ser
vant was a boy who had lived with her
for several years; he slept in the house,
but high up in the fourth story, or
rather loft, which could only be reach
ed by a staircase, such as was common
in those days, outside the house wall,
the old lady sleeping in a room on the
ground floor, at the back of the shop.
It was the boy’s duty to lock the shop
door at night and retain possession of
the key. One morning the neighbors
found the shop door open much earlier
than usual, and as there was no one to
be seen in the shop, some of them, sus
pecting that all was not right, went in.
There .were no marks betokening a
violent entry of the premises, but the
old lady was discovered dead in her
bed, having received many wounds ;
such wounds, to all appearance, having
been inflicted with a knife, and a knife,
covered with blood, was found lying
i* the middle of the shop floor. One
hand of the corpse yet grasped a
thick lock Os hair, and in the
other was a neck-handkerchief. It
was proved beyond a doubt that the
knife and the neck-handkerchief be
longed to the boy who had been so
long her servant, and the lock of hair
also matched his exactly. He was ar
rested, charged with the crime, and
(probably under torture) confessed it,,
and suffered capital punishment as a
murderer. He was innocent, however.
Not very long after his, execution
another boy, a Servant in a neighboring
wine-shop, being taken into custody for
another offence, and seized with the
pangs of remorse, confessed to the
murder of the old man. He had long
been familiarly acquainted with the.
shop boy, who had suffered innocent
ly, and had been in the habit of dres
sing his hair. He had managed by
degrees to save up enough of the
lad’s hair from the comb he made use
of to make into a tolerably stout lock;
and this he had put into the hand of the
dead woman. He had stolen one of the
boy’s neek-handerchiefs, and also his
knife, and by taking an impression in
wax of the key, had been able to con
struct another by which to gain en
trance to the shop. At the first glance,
the evidence in this case scorns at once
clear, natural and spontaneous ; but
the very completenees of the evidential
facts ought to have aroused suspicion,
and there is no doubt that, had a
rigid investigation been set on foot,
the innocence of the accused would
been established.
ii.
A case of fabricated evidence of a
sufficiently remarkable kind occurred
near Hull, in 1742. A gentleman travel
ing to that place was stopped late in
the evening about seven miles from
the town, by a masked highwayman,
who robbed him of a purse containing
twenty guineas. The highwayman
galloped off by a side road, and the
traveler, in no way injured save in
purse, continued his journey. It was
now growing late, and, being excited
and alarmed by what had happened, he
naturally looked out for a place of
shelter, and instead of riding on to
Hull, stopped at the first inn he came
to, which was the “ Bell Inn,” kept by
Mr. James Burnell. He went into the
kitchen to give directions for his sup
per, and then he related to several per
sons the fact of his having been rob
bed, to which he added the further in
formation that when he traveled he al
ways gave his gold a peculiar mark,
and that every single guinea in the
purse taken from him was thus mark
ed. He hoped, therefore, that the rob
bers would yet be detected. Supper
being ready, he withdrew, The gen
tleman had not long finished his sup
per, when Mr. Burnell came into the
parlor where he was, and after the
usual inquiries of landlords as to
the desires of the guests, observed:
“ Sir, I understand you have been
robbed in this neighborhood this
evening ?” “ Yes,” said the travel
ler, “ I have.” “ And your money was
marked ?” continued the landlord. “It
was so,” was the reply. “ A circum
stance has arisen,” resumed Mr. Bur
nell, “ which leads me to think I can
point out the robber. Pray, at what
time in the evening were you stopped ?”
“It was just settling in to be dark,”
replied the traveler. “ The time con
firms my suspicions,” said the land
lord ; and he then informed the trav
eler that he had a waiter, one John
Jennings, who had of late been very
f nil of money, and so very extravagant
that he (the landlord) had been sur
prised at it, and had determined to
part with him, his conduct being every
way suspicious; that, long before dark
that day, he had sent out Jennings to
change a guinea for him; that the
man had only come back since the
arrival of the traveller, saying he could
not get the change, and seeing Jen
nings to be in liquor, he had sent him
off to bed, determined to discharge
him in the morning. Mr. Burnell con
tinued to say that when the guinea
was brought back to him, it struck him
that it was not the same he had sent
out for change, there being on the re
turned one a mark which he was very
sure was not upon the other; but he
should probably have thought no more
of the matter, Jennings having fre
quently had gold in his pocket of late,
had not the people in the kitchen told
him what the traveller had related
respecting the robbery, and the cir
cumstance of the guinea being marked.
AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MOANING, JANUARY 28, 1874.
He (Mr. Burnell) had not been present
when this relation was made, and, un
luckily, before he heard of it from the
people in the kitchen, he had paid
away the guinea to a man who lived at
some distance, and who had now gone
home. “ The circumstance, however,”
said the landlord in conclusion, “struck
me so very strongly that I could not
refrain, as an honest man, from coming
and giving you informatioivof it.”
Mr. Burnell was duly thanked for his
disclosure. There appeared from lit
the strongest reasons for suspecting
Jennings, and if, on searching him, ary
others of the marked guineas should be
found, and the gentleman could iden
tify them, there would then remain no
doubt in the matter. It was now agreed
to go up to his room. Jennings was
fast asleep; but his pockets were
searched, and from one of them was
drawn forth a purse containing ex
actly nineteen guineas. Suspicion now
became certainty; for the traveler de
clared the purse and guineas to be
identically those of which he had been
robbed. Assistance was called ; Jen
nings was awakened, dragged out of
bed, and charged with the robbery. He
denied it firmly, but the circumstances
against him were too strong, and he
was hot believed. He was secured that
night, and next day was taken before a
justice of the peace. The gentleman
and Mr. Burnell deposed to the facts
upon oath, and Jennings, having no
proofs, nothing but mere assertions of
innocence, which could not be credited,
was committed to take his trial at the
next assizes.
So strong seemed the case against
him that most of the man’s friends ad
vised him to plead guilty, and throw
himself on the mercy of the court. This
advice he rejected, and, when arraign
ed, pleaded not guilty. The prosecutor
swore to the fact of the robbery;
though as it took place in the dusk,
; and the highwayman wore a mask, he
could not swear to the person of the
prisoner, but thought him of the same
stature nearly as the man who robbed
him. To the purse and guineas, when
they were produced in court, he swore,
as to the purse, positively, and as to
the marked guineas, to the best of his
belief; and he testified to their having
been taken from the pocket of the
prisoner.
The prisoner’s master, Mr. Burnell,
deposed as to the sending of Jennlngs
for the change of a guinea, and to the
waiter’s having brought him back a
marked one instead of the one he had
given-him unmarked. He also gave,
ovldeqe'* as to the
purse and gulu&£s oil the prisoner. To’
consummate the proof, the man to
whom Mr. Burnell had paid the guinea,
as mentioned, came forward and pro
duced the coin, testifying at the same
time that he had received it on the
evening of the robbery from the prison
er’s master, in payment of a debt, and
the prosecutor, on comparing it with
the other nineteen, swore to its being,
to the best of his belief, one of the
twenty marked coins taken from him
by the highwayman, and of which the
other nineteen were found on Jennings.
The judge summed up the evidence,
pointed out all the concurring circum
stances against the prisoner; and the
jury, convinced by this strong accumu
lation of testimony, without going out
of court, brought in a verdict of guilty.
Jennings was executed some time
afterwards, at Hull, repeatedly declar
ing his innocence up to the moment of
his execution.
Within a twelvemonth afterwards,
Burnell, the master of Jennings, was
himself taken up for a robbery com
mitted on a guest in the house, and
the fact being proved on trial, he was
convicted and ordered for execution.
The approach of death brought on re
pentance and confession. Burnell not
only acknowledged that he was guilty
of many highway robberies, but own
ed that he had committed the very
one for which Jennings suffered. The
account which he gave was that after
robbing the traveler he had reached
home by swift riding, and by a nearer
way. That he found a man at home
waiting for him, to whom he owed a
little bill, and to whom, not having
enough of other money in his pocket,
he gave way one the guineas which he
had just obtained by robbery. Pres
ently the robbed gentleman came in,
and he, while Burnell, not knowing of
his arrival,was in the stable,told his tale,
as before related, in the kitchen. The
gentleman had scarcely left the kitchen
before Burnell entered it, and there,
to his consternation, heard of the
facts and heard of the guineas being
marked. He became dreadfully alarm
ed. The guinea which he had paid
away he dared not ask back again;
and as the affair of the robbery, as
well as the circumstances of the mark
ed guineas, would soon become pub
licly known, he saw nothing before
him but detection, disgrace and death.
In this dilemma the thought of ac
cusing and sacrificing poor Jennings oc
curred to him. The state of intoxica
tion in which Jennings was, gave him
an opportunity of concealing the purse
of money in the waiter’s pocket. The
rest the reader knows.
in.
James Harris kept a public house
within eighteen miles of York, having
in his service a man named Morgan,
who to his other occupations added
that of gardener. It happened that
one Grey, a blacksmith, journeying on
foot to Edinburgh, supped and slept at
this public house. Next morning Mor
gan deposed before a magistrate that
his master strangled Grey in his bed—
that he actually saw him commit the
murder—that he in vain endeavored to
prevent it, his master insisting that the
man was in a fit, and that he was
merely endeavoring to assist him.—
Morgan urtAw: swore that, affecting to
believe t*is, left the room, but after
retiring, tooki^hrough the key-hole,
and sav the rifling the
pockets of the deceased. Harris, as
well he night, vehemently denied the
accusatim, and, haplessly for himself,
threatened a prosecution for perjury.
As no niapk of violence was visible on
the was on the point of
being discharged when the maidservant
demandej to be heard. She swore that
from a vash-house window, as she was
descSndljg the stairs, she saw her mas
ter take.jome gold from his pocket,
and having carefully wrapped it up,
bury it rider a tree in the garden, the
position.#' which she indicated. Upon
turned pale, and the earth
under th> tree having been searched
by a thirty pounds in gold
was fonyd wrapped up in a paper.—
Hams tien admitted that lie had
buriecjjHii money for security’s sake,
but £#iS"ered in so confused and
hesitating a manner that he was
committed. He was tried at York
for the murder. The man, the maid,
the and the magistrate were
all examined, and no suspicion attach
ing to their testimony, a verdict of
guilty Vi>s at once pronounced. He
died prtlrjstmg his innocence, and ere.
long his innocence became manifest to
all meib-vThe real facts were as fol
lows : Jn: a quarrel between Harris
and his servant, Morgan received a
blow, and vowed revenge. Soon after
wards, Grey’s arrival furnished the op
portunity. The part which the servant
maid played in the business is explain
ed by the fact that she and the garden
er were ’sweethearts. Seeing her mas
ter one >iay apparently hiding some
thing tii'ier a tree, she apprised Mor
gan digging, found five guineas
conce&l'wl there. On this they agreed
to purloin the hoard, when It should
amount to a sum sufficient to enable
them up in business. But Har
ris’ throat of a prosecution for perjury
so terrifloq the girl that she resolved
to save her lover by the sacrifice, both
of the i y?ney and of her master’s life.
A subseqwent quarrel, the not unusual
consequence of guilt like theirs, be
trayed the (truth. They died of jail
the day previous to that ap
poimjMfcL. jr their trial. It was after
wurus ascertained that Grey had had
two apoplectic fits, and had never been
in poß«'o.«ilaa of five pounds at a time
m
Iff elancholy case it will bo ob
'sprvedfl®h'qje victim of circumstan
himself,' unconsciously
■ r vlii- li t<•!■!
We Own Up. —The Examiner and
Chronicle gets off at our expense a good
story, the substance of which is that
just after our entrance into the minis
try we baptized by sprinkling nn infant,
Rev. Dr. Dowling, the eminent Baptist
clergyman, being present. Fifteen
years after, Dr. Dowling baptised by
immersion the same person. The only
objection to this story of the Examiner
and Chronicle, is the fact that it is all
true. This is the first thing we have
seen for a long while in the newspaper
about ourselves that was net a lie, so
that it is anew sensation. We acknow
ledge the whole affair. But we have
this consolation, that if the child pre
sented was not thoroughly baptised at
our hand, the work is fully done now.
We have no objection, to having either
Doctor Dowling, or Doctor Bright of
the g.mminer put clear under the water
any whom we have ever sprinkled.
Some of them need more washing, and
the whole world was once put under
the water and morally improved by it.
[Dr. Talmage.
(Louisville Courier-Journal.
A Lively Game of Poker.
It was a Mr. Simmons’ deal. I was
the oldest man, and the blind was three
—calls seven. Ike Raggles saw it; then
it was risen by Jones to fifteen for to
play. Brown came in, and also the
dealer stayed. Then it took mo twelve
to make it good, which I put up, and I
remarked to the society that it would
only cost twenty-five more for to draw.
Every last gentleman stayed, but it
was not risen any higher. Then the
dealer says to me : “How many will
you take ?” “Says I, “A card.” I had
aces and kings, and got an ace in the
draw. Ike took three and Jones two,
but Brown had enough, and told the
dealer to help himself, which he took
only five. There was now about a hun
dred and ninety chips on the board. Ike
bet one ; Jones went ten better, and j
Brown raised it to twenty—because he |
stood pat. The dealer said that his’s was j
valued at twenty more. Then said I, i
“How many does it take ?” Someone I
said “forty chips,” which I invested like- |
wise, with sixty better. They all pass- j
ed up to Brown, and I wanted him bad
to stay with his steel, but his sand
gave out and he passed. Says the
dealer to me: “ How many did you
draw V” Says I, “ A card.” “ Well,”
says he, “ I don’t want to lay down this
hand; I will bet sixty more than you!”
Now the dealer was a stranger like to
our party. He was from the country,
and didn’t know much about and. p. So
I thought it was my cheritable duty
to let him down easy, and I only called
him. “ What have you got ?” said I.
“ Two pairs,” said the Mr. Simmons.
Then it was my time to be sorry that I
had an ace full on kings. “ But,” says
the genial Mr. Simmons, “ mine is two
pairs of jacks!” Then I said, “ O!”
and put on my hat and went down the
street to look for Christmas. As I
went out the door, Brown asked me
“ how many I tookj?” But Brown al
ways was a person which will kick a
man when he is down.
John Glades.
iFrankfort Gazette.
Kossuth—A Forgotten Celebrity.
The following advertisement appears
every now and then in the Couriere di
Torlono:
“ Lessons in German, English and
Hungarian given, at moderate rates, by
L. Kossuth, 164 Strada Nuova.”
The advertiser is none other than the
once celebrated dictator of Hungary.—
He is now almost utterly forgotten,
even in Hungary; he has grown very
old, and is now so poor that he will
gladly give you a lesson for a single
franc. This would seem very humili
ating for him, and yet he is proud of
his poverty.
He says:
“ Three years ago my friends at home,
in Hungary, offered me a present of
fifty thousand florins. I rejected the
offer, and never have regretted it, even
when I was hungry, and had no money
to pay for a fire.”
I had occasion, the other day, to call
upon him. I was no stranger to Kos
suth. Twenty years ago he had given
me, in London, a great deal of valuable
information for my book, “Hungary
in 1849.” I found him in a very small
soom, in the fourth story of a dingy old
building. He sat alone in an easy chair,
poring over an old volume. When I en
tered he did not recognize me. I recog
nized him, and was shocked. What a
change these twenty years had pro
duced in his once handsome and inter
esting face! His hair was entirely
white, his cheeks wan and hollow, and
his ey.es utterly dimmed. His form,
once erect and proud, was now pain
fully bent. He almost groaned as he
raised himself to bid me welcome.
He was deeply moved when I in
formed him who I was. His face bright
ened as he warmly cl isped my hand.
“ Oh, yes, oh, yes.” he said in Ger
man, “ I know you now. Everybody
forgets me ; no one calls upon me; no
one cares any more for me! Why
should I remember those who once
were my friends ?”
To this I objected. I asked him how
he could be forgotten when his friends
in Hungary wanted him to return to
his native country, and take again an
active part in its affairs.
Kossuth smiled very bitterly.
“ Oh. yes,” he said, “return to Hun
gary dishonored, with an oath of
allegiance to tho Hapsburgs, who mur
dered my friends and kinsmen, and
who set a price upon my head. lam
neither a Deak nor an Andrassy.”
I a«ked him how he got along.
lie sadly, ‘/(were my
good children and my poor wife alive
yet, I would be happy, even in my old
age and poverty. But they are all
dead, and lam very lonesome. That
is what renders my exile here, where
people are so kind to me, so distressing,
It would be no better in Hungary. I
have no kinsfolk anywhere but in the
New World.”
“ Why, then, not go to America again,
where your name is still revered V” I
ventured to say.
“Oh,” he replied, I have often been
sorely tempted to go back to the
United States, but there are two ob
stacles in the way. In the first place,
it would cost more money than I have
to spare ; and, next, I am almost sure
that, in my present enfeebled condition,
I would be unable to bear the sea voy
age.”
All this was very melancholy, and I
hastened to change the subject of our
conversation.
I showed him the proof-sheets of the
chapter on Andrassy in my new work
on Austria. He put on his spectacles,
and, holding the paper in his tremb
ling hand, read carefuliy what I had
written.
Meanwhile I had time to look around
in the room. Against the rear wall
stood a narrow, plain bed. On the
walls hung portraits of Mazzini, Bixio,
Kisz and strangely enough, of Louis
Napoleon. On the book shelf by my
side I noticed Victor Hugo’s “Annee
Terrible,” Kinglake’s “Crimea,” and
and ten or twelve well worn grammers.
On a table, close to the bed, lay a loaf
of bread and a plate of dried meat.
To my dismay I found that my glan
cing around the room had attracted
Kossuth’s attention.
“ Yes,” ho said, withasmile, “yousee
for yourself now that I am very poor,
and yet when I left Hungary in 1840, I
was charged by all the mean organs of
the Hapsburgs with having enriched
myself at my country’s expense. Do
you know what my whole income was
last year? Within a fraction of eight
hundred livres!” (Less than two hun
dred dollars.)
I shook my head sorrowfully. He
told me what he thought about the
chapter on Andrassy, gave me plenty
| of valuable and interesting information
I on the subject, and then dismissed me,
j saying that it was time for one of his
! pupils to make his appearance.
Graphic.— A listener to the discus
sions in Congress on the salary grab
| says that the unsatisfactory nature of
the explanations given, the failure of
the arguments and appeals, and the
more than doubtful position in which
the “ honorable gentlemen ” were left,
after all their frantic efforts to set
themselves right before the country,
reminds one of the mournful founder
ing of a Mississippi steamboat, as -de
scribed in poetry by an eye-witness:
She hove and sot, and sot and hove,
And high her rudder flung;
And every time she hove and sot,
A wusser leak she sprung!
And all the more she squirmed and turned,
The lower still she sot:
Till finally the cussed thing
Just sunk and went to pot!
There are fourteen iron furnaces and
foundries in Georgia.
New Series, Vol. 2, No. 4.
The Kiss.
You kissed me! my head had drooped low
on your breast.
With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest,
While the holy emotion my tongue dared
not speak
Flashed up like a flame from my heart to
my cheek.
Your arms held me fast! and your arms
were so bold,
Heart beat against heart in that rapturous
fold.
Your glances seemed drawing my soul
through my eyes,
As the sun draws the mist from the sea to
the skies,
And your lips clung to mine ’till I prayed
in my bliss
They might never unclasp from that rapt
urous kiss.
You kissed me! my heart and my breath
and my will
In delirious joy for the moment stood still;
Life had for me then no temptations, no
charms,
No vista of pleasure outside of your arms,
And were I this instant an angel possessed
Os the glory and pease that is given the
blest,
I would throw my white robes unrepining
ly down,
And tear from my forehead its beautiful
crown,
To nestle once more in that haven of rest,
With your lips upon mine and my headon
your breast.
You Id--‘-d ilnkniy muil
l!"<-l--d and
V
I|§
1. r. .11 i I
' I In i"iia to
grow cold
While coin rapi- ■! -
passionate fold,
And these are the questions I ask
night,
Must my soul taste but once such exquisite
delight!
Would you care if your breast was my
shelter as then
And if you were here would you kiss me
again ?
[New York World.
A Nasal Billiardist.
An American named Jefferson has
lately been astonishing London by
playing a game of billiards, 500 up,
against the English player, Button, and
winning It, using his nose as a cue. 'Vo
antieip t 4e Punch, it may be as well to
remark, perhaps, that this is the first
instance known of an American travel
ing on his nose instead of his cheek ;
but this merely by the way. Mr. Jef
ferson may be an American or other
wise, so far as we have any positive in
formation on the subject, but as a man
who knocks billiard balls about with
his nose, he belongs to the world at
large, and soars above classification.
And yet we would not lightly part
with Jefferson, seeing that he" is the
only man in the world who tins a cue
growing from the middle of iiis face.
Let us touch noses witii him, and hail
him as a citizen of our great Republic.
Asa people we have been accused by
effete European monarchs and their
bloated retainers of a great many in
defensible practices connected with the
nose. We speak through our noses,
they say, and are addicted to intrud
ing the national nose into places where
it has no business. Perhaps ; but our
rejoinder is, that we have a blooded,
gockdolaging, ring-tail roarer of a cit
izen who plays billiards with his nose,
and wo defy them to produce his
match.
“ Old Ironsides.”— The frigate Con
stitution, so well known as Old Iron
sides, was docked on Monday last at
the navy yard, Philadelphia, prepara
tory to being refitted, on the original
model, as a relic or memento of the
past. She was designed and moddled
in 1789, but the Government appropria
tions gave out before the work was
completed, when a few ladies of Boston
determined to raise the money to com
plete her, which they did, and Mr.
Hartt, the grand-father of the present
naval constructor, (who is to rebuild
her on this occasion), was delegated to
finish and equip her. It is stated that
the Constitution was regarded as the
fastest sailer ever known in the navy,
and perhaps the easiest worked gen
erally. The first cruise of the Consti
tution was made in 1798.
A Reanimated System.
Nervous, debilitated and desponding,
that suffer from indigestion and bilious
ness deserves the kindly sympathy of
every man and woman whom heaven
[ has blessed with a vigorous stomach
j and a regular flow of healthy bile.—
While in this forlorn condition let him
commence a course of that supreme
restorative, Hostetter’s Stomach Bit
ters. At the end of four or five weeks
ask him how he feels and regard him
| attentively. You will see anew man,
you will hear anew voice. Health and
vigor will havo returned to his frame,
his words will be cheerful in purport
and in tone, his eye will be clear and
its expression untroubled, and he will
tell you that he is free from pain, has
a good appetite, sleeps soundly, and
that his habitof body is natural and
regular. We have seen this wonderful
change effected in hundreds of in
stances by a faithful, persevering use
of this incomparable medicated stimu
lant, which’ is among tonic remedies
what Mount Washington is among the
surrounding acclivities, it over-tops
them all. jan2o-tuthsasc
Bev. Wm. B. McHan, of Cuthbert,
died on the 18th.