Terms of Publication, THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOR is pub lubwl swty ThumUy Morning, xnd.maUed to suh. scribers at the very reuonabla price of On Don nerannum, nadsance- Itis intend- In nolilV every subscriber when the term for he bLVi shall hsve.expired, by the stamp OaW' on the margin of the last paper. The i»per wilUhen be stopped until a further re in iUa ace be received. By this arrangement no man k.nmrht in debt to the printer. CS Ti» AmwTOB is the Official Paper of the Conn • ilh a , large and steadily increasing circulation reaching in to nearly every neighborhood inthe, Jr*., It i» sent free of pottage tpany Post office, ■lbin the county limits, and to those living within the limit* but whose most convenient postoffiee. may ha in an adjoining County. Business Cards, not exceeding S line* paper In. eluded, 84 per year. THE YOUNG- VOYAGEBS, A THRILLING ST^RY. “Come, Anne, cone Come aboard my ship, and we’ll have a jolly nice gait th» afternoon. I’ll bo & sea captain like my father, and show how he sails that great, packet ship across the ocean. -Come, girls, get in—Aooet, you shall bo m y mate, and little Jenny shall be our cook and steward.” The speaker was a handsome, fair haired, cosy cheeked boy, with bright, laughing blue eyes, about ten years old, who during his ad dress. wee busily engaged in rigging the mast sad sail to a ship’s launch which was made last to the beach in one of those secluded, picturesque little coves or with which the south shore of Long Island, between Fire Island and Rockaway, is so plentifully in dented. The boy’s companions were two little girls of eight and six years, beautiful as angels, and so exactly like their brother in every fea ture, that they seemed ar perfect copies—all but the long, sunny ringlets—of his exquisite face. Anne, the elder girl* bounded lightly into the boat at her brother’s first invitation, and began assisting him about the sail. But little Jenny—who was tugging along a great bas ket filled with pies, sweet cakes and fruits, which they had brought from a beautiful col lage not far off, for a little picnic dinner— hesitated in silence till her brother urged her again to get in the boat, when she began to argue with him thus: “O, Willie, don’t let us go in the boat to day ! there is so much wind, and we might be ” “You are a little coward, Jenny, to be afraid,” interrupted the young captain impa tiently. “It's the pleasantest day we have had for a month ; and it’s so late in the fall, that if we don’t go to day, I am sure we shall not get another chance this year. Come, Jenny, don’t be frightened—jump in.” “Oh, I’m not afraid, brother,” and child as she was, little Jenny’s cheeks glowed for a few moments with a deeper vermillion tint, at the implied question of courage by her brother. “I’m. not in the least afraid, Willie; but you know .mother has often told us we must no*, go in the boat when it blows hard. “All I’m afraid of is disobeying her.” “Then you may coma into the boat with out fear, sister, for mother told me I might sail this afternoon, not five minutes before we left the house.” “Yes, I know that, Willie, but that was two hours ago when it was calm. It blows a great deal harder now, and I’m sure mother would not like us to go away from the shore in the boat when there is such a high wind.” “O nonsense, Jenny ; 1 have been all over the cove when it blew a great deal harder than this. Mother, you know, says lam the best sailor along the coast, and just as well able Is iudge when the weather is fit logo on a cruise as she is. Coma, sister, we can’t get drowned, for the water is so shallow at ebb tide, and with this west wind, that we could wade anywhere about the cove.” Thus persuaded, Jenny passed the basket to her brother, and then clambering into the boat herself, she took a seat beside Anne in the stern sheets, and soon the launch was under weigh. She was a great, heavy clumsy boat—as alt of her class usually are, with a single lug sail of heavy canvass, altogether illy calcu lated for a pleasure craft. But little Willie Walton managed with con summate skill for so young a commander, and they had made several stretches across the cove, when, as they were passing the inlet that opened out sea-wards, Aone’s eyes rested upon the bright, blue waves of the Atlantic, far out beyond the discolored water along the coast, and clapping her hands with a sudden ecslacy of infantile joy, exclaimed : “O Willie, W^illie! Let us go out there and sail on that beautiful blue ocean!—Wo’nt it be grand I So much prettier than this dirty little cove with the bare aaod banks all about ns.” Willie sprang to his feel, and gazing to the offing, his bright eyes lit up with ihe enthusi asm caught from bis sister's words aod he re plied : “We’ll go out there and have a glorious sail—just like the great ships and steamboats that we see go by.” “0 don’t go out there, brother !” interposed little Jenny, her cheek growing pale as the delicate lilly. “Don't go, Willie, mother will be angry with us.” “Mother will do no such a thing, Jenny. She will be proud of us to think that we have bean out on the ocean all alone. I can easily come back with the flood tide that will soon be selling in.” And without further argu n>em, the reckless hoy put up his helm, eased on the sheet, and away out through the inlet, owards the line of blue water outside, went o aunch, hurried along before the strong feeze which added to the strength of the last quarter ebb, bore her away at a speed that won sunk the yellow ridge to a mew line ong the margin of the wide ocean, and the title cottages with Venetian blinds, into toy ousesi dotted with bright green.specks. The o ored water—which appeared from the cove a , oarrow ,tf ip dividing the white strip ein" j ? ee P azure of the ocean beyond— in wWti? IDI ° a broad belt of several miles ouvwt r ,® u! w ''b the fine breeze and strong the nJ 1 , 6 tid ®, 'he boat sped on ; while M -i. e *y of their position, and the natural nH, r d b y*'- « UBBd 'betimeand and 8 ** **" y° un « irm fro ■ dread" came upon them, aa bav -1h« blu * water, they looked back am) nrX j B !’ orfi ond eawhills, fields, booses and ble “ di »B «"* growing indialincl, A" distance. *There was wise of lonely, utter helplesness. suddenly THE AGITATOR. Sefcotea to tlje ZSxttmUin of tfto &vtn of iFm&ow anO tfcc SpteaJj of ©ealtDg Reform. vntux TBEBC SHALL BE A WKOHO UNHIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ KAIsCa fSTHUMANITV TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. VOL. IV. shadowing their bright vision; and there was a word of pathos in little Jenny’s sweet, low voice, as she laid her band gently on her brother’s arm, and looking up in bis eyes whispered: “O Willie, let us go home. Mother would feel very bad if she knew we had come away out here." Willie bent down and kissed his sister’s pale cheek, as be replied : “We will go back home, Jenny; I was naughty to come off so far from land. But don’t cry, sister. lam sorry. Don’t blame me,'l couldn’t help h; I loved the sea too much.” “No, we won’t blame you, Willie, only let us hurry back; for see, yonder is a black cloud coming up'in the west, and I am afraid if we do not ” The child’s speech was arrested by a groan of anguish from her brother, whose eye for the first time had been directed towards a bank of dark murky clouds heaving up in the west, by his sister’s remark; and at the very instant the vision first rested upon the black pall, a chain of brilliant zig zag lightning rose, quivering along its upper edge, and a few moments later, there came to their ears a low muttered roar of far off thunder. The young captain had hauled his little vessel by the wind, but the clumsy thing lay broad off under ill-filled sail. • Besides the wind, which she had scarcely fell while run ning off before it, had now increased so much that she heeled over till there was great dan ger of her capsiziog, to prevent which, Willie, with the, assistance of his two sisters, set about reefing the sail. ' This was soon accomplished, and again the boat was steered as close as she would go; which at the best was little better than eight points, so that with her great leeway, Willie soon found that in spile of his utmost shill, his craft was drifting rapidly out to sea. Nearer and nearer rolled on the embattled legions of black storm clouds; louder came the fearful thunder crashes, more vivid gleamed the red lightning’s flash, wilder the shrieking gale swept by, howling and scream ing dread notes of terror to the young voya gers. The water—which in with the land was quite smooth—began to heave up the foam-crested waves here and there all around them, curling over and breaking all feather white in long lines of hissing sprays. Great round drops of rain came patting down in the water and pelting on the thwarts and gun wales of the boat with a sharp, click noise that smote startingly dismal on the ears of the three little ocean wanderers. Youn® as he was, Willie retained in his mind much of what he had heard his father relate at various times, in regard to the man agement of a ship in a gale ; and the knowl edge he had thus gained in theory, now s'ood in good stead. Ha had heard of keeping a ship before in a squall, and of scudding in a gala. The dull-sailing, clumsy boat was his ship. The theory which he had learned he proceeded to put in practice; and when the first mad gust of yelling tornado fell upon the launch, she was going dead before the wind —otherwise her sail would have been blown away, or she would have been swamped in an instant. As it was, she went flashing on through the storm, right out into the mighty wilderness of waters. Ten, fifteen minutes went by, and still the war of Ihe elements went on in their terrible fury ; and still the brave little fellow stood at the helm, bare headed, his cap blown away, his clothes dripping with water, and, steady to bis purpose, steered his Hoy bark on and away before Ihe fierce, howling blast. Once, only, he faltered ; and that was when the launch quivered for a moment, on the crest of a migblv surge, aad then went reel ing and plunging, standing almost on end down- into the hissing vortex of the liquid ravine. Then, a single, quick cry of horror escaped the boy’s lips; but the next moment Jenny crept up to his side and laid her hand upon his shoulder and spoke in a low sooth ing tone, that almost instantly called back his confidence, and elicited from his lips a cry of admiration for, his sister’s heroism. “Don’t be frightened, dear Willie,” spoke the little angel. “Mother says that God watches over people that live on the seas.— And don’t you remember, brother, how often our dear mother has told us that Jesus loves little children I If God watches us and Jesus loves us, we shall be safe. So don’t be afraid.” Night—dark, wild and gloomy night, came down upon the world of waters, and still the tempest raged; and there, in their frail, open boat, we will leave the young voyagers speed ing on and away, right out into the very heart of the Atlantic ocean. We will bid them adieu and glance back to their home—to their fond mother, rendered desolate in the heart by the dread calamity that had fallen upon her in the loss of her children. ■j At the moment when the children first em barked, Mrs. Walton had glanced out towards tpe cove, and for a ; few moments watched them with all a mother’s fond ) pride as she saw them sailing to and fro on the quiet wa ters of the bay; and then some visitor called and she forgot her children until just as the storm came down, when a neighbor rushed in with the heart-reading intelligence that the launch bad been seen only a few minutes pre viously, several miles out to sea. The first terrible shock almost hilled her, but soon rallying her woman’s energy and mother’s love, she rushed from her home, re gardless of the furious storm, aroused her neighbors, and besought them with all the eloquence called up by the deep anguish of her riven heart, to help recover- her lost dar ling*. There was no vessel at Rockaway or-Falk ner’s Island, and to venture out to sea m such WEILSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. FEBRUARY 18, 1858. a storm with such small crafts as were kept along (be shore, were worse than madness, and immediate dispatches wpre sent to New York, not only to the owners of the ship com manded by Captain Walton, hut the Pilots; and within an hour after the news had reach ed the city, two of the staunchest pilot boats, manned by extra picked crews of gallant souls, were under way, and speeding their swift-winged course in search of the ocean lost children. Mrs. Watson herself hastened to the city to urge with her presence and influence, more prompt action; but lha.vessels bad been gone an hour when she arrived, and so sbe repair ed to the house of Mr. Alvin, the owner of the ship her husband commanded, to await the return of those who had so nobly gone forth in that mad storm in search of her three darlings. Leaving her there in a slate of fevered anxiety, hoping in the very teeth of despair, we too will go forth into the wild, yelling gale to look upon a most sublime ocean pic ture. It was an hour past midnight—dark as (he deepest cells of an inquisitorial dungeon, save when the vivid lightning’s flash lit up the Cim merian blackness with a glare rivalling that of the brightest noonday sun. Some ninety miles to t he eastward of Sandy Hook, lay hove too a noble ship, inward bound, in one of the most terrific gales that ever swept along the coast. The gale had just set in an hour before sundown, and ever since dark the ship had been hove too under the shortest possible canva'ss, heading up west south west, with the gale coming in violent squalls out at due north-west. “Do you,think there is any danger to us or the ship, captain ? inquired one of three passengers who stood near the commander of the ship, partly sheltered from (he storm by the protecting roof of the round house. “Not the least, Mr. Kiogsly. You are as safe here as you would be at your own house in New York. She is a bran new ship, and I have had no opportunity of trying her hove to before; but, I am perfectly satisfied with her behaviour. In fact I never saw any craft conduct herself quite as well iq a hurricane like ibis. ’Tis a terrible night, however, and God help those who may chance to be out on a smaller craft than ours! For the last hour I have been thinking of my wife and children. My wife will not sleep a wink to-night. She never can in a storm like this when I am not at home. I was cast away once on the Long Island shore, and not half a mile from home, in just such a gale, only it was south-west. 1 would give a hundred dollars this moment to be at home only for my wife’s sake. But we must —my God what is that 7” A continuous flash of lightning lit up the surrounding space, and as darkness shut in again, a faint but clear and distinct—‘-Ship Ahoy !” uttered by a female or a child, came down on the blast from directly to wind-ward. A moment after the hail was repeated, and another flash of lightning revealed a boat driving square down before the gale, and al most under the ship’s quarter. Ere one could count five, the shrill, quivering cry came up from the boat as it shot past the ship not three fathoms clear of the rudder. “Merciful heaven ! Thera are three chil dren in (hat boat I” yelled Mr. Kinsley, who with the captain was peering down over the taflrail as the boat flew past. “Hard up your helm,” my man, said the Captain, in a voice as calm as man’s voice could be, and then calling to the chief and third mates, who were both on deck, he in formed them of the fact lhal ia small open boat with three children in it, had just gone past, and then gave his orders: Mr. Casey, please get out on the flying jib boom and keep a look out for the boat, and mind Mr. Casey, if we come up with it you can lay the ship so as to bring the boat close aboard on the larboard side—larboard, re member Mr. Casey. Don’t for your life make a mistake. Go forward now sir, and if we save those children, five hundred dollars shall be your reward. Then turning to the chief mate, continued : “Mr. Windsor, you will brace the yards all square, which, will send the ship through the water something faster than what the boat is going. Having done this rig single whips, two of each on the lower yards—on larboard side. Place the blocks far enough out for the falls to drop about a fathom clear of the ship, and then receive on good snug sail geer, bring both ends in one deck, and the other led along for a foil, stationing three good fellows at each. In the meantime I will get the ship steady before the wind, and—Frank my man, you keep her so. Don’t let her yaw an inch I Steer her as if your very soul depended upon it, and within half an hour after the ship reaches New York, you shall have a hundred dollars.” “And now Mr. Kinsley, you will please call up the second male and all the gentlemen passengers. I want them to stand by the whips in order to assist the sailors if neces sary. We must save those children, and do it too, without the boat coming in contact with the ship, as that would be instant des truction to it and them in such a sea.” “All ready the whips, sir I” came from the male, and at the thomenl the third mates voice rang out from the jib boom end : “Boat right ahead, steady as yon go I” “Now then my lads, who’ll go into these running bowlines with me, and stand by to pick up the children V’ anxiously inquired the captain. “I sir; I, I” came from a dozen ready sail ors, in a moment. “Thank you, my lads ; but I only want five. I will go in one of the bow lines my self.” The selections were soon made, and there they stood in the fore-main mizzen chains— the commander and five noble fellows—with the bowlines under their arms ready to risk their lives and save the three children. “Steady ! Stand by now ! Here they come ! Look on!" screamed the officer from the jib boom, and a moment later the dim outlines of a boat loomed up by the lee cat-head. An other of breathless suspense, and the boat was abreast of the fore chains. “Stand by the forward whips ! Look out there in the main chains. Veer away men. Now, Harry ; now ! and down went the cap tain and bis.companions into the boat. A breath later and a shout came ringing up, “Look out maio and mizzen chains.— Sway away on deck,” and up by the run came the two men, each grasping a child in bis arms. “Ay, ay, sir. All right, answered a brave fellow, scrambling in on the deck, with little Jenny grasped tight by her clothes. “Father,”exclaimed the little girl, clasping the captain about tho neck, “Father ! Fath er ! echoed back two treble voices. “Almighty God, I thank thee! Saved— saved—saved I” and Capt. Lester Walton sunk fainting on the deck. He knew-lhe children were his own from the moment they passed the ship’s stern, and his indomitable self control had borne him up until they were rescued; when the reaction came he sank down insensible. At an hour before sunset the following day the ship was at her berth in New York, and ■the meeting between 1 the distracted mother and her children there, in the cabin of her husband’s ship, is too sacred a picture to be profaned by pen and ink. Dreaming on Wedding Cake. A bachelor editor, who bad received from the hands of the bride a piece of elegant wedding cake to dream on, thus gives the re sult of his experience. We put' it under our pillow, shut our eyes sweetly as an infant, and blessed with an easy conscience, soon snored prodigiously. The god of dreams gently touched us, and lo! in fancy we were married. Never was a living editor so happy. It was “my love,” “dearest,’’ “sweetest,” ringing in our ears every moment. Oh I that the dream had been broken off here*. But no, some evil genius put it into the head of our ducky to have pudding for dinner, just lo please her lord. In a hungry dream we set down to d'nner. Well, the pudding moment arrived, and a huge slice almost obscured from sight the plate before us. “My dear,” said we fondly, “did you make this!” “Yes, love—ain’t it nice 7” “Glorious—tbs best bread pudding I ever lasted in my life!” “Plum pudding, ducky,” suggested our wife. “Oh, no, dearest, bread pudding, I always was fond of it.” “Call this bread pudding?” exclaimed my wife, while her pretty lips curled slightly with contempt. “Certainly, love-I reckon I’ve had enough at the Sherwood House to know bread pud ding, my love, by all means.” “Husband is really 100 bad —plum pud ding is twice as hard to make as bread pud ding, and is more expensive and is a great deal belter. I say this is plum pudding, sir,” and my pretty wife’s brow flushed with ex citement. “My love, my sweet, my dear love,” ex claimed we, soothingly, “do not get angry; I’m sure it’s very good if it is bread pudding.” “But sir, i say this is not bread pudding.” “But, my love, I’m sure it must be bread pudding.” “You mean, low wretch,” fiercely replied my wife, “you know it is plum pudding.” “Then, ma’am, it is so meanly pul togeth er and so badly burned, the d—l himself wouldn’t know it, 1 tell you, madam, most distinctly and most emphatically, and I will not be contradicted, that' it is bread pudding, and the meanest kind at that.” “It is plum pudding,” shrieked my wife as she hurled a glass of claret in my face, the glass itself tapping the claret from our nose. “Bread pudding,” gasped we, pluck to the last, and grasping a roasted chicken by the left leg. “Plum pudding,” rose above the din, as I had a distinct perception of two plates smashed across my head. “Bread pudding,” we groaned in rage, as the chicken left our hand, and flying with swift wings across the table, landed in mad am’s bosom. “Plum pudding!” Resounded the war cry from the enemy, as the gravy dish took us where we had been depositing the first of the dinner, and a plate of beets landed upon a white vest. “Bread pudding forever!” shouted we in defiance, dodging the soup tureen and falling beneath its contents. “Plum pudding!” yelled our amiable spouse, and noticing our misfortune, she de termined to keep us down by piling upon our head the dishes with no gentle hand. Then in rapid successsion followed the war cry “plum pudding,” with every dish. ' “Bread pudding,” in smothered (ones came from the pile in reply. Then it was “bread pudding,” in rapid succesion, the last cry growing feebler, till just as I can distinctly recollect, it had grown to a whisper. . “Plum pudding I” resounded like thunder, followed by a tremendous crash, as ray wife leaped upon the. pile with her delicate feet, and commenced jumping up and downer* when, thank heaven, ,we awoke, and thus saved our life. eommuntcatfons. | ' For The Agitator. Early want and alter Greatness. Man is truly a peculiar animal andjnone others are alike unto him. (While he has been aptly styled the noblest specimen of the Creator’s works, he is the most singular in his aspirations; most complex in his con struction, and at the same tirhej endowed with faculties that will run parallel with Deity himself. He loves eating, drinking and sleep ing, and in these respects he jclosely resem bles any other animal. Bui: his reasoning faculties and moral sentiments do not stop where the instinct of the brute ends. It is here that man first begins jtp develop him self. ’Tis here that his herculean powers begin to stand out in bold relief, happily con tras Ting themselves with the stand-still prin ciples that so eminently characterize the infe rior animals. These faculiiesjare his highest and best gifts and the sources of his purest and intensest pleasures. Butlihis peculiarity attends them ; that while the animal faculties act powerfully of themselyeb, his rational faculties require to be cultivated, exercised, and instructed before they! will yield their full harvest of enjoyment. ■ ;( Man, too, is a laboring animal. He flour ishes best when properly [exercised. “By the sweat of thy brow, thou! shall eat bread” was a mandate intelligently pronounced upon him, and in this instance | the wisdom of Providence is plainly manifest); that is, early poverty bespeaks after greatness and the youth that wallows in luxury very often ends an unuseful life in dissipatipnland want, and those that are manor born to ja princely estate, go down to mother earth, i“unwept, unhon ored and unsung” as often!as the friendless son of obscure parents. It jis not always those that are boro richest] that end life no blest, but rather vice ®erso,iearly want is no bar to future usefulness. j | Poverty, in the morning of life, if properly cared for, is a sure stepping istone to future worth. A good moral character, and a mind that is not ashamed of labor] is worth more to the young man of to-day than all the riches of Croesus. It is a significant fact in the history of our race, (halt the greatest benefactors, the noblest reformers, and most self sacrificing philanthropists have sprung from a class that our self styled nobility call low. And the logic is as plain and self evi dent as the fact. I Take for instance the sonjof one of our millionaires. He grows up surrounded by all (hat his pampered appetijte can desire. He has no cravings but what are readily gratified if dollars and cents Can procure the gratification. He never learns the value of the wealth he is so profusely spending. He known little of the many sleepless nights his father has spent in storing up (he treasure he is so unwittingly throwing lo the dogs. If he is sent to school, it is to appear in fashiona ble society. His lessons are oftner in his books than in his head. jßy and by, his lather dies and his only protection is gone. Under his unskillful hands, h'isjprincely estate rapidly vanishes, and midd e age often finds' him homeless, penniless ; and with no dis position an honest living by honest labor. In short he knows nothing of work, and too frequently resorts tto the gambling shop to supply his empty coffers. Dissipa tion follows fast upon the heel of moral de pravity, and be soon fills a premature grave, conclusively showing that early riches are not always productive of future happiness ! But with the poor boy the!case is different. No parent has hoarded wealt| for him. .He fully realizes that he must evflr depend upon his own resources. His bands are already hard . with early labor. Hid constitution is strong and healthy. He leaves home ; goes out upon the world and beginafto intelligently look around him. - He sees many of his age riding by him in gilt coaches] but he begins life on foot. They have friends to aid them ; and he is alone, without advisers, without acquaintances, and without means I But does he despair 7 Does he become! disheartened because bis future does not promise all sun shine and his path does nod bid fair lo be ever strewn with flowers 7 perlainly not ! He lays off his coat, and rolls] his sleeves up and goes to work in earnest. Early and late, he toils on. He has his marlt in the future permanently fixed and the fdllies of fashion are powerless to move him his purpose. Ofttimes he meets rocks that |eetn inaccessi ble ; to scale them seems impossible, but he does not stop. While the woirld is asleep he digs on ; while his fellows, are giddy with earthly vanities be conlinufes|to struggle and by and by, before his eatliy companions are aware, he stands high abovb them, so far, that the brain whirls at viewing him from his giddy height. The world bafts him a genius and wonders how Providence! gave him such wondrous powers, but they, Utterly mistake the secret of his success, jltjwas not his na live genius (hat put him so fa ra bo ve his asso ciates but it was energy, jindustry and fru gality. He was not aft did of a little sun shine, or storm, and finally victory crowned bis efforts. Such has everii been the case with the best men the world knew. The reformers of our race havp tiever been cra dled in luxury. Marlin Luther, was a poor shepherd boy and beggetf hjis bread in (be streets, and Zwingle the Swiss reformer was the son of a poor cottager] | | But this is the age in [which those that were once poor, friendlesSj boys are dislin-' guishing themselves as humanitarians and benefactors of our race. I Elihu Burrill, the greatest linguist of his lime] forked long and hard at blacksmitbing. Horace Greeley ob tained bis education, by! reading by pine knots in his fathers cabin. [Henry Wilson is.a shoemaker. N. P. Bapjcfjs a machinist, i Advertisement* will be charged SI per square of fourteen line*, for one. or three insertion., and 25 cents forevery subsequent insertion. AH advertise ments of leas than fourteen lines considered as a square. The following rates will be charged for Qoarteriy. Balf.Yearly and Yearly advertising:— 3 months. 6'robnths. 12 mo’s Square, (14 lines,) -82 50 84 50 $6 00 SSqoareSr . ... -1 00 600 BCO 1 column, - k . . 10 00 15 00 20 00 column, 18 00 30 00 40 00 All advertisements not having the nnmber of in sertion* marked open them, will bo kept lit aMflor dered ont, sod charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads, and all kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, executed neatly and promptly. Justices', Consta bles’and other BLANKS.Constantly on hand and printed to order. No. xxix. and John C. Fremont is ihe son of poor parents. But I must stop, for ] already out line the limits intended for the article. But of ibis, (here can be no doubt that much of of a man’s future course depends upon him sllf. He may do much or do little. He may recklessly trifle with hisown faculties— one of God’s noblest gifts—or he may de velop his moral sentiments and go on pro gressing almost ad infinitum. To the young mao, of to-day, this question most directly appeals; will you sit idly with your arms, folded or witl you arouse yourself and do something worthy of a man 1 Mankind is corrupt, and society needs reforming, and will you not heed the admonitions of your conscience, and bestir yourself, to action; thus you will labor for yourself—your coun try and your God. Frank. The earth is filled with sunshine. Every hill, every dale, every fairy nook, and laugh ing stream are made glad by it. Every flower, that breathes its fragrance on the air, every tree, that throws its arms to the em brace of the -breeze, every bird that carols forth its not s of gladness—all these but re flect the sun. bine of our earth. It is true that sorrow often folds us in .her arms. Then the world grows dark—its flowers fade, the song of the bird is gone— the breezes wail forth dirge-like music—its streams'grow dark, and turbid, even like the river of Death, without the light of immor tality to brighten its waters. But should man, whom God has placed upon the earth, to fulfill a mission assigned him, sit idly, and weep life away 1 No ! No! Let him arise, and stretch his arms heavenward, and call for brighter forms of beauty to lake possession of his soul, ami fill its temples with the song of gladness and sunshine. Let him go forth into the streets, and seek the habitations of sorrow, suffering and sin. Let him lay the breaking heart against his own, that by the sympathetic touch it may be restored to life. Let him bathe the aching brow, and cool the fevered pulse of suffering man, that he may go forth ugain into the fields, and breathe the pure fresh air of heaven, and childlike revel in the sun shine, that lie like threads of silver, and sheets of gold all over our earth. Let him go, and lake the hand of sin within his own ; and learn it to point towards the bright stars, where beam the mansions of the pure, and earnest, and truthful, who wan der by the streams of gladness, and the sun shine of an eternal day. Agztes. | Lawrencevilfe, Pa. 'Ducks of People. —The Siamese spend three fourths of their existence in the water. Their first act on awakening is to bathe; they bathe again at elev.en o’clock; they bathe again at three, and bathe again about sunset; there is scarcely an hour in the day when bathers may not be seen -in all the creeks, even the shallowest and muddiest. Boys goto play in the river,just as poor English children go to play in the street. I once saw a Siamese woman silting on the lowest step of a landing-place, while, by a girdle, Sheffield in the water her infant of a few months old, splashing and kicking about with evident enjoyment. Were not these people exoen swimmers, many lives would be lost, for the tide flows so swiftly that it needs the greatest skill and care to prevent boats from running foul of one another ; and, of course, they are frequently -upset. On one occasion our boat (an J English-boilt gig) tan down a small native canoe, containing a woman and two little children. _ In an instant they were all capsized and disappeared. We were greatly alarmed, and C. was on the point of jumping in to their rescue, when they bobbed up, and the lady with the first ■ breath she recovered, poured forth a round volley of abuse. Thus relieved in her mind, she coolly t ghtcd her canoe—which had been floating bottom upwards—ladled out some of the water, and bundled in her two children, who had been, meanwhile, com posedly swimming round her, regarding with mingled fear and curiosity the barbarians who had occasioned the mishap.— Dicken's Household Words. Judge Brown and the Banker.—Any thing do to laugh about, connected with this tyn| of financial troubles, ought to be treasured up; for there is little enough of it, “goodness knows.” In Milwaukee, iho other day, we got this: Judge Brown, of iho court of H,ernia, whom everybody knows spares no one, and “cuts down both great and small” with his “sells,” having just re turned to that city from a trip to the inkuior, met a certain banker, whose reputation, in all times, is as firm as that canny land from whence he got his accent. “Well,’ 1 said the banker, “ho'w do you get on in the country? Any new failures? How are money matters where you have been 7” “Perfectly awful,” said the judge. “Up along the Fox river there is a perfect panic. Why, in Oshkosh I couldn’t pass one of your three dollar bills, anywhere in town.” “Couldn’t pass a three dollar bill on my bank! Do you mean to say that? [Much excited.] What was the reason ? [Very nervous.] “The reason was, that I hadn’t one,’’ placidly replied Judge Brown. Our friend.'ihe banker, made no answer, except to tartly inform the judge that if he would come down to the bank, ho would give bun one.— Green Bay Adcoeote. Deacon H. used to say his wife had a cer tain receipt for testing indigo. It was 10-sitt a little indigo on the surface of some cold water ; if the indigo was good, it would sink or swim—she couldn’t tell which. Rates of Advertising. For the Agitator. Leaves by the Wayside.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers