of Publication. . COUNTY AGITATOR is published [lff I lo ®, Morniog, and ““E* l to subscribers fS price of oTe dollar PEE. ANNUM,.e* it is intended to notify every sn'oily ”l otl Oie term for which ho bus paid shall ;3 iber, h stamp —“Time Oct," on. the mar . ripinedj "J The paper will then be stopped of the '“‘Tioittance be received. By this ar j i can bo brought in debt to the ter- the Official Paper of the County, „ E A« ITiTI “f , te adily increasing circulation reaeh , a latF ,; e hborhood in the County. It is sent iotoe«r?” t post] Office within the county cf 10 oJst convenient post office may he r. m'“ no t exceeding 6 lines, paper incla- "THE baby.” r D pnbb c bow we loudly boast Of liberty, and glory , ~ ‘ ker .on behind the scenes, « ie ht tell another story;-- Th't wisest freeman when abroad, When once at home, it may bo Beadi humbly down, not to a crown, j u t to a little baby. HU hair by liny fingers pulled iltho' 'tis rather trying, _ Vor dare he call his nose hts own, ‘ When baby dear is crying. «, t pain to him can be but slight, And tho' he chokes, and sneos tt, aHis only boy shall have the joy Of doing as he pleases.” yi* little monarebs then, at home Bale over all severely, While same may think the joy they give Is purchased rather dearly. And stony-hearted bachelors Who fear not smiles, nor simpers, Will turn and beat a quick retreat, If but a baby whimpers. We .land beside a sleeping babe. And dream our idle fancies, when irbev! a cry as war-whoop shrill Dispels all sweet romances. Ihe mother calls it “angel one” , And o'er it still rejoices ; And ire stand by, and wonder why The angels have sue h voice*. ffe!l! to such tenderness and care, fie all stand roach Indebted, 5s let us not at partial love, Or children spoiled, be fretted; h'or wonder, that all parents think * har baby best and brightest; Toeurry crop as well we know, lu cum young are the whitest,” OBLIGING A FRIEND. nr t. s. wilsox. !—ruined I” was the wild red exclamation of Mr. Fleetwood, os he :stily into the *roora where his young ; embroidering a scarf; and, throwing at full length upon the sofa, he hid hia .rd lay shuddering like one in an ague fit, := needle-work dropped from the hands of Fketwood, and for a moment or two she one paralyzed. Then, rising hastily, ang across the room, and, dropping on iee< beside her husband, put her arm bis neck; and said, 4 *Oh, Edward 1 dl vhat has happened ?” But the only >e she received was a groan so full of .that it sent a shudder through her ‘•Speak Edwardshe said. iilnedr he replied, “hopelessly ruined!” Edward, look up ! Let me see your dear husband.” And she tried to lay her iwn against his, but he kept his face from her. , very pale was Mrs. Fleetwood, as she herself from a kneeling posture, and, ing a chair to the sofa, sat down, and i hud her hand upon her husband. One she had been a bride ; and this was the cloud which had darkened her skj—the •'loud; hut it held a desolating tempest 1 its bosom. e wife’s deep love had given strength to "wrt already, and her voice was regaining ras. “Edward/' she said in tones strange indent, “not ruined; that is impossible I” slide and actual/' he answered, with nation, but in a low, solemn voice. •in I say impossible, Edward/' said deetwood, her voice growing yet firmer. Fleetwood slowly raised himself from his lent position on the sofa, and looked into k's f:\ce. A cry of fear parted her lips, e said hastily, 4 ‘oh, Edward, you are ra heartsick —heartbroken, in despair, ! precious husband?*’—the tones of Mrs. •*-*i were overburdened with the tender “don't say heartbroken—don't say in -—don’t say ruined. God is in heaven, arc still a man 1” suddenly falling and unexpected blow, ’am stricken to the earth. My all is to the winds.’ 1 Jl the man is safe!” said Mrs. Fleetwood, !r, g in the sentence, and in a voice almost u. Fleetwood, looked at his wife half won - A light seemed at the moment to m upon him, and he replied, “Yes, Anna, mia sate, 1 trust. There has been no M honor.” isre could he none, Edward, and therefore ’ not ru ined ; that is impossible 1’ With on your side, dear husband, and love on nnr little world is safe. No enemy can a its doors.” fcs you for those words, dear Anna!” r laetwood, hut not with the air of a yv'" relieved from the pressure of a Mraen. “Your courage, your patience, ' e strength in the hours of weakness E ture to come. But let me tell you the * ln pi ,lln words; and then you will 'u'f t *' at t * le w has stricken me down. • ‘"dune has been lost by the treachery ‘ a >n whose integrity I confided, and for ( ave what I would never have Jt myself__ usel j the ofiicial signature of which I am manager, for lof? ' ta business. I iim ■ ? Allure an hour ago, and called instantly. From his lips I received that every dollar of his proper , passed hopelessly beyond his i ® you not secured me anything V ”1 not that collateral be protested ?’ , ito the hills of the company S'ten him. ‘Everything has passed ' o n .^ s '’ w as his cold reply. ‘Then 1J 1 :lln ’ an( l lam a duped and mined and left him.” hard, Edward 1” said bis i t r ' ann . ln g over her cheeks, as she ile w ith her eyes fixed upon ! ]’ fl erin S face - “But, dear, dear hus to. you here, in the beginning r '.r, e * w hich must flow from this sad js e „- tlot ' lln S is to be thought of by it Sli ® Ine - Shall I sit in the cool, '■ ttamU i CT< ;“ in ? s with m ? hußband Onlv l 118 s * de hen the tempest 6thaty9UhaTeWi,i ' bM mean,” said Mr. Heptr THE AGITATOR VOL. V. for tbs Agitator* wood.- “loss of fortune, small as it may be, i 8 a painful disaster to any one; but the thought of a dishonored, nnme, is indeed frightful! That ordeal, Anna, 1 have got to pane; and I fear that strength will foil me. Oh, it was wrong ever to have put my name on paper not strictly for thecompany’s use! It was a breach of trust; so the world will call it, and visit me with terrible consequences. There will be no discriminations between weak consent to aid a friend, confided in as a brother, and fraudulent purpose. The bills were never intended as any thing but security, and were to be returned to me long before they came due. The transac tion was considered as a kind of formality. I knew myself to have ample resources to meet the sum they were meant to secure, even if my friend failed to do so. That sum was only five thousand dollars, the security ten thousand, which has been most basely sacrificed.” “Ten thousand dollars 1 so much as that?” said Mrs. Fleetwood, in a choking voice. ' “Yea; so much as that I" said her husband. “Oh, Anna, this night is very, very dark.— There is no moon; and the clouds have hidden the stars. If it were not for the times, I might save myself, from disgrace through friends once able, and always willing. But ruin is sweeping through the land, and the best, the bravest, and the most enduring are falling all around us. To raise the sum of five thousand dollars and get these notes back again into my bands, is almost impossible. In less than two months they will become due. and then The picture wrought by the excited imagi nation of Mr. Fleetwood was so dreadful to look upon that he covered his face with bis hands and shuddered. His wife did not offer any words of comfort; for upon her own heart had fallen an pimostsuffocatingfear. Personal sacrifice had no terrors~-focMrs. Fleetwood.— Very brave would she have beeirun4er common visitations of worldly disaster. But the thought of the dishonored name of her husband of whom she had been so proud, smote her like a dagger. “Something must be done!” It was the wife’s voice that broke the silence. “Something must be done Edward! Dishonor? Never! never !” And her slight form lifted itself up. Hope and courage were beginning to revive. This sudden'shock has prostrated you dear hus band !” she added in a calmer voice. “You will recover strength soon, and with strength will come purpose. The will, I have often heard you say, is creative. Yours will be, lam sure. This sword, suspended by a single hair, shall not fall.” ViKSiaii.. But Mr. Fleetwood only shook his head mournfully, and answered, “At any other time I cpuld have met this threatened evil and tri umphed. Now, Anna, even to struggle were fully. Everything is in confusion. Fortunes, the accumulation of years, are crumbling into dust; mutual confidence is destroyed ; a fright ful panic is sweeping over the land. Men who would have opened their purses freely to me a month ago are now in extremity. No, no, Anna! It is in vain to look for help. The breakers are just ahead, and our good ship is drifting fast upon them. No human arm can save us.” Still the young wife would not abandon hope. “I will trust in Heaven to bring you a safe deliverance,” were her words some hours later. ‘‘No wrong was intended, and therefore, I must believe that the dreaded consequences will not be permitted to. fall with their crushing weight upon you. Two months yet remain, if t un derstand you, before the bills become due.” “A little less than two months,” he replied. “A great deal may be done in two months, Edward. Oh, do not despair!” ‘‘Dear comforter!” said Mr. Fleetwood, look ing down upon the face of his wife, “I should hardly deserve the name of man, were I to give up wholly, with your sweet solicitations to exert myself filling my ears. But what, what can I do! I stand at the foot of a tall mount ain, the sea on either hand; and stretching my gaze far away upward, I see only a perpendicu lar wall of rock. I have no wings and cannot rise, like the eagle, and escape the danger that is hastening towards me, and threatening swift destruction.” “In whoso possession are the bills 1" asked Mrs. Fleetwood, desiring to give direction as well as activity to her husband’s mind. “They are gone wholly beyond my reach,” was the answer. “Instead of being left in the hands where they were first placed, as collateral security, they have been discounted—the origi nal obligation of five-thousand dollars has been paid, and the balance of the money appropria ted by my false friend. They stand now as any other debt of the company, and, as I have said, are wholly beyond my reach.” “Would it not be well,” suggested Mrs. Fleetwood, “to find out who has them?” “I can see no good result likely to flow from that knowledge,” replied her husband. “If they were discounted at the bank, there is only one way to recover them, and that is for me to take them up in advance of the time when due. If they are in the grasp of some money lender, the case is quite as hopeless.” But Mrs. Fleetwood urged her husband to find out who held the bills, if it were possible to gain accurate intelligence respecting them. “Then,” said she, we can measure the full magnitude of the evil and find the way of es cape, if that be possible.” “It is impossible, Anna,” returned Mr. Fleet wood, almost impatiently. “Forgive me, Edward,” said his wife, her eyes filling with tears; “but I cannot cease to urge this thing upon you. Hope only lies in the removal of these bills out of the way.— First, then, we must learn where they are.” “We?” said Mr. Fleetwood, and his voice had in it a tone of curious interest. “Yes, ice, Edward. There is too much at stake now for you to reject, or even think lightly of aid or counsel, come from whence it may. Even a woman may suggest something by which a man may profit in an extremity like this, though the common language of business may be to her a strange language. Again, then, let me urge you to find out where these dangerous bills are to he found.’* •T will know ere sleep closes my eyes this eight!” said Mr. Fleetwood, speaking a few. Beboteur to tfte Extension of ti)t of iFmttom a«JJ tfct Sjmaij of f&ealt&g Xtefotm. WHILE THERE SHALL BE A WRONG UNRIGHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. WELLSBOKOj TIOGA COUNTY. PA., THURSDAY MORNING. APRIL 14, 1859. minutes afterwards, from the ardor of a sudden* •ly formed purpose. “Let it be to-night, then, if possible,” re plied his wife. “The sooner the truth is known, tjte hotter.” “I need not say, he very circumspect Ed ward,* were the wife's parting words, as her husband left her that evening; for she saw an unusual sternness in his face, os if some des perate resolutions were forming. j “Thank you for your caution! I need it,” was his answer. His voice had in it a low thrill of excitement. “Is Mr. Floyd nt home?” The inquiry was made by Mr. Fleetwood at the door of a hand some house not far distant from his own dwel ling, and within ten minutes after parting from his wife. “What name shall I say V 1 asked the servant. “Mr. Fleetwood.” “Mr. Floyd wishes you to excuse him to night,” said the servant, returning into the par lor into which he had shown Mr. Fleetwood. “Say to Mr. Floyd that I cannot excuse him to-night. He must see me to-night and now.” The servant hesitated. “Is he alone ?” inquired Mr. Fleetwood. “Yes sir,” replied the servant. “Entirely alone ?” “Yes sir.” “And his room is ” “On the second floor.” “Front?” “No sir—back.” “I will find him,” said Mr. Fleetwood, as he passed the surprised servant, and went with rapid, yet almost noiseless step along the pass age and up the stairs. Only a moment he stood at the door of the room indicated by the ser vant. Then without knocking, he opened it si lently and went in. As he closed the door be hind him, Mr. Floyd looked up from the table at which he was sitting—a table covered with various papers, letters, notes of hand, title deeds, mortgages, bonds, certificates of stock, and other representatives of value. “Sir!” Mr. Floyd had started to his feet, and his eyes were fixed angrily upon the face of Mr. Fleetwood. “This is an unwarrantable intrusion!” The quiet turning of a key, and its low rat tle as it was withdrawn from the lock inside, were indications of so questionacle a character, that Mr. Floyd’s warm color left his cheeks al most as suddenly os it had dyed them. His visitor noticed this. “Desperate diseases require desperate reme dies, John Floyd.’J Mr. Fleetwood had turned from the door, and was now advancing across the room, with his eyes fixed upon the face of his false friend who read in them a purpose that made his coward heart sink. “It is never safe to swindle beyond a certain line, John Floyd,” continued Mr. Fleetwood, in a low but stern voice. You should have been content with robbing me of ay little patrimo ny ; but when you left no alternative but dis honor, or a remedy like this, you went a step too far. So I am come now for restitution or retribution.” “In the fiend’s name what do you want ?” demanded Mr. Floyd, with a slight show of courage. “The first thing I want is a return of the bills I placed in your hands to be used only as collateral,” said Mr. Fleetwood. “I have already told you that they are be yond my reach,” was the reply. ) “It is false!” cried Mr. Fleetwood, in sudden excitement, darting forward as jhe spoke, and grappling eagerly at a small pile of papers that lay on the table. The well-known seal of the company had caught his eyes—the fatal bills jjverc before him ! To seize them was the work of a moment; in the next instant they were tom to pieces. “I have : l;eady told you to your teeth, John Floyd, that you are a villain,” said Mr. Fleet wood, his strong indignation repressing all ex terior signs of agitation. “I meant it in its general acceptation; for I did not then dream that your heart was corrupt enough for a deed like this. To turn away from a friend whom you have led into danger is bad enough; but to betray him to ruin is the act of a fiend. But, thank Heaven, I am now safe beyond your power to do me harm.” Kecoveridg a little from his bewilderment, Mr. Floyd now advanced towards Mr. Fleet wood in a threatening manner; but the latter stood immoveable, regarding him with such in dignant scorn, that his eye quailed and he stood still. “My business here is ended,” said Mr. Fleet wood, moving backwards towards the door, yet keeping his eyes still upon Floyd—“is ended more easily than was anticipated. I leave you to the enjoyment of your ill-gotten gains, if that be possible, and gc forth to try the world again, but with a clear conscience and an untarnished name." The key was in the door —the bolt sprung— and Mr. Fleetwood vanished like a spectre— from the presence of the confounded man who had betrayed his confidence and well nigh com passed the ruin of his reputation. i The unusual expression which Mrs, Fleet wood noticed on the face of her husband at parting troubled her. He had seemed to arouse up suddenly, as if some new thought had glanced through his mind, and some desperate purpose been formed on the instant. He was no sooner away than imagination began to sug gest danger. What might he not be tempted to do, should he meet the man who had wronged him 1 The heart of Mrs. Fleetwood he§an to tremble. Half an hour of moat painful suspense fol lowed the husband’s departure. Then he came in with a quiet, even step, and ascended to the room where his wife sat awaiting him. She was too weak to rise, for her mind had created so many terrible images, that fear robbed her of strength. But her eyes were bent eagerly towards the door. The face that appeared there was calm, though a little paler, she thought, than when she looked upon it last. She tried to say ‘-Edward,” but could not. All at once the strong fetter which Hr. Fleet wood had placed upon his feelings broke, and springing forward he caught his wife in bis arms, exclaiming, ‘‘Sived—wecl 1 dear Anna. I have found the hills, and they asa canceled. I tore them into a hundred pieces—see ?” And he threw a shower of fragments into the air.— “And you are the cause of my present happi ness, dear wife I” he added in. another tone, kissing her very tenderly. “I saw no hope of recovering those fatal witnesses. 'So far as I could see they were beyond recall. But your urgent promptings quickened a new life within me, and nerved me with a new and, I will own, desperate purpose. I went to the house of Floyd, resolved to force him into terms of some kind, when lo! upon his table lay the very bills. He was wickedly holding them for his own benefit. I snatched them up, and rent them to pieces. And so the fatal .witnesses of a weak, blind, nay, almost criminal violation of the faith so honorably reposed in me, have perished! Let the property go—l will not throw after it a sin gle sigh of regret, for I am too thankful that a good name—more precious than rubies—is spared to me.” A Courting Adventure. El PETER sroacai, CSQ. “Well, you see arter the ‘poker’ scrape, me and Sal got along midlin well, for sum time, till I made up my mind to fetch things to a hed, for I luved her harder and harder every day, and I had on idea she had a sorter sneaking kindness for me, but how to do the thing up rite, pestered me orful. I got sum luv books, and red how the fellers got down on thar marrebones and; talked like fools, and how the gals wud gently fall into the fellers arms, but sumhow or other, that way didn’t suit my notion. I axed mam how dad courted her, but she said it had been so long that she’d forgot all about it, (Uncle Joe alters fied mam dun all the courten.) * At last I made up my mind to go it blind, for this thing was fairly consuming my vitals, so I goes to her dady’s (that’s Sal) and when I got thar, I sot like a fool thinking how to be gin. Sal seed something was a trubling me and see,” Says she, “Ain’t you sick, Peter?” “Yes—no,” says I, “that is—-I aint adzactly well, 1 thort I’d cum over tu nite, says I. That’s a purty beginning eny how, thinks I, so X tried it again.” “Sal,” sea I, and by this time I felt mighty oneasy like. “What?” says Sal. “Sal,” sea I agin. “What ?” sea she. I’ll git tu it arter a while, thinks I. “Peter,” ses she, “thar’s sumthin trublin you powerful, I no; it’s wrong for you to keep it from a body, fur an innard sore is a consumin’ fier.” She Bdfl this, she did, the dear sly creature; she noed what was the matter all the time, an’ was just a tryin’ to fish it out, bet I was so fur gone, I didn’t see the pint. At last I sorter gulped down the lump as was risen’ in my throte, an’ ses. “Ses I, Sal do yu luv anybody?” “Well,” ses she, “thar’s dad—an mam—an (a countin' her fingers all the time, with her ise sorter shet like a feller shootin’ uv a gun) and there’s old Pide—(that wur an old cow uv hern) and leant think uv enybody elsejist how,” ses she. Now this wur orful fur a feller ded in luv, so arter a while I tries another shute. Ses I, “Sal, I’m powerful lonesum at hum and I sumtimes think ef I only had a nice purty wife to luv and talk to and to have my bein with, I would be a treraenjus feller.” , With that she begins and names over all the gals in five miles uv there, and never wunst cum nigh namin uv herself, and sed I orter git wun uv them. This sorter got my dander up as I hitched my cheer up close to hum and shet my eyes and sed: “Sal, yu are the very gal I’ve been a han kerin’ artur fur a long time! I luv yu, and I don’t keer who nose it, and cf yu say so we’ll be jined together in the holy bones of matri mony, e plurihus unam,” she fetched a sorter scream, and arter a while says — , Ses she, “Peter.” “What, Sally” ses I. “Yes,” ses she, a hiden uv her party face be hind her hands. You may depend upon it, I felt good. “Glory,” ses I. “I must holler, Sal.—lloo roy for hooray ; I kin jump over a ten rail fence; I kin do any and everything that any other feller ever could, would, should or orter do." “With this I sorter sloshed mysel down by her, and seeled the bargain with a kiss; an such a kiss—talk about yer sugar, talk about yer merlasses, talk about yer black berry jam —they would all a tasted sour arter that. “Oh these wimmin, how good and how bad, how hi and how lo they can make a feller feel. Ef Sal’s dad hadn’t hollered out, “it were time for all honest folks to be in bed,’ I do believe I’d staid thar all nite. You orter seen me when I got home. I roared, I laffed, I hollered, I erode like a rooster, I cut up more kapers than yu ever heern tell on, till dad thot I war crazy, an got a rope to tie me with.” “Dad,” sey I, “I’m goin to be married.” “Married?” bawled dad. “Married?” squawled mara. “Married ?” squeaks ant Jane J ‘Yes married,” ses I. “Married, to he sure —married like a flash—jined #n wedlock— hooked on fur wusser or fur better, fur life or death, to Sal. lam that very thing—me, Pe ter Sporum.” “With that I ups an tells em all about it, from Alfer to Omeger. They wus all mighty, well pleased and willing, and I went to bed as proud as a young rooster with his first spurs. I did not, sleep a wink ; hut kept a rollin about, and a thinkio,tUllfeU like ray cup of .hap piness was chuck fuHT-prest down and runnin over. I'll tell you sum of these days about the wedin. “What is it makes iced cakes, Mike ?” “Ooh, Larry, but it’s stupid ye are. Why, don’t you see they bake them in a cowld oven, to be sure?" A married monster said he lately dreamed that he bod an angel by bis side, and upoft wa; king uj found it was nobody hjs wife. Candle has bean made a Mason—Mrs. Can> i die Indignant and Curious. ‘‘Now, Mr. Caudle—Mr. Candle, I say; oh! you can’t be asleep already, I know—now what 1 mean to say is this; there’s no use, none at all, in our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind’s made up, Mr. Caudle ; I shall leave you. Either I’ll know all you have been doing to-night, or to-morrow morning I quit the house. No, no; there’s on end of the marriage state, I think—an end of all confidence between man and wife—if a hus bands to have secrets and keep ''em all to him self. Pretty secrets they .must be, when his own wife can’t know ’em. Not fit for any de cent man to know, I’m sure, if that’s the case. Now, Candle, don’t let ns quarrel; there’s a good! sou), tell me what’s it all about ? A pact; of nonsense, I dare say; still—not that I care much about it—still, I should like to know.— There’s a dear, eh ? Oh! don’t tell me there’s nothing in it; I know better. I’m not a fool, Mr. Caudle; I know there’s a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a little bit of it. I’m sure I’d tell you anything. You know 1 would. Well? “Caudle, your’e enough to vex a saint! Now, don’t think you’re going to sleep; because you’re not. Do you suppose I’d ever suffered you to go and be made a mason, if I didn’t sup pose I was to know the secret too ? Not that it’s anything to know, I dare say ; and that's why I’m determined to know it. “But I know what it is: oh yes, there can be no doubt. The secret is to ill-use poor women; to tyrannize over ’em ; to make ’em your slaves —especially your wives. It must be something of the sort, or you wouldn’t be ashamed to have it known. What’s right and proper never need be done in secret. It’s an insult to a woman for a man to be a free-mason, and let his wife know nothing of it. But, poor soul! she's sure to know it somehow—for nice husbands they all make. Yes, yes; a part of the secret is to think better of all the world than their own wives and families. I’m sure men have quite enough to care for—that is, if they act proper ly—to care for them they have at home. They can’t have much care to spare for the world be sides. “Andl suppose they call you Brother Caudle? A pretty brother, indeed! Going and dressing yourself up in an apron like a turnpike man— for that’s what you look like. And I should like to know what the apron’s for ? There must be something in it not very respectable, I’m sure. Well, I only wish I was Queen for a day or two. I’d put an end to free-masonry, and all such trumpery, I kuow. “Now, come, Caudle—don’t let us quarrel. Eh! You’re not in pain, dear ? What’s it all about ? What are you lying laughing there at? But I’m a fool to trouble my head aboutlyon. “And you’re not going to let me know the secret, eh ? You mean to say—you’re not ? Now, Caudle, you know it’s a hard matter to put me in a passion—not that I care about the secret itself; no I wouldn’t give a button to know it, for it’s all nonsense, I’m sure. It isn’t the secret I care about; it’s the slight 1 , Mr. Caudle; its the studied insult that a man pays to his wife, when he thinks of going through the world keeping something to him self which he won’t let her know. Man and wife one, indeed 1 I should like to know how that can be when a man’s a mason—when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart ? Ha, you men make the laws, and so you Lake good care to have all the best of ’em to your selves ; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when a man becomes a mason. When he’s got a sort of corner-cupboard in his heart —a secret place in his mind—that his poor wife isn’t allowed to rummage! “Caudle, you shan’t close your eyes for a week—no, you shan’t—unless you tell me some of it. Come, there’s a good creature; there’s a love. I’m sure, Caudle, I wouldn’t refuse you anything—and you know it, or you ought to know it by this time. I only wish I had a secret! To whom should I think of confiding it, but to ray dear husband ? I should be mis erable to keep it to myself, and you know it.— Now, caudle? “Was there ever such a man ! A man in deed ! A brute ! —yes, Mr. Caudle, an unfeel ing, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won’t. I’m sure I don’t object to your being a mason ; not at all, Caudle; I dare say it’s a very good thing; I dare say it is—its only your making a secret of it that vexes, me. But you’ll tell me—you’l! tell your own Margaret? You won’t? You’re a wretch, Mr. Caudle. “But I know why ; oh, yes, I can tell. The fact is, you’re ashamed to let me know what a fool they’ve been making of you. That's it.— You at your time of life—the father of a fami ly. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle. “And I suppose you’ll be going to what you call your Lodge every night now ? Lodge, in deed! Pretty place it must be, where they don’t admit women. Nice going on, I dare say. Then you call one another brethren ? Breth ren ! I’m sure you'd relations enough—you didn’t want any more. “But I know what all this masonry’s about. It’s only an excuse to get away from your wives and families, that you may feast and drink together—that’s all. That’s the secret.—■ And to abuse women, —as if they were inferior animals’ and not to be trusted. —That’s the secret —and nothing else, “Now Caudle, don’t let us quarrel. Yes, I know you’re in pain. Still Caudle, my love; Mr. Caudle 1 Dearest, I say 1 Caudle!” A White Mountain guide thus philosophically explains why it is that young ladies are more venturesome on the edgos of precipices than the youths of the sterner sex:— ■ “A gal,” says he, “when she gets into a tick lish place, allers expects a feller will be a hold ing on to her, and she does it just out o’ brave ry (bravado.) But a man when ho makes a fool of himself in' that way, knows he’s got to stand it himself.” As Isfekesce.—A man being assured that the sun never rose in the west, said it was very strange, as he bad a cousin in lowa who was always writing- how pleasant it was in that district. He concluded it must be all moon ihib*. Rates of Advertising. Advertisements will be charged $1 per square ef 14 line?, one or three insertion, and 2sr cents for every subsequent insertion. Advertisement* of less than 14 Hoes considered as a square. The subjoined rate**lll bo charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad* vcrtisemeuts: Square. - 2 do. i colostra, - i do. Column, - '- u'o» 30,00 49,09 Advertisements not buying the number of IhsertlofUl desired marked upon them, will be published untfl or* dered oat and charged accordingly, Fosters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, LoU«r-He»d« and all hinds of Jobbing done in country estabhsumeijts ex ecuted neatly and promptly. Justices', Constables', and township BLANKS : Notes, Bunds, Deeds, Mort gages, Declarations and other Blanks, constantly on hand, or printed to order. NO, 87. ] As- Ei.egant Extract. —“ Generation after generation,” says a fine writer, “hare felt os \re feel now, and their lives were as active as our own. They passed away like a vapor, while nature wore the same, aspect of beauty as when her Creator commanded her to be. The hea vens shall be as bright over oor graves as they now are around our paths. The word shall have the same attractions for onr offspring yet unborn that it had once for oor children.— Yet a little while and all this will be stilled, and we shall be at rest. Our funeral will find its way, and the prayers will be said, and our friends will all retufn, and wo shall all be left behind in silence and darkness for the worms. And it may be for a short time we shall bo spoken of, but things of life will soon creep in and our names be forgotten. Days will con tinue to move on, and laughter and song will be heard in the room in which we died ; and the eye that mourned for ns will be dried, and glisten again with joy, and even onr children will cense to think of us, and will not. remem ber to lisp our names. Then we shall have become, in the language of the Psalmist, “for gotten 'and clean gone out of sight.” Two men up in New Hampshire went a fish* ing. One was totally ignorant of figures, tbs other probably had been to the “Enle of Three,” After catching a large tqnantity of- the finny tribe they proposed to divide them and return. In counting them it was found that they had forty-nine hickory shad {a small fish, very full of bones, and worthless) and one large fine fat bass. They were puzzled to know how to di vide them, as both wanted the bass. After a while a happy thought struck the man of fig ures, and he told his companion he would di vide them according to the rules of arithmetic, which proposition was readily agreed to. He then, with pencil and paper, and with a know ing look, commenced, — “Twice five is ten. Five times .ten is fifty. Forty nine from fifty leaves oneand with an astonished gaze said to his companion,— “The bass is mined’ The other, picking up his shad, started off, and remarked, — | “What a great thing it is to have q little ed dication ?" Education". —Education is the guardian of liberty and the bulwark of morality. Knowl edge and virtue are generally inseparable com-, panions, and are in the moral, what light and heat are in the natural World, the illuminating and vivifying principle. *--*** Every effort ought to be made to fortify our free institutions; and the great bulwark of security is to be found in education—the culture of the heart the head, the diffusion of knowledge, piety, and morality. Education, in order to bo perfect in its char acter, must be adapted to the full development of both body and mind; and must be physical, intellectual, and moral. The mere reception of knowledge into the mind is not education, though there can be no education without knowledge. Knowledge is the mere instrument in Education; and one of the chief ends of education, is to teach the.proper uses of knowl edge ; as the mechanic must acquire the proper use of tools, as well as to procure them. Ix a certain city in Kentucky Is a man who stands, in the eyes of the community, as a passable business man ; but to,express the po sition he assumes in his own would require the addition of several adjectives to the term “busi ness man.” But pride must have a fall; and he had his lowered several pegs. A Boston firm sent him a circular setting forth the vir tues of several kinds of among which ranked “fine mantle clocks,"‘'elegant wee-gag clocks,” “superior town /clocks,” etc. With out knowing the reasonf he immediately de termined to invest in itnen clocks, and gave an order to Messieurs, the Boston gentlemen, for sixty superior town clocks. The mistake was discovered when 1 the invoice was received. It amounted to 336,000, each clock costing S6OO. A compromise was soon effected. They who have not loved have not existed in vain. Whenever and wherever this affection has been bestowed, the noblest privilege of life has been exercised=“its highest ordination ful filled. It may be that the responseless depths of the grave have received the form of tho loved one—that there is mourning and black ness where all was once so-joyous and beautiful, that clouds have settled down upon our path way, in such a manner as to leave us hut few joys—but there is something superior to all these mutations in the sweet recollections of having once been all the world to another; yea a comfort which ever reuraineth even when the cold realities of life threaten to make us think that we have been but dreamers of an olden dream 1 . ! Sensible Girl. —As -a weary traveler was wending his way through the mud out in the far west he discovered a young maiden stand ing in the door of a small log house. lie rode up in front of the house, and asked the maiden for a drink of water; he drank it, and she being the first woman he had seen for several days, kissed her and offered her a dime. The traveler was about to resume his journey, but the maiden having never seen a dime asked: “What am I to do with this? “You can use it any way you wish,” he re plied. “it is yours.” “That being the case,” said she, “I'll give you back the dime and take another kiss ?” Twas twilight. The sun had sunk beneath the western hills, and the bright ray which streaked the eastern horizon had disappeared, A lovely female, who had been but one short week a bride, and had been led to the hymcnial altar, with lively anticipations of future felicity, sat in a secluded apartment with her husband. She slowly moved her sjlphlike form towards the partner of her bosoni—raised her delicate hand, and —slapped him in the face wUh ike dish doth / The remainder of this intensely interesting story will appear in the New Toth Weekly Gas Pipe, which is written for by Smasher, Blower, P. NnW, nnd ell other popular authors. 12 HOCTHI, W,OO 8,00 10,00 20,00 3 MOSTHS. 6 KOIfTHS. $2,50 4,00- t, 00 »,W) 8,00 1»,00- f 5,00
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