Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 20, Decatur, Adams County, 26 June 1857 — Page 1

TUI DECATI'R EAGLE. - —-.. . ... , ... . : . - - —■ "I- —

VOL* 1»

BeDEC TTUR EAG LE. every Friday morning. on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crabs' Store. Terms of Subscription : llione year, $1 50, in advance; $1 75, « ithin . No paper will be discontinued until all . JgtJjJ, s are paid, except at the option of the I /jgßKiisher. Terms of Advertising: Square, three insertions, $1 *'o I Kach subsequent insertion, ‘o advertisement will he consol.-led i..-< ■ SK. one square: ever one square Mil he conn- ' Baud charged as two;<o.ei '.wu. thru. , JOB PRINTING. nre prepared to do all kinds of JOB IsWtiqK, in a neat and workrn inlike manner, on ■K most reasonable terms. Our material for ! ■^Jcompletion of Job-work . being new and of. i latest styles, we arc confi lent that satisfac-1 n can be given. Law of Newspapers. Subscribers whodonol give express notice 1 ,he contrary, are considered as wishing to itinue their subscriptions. . , i !. If subscribers order th. discontinuance o, . ir papers, the publisher may continueto send m until all arrearages are paid. , If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their , >ers from the office they are held responsible they have settled the bill and ordered the ; discontinued. ! J f subscribers remove to other places with-1 •oijt informing the publisher, and the paper is -.till sent to the former direction,they are held ! |Ej>onsible. Hp-The Court have decided'that refusing of ; tak 1 a paper from the office, or removed and fe'i' '"2 incalled forisraiMA facie evidence of i fraud. ( ■ The man who is proud of his money, bps rarely anything better to be proud of. III 111 - - | ‘How long did Adam remain in Para- ■ /tiise before he sinned? said an amiable' spouse to her husband. Until he got a wife, answered her husband. I He who has no opinion of his own, but depends upon the opinion and taste of! fctbers, is a slave. I ‘Nobody ever lost anything by love, said a sage looking person. ‘ 1 hat's not true, jfe.an] a lady who heard the remark; ‘tor 1 ■nee lost three nights sleep. lady in Connecticut, being at a dossier a pin l cushion’, made use of an fi&.nion. the following morning she jßfoiind that all the needles had tears in ■their eyes. A honest Hibernian, in recommending :.fa c iw, said she would give milk year alter Etear, without having calves; bec.i i-es id ■he. it runs in in the brade; tor she came ■of a cow that never had a calf. The dearer oats become the more hoi - are licked. Dobbs says a shilling ■ rawhide will give as much power to his ■gray mate as twenty five cents worth of ■corn. Dobbs is becoming a philosopher. , m ... *. I will consent to .ill you desire, said a ■ young ladv to a lover, on condition that; ■you will give me what you have not, what ■you never can have, and yet what you. ■can give me. Vi hat did she ask for. A ■ husband. I think, said a farmer, I should make a g good Congressman; for I use their lanE I received two bdls the other day, I with a request for immediate payment; ■ the one I ordered to be laid on the table, k the other to be read that day six months. A farmer was once asked what infe- | rence he could draw from the text in Job: [ And the wild asses suffed up the wind. ( ‘Well, he replied the onlv reference that 1 | can draw is that it would be a long time j before they would grow fat upon it. A man was asked why his beard was I Diack while bis hair was white. Because ■ said he, my beard is twenty years younger than my hair. Another inquired why his ■own hair was black while his beard was i gray. Because said his friend, your jaws I have done more hard work than your brains. Recently a lady stopped at the Madison House Covington, Ky., with her husband and thirty-two children. She was about sixty years of age, but looked young and hearty. If this can be beat, wc are ready to chronicle the fact. What have you done to further human progress? said a sententious philosopher one day to Jenkins. Jenkins reply was clear and decisive: I‘”e produced seven boys and two girls, sir. The philosopher departed, and, for tie first time in his life thought. A teacher asked s bright little girl, What country is oppiosite us on the globe? Don’t know sir, was the answer, ‘if I were to bore a hole through the earth, and you were to go in at this end, where would you come ou.? .. Out of the hole sir, replied the pupil, ■with an air of triumph. The teacher gave it up.

THE TRUANT ill MIAD. A Domestic Sketch. BY SYLVANUB COBB, JR. Emily Guilford sat alone in her snug, , cosy sitting-room. She was a pretty wo | man, and loved well by those who knew i and did not envy her. She had been mar-; ried eight years, and had two childrn, a boy of seven years, aud a girl of Hive. They were now in bed and asleep, for it] was nearly eleven o'clock. AtTd yet the ' wife was alone. Perhaps het husband (thought she had got used-to this sort of ( thing for she had su. civ lived under it long ellot ■ _. 11. At j 11 -a i 1'- p a tfej- Wv enKa t i w Guilford Mitered? He wS a handsome, dashing looking fellow, well dressed, and bearing in his face the marks of good nature and a kind heart. He was head book-keeper in a heavy jobbing house, ] with a salery of two thousand dollars per annum. ‘You look sober, duck,’ he said, taking a seat close by his wife and kissing her. i ‘What has happened?’ ‘I am very lonesome, Nathan,’ the wife replied,- ‘Oh, I wish you would stay with I me these long evenings.’ ‘Stay with you? Pooh! And don’t you • see enough of me as it is?’ ‘No, no, Nathen. You know I have \ hardly one hour in the whole week that I can spend in your company.’ ‘Not an hour? Why—you’re crazy.— Don’t 1 spend every night with you?’ ‘You spend a part of every morning at ! home, but it is spent in sleep. Why can’t; you spend your evenings here? 1 am very lonesome.’ ‘Lonesome? Why don’t you have the . j children to keep you company? They’re, getting old enough to be considerable company now.’ ‘But you know they go to bed at eight , o’clock.’ ‘And why don’t my little duck go with ; them?’ •Don’t talk so, Nathan. Come be rea-; sonable now. If the children are getting to be such fine company, why can’t you] stay home and enjoy it? They are ‘ growing, my dear husband; and they are 1 ’ dear, good children. They miss you too. j I ‘Tut, tut. You don’t know what you ; are talking about, Emily. After poring ' 'over Those books. ana bftte, <maJt, i and invoiced, and letters all day, I must I have some relaxation.’ j ‘So you should, Nathan; and what relaxation so healthy as the companionship of your own wife and children? And do I not need some relaxation? 1 haveAnucb to do, Vathan; and when evening comes I feel the want of sociality. I feel the I want of my busband’s company.’ ‘But you don't suppose I could gi v e ( up my club meetings, do you?’ j ‘But that’s only twice a week.JNathan.’' ‘1 beg your pardon—three times a ( week.’ ‘Well—and is your club of more importance than this place?’ ■I 'No. If it was I should stay there.— j But look,’ added the husband, rather ■ bluntly, ‘what is the wife’s proper sphere? I ‘Home,’answered Emily, quickly. I ‘Aye—you are right there, my dear, ! and show your good judgement.’ i ‘Now answer me a question,’ resumed , i the fair hostess, with an earnes look and ; ' tone. ‘What makes aAwne/’ ‘What?’ returned Nathan, with some hesitancy. ‘Why —this makes your home. I ‘But what?’ ‘Why, this house, to be sure.’ ‘And why this house any more than any other?’ ‘Because it’s our home.’ ‘Aye —it is the home ofthecliild where I the parents are. And now tell me, Na- . I than, what makes home for the true and ! loving wife?’ - II The husband did not answer this question at ot.ee. Emily’s arm was about '! his neck, and her mild blue eye was resting aflbotiowaitfly updn him. ' But he knew that he must say* something, and; ; he did. • | ‘Why—l’ll tell you: The wife’s home 'is the husband’s home, to be sure. That’s ’ plain enough.’ ‘Do you mean that the husband only] ' needs to board there to make it a proper , ' home?’ ‘What d’you mean by boarding?’ ‘1 mean just eating two meals at the house, and sleeping in it.’ ‘Pooh! Nonsense! Come, let’s be oil. ] I'm sleepy.’ t \ The wife argued more,-but her husband ' i would not listen. He said he must have . recreation —he paid out his money to ; support his family--he found them in everything they wanted—and ho had to work hard for it, too. This was unkind. 1 The poor wife felt it, and she said no ■ ’ more. On the following evening Mrs. Guil- ; ford put her children to bed as usual, and ■ i then sat down by the fire with her needle-; work. It was a long tedious time. Iler hired girl was a faithful creature, but! coarse and illiterate, and no companicn for her. She shed some tears —she counT

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim—Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame. '

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, JUNE 26,1857.

not help it. She knew that the habit was increasing upon her husband. He ; used only co be gone one evening in the ; week; and then it came to be two evenings; and now it had come to be almost everv ( ] evening, and very late at that. She saw i i plainly that he had allowed a set of tree ; ; and easy fellows to gain the ascendency | I over his home proclivities, and she had j | yet the worse to fear. She knew that he' ! often drank wine and that he often played |at billiards. She loved him devotediv, and would have sacrificed much for his ; comfort. Nathan came home at just midnight, and about all tiog was said ws hl ' ' if mg i> er ;.-4r Mttiitgr ~p so iat.e. Thus matters went on for a week longer. One evening Nathan came home quite early—only ten o’clock—and found his wife gone. ‘Ah,’ he said rn himself, ‘she's gone to! bed early to-night. She’s taking the hint, I guess.’ lie went into the closet and got his slippers, and then sat down io read the eveI ning paper, which he found on the tableBut it didn't seem natural. I ‘I wish she’d staid up,’ he muttered ■ ‘lt’s confounded lonesonle.’ After a while he threw down the paper ; and went up to his chamber; but he star- ! ted back when he saw no wife there.— i The bed had not been touched. He pos- i i ted off down into the kitchen, where lie found the hired girl nodding over some | patch-work. ‘Margaret, where’s your mistress?’ ‘She’s gone out, sir, and wont be back J till late.’ ‘Where’s she gone?’ < ‘Don’t know, sir.’ >But who went with her?’ ‘Slie went all alone, sir.’ I ‘And diden’t she say what time she’d ] be at home?’ ‘No, sir, only she bade me lotik out for the children, ’cause she’d be-out late.’ Mr. Guilford returned to the siting- ' room, and having poked the fire, and put on more coal, he sat down and trip! to read again. But it was no go. Every i once and a while bis gaze wandered away ]to that rocking-chair, but thosg mild, ■ bright eyes were not there to meet it, and jhe found no sweet smile to welcome his I glance. It was very lonesome. At half- ■ t nwx- >a , n ~ *, ,4 Ua/I wio/jn >1 »>. | his mind to go to bed, when he heard the 1 frontdoor open and shortly after his wife i entered. ‘What?—you at home?’ she uttered, as she threw oil her hat and shawl. ‘Ale at home? Yes—l believe 1 am.— And now I'd like-to know where you’ve ! been.’ ‘Why, I’ve been out to our club meet>hu?—club —ciub-meeting? Ha, ha, one. But honest, <7ef' rro . ‘', y. Can’t y o ersSH^Mi En gll> I > A female club.— But whut is it?’ ‘l’ll tell you. A number of us have formed a social club, and we meet tq read ! and*converse; and sometimes we arc to have ‘Read and converse!’ uttered Guilfoid, j trying to laugh. ‘No tattliny, 1 suppose ’ I ‘None to speak of, out of the club. But wont it be nice,’ she added, placing her small white hand upon her husband’s arm. , 'Only think—we shall have such pleasant j evenings, and not be lonesome a bit. 1 shan’t scold you any more for staying away. 1 don’t blame you, neither; I had no idea it was so pleasant.’ Nathan was in no mood to say .more, for he was not in a very good humor. i ‘She thinks she’s a going to pay me oil’; but two can play at that game!’ On the following morning but very little was said at the breakfast table, and as soon as he had eaten, Nathan started out. ' In the evening he dropped into a billiardroom, ; ‘Ah, old fellow, how are you?’ cried a | fast man named Wetmore—a young blood 1 with more money than sense, and more fun at gamine than money. I ‘Right as a book,’ was Guilford’s nns- ] weT, reluming the fellow’s hearty grasp. ‘By the big boot in Chatham Street, j old boy, but you’ve got a duced fiae piece 'of furniture for a wile!’ rattled on the blood. ‘Eh—ah—you’ve seen her then?’ ‘Yet—saw her last night. She came I around with Kate, and stopped in to warm ner precious little feet. Egad, Nate, you must bring her around some evening.’ ‘Aye—who is she?’ cried a second blood, who had just tossed off a glass of brandy, as three or four others gathered j around. ‘Your wife, Guilford? Bring I her out, old boy.’ Nathan Guilford felt sick at heart, and ! as soon as possible he got away from the . room. ZZis wife’s name in such mouths!; ■ That being who was to him as the very innermost half of his soul in company with Kate Wetmore—in company with one who held no title to the name of wile but the mere will of the man upon whose

bounty she loved? It was agonising.— He stood upon the side.welk some minute . and finally resolved to go home. It was just nine o'clock as he entered; ■ tin. sitting-room, but it was empty of all I but_yhe stove and furniture! He called Ho Margaret, and learned that his wife Eadjjoue out; but the girl did not know j wbtn slie wonld return. z\t first Nathan was angry. He went back to the war a, snug loom and sal down. I G y heavens, this wont do! lie uttered, i ■as r took his sat, k j. picked up the paper and read some; pye rememlierod nothing of what he :4 -. ■ ■-'■ .1 by tin- thought came to; : G,’'*rd'riiow pleJSaiit i’t would -be lo haw ; Emily by his side to chat with'him about! ■ the various items of news as he read them over to her. He remembered that lhe usedtodoso once. But that was some tiime ago. Anon he wonderd how ; he should feel if his little wife should be taken from him. But be wouldn’t think of that. lie fancied he could see the sweet face smiling upon him, and then he, thought how he could press her to his I bosom if she were by his side. Eleven! o’clock came, and anger again took pos- ■ session of his feelings. At halfpast eleven his wife came in. ‘Ah—at home again before me? How’s I I this?’ ; ‘How i# it! Z’(7 like to ask you,, how is j it? I have been at home since nine o’clock.; ‘Have you?' returnad the wife, cooly, i I at the same lime drawing up a chair, and placing her feet on the fender. •Yes, returned Nathan, whose anger ! was up again with her last cool remark, ! ‘and I think you'd better be at home, too. I J ‘But I could n’t be at home hubby, toi night, for our club had a business meeting j for the purpose of making a permanent, organization. ■ ‘lt did, eb? ‘Yes, and I tell you we'll get along j first rate. Such lively members! Oh, the I hours slip away almost like minutes, and i each minute a second! ‘That’s all very well, but I think you’d ! look much better at home. ‘Oh—now—Nathan! You wouldn't ! deprive me of such comforts! Only think j after being shut up ail day over my work . j to keep me from having some recreation! ] You wouldn’t I know. You’ve no idea .. j-k t - u-r:* :- > - J ‘But your children? ‘Oh—don tbe uneasy on that score, hubby. Margaret is faithful as can be. And then you know one of these days Charley will be old enough to go out ■ with you, and Ellen can go with me.— They'd enjoy it. Yes, and fine company for children! 'Why, what do yon mean, Nathan?' Isn't your company good enough for your son? and is not mine good enough for j Ellen? Guilford bit Lis lip. He found himself , I very lame. ‘But do you know the company you . are getting into? he asked, nervously. j •I know that it is very pleasant. ‘But do you know Kate Wetmore? 'Oh, yes. Isn't she a charming crea-! > Hire? •A what? 4 A charming creature. ‘She‘s a miserable creature! , Why, Nathan! How can you talk so? How can you go to Mr. Wetmore’s house . and spend whole evenings there with him ; and his wife and one or two others, and , then talk so? How can you sit and chat [ ; with her, and hold her hand in yours, < and laugh and joke, and then call her i such hard names? Why they both of' them set ever so much by you, and that's the reason why I love them. Here was a fix! Nathan Guilford was ! caught in a snug place. But his wife ; went on: i ‘Oh! we shall have such pleasant timesj when we get all organized; and I am sure you wont make any more objections, you wont deprive me of real comfort? • '‘Ami are those meetings of more ctimi fort than your home? the nervous man ■ asked, earnestly. Oh no, not more real comfort, that is ; it was wholly a home—but then you know i we must have some recreation. '* ‘But listen, Emily. Kate Wetmore is] : I is a bad woman. She is not his real wife! : I They were never — 1 He did not finish the sentence, for his own wife had given a sudden start, and I then turned so pale that he was frighten:ened. ‘Not his wife!’ she gasped. ‘/And I (have —Oh! Nathan, what have I done! I thought she—l—l knew you went there, i and—and—then Mr. Wetmore is a libertine!’ ‘Yes,’ uttered the startled husband, , supporting his wife in his arms. ‘Oh! what have I done! I thought they , were good—only free and easy. 1 went; i there to see her because I knew her hus ; a—her —yes —l thought ’twas her husband—l knew he was one of your club, and I went there to get her to join me in my plan. And she did. Then wc went; to Mrs. Skidmore’s and —”

‘Skidmort?' wiii pend Aailn.n, quivering. • Yes. Is she ’ | ‘Worse than the other! A mere sliei i ’ —But never mind. Did you go into skid'more’s house?' ‘We met there,’ returned l.iniiy pale and trembling with fem ami ul.uin ‘Oil, mV soul? groaned tile husband, ‘what a pit you inn e e.-cap< d. In nJ lie ' city you could not have found two worse ( womi u! Even lhe pon aoow tliem!’ I ‘Mercy!’ gasped poor Emily, holding lon upon her husband’s neck ‘1 wouldn't, have gone only 1 ki.tw you w ent vic.'',. and 1 thought they must be goo 1 iui-i ; hum.st. .link forgive.rm- 1 I won’t try it again. I’tismj ai'iioine; for. ; I even home without the thing 1 love bust I best on earth is better than such danger. ’ I thought they were the wives of men i who stayed away late with-j on, and 1 '.meant to have them help punish you.— . But forgive m., Nm.hmi! 1' rgne me, land I will never do so again; I have i ! learned a lesson that 1 shall nut forget. — ' i Only say you forgive me!' I For some moments the man gazed into his wife’s pale, tear-wet face and then, ■ while he clasped her fondly to his bosom he cried, ] ‘On one condition, Emily—on one condition, I’ll forgive and forgetali.’ ‘Oh! wh.it is it? I'll promise.' ‘lt is, that you will forgive me. Don’t ; say much now —only say that 1 am fur- ; given.’ The wife looked up, and in spasmodic : tones she whispered,— 'You know that i forgive you, oh! from the bottom of my heart. An.i you wont i chide me; you wont reflect upon this?' ‘Ah, precious one, how could 1?’ ex claimed js athan, exchanging his exjitesision for one of extreme affection. ‘Yov ] forgot Low deeply lam involved. Bui ; believe me, my wife, when I tell you that ; all my faults have been what you now know. God knows that your husband is ] still true and pure. The f>; d wife clung more tightly to ; her companion’s neck, and for a while their words were of the past. Butenough ; for this scene. It was sacred in its spir- ] it, and happy in its result. On the following evening Mr. Guilford came home to tea, and the time was pass(cd in readin'r and c.o.uve-r.sali m. It was i three months alt r tins it.at SSnUmn his wife sat together in their .comfortable j apartment. The children had just gone i to bed, and the husband and wife weie engaged in a game of chess. By and by i the former gazed up into Lis companions j face, and while a rich moisture gathered ] in his eyes he said— I ‘Ah, Emify, what a miserable man he must be who has no home: and how little I Joes that man know of true happiness who, Laving a good home, seeks lorrej creation elsewhere. The wifes answer was a sweet kiss; and when, a moment afterwards, she picked up her king to move it out of check, a . bright tear fell upon it. Pretty Thoughts.—What is crime? A wretched vagabond traveling from place ■to place in fruitless endeavor to escape from justice, whois constantly engaged in hut pursuit." a foe for virtue aud hapI piness, though at times the companions of poor inocence, which is too olten made to suffer for the guilty. What is thought? A fountain from I which flows all good and evil intentions | a mental fluid, electrical in the force and | rapidity of movements, silently flowing unseen within its own secret avenue; yet it is the controlling power of all animated ' matter, and the chief mam-spring of ail ! our actions. I What is happiness? A butterfly that J roves from flower to flower in the vast ] garden of existence, and which is eagerly pursued by the multitude in vain hope oi i obtaining the prize; yet it continually eludes their grasp. ■ What is fashion? A beauttfnl envt ’up for morality, prese.nting a glittering and polished exterior, the appearance of which I gives no certain indication of the real val- ] ue of what is contained therein. What is wit? A sparkling beverage that |is highly exhilarating an agreeable w hen ' partaken at the expense of others; but when used at our ifwn cost it becomes bitter and unpleasant. What is knowledge? A key that unravels all mysteries, which unlocks lhe enterenee, and discovers new , unseen, and untrod deden paths in the hitheto unexplored field ot science and literature. I What is fear? A frightful substance | to the really guilty, but a vain a harmless ; shadow to the conscientious, honest, and upright. What is joy? The honey of existence really beneficial and agreeable when par--1 taken of in moderation, but highly injurious when used to excess. 1 It is said that Gibson resigned out ■of sympathy.' Wonder if he cried'

A Rich Leiter. I'.u- fullnwmg rather spicy letter — ■•. lictiiii spin iuiis or genuine is immaterid - iias in vie its appearance:— Chawfod County, M 0.,) April 3J, 1857.) Mu. Bi . ;i inan—Dear Sih: —Mr is th<. 1 ostmasu-r at Ibis place, and he iins gone uu Wist, and has been gone for tl rve or four weeks, and he has jig !• I'lj, 1 ■ re, but I have been opening" u in r.is nnd atiemting to it since lie has been quiio, as lie lei'; the key with me. and the E isun isf. r tuid me that I must make a i | .-rt »•. J e end of the month, mJ did not t il me who I was to write ' but L suppo-i t.itit is to you that wo ; Tiowl'i make our reports, as we eic all citizens of the Government of which you ire now I’residi-nt H you arc not the right one to receive the report please hup me n few lines, letting me know who i <iiu to write to report to, ami I will write ; again. Report at the Exit of April.—The ; weather Is cold lor the season —provisions (scarce and very high—but notwithstanding all that we have regular mails once a week, good health, and the people ol this country are universally pleased with your Administration; this is all I know that would interest you; if there is any omitted in rnv last report please let me know. My best respects to you and Mrs. Buchanan. The l-'nll ot the Hoop. Hoops are collapsing, in broad way is i sensibly relieved.' These locomotive ring-iround-isnis no longer push us from our path, and a modest man once more stands a chance of seeing his feet tn an omnibus. The consequence of this ‘hauling in’ on i th" part of the hoops is most happy for the lair sex. Women are great gainers by the change. They no longer look ; like animated busts perched on the of per ambulating haystacks, but like the glorious creatures we used to encounter in the ante-hoop periods of the race. We now have the swaying grace of the bewildering robe, instead of the fixed and pokey dress unnaiuraliy distended by a foreign substance which never had the slightest j busim ss to be there. We therefore hail (this change for the better, nn<l • —r-- ’ wil last as lung .is our respeot nnd admiration for woman shall make us unconiz-~‘. i i -»•' v.-11 her airated tn an ] absurd fashion. in .I. Hope.—There is no temper so generally indulged as hope; other passion operate by starts on particular occosions, or in certain parts of lite; but hope begins with the power of comparing our actual with our possible state, and attends Jus through every stage and period, ali ways urging us forward to new acquisi--11 lions, and holding out some distant blessI ing to our vie w, promising us either relief from pain, or increase of happiness. Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty,, of sickness, of ■ captivity, would, without this comfort, bo insupportable; nor docs it appear that tlio happiest lot of terrestrial existence can ' set us above the want of general blessing; oi-that life, when the gift of nature and of fortune are accumulated upon it, would not still be wretched, were it not elevated | and delighted by the expectation of some 1 new position, of some enjoyment yet be- ! hind, by which the wish shall be at last ] satisfied, and the heart filled up to its ut ] most extent Hitye is indeed, very fallacicus, and 1 promises what it seldom gives; but it promises are mine valuable than the gifts of fortune, nnd it seldom frustrates us with--1 out assuring us of recompensing the dei lay by a greater bounty. ■ A Countryman walked along the streets of New York, found his progress stopped by a close barricade of wood. ‘What is this lor?’ said he to a person in the street. ■; ‘O. that's to stop the yellow fever.’ ‘ ye, I have often heard of the board ’; of health, but I never saw il before.’ — — ~l». , . — — Gen. Lee one day found Dr. Cutting, the army surgeon, who was a handsome and dressy num, arranging his cravat complacently before a glass. ‘Cutting, yon must be the happiest man in all ere ation.’ ‘Why General?’ ‘Why,’ replied Lee, ‘because you uro in love with yourself, and have not a rival on earth.’ A waiter being peremptorily told by a gentleman, the other day, to get out of the way, as his wite was coming, quietly asked: ‘Does she bite, sir? There is a man in Tennessee so deep, that he is obliged to go down in a well to button on his straps! It won't do for a man to bump his head against a stone post, unless he conscientiously believe that bis head is the hardest. 1 Wh i‘ do yuii read thia line for’

NO. 20.