BY W.M. JEFFERSOX & CO,
Fill no Class for Me.
Oh i comrades, fill no glass for me,
To drown my soul in liquid flame ;
For if 1 drank, the toast should be,
To blighted fortune, health and fame.
Yet, though I long to quell the strife
That passion holds against my life,
Still, toon companions may ye be,
tint, comrades, fill no glass for uie !
I know a breast that once was light,
Whose patient sufferings need my cart;—
t know a heart that once was bright,
But drooping hopes have nestled there.
Then, while the tear-drops lightly steal
From Wounded hearts that I should heal,
Though boon companions ye may be,
Ob! comrades, till uo gl’aß3 for me !
Wliett I whs young, I felt tbe tide
Os aspirations nude filed j
But manhood's years have won the pride
My parents centered in their child.
Theta, by a mother’s sacred tear,
By a'.! that mem’ry should revere,
Though boon companions ye may be,
Oh Icomrades, fill no glass for me!
Byron’s Farewell to his Wife.
Fare thee well! and if forever,
, Still forever faro thee veil ;
Kven though unforgiving, never
’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel
Would that breast were bared before thee
’Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o’er thus
Which thou ne’er canst know again!
Would ilint breast, by Mice glance 1 over,
Kvery inmost thought can show !
Then thou worth!’nt at last discover
’Twhs not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee— ■
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praises must offend thee,
Fouiuled'on another’s wo—
Though my many faults defaced mo,
Could no other nrm be found
Than the one which once embraced me.
To inflict a cureless wound 1
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive, not;
Love may sink lv slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus lie tourn away:
Still thine own its life retainoth,
Still must mine, though bleading, bent;
And tho undying thought which paiueth
Is—that wo no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead ;
Both shall live, but every morrow j
Wko us from a widowed bed.
And when thou would’t solace gather,
When our child’s first accents flow,
.Wilt tlum teach her to say ‘Father!’
Though his care she must forego ?
’ \V hen her little hands shall press thee.
When her lip to thine is pressed,
’ Think of him whose prayer stiali bless thee.
••-* Think of him thydove has blessed!
, Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou nevermore inav’st see,
’ Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse } et true to me.
’All my faults perchance thou knowest.
All my madness none can know ;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet witli thee they go.
Kvery feeling hath been rliaken ;
Bride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to^tlice —by thee forsaken,
Even my sous forsakes mo now.
But ‘tis done—ad words are idle—
Wards from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will—
Fare thee well—thus disunited,
Turn from every nearer tie.
.Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted.
More than this 1 scarce can die.
To Victor Hugo.
Silt:—Y'our letier to the London Star
lias found its way into the Ainericati press,
for which it was doubtless intended. If nr-
At enthusiasm could win justice from her
*’ .strict course, yours might have lmd some
.effect upon the destiny of John Brown.
But all the eloquence of ger,iu6 cannot take
the blackness from treason or the e ilia son
stain from murder. It requires something
more than an outburst <>f fine poetry to
k tun: crime into patriotism—something
/nore than impetuous denunciations to
/•.heck the solemn footsteps of justice.
Before this time, you will have learned
slkat Virginia has viudieatcd the majesty
.of laws; and that Jeliu Brown aiul his
lunhappy confederates have passed to a
higher tribunal for judgment. You will
learn, slim, that cut of nearly thirty millions
of people, spreading^over a great continent,
*hmre w handful of men and “women
who have jtjgßeiyed the news of this exe
cution “Itmval. North ana South,
the great bedy of our people acquiesce in
Abe fate of John Brown, as an inevitable I
necessity—a solemn obligation to tlie laws.
Like you, wo may feel compassion for the
man who waa brave even m his crimes;
but he .was a great criminal, and so perish
ed. God have mercy *n his soul!
The impulses of humanity which
prompted yutv 1“. M, ** wi ***
thy from ovary true heart. But uo out
hurst of compassion, no denunciation from
abroad, is likely to influence a people who j
have learned to govern .their passions while
Kiev pt*ect their rights.
When, in the order of your/ancy. Waafl.
jiiyton stood before vou—lmmortal with
A Wee&ly to Koiae Literature-, Agriculture, Ifaroiga and Domestic News, Wit, Humor, &c.
heavenly greatness —your intellect should
have gone a step farther, and informed it
self more correctly regarding the Consti
tution, to establish which he gave the best
years of a glorious life. You would have
learned that eacli State of this Union is
sovereign in itself—in its laws and in its
powers to punish crimes committed on its
To establish the distinct sovereignty oi
these Statjs and link them in one beauti
ful confederation, concessions were made
and obligations of forbearance were enter
ed upon to which the sacred honor of our
lievolutionary fathers was pledged—not
for themselves alone, but for their chil
dren’s children. These obligations make
slavery with us a forbidden subject.
Washington himself was born in a slave
holding State—lived and died the master
of Slaves. Neither on the btt!e field, the
j floor of Congress, nor in tho Presidential
chair, did he suggest the possibility of re
volt against the solemn compact made in
Had' treason, like that, of old John Brown,
broken out in his time, he would undoubt
edly have done what James Buchanan is
doing now. Maintaining bis august posi
tion as the chief of a great confederation,
our President respects the rights of a
sovereign State, over whose internal laws
he has no authority, and leaves to her
courts the punishment or pardon of the
treason which broke out in her territory.
W asbiugton could have done no more
than this, crown him with the halo of poc
try ns you will.
! Virginia, a severe! n State, has mairi
; tained her authority. John Brown is dead.
I Proven gfiilty of treason, condemned of
. atrocious murders, he has atoned fer these
j crimes on the scaffold. It is impossible for
: a man to stamp upon the verge of eternity,
! into which he must be launched by a vio
: lent death, without filling every good heart
; with grief and compassion. But when he is
: brave, when bis path of bfood has been
j lighted by the lurid torch of fanaticism or
I iusaui'y, Such minds as yours, affluent,-
j earnest, and poetical, may be expected to
clothe his crimes in white garments, and
forgetting the murderer in the brave man,
sing ] ;e ms io the martyr of a vivid iinagin
-1 ation only.
I am of a sex and of a* nature to whom
these feeling are kindred. I cannot think
of old John Biown upon tiie scaffold with
out a shudder through all my being. 1
cannot think of a mar. made in the image
; of bis God, suffering an ignominious death
without thrills of pain. But I find it im
| possible to fix my mind on the scaffold of
i ibis old man. It goes back to his v ictims
at Harper’s Ferry to the women made
widows by the outbreak of a single morn
ing—to the orphans, who had never wrong
ed him; so cruelly bereaved by bis crime.
1 see ihe two sons who blindly followed
his lead fall martyrs to his rebelious spirit.
I looked beyond all this, far away into
the beamiiul South, and instead of an old
man on the gallows, 1 see thousands of tin’
own country women, gentle, good and love
ly, given up a prey to wild insurrection—l
seej those murderous pikes, manufactured
with such cruel forethought, piercing their
bosoms—l heai the. cries ot children call
ing for their mothers who will never an
swer them again—l see proud, strong men
struggling against tho brute strength ot
their own household servants—this pic
ture strikes my compassion dumb, and I
can only cover uiy face and pray God to
have mercy on the old mail’s soul!
John Brown was tried, condemned, and
executed as a traitor—a guard of Ameri
can citizens stood around the scaffold, sad ’
at heart, but steady m their devotion to the
laws. The Legislature of a great Common
wealth sat, deliberately, after his sentence,
and pronounced it just. The federal
Union, in which thirty millions of souls
throb, stood by in solemn silence while tho
treason ot this man was expiated.
Out of all these thirty millious of intel
ligent. educated men, who make their own
laws and abide by them, not one hundred
thousand can he found to join with you iu
condemning the execution of John Brown,
while every good heart among them must
sympathize in the pity for his fate, which j
mingles so eloquently w ith your deuuu- j
fcjomfl there may be—nay, certainly are
—who wouiilaJd bitterness to your words j
and wind them, like poisoned arrows, far
and wide, if they had the power. But
these are tho very men and women who
instigated his crime, who urged him on to
revolt, and shrunk away into safe places
when the gloom of his deeds settle v around
him-meu and women who make money by
incendiary books, sermons, aod lectures;
and while they incite crimes which coin
gold for themselves, have no courage to
inpet the danger when it arises. But thou
sands and tens of thousands share your pity
for the old man—guilty and niad as he
was— while they put your denunciations
aside with calm forheaianoe, feeling how
little knowledge you possess ou a subject
which agitates you so deeply.
But if the great mass ot my countrymen ’
join in your pity for the unhappy man, it j
is pot because they condemn his execution j
or sympathise with his revolt. Probably 1
(twenty-nine millious and nine hnndred |
I theusnud of our people look upon the exe-,
j cation ts a solemn atonement for tho crimes |
i it! w|iu*lt t!t<v tmvf im Our
GREENESBORO’, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 28, 1860.
country is divided into three political par
ties, none of which will endorse this rebel
lion or condemn the course justice has
taken. When you call upoi> the Federal
Union to interpose its authority against the
laws of Virginia, there is not a schoolboy
throughout the land—for to all such our
Constitution is a text-book—who would not
smile at your idea that the general govern
ment has any right to interime with the
legal acts of an independent Common
wealth, or that tho majority of a single
State would interfere, if it had the power.
Your picture of John Brown’s trial, is a
painful one. It must he a hard heart
which does not swell with compassion as it
presents itself: ‘’Upon a wyetched pal
let, with six half gaping wounds, scarcely
conscious of surrounding sounds, bathing
his mattrass with blood, and with the ghost
ly presence of his two dead sous forever
before him.” Thus yon place the unhap
py man before the world, forgetting that
those ghastly wounds are but the evidence
ot a more ghastly crime—the fearful wit
nesses by which his guilt was confirmed.
It is, indeed, a terrible picture you have
drawn, but the streets at Harper’s Ferry
had one more terrible still. There, inno
cent men, all unconscious of danger, were
shot down like wild animals. There, wid
ows, newly bereaved, knelt moaning over
their dead, anil orphan children cried a
loud for the parents that John Brown had
so ruthlessly murdered. This picture you
have forgotten to place side by side with
the ether; hut we who love oar countrymen
have sympathy for the innocent as well as
pity lor the guilty.
You complain that his trial was hurried,
that the jury sat only forty minutes, and
that all the proceedings were indecorously
urged forward ; hut were they so swift as
tlie rule halls that shot down unarmed men
in the streets at Harper’s Ferry?/ Were
they so ruthless as John Brown’s midnight
descent upon a sleeping village in Kansas,
where husbands and sons were dragged out
of their beds, and shot down within hear
ing of tlieir wives and mothers? Is this
the man whom yon speak of as “pious,
austere, animated with the old puritan spir
it, inspired by the spirit of the. Gospel,
while you call his companions “sacred
This, sir, is tho blasphemy of a highly
wrought imagination—excuse me fur say
ing—not original with you; for wilder and
more irreligious men than i trust you are
have gone to greater lengths, and blas
phemed more .eloquently than this. They
nave pronounced John Brown’s gallows
holier than the crors, and held up his rebel
lion as a rebuke to the unfinished mission
of oar Lord and Saviour.
“At this moment,” you say, “America
attracts tlie attention of the whole world.”
Not at this moment only, hut ever since
she become a free nation this has hee.u the,
truth. To all the kingly governments of
Europe she has always been a contrast and
an irritation—a subject for criticism, an 1,
whenever au opportunity for blame arose,
of denunciation. It is not strange, then,
that a rebellion in part fostered in Europe
should call forth bitter remarks there.
Let thejudges of Charlestown and the
slaveholding jurors and the whole popula
tion of Ya. pouder it well—they are watch
ed—they are not alone in t .e world.
They have pondered on it well, and the
execution of John Brown lias taken place.
If the whole American lie public were
responsible for Ins death, as you say it is—
it would simply be responsible for a most
painful duty, solemnly performed; and re
ceived with mourning resignation even by
’the most merciful, because of its impera
tive necessity. Justice demanded the life
of this man. for lie had taken human life,
necessity demanded it, for lie was the spir
it and soul of a treason that threatened the
foundations of our nationality—that would
forever have been plotting more bloodshed
so long as he lived ou earth.
You call the execution of Brown a
“brotherhood of blood’’—you say that ‘the
faces of our splendid republic will he.
bound together by the running noose that
hangs from the gibbet.”
If this w ere true—if any brotherhood of
blood is connected with tins painful event,
it rests neither with the “whole” American
republic nor with the State, of Virginia ; hut
! its red track may he. found across the foam
of the Atlantic, linking Exeter Hall with
the seusation pulpits on this side ofthe
ocean. The weight of John Brown’s
blood lies with England and the confeder
ates of England, who have by tin ir teach
ings, their money and crafty sympathy, led
the old man onto death. What but this
“band pf blood” did the people of Eng
land expect when they gathered penny
contributions throughout the length and
breadth of their land, in order to urge this
iucendiary spirit forward in America ?
l’enny contributions—as it Liberty were a
Tyrant or a Pauper, to be intimidated or
bribed by tlieir infamous c >pper.
What wag this contribution intended for? i
|An insult, or a fund for incendiary uses ?
[lf sent to the United Sates for the pur
pose of inciting insurrection, or in any way
opposing our law, then that money lias
| been tho price of John Brawn’s blood, and
1 wa the firsts:rand of the halter that hung
stem his gallows.
What did the people of Scotland expect
j when they rent tho American flag iu twain
and bung i*. tattering and quitering.
beneath the indignity over the head of an
American woman, who smiled benignly
under the insult, and received alms after it
was offered ? Out of such acts and such
insults, the halter of John Browq was wo
; to such insidious encouragement the
old man owes bis death.
Was there an English man or woman
living who supposed that a great nation
would allow the tieason thus instigated on
a foreign soil to ripen in her bosom, and
fail to punish it with all the force of her
just laws ?
It is the people of England, then, with a
very small party in the United States who
are united by this ‘bond of blood.’ It red
dens the vestrrients of our sensation minis
ters, not the ermine of our judges. The
sacramental tables of our political churches
arc encritnsoned.with it, and the places once
sacred are overshadowed by the old man’s
crime. In these places when you call
John Brown ‘the champion of Christ,’ it
may be considered meek and holy language;
but the great mass of our American people
will turn from such impiety with a shudder.
Y’our letter closes with an appeal to our
republic, calling it tbe sister of the French
republic. How litrio you know of tbe
great land you compliment and revile in
the same breath. Liberty with us subjects
herself to the laws which she lias inspired,
arid he who revolts against those laws sins
against her and the whole people whom
siie protects. She sprang another Minerva
from the mindsjof patriot statesmen, modest
ly clad, serene and beautiful; she presides
over our republic, and has so far protected
it from anarchy or oppression.
It is that your republic may have no sis
terhood with those of France that such
insurrections as you denominate ‘a -sacred
day,’ are met with the whole force of our
laws. Were they permitted to obtain a
foothold in the land, our Republic might
indeed become sister to those of France,
and perish as they did.
Had the insunection at Ilarpei’s Ferry
succeeded, the scenes of anarchy which
left France lying like an unnatural mons
ter satiated with the blood ot her own
children might have been repeated here.
But we are not yet prepared to see innocent
babes shot down in battalions, or fair girls
compelled to drink blood frotliiig from a
yet warm human heart, in order to redeem
their fathers from the hatchet. We are
not prepared to see mu ‘pastors slaughtered
at tbe foot of their own altars, or hear
coarse songs thundered forth from the
solemn arches of our temples. It is to
save our country from consanguinity with
republics founded on atrocities like these
that our laws cruJi rebellion when it first
Rest, sir, upon your knees before oar
stnrspnngled banner. While onr pulpits
are turned into political forums, and tlieir
inuiiste.rs preach rapine and bloodshed, the
foot of our flagstaff is, perhaps, the most
sacred place for devotion that we have to
offer you. There, certainly, a pure spirit
slionld inspire your prayers. Yes, kneel
reverently, and plead that the great coun
try protected by its folds may fling off the
poison so insiduously circulated m her bos
om by foreign nations. The spirits of our
immoital stat< smen will be around you
when that prayer is uttered ; and, if you
are, in truth a patriot one heavenly voice
will whisper, iu tones that must be changed
if they .do not penetrate to the depths of
yoursouls—•! know no North.no South,
no East, no West, nothing but my coun
Kneel, kneel, I beseech you, sir, and let
this patriotic sentiment be the burden of
your prayer ! Millions of souls on this
site the Atlantic will swell the -breath, as
it passes your lips, into a cloud of sacred
incense, which the spirit of Washington,
and the mighty ones who have joined him
sha!l waft to the feet of Jehovah and grow
holier from the work.
Ann S. Stkphkxs.
New York, Dec. 27 1859.
Gals, Don’t do it.
There is a practice, quite prevalent among
young ladies ofthe present (lay, which we
are old-fashioned enough to consider very
improper. We allude to tlieir giving
daguerreotypes of themselves to young men
who are merely acquaintances. We con
sider it indelicate in tho highest degree.
We are asfonsilied that any young girl
should hold herself so cheap as this. With
au accepted lover it is of course all right.
! Even in this ease tho likeness should be.
returned if the engagement should by any
misunderstanding cease. If this little para
graph should meet the. eye of any young
girl who is about to give her daguerreotype
to a gentleman acquaintance, let her know
that the remarks made by young men when
together, concerning what is perhaps on
her part but a piece of ignorance or iinpm
dence, would, if she heard them, cause her
j cheeks to crimson with shame and anger.
I‘Wore it a sister of ours,’ we have often i
j said with a flashing eye—were it a sister j
of ours, but that not being the case, wc give
this advice to anybody’s sister who needs!
it, most anxiously desiring that she should |
at all times preserve her dignity and self- j
respect.— Advice to Young Women.
ty We might pardon ti e ungrateful if j
j they would forget who are their enemies;
l as speedily and completely as they often I
forget win, me their friends.
What is Trouble.
A company of Southern ladies were one
day assembled in a lady’s parlor, when the
conversation chanced to turnon the subject
of earthly affliction. Each had her story
of peculiar trial and bereavement to relate,
except one pale, saa-looking woman, whose
lusterless eye and dejected air showed that
she was a prey to the deepest melancholy.
Suddenly arousing herself, she said in a
hollow voice,‘Not one of you know what
‘Will you please, Mrs. Gray,’ said the
kind voice of a lady who well knew her
story,‘tell the ladies-what you call trouble/’
‘I will if you desire it,’ she replied,‘for
I have seen it. My parents possessed a
competence, and my girlhood was surroun
ded by all the comforts of life. I seldom
knew an ungratified wish, and was always
gay and lighl-liearted. I married at nine
teen one I loved more than all the world
besides. Our home was retired, but the
sunlight never fell on a lovelier one, or a
happier household. Years rolled on peace
fully. Five children sat around our table,
and a little curly head still nestled in my
bosom. One r.iglit, about sundown, one
of those fierce black storms came on, which
are so common to our Southern climate.
For many hours the rain poured down
incessantly. Morning dawned, bet still
tlie elements raged. The whole savannah
seemed afloat. The little stream near our
dwelling became a raging toirenf. Before
we were a ware of it our house was sur
rounded by water; I managed with my
babe to reach a little elevated spot, on
which a few wide spreading trees were
standing, whose dens foliage afforded some
protection, while rny linsband and sons
strove to save what they could of our prop
el ty. At last a fearful surgo swept away
my husband, and bo never rose again.—
Ladies, no one ever loved a husband more :
but that was not trouble.
‘Freiently rny sons saw tlieir danger,
and the struggle for life became the only
consideration. They were as bravo, lov
ing boys as ever blessed a mother’s heart
and I watched their efforts to escape,
with such agony as only mothers can feel.
They were so far off I could not speak to
them, but I could see them closing nearer
and nearer to each other, as their little
island grew smaller and smaller.
‘The sullen river raged around the liugo
trees ; dead branches, upturned trunks,
wrecks of houses, drowning cattle, masses
of rubbish, all went floating past us. My
boys waved tlieir hands tome, then pointed
upward. I knew it/was a faicwell signal,
and you, mothers, can imagiuo my anguish.
I saw them all perish, and yet —that was
‘I hugged my babe close to my heart,
and when tlie water rose to uiy feet, I
climbed into the low branches of the tree,
and so kept retiring before it, till an All
powerful hand stayed tho waves that they
should come no further. I was saved. All
my worldly possessions were swept aw ay ;
all my earthly licipcs blighted—yet that
was riot trouble.
‘My babe was all I had left on earth. I
labored night and day to support him and
myself, and sought to train him iu the
right way ; but as he grew older evil com
panions won him away from ine. lie
ceased to care for his mother’s counsels ;
he would sneer at her entreaties and agon
izing prayers. He left my humble roof,
that lie might be unrestrained in tlie pur
suit of evil, and at last, when heated by
wine one night, be took the life of a fellow
beir.g, and ended bis own upon the scaffold.
My heavenly Father had filled my cup of
rorrow before; now it ran over. That
was trouble, ladies, such as I hope His mer
cy’ will spare you from ever experiencing.’
There was no dry eye among her listen
ers, and the warmest sympathy was expies
sed for the bereaved mother, whoe sad
history had taught them a useful lesson.—
The Sagacity of Dogs.
A gentleman who owned a water spaniel,
made a bet with one of his friends that he
could hide a piece of money in the woods
and his dog wouid find it. He did so, and
sear his dog for it. The dog was gone
a very long time, because a mail came
along the road on horse-back, and the
horse turned it over with his foot. The
inan took it up, and the dog followed him,
till he came to the place where he was to
slop, and seeing the deg, he said it was a
strange dog that had followed, and he fed
him. However after he had fallen asleep
the dog stoic his pantaloons and carried
them to his master. The man who owned
the pantaloons, followed the dog to the
house. lie was angry at first, but when
he had learned tlie circumstances, lie was
satisfied, and praised the sagacity of the
Once a gentleman, residing in one of
tjie interior counties of this State, owned a
pointer dog of great sagacity. A friend of
tliis gentleman, a sheriff of tfic county,
. while on his way to pay him a visit, lost
j his pocket-book containing several fbou
| sand dollars. He did not know of bis loss
I till he had arrived at his friends’ plantation
Os course he was greatly distressed and
! concerned, more especially as the money
j was not his. On telling hi* friend of it, he
| raid hm dog coubl find it although it waa
I dark. “File Jog took the road tb gentle
man fiad trau Bed. and after going vine
Terms—sl,so Always In Advance.
four miles, found it and brought it to his
Guilty—But Drunk.—The business
of the court in one of the frontier territo
ries was drawing to a close, when one morn
ing a rough sort of a customer was arraign
ed on a charge of stealing. After the
clerk had read the indictment to him, he
put the question:
“Guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty but drunk, your honor.** answer
ed the prisoner.
“What’s the plea?” asked the judge,
half dozing on the bench.
“lie pleads guilty, but says he was
drunk,” replied the clerk.
“What’s the case?”
“May it please your honor,” said the
prosecuting attorney, “the man is regular
ly indicted for stealing a large sum of mon
ey from the Columbus Hotel.”
“He is hey ? and pleads—-”
“He pleads guilty, but drunk ?”
“Guilty but drunk—this is a most extra
ordinary plea. Young man you are-cer
tain that you were drunk ?”
“Where did you get your liquor?”
‘ Did you get none anywhere else?”
“Not a drop sir.”
“You got drunk on his liquor, and after
wards stole the money?”
“Mr. Prosecutor,” said the judge, “do
me the favor to enter in that man's case a
nolle prosequi. That liquor at Sterrett's
is enough to make a man do anything dir
ty ; I got drunk on it myself, tho other
day, and stole all Sterrett's spoons! Re
lease the prisoner, Mr. Sheriff. Adjourn
What Ait id Him. —The last number of
tho Knickerbocker has a good anecdote of
a man who rarely failed to go to bed in
toxicated and disturb his wife the whole
night. Upon his boiug charged by *
friend that he never went to bed sober,
he indignantly denied tbe charge, and gave
the incideots of one particular night ia
“Pretty soon after I got into bed, my
wife said, ‘Why husband, what is the mat
ter with you ?—You act strangely.’
“Theie’s nothing tiie mattar with me,*’
said I, nothing at all.’
“I’m sure there is,’ said she, ‘you don't
act natural at all. Shan.t I get up and
got something for you ?’
“And she got uj„ lighted a candle and
enme to the hedriuo to look at me, shading
the light with her hand.
“1 knew there was something strange
about you,’ said she, ‘you are sober!’
“Now. this is a fact, and my wife will
swear to it, so don’t you slander me any
more, by say ing that I haven’t been to bed
sober in six months, ’cause I have.”
A School Kiss.
•Who gave that kiss?’ the teacher cried]
•Twas Harry Hall,’John Jones replied.
‘Come here to me,’ old Switchem cried,
And solemnly he shook his head ;
‘What evil genius prompted you
So rude a thing in school to do I’
Said Harry: ‘I can hardly say
Just how it happened. Any way.
To do a sutn she whispered me*;
And round my face her curls, you see—•
That is her cheek—and I—and I
Just kissed her, but I don’t know why.’
Paddy’s Peas. —Some twenty five or
thirty years ago, an Irishman. William
Patterson, left Erin’s green isle, to find a
home in America. Having friends in thee’
region of Fair Haven, Ohio, l>e made his
way thither. Taking dinner one day at
the bouse of Dr. P. , lie was treated
to the American dish, wholly new to him
of green com iu the ear. Unwilling how
ever to be thought green himself, or being
anxious to display unusual sagacity, after
having eagerly devoured the savory corn
his nppetite still unnp-peas-ed, he passed up
the despoiled cob with the very natural re
quest--‘Please put some more pate on my
A clergyman, being deprived for non
conformity, said ‘it should cost an hundred
men their tires.’ This alarming speech
being reported, he was taken before a
magistrate, and examined, when he explain
ed himself by saying his meaning was,
that ‘be intended to practice physic’
Sundry Useful Receipts,
A hot shove! held over varnished furn
iture will take out white spots.
A bit of glue dissolved in skimed milk and
water will restore crape.
Ribbons of any kind should be washed in
cold soap suds, and rinsed.
If your flat-irons are rough rubthem well
with iiuesalt, and it will make them smooth
Oat straw is best for filling beds. It
should be changed once a year.
If you are buying carpet for durability
choose small figures.
\ bit of soap tubbed on tbe hinge* of
doors, will prevent their creaking.
Scotch snuff, put on the botes where
crickets come out will destroy then;
Wood ashes and common salt, wet with
water, will stop tho creeks of a stove, and
prevent the smoke from escaping.
A galluu of strong lop put iu a boirelef
tiu a ill make it as soft at tain water.