m AN INOIDENTSOPITHE WAR.Higfc A soldier lay in a lady’s houso, badly wounded. A Major General rode up to the door. His orderly took his horse. He got off, went in, and sat down by tbe dying man’s side. Taking out a little book, he read from it, • Let not your heart be troubled,’ &c. He then knelt down and jfffered up a prayer to God for that dying soldier. “Arising from his knees, he bent down and kissed him and said, ‘Captain G ,we shall meet in Haaven.’ He then rode off. “That General was Maj.-Gen. Howard.” A soldier of the Union lay dying in the town, Where many a noble comrade had laid his ar- moi down; Where hot and fierce the contest’raged ere the foe was put to flight, {§g§ ..JgjSgg And Gettysburg was added to the conquests of the Bight. A Genorul to his side had come, unheeding the applause Of thousands who, victorious, he had led in Freedom’s eause, : And words of comfort from the book of Holy Writ he read— “ Let not your heart bo troubled, neither let ;-it be afraid.” Then kneeling clojvn beside him, to the God who beareth prayer, For' the dying one entreated a Father’s gra- cious care j And bending o’er him lovingly he kissed the •pallid brow, As he whispered; “ We shall meet in. Heaven, 1 beforo his throne to how.” * The CMeftain wont his way once, more, to othor fields Of.strife, ./ To scatter flovrors.of; truth,and love along the path of. life.. . ■ Par brighter than the double star upon his shoulders, worn, , ; . ’ Will be the diadem, that shall., at last his brow . adorn. ■ • ' ; .And. .when, they meet, those warriors tried; they'll reign’mid hosts on high, ' "Where heart with heart in union blends, and ’ peace shall never die ; Where ever through the courts of bliss, a song , of triumph rings, 'To Him who the great Captain is, the only King of Kings. THE HOLLY TREE. 'Oil, reader ! hast thou ever stood to see Tho Holly Tree ? 'The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves, ‘Ordered by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist’s sophistries. .Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen; No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound: But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, .Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves ap- 1 love to view these things with curious eyes, And moralize: * And in the wisdom of the Holly Tree Can emblems see, Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, -One which may profit in the after time. Thus, though abroad I might appear • t : Harsh and austere, 'To those who on my leisure would intrude Reserved and rude, “Gentle at home, amid my friends I’d he ■Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. And should my youth, as youth is opt, I know, Some harshness show, All vain asperities, I day by day, Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should ho Like the high leaves upon the Holly. Tree. And as when all the summer trees are seen So bright and green, The Holly leaves a sober hue display, j Less bright than they, ■ But when the hare and wintry woods we see What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree ? So serious should my youth appear amopg The thoughtless throng, So would 1 seem among the young and gay, More grave than they, „ That in my nge so cheerful I might be, As the green winter of the Holly Tree. JENNIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT, BY “M. E. M.” [i Continued .] A somewhat rough looking yet intel ligent man, with a grave but kindly ex pression, now entered the ward. It was -the chaplain of the 18th —— volun teers, who had left the regiment in the field, and returned to look aftejr such of the men as had been wounded at Mur freesboro’ and' were scattered in various 'hospitals. This faithful servant of God had en listed in the beginning of the war, and had endeared himself to his regiment, by his devotion to them and to the cause, as well as by his consistent Christian conduct. He had cheerfully marched with them,. over the steep •mountain paths, the poisonous marshes, under burning suns by day, or cold dews by night. He had often taken a ..hand in the trenches. He had slept on •the ground wrapped in his blanket, and •had lived on the hard tack and salt junk of the army, —scanty fare, and not luxu rious. The boys loved their chaplain as their best friend in the army; one to whom .they could go in their trouble for sym pathy, in sickness for comfort, in per plexity for counsel. What the pastor is to his congregation, was the chaplain of the 18th , to the regiment with which he had gone into the service. Our friend Robert was almost as glad to see Mr. Sutton’s kindly face, as he would have been to meet his brother. It was very like seeing some one from home, —this greeting of an old familiar friend, here in the quiet uneventful life of the hospital. Ho divined the object of the chaplain’s visit at once, and thought how glad the scattered men of the regiment would he. “Excuse my left hand, Mr. Sutton,” he said, smiling, as the eyes of the chap lain rather sadly rested on the dangling sleeve of the wrapper. “I’m sorry, Mac,” said the chaplain,, “to observe that you’ve met with such a loss. But you look quite well and hearty, and I hope you’ll live many years to be proud of the service you’ve done your country ! The 18th suffered severely in that last battle.” “But we charged splendidly on that battery on the, hill top,”-/said Robert, his face lighting with enthusiasm, as the recollection, came, over his mind. “I shall never sir. All day in. the’ reserve, listening to the sharp rattle pf 'the muskets, and the thunder of the cannon, and , wondering whether the boys over there were. to win <ali the glory, and leave us. out in the cold, till late in the afternoon, when an orderly came galloping up and gave our Colonel the orders 1 for us to' move. Don’t you remember, Chaplain, how proudly Colo nel Bliss rain his eye over the ranks, arid said, ‘Boys, you’ve been under fire be fore. I know you, and I can ; trust you. You’ll bring no stain on the old flag this day!’ We all felt like*giving three cheers, but the orders were to move si lently forward, so we only answered him with our eyes. On we went, under hover of a belt of trees, till we came to the foot of the hill. The last I saw of our colonel, he was on his white horse with the colors in his hand, waving them over his head, and shouting, ‘Come on, 18th, and take that battery!’ Just af ter that, I got my wound, and I don’t know any more of that day. Was the Colonel wounded, chaplain?” “The Colonel fell on the field, Mac, wounded by a rebel sharp-shooter. He was brave to a fault, and at the mo ment you describe, he was a mark for -hundreds of bullets, and I wonder that he was struck by hut one hall. The boys carried him off the field, but he breathed only a few seconds.” “Our Colonel gone?” said Robert. “That’s hard for the 18th. We all loved him—Who commands now?” Floride. “ Major Hrilyard is in command of the regiment—rail that is left of it.” “Our captain, ’’ said Robert. “Is he well?” . , ' -I'.' “It is well with him!” replied the chaplain, solemnly. “ Captain Burehard was a noble man, a brave soldier, an earnest Christian. He never flinched in the hour of danger, and he was never ashamed to stand up for Jesus. It sometimes requires more bravery to kneel and pray in the presence of the profane or the thoughtless, than it does to face an enemy, drawn up in line of battle. I think that Captain Burehard was one of. the very best and bravest men in all the army. He has gone— but it is well with him.” There was a tremulous quiver in Ro bert’s voice, as he said, “Tell me about it, chaplain!” “The captain was wounded on the field, and captured, hut some of the men dashed into the enemy’s ranks and bore him off.” Southey. “I knew they would!” exclaimed Ro bert. I wish I’d been there myself, I’d have given my life for the Captain’s.” “He was taken to the hospital, faint from loss of blood, hut perfectly conscious, and as thoughtful of others, as he had ever been. ‘ Don’t mind me, doctor,’ he said to the surgeon. £ l’m not in much pain—my wound is getting easier every moment—attend to the poor hoys who need you more than I.’ The surgeon examined the wound with a grave face, and when the examination was over, he gave me a sign, that he wanted to speak to me. “Is it .a bad wound?” I asked the doc tor; “Is our friend in danger?” “In the greatest of danger,” said the doctor; “In fact there is no hope what ever. Mortification has already begun and he cannot live longer than till the break of day. You must tell him !” “My heart recoiled from the thought of telling that man, so near eternity, yet so unconscious as to danger; that in a few hours lie must die.. I implored the surgeon, to leave no remedy untried, PHILADELPHIA, THURSDAY, MAT?,OH 10, 1864. however desperate, but he stopped me with the answer that it was too late. “I went back to the cot where my friend was lying. He smiled pleasantly, and said, ‘How strange it is that I should be so very weak. lam not in pain. Go to those poor fellows over there, who are in such distress. lam afraid I’ll find it hard work lying here, if Dr. Satterly means to keep me long on the shelf.’” “Captain,” said I, “you behaved splendidly in the battle to-day. I never thought you braver.” “Hush!" he answered. JYou must not4urn flatterer now. We all-tried to do our duty.” “Are you brave enough to hear bad news?” I asked. “Bad news!” he cried. <‘ What bad news can there be ? Did not our side win? Is not the old flag flying over ‘*ob! my dear is- not.of the battle or the flag—lt concerns your self. You are in danger!” j “Does the doctor say so?”j he said gravely. “ Tell me what he says—the worst—-I can hear to hear it.”| ; ’ “ Captain Burchard, the doct6r told me to tell you there, is no .hope. Your wound is a fatal one/ : You ar ja Chris tian and have often .faced de;jth; you ■will not.fear to meet him now!’’ “A spasm came over his .face; he grew white for a moment; and Ms breath, came in .quick harcl,/gasps. /It passed, and he held out his hand. -<■ V . .‘God bless you, chaplain,'sjpr telling me the truth. Don’t think tee .weak.' A soldier should never be surprised- at death—a Christian need never to. die—hut oh! my. wife, and my little Katie arid Georgie. It will be po hard for them.’ j “He shut his eyes, and his lips moved. I knew that he was praying for the dear ones at home, tho young wife, arid the blue-eyed children, who little knew the terrible blow that had fallen on them that day. \ . ‘ How long does the doctor give me, chaplain?’ he asked presently. : “I told him, and he gave me his fare well messages to his friends in the regi ment, and wrote in pencil, a farewell letter to his wife. The last words he said to me, were, ‘"Whefa you see com pany D, tell the hoys to fight uhdbr the old flag till they die, if need be. v And tell them the croSs of s€h#iSt them die happy anywhere:’ I hade him good-night, and left him. Edrly the next morning, I went bach, put the captain was dead—-he had di sleep, the nurse told me.” . “Is the captain buried here Robert. “No, his body was embal: sent home.”' While Mr. SuttoAwas'.talkin her of convalescents had gatherej and were listening with eager More than one manly cheek was wet with tears, and Robert McPherson, bowed his head to hide his own emotion. Some of the men in the. cots were lis tening too, and one, a youth wl osc thin, hollow cheeks glowed with the hectic flush, and Whose racking cough'spoke of consumption, spoke in a feeble (voice, “ Chaplain, a man might be glad to die, who felt that way.. I-wish I did!” Mr. Sutton went over to and tenderly took one of the washed hands' into his own. A hard hand oijee, used to wield the axe, and guide the and quite able to carry the musket, when the war had summoned our brave young men to arms, but wan and bleach ed now, soft almost as a child’s. Oh ! how many such invalids there are in the hospitals of the land to-day, dying’ by inches, of hard labor, weary march ing, and exposure. No less j are they our heroes, and our martyrs, than the maimed and crippled ones, who yield their lives, or limbs, a sacrifice, upon the field. t “My boy,” said he, “You are very sick, and'very young. If you love your Savior, you can die as happily, as our friend did. He is the way, the truth, and the life. He has said, ‘ Him that cometh unto me, I will in no- wise cast out.’ ” “Yes;” said the boy, I heard that long ago ; I remember mother reading me something like that, out of the old family Bible. But it’s so Ipng ago, chaplain, that I’ve most forgotten all about it.” “ Then you had a good mother,” said Mr. Sutton. ■ j “A very good mother. I should have been a great deal nearer llcav|n to-day, - if I’d had her longer, but she lied when I was very little and left me jill'alone. I remember kneeling at lieri side and putting my clasped hands in her lap, and saying, ‘ Our Father who art in Heaven,’ and ‘ Now I lay me down to sleep,’ but mother died.” “And did no one tell you of Jesus, after that?” said the chaplain. “I was a bound boy, chaplain, and J. had a very hard .time of it. When I got big enough I ran away from my first place, and one way and another, I was kicked about the world like a football,. till I grew careless and wicked, and cursed and swore, and did everything that mother would have been sorry for, if she had been alive. The only good thing I’ve ever done chaplain, was to en list, when the first, call came for volun teers. I could’nt stand the idea of having our. star spangled banner shot at by rebels ahd I’ve never shammed or shirk ed duty, or danger, yet. But I’ll never get well, and somehow every day as I lie here, looking up at the. white walls, my mind goes back to when I was a lit tle boy, walking to bhurch ‘with mother,, and I wish, oh ! how I wish, I could see mother again.” . ..- , .‘ Poor:boy.!,’ said Mr. Sutton, lifting the-dark'ha'ir from the forehead, that had not felt a mother’s kiss for so many long years, “Poor boy! Your mothesr pr.ayed for you.. Have you prayed for yourself?”-. '■ ; “ Not .in a,long .time, sir!’’ said he. “ You must go to Jesus and tell him all^you-haVe just been tellihg me,” said Mr. Sutton. “.Tell him that you’ve been wild and wilful', and forgetful of his. holy name, that you’ve broken the Sab bath and have been a sinner in, his sight, and throw yourself on his mercy. He’s, .a Wing-Savior-, and-he^-has "-promised to tfculy repent, .and believe omhis namfe!” - " - “But chaplain,” said the boy, a flush stealing Over'his pallid face, “It looks so mean to creep up to Jesus now, when ■l’m sick and dying, and just for the sake of getting into heaven, to ask him to forgive my sins. If I’d only done it when I was well. I’m afraid—afraid it’s too late. He won’t listen, now.” ' “ That is unbelief,” said Mr. Sutton. “ Satan has had you a prisoner so long, my poor young friend, that he hates to give you up now, when your earthly life is almost done. So he whispers tempta tions in your ear and tries to keep you away from the Saviour. Jesus saves you, not, for what you have been, or for what you are, hut only through his owk free grace. Give yourself to him because he le has promised to redeem every one that comes, to him believing, and yon will be saved.” in his “I will,” said the soldier “ I will—lt is my only hope and if he won’t have me, I must die.” ied and ‘■‘ He will have' you,” said Mr. Sutton. “So long as life lasts, Jesus stands waiting to save all who will forsake the; ways of sin and walk in the narrow way. Only go to him and'freely give yourself up. Why not poor boy? - Jesus •died to save you, just as you are, just now.” ';• a nura il aronnd, interest. Mr. Sutton put a Testament into his hands and marked a passage for him to read, “ I will come and see you tomor row morning,” he said. ' He then invited all who were able, to procure passes and attend a prayer meeting,- which was appointed fbr that afternoon. And then, giving books and papers to the men, who were scattered through the ward, he departed. “ I’ll go to the meeting, Bob,” said one of Robert's friends. “Religion ain’t much in my line, but that old fel lows, in earnest and its kind of good in him to come here, just to look up the boys of his regiment. He’s the right kind of a chaplain.” “ I telkyou what boys,” said a great broad-shouldered western man, whose stalwart frame and well-knit form look ed as though it had been moulded of iron, but whose face was still pale and whose arm was in a sling. “ I’ll tell you what, when we’re well and strong, /we sometimes laugh at religion, but the other day when I fell in the field and men and horses went rushing and trampling over me, and I did’nt know any moment but I’d die . the next, I would have been glad to have been pre pared to die. I’d have liked to have been a, Christian then.” “ The army’s a hard place,” said another, “ but if we need religion any where wc need it there.” “ Go to the prayer-meeting boys, all of you,”- said the consumptive, “If I. were strong I’d go, and ask the chaplain to pray for me.” Whatever tends to* the purity and reform of the church, eventually promotes its . enlargement:—i®e». T. Scott, D. D‘. ' C A CHILD’S REBUKE. “ Mother, I want to do something for Jesus,” said little Alice Fearing ; “am I too young?” Alice was only five years old, but she had learned to love the Savior ; and felt already the obliga tion to live for him who had laid down his life for her. “ What can you do, Alice ? or what do you want to do ?” her mother re plied. She thought she saw a definite purpose in the child’s clear eye and open brow. “Mother, I have heard Mr. G — : — swear almost every day since he came here; and I cannot bear it, because I know it hurts Jesus. I should like to 'ask'him hot to do it any more, if you think I may. Am I too young, mother ?’ ’ “No, my dear child. It is written in the Bible that God . will perfect praise out of the mouth of ‘babes and suck lings.’ So you may try what you can do with Mr. G .” The child looked thoughtful a mo ment : then she asked, “Do you think; mother, that Mr. G——says his prayers when he goes to bed ?” ' “I do not know, indeed,” said Mrs. Fearing. “I shall keep awake and listen,” said little Alie. . , Now there was no partition of the upper story,of the house (where all*the family slept,) consequently,. the child's trundle-bed was very hear' the. couch -of Mr. G ’i 1 , being only divided from it b.y,a curtainof cUlicb.'" Alice was put to bed ' much earlier than Mn (J re tired.; but .with grea.it .resolution she kept awake , until he came. .Then she listened; and when the; man hud -cover ed .himself in bedy she.heard and carelessly repeat the Lord’s praycn Hewas soon snoring; while the little mis sionary who lay so near him waked’ on his behalf to ask a blessing on her intended mission. . b ‘ The nekt ‘morning, .Alie ; again heard, the thoughtless and wicked oath. With tender pity in her eye, she confronted the swearer. . “ Mr. G——, did. you not say ‘ Our Father’ last night ? How dare you swear so this morning? Do-you think God will bo your Father if you treat him so ?” * The man was • amazed, and for a mo ment stood trembling 1 before her. . Then he caught the child in his arms, and kissed her ; promising with the help of God never to swear again. And he kept his word.— Congregationalist. MISS DALE'S SECRET SOCIETY. BY JULIA GILL. You never would have guessed it, but of all the corps of teachers in the Laurel Institute, the one who had the greatest influence with the pupils was little, quiet, sedate Miss Dale. She was an assis tant, —an under-teacher. She it was who corrected the uninteresting compo sitions of the Juvenile department, who leard the dullest of the lessons and the most sluggish of the pupils, who had ac counts to keep and bills to make out; in fact, you might have called her a sort of drudge in the Institution. . Some one must attend to the dull and backward pupils, she reasoned with her self, and why not she ? So she took the place into which she was elbowed by Miss Smith and Miss Derby (called “Flouncer” and “ Giraffe” by the boys in ope of .Miss Dale’s classes,) without a remonstrance. There fell to her allot ment, however, the hearing of a class of bright boys ; in. Latin and Geometry, and this was an Oasis in the desert Of her duties. Philip, -Will, Felix, Hal, Philander, Tom, John, Joseph, Prescott, another John, Rufus, Paul, Lawrence, Harry— no matter, ' just now, about their last names—were all extremely interesting, intelligent youths in their "tgenr,~wiidr they' were all greatly attached to Miss Hale, and a little belligerent towards Flouncer and Giraffe. No open hostili ties had been declared, but Miss Dale’s quiet grey eyes, which always saw a great deal,—saw, on sundry occasions, curls of lip, clouds on the brow and flashes of the eye, which betokened a storm. She even heard mutterings that sounded like distant thunder as Flouncer or Giraffe gave out in their hearing some imperious order to herself. “She is’nt the head of the school?” “ Confound her giraffeship ! the Princi pal and Madam ought to hear of that.” “Humph, that’s a little too much for any but a saint to bear.” “ An excellent opportunity to impress a truth,”' said Miss Dale to herself, and then aloud in her pleasant way : “ Young gentleman, I have a plan to propose to you.” Young gentlemen were all attention. “ I want you all to join a ‘ secret so ciety.’” Great interest on the part of young gentlemen. “ The initials oDthe motto are T. B. These letters may be put upon a Card, and posted -in. your room where you can see them every day.” Sensation in class. “Engrave on a ring,” suggested Philip. “Now, how many of you think duel ling right?” Not a hand was raised. “ If duelling be not right, neither is recrimination or revenge in any other form. Perhaps you will not like to bind yourself to obey the rule of my society —it has but one rule—and I: shall not ask you to do so to-day. The motto of which I gave you the initials is this,' Think before you speak, . And rule is this, When ,any one irritates,and pro- vokes you, you are to repeat mentally these words of our Lord: For if ye for.' give men their trespasses, your hea venly Father will forgive you; but if y e forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. Now, do you suppose there would ever be any such thing as duelling, if persons when angry stopped to repeat those words before saying or doing anythin* in return? These words teach us the sublime lesson of forgiveness and self- . Revenge is easy enough, but self-conquest is heroic. I wait you all, young gentleman, to become’ great by ordinary mastery of yourselves.” You may fancy the boys said private ly, We don't want a sermon here. But they didn’t, not one of the fourteen, Miss Dale had such a way with her, On the contrary, Philip Clifford, who was a sort of leader in the class, put it to vote, and they adopted the rule of the Secret So ciety by acclamation then and there. Perhaps you would like soinetime to know more of these boys, and whether they succeeded in keeping the rule. In the meantime, wouldn’t you like to prac tice on it yourself,?— Student and School mate. JiucdtsetiteiUs. WISTAR’S BALSAM, wise caißßay. ONE or THE ofiiiEST' AND MOST ’ RELIABLE . REMEDIES WORLD FOR Coughs, Colds, - Whoopin g'. Cough, Bron chitis,, Difficult o£,Breathing, Asthma, Hoarseness, Sore [Throat, Crc>up, : -and Every Affection of’ THE THROAT, LUNGS AND CHEST, INCLUDING EVEN c o nrsrMP no ir. VVISTAIt’S BALSAM OP WILD CHERRY. So general has the use of this remedy become, and so popu. lor is it everywhere, that it is unnecessary to recount its virtues. Its works speak for it, and find utterance in the abundant and voluntary testimony of the viany who from Ipiig suff wing and settled disease have by Us use been restored to. pristine vigor and health. We can present o mass of evidence in proof of our assertions, that * CANNOT BE DISCREDITED. .. Tile Rev. Jacob Sechler; Well known and much respected among the German population in this country, makesthe following state ment for the benefit of the afflicted. ' Hasotxe, Pa, Eeb. IS, 1859. Dear Sirs :—Having realized in my family important benefits from the use of your valuable preparation— WiSTAa’s Balsam or Wild Chirrt—it affords me pleasure .to recommend it to the public. Some eight! years ago ohb of my daughters seemed to be in a decline, and little hopes of her recovery were entertained. I then procured a bottle of your excellent Balsam, and before she bad taken the whole of the contents of the bottle there was a great improvement in her health. I have, in. my individual case made frequent use* of your valuable medicine, and have always been benefitted by il - JACOB SECHLER. From H. I>. MARTIN, M. !>♦, Of Mansfield, Tioga co., Pa. a Having used in my practice the last four years, Wis tars Balsam of Wild Cherry, with great success, I moat cheerfully recommend it to those afflicted with obsti nate CoQghs, Colds, Asthma, Ac. From Jesse Smith, 335 q., President of the ' Morris County Bank, Morristown* New Jersey* "Having used Dr. Wibtar’s Balsam op Wild Cherry for about fifteen years, and having realised its beneficial results in my family, it affords me great pleasure in recommending it to the public as a valuable remedy In cases of weak lungs, colds, coughs, Ac., and a remedy which I ■ consider to be entirely innocenVand may be taken with perfect safety by the most delicate in health.” From Hon. John E. Smith, A Distinguished Lawyer in Westminster, Md. J have on several occasions used Dr. Wistar’s Balsam op Wild Cheeky for severe colds, and always with decided benefit. I know of no preparation that is more effica cious oi more deserving of general usei The Balsam has also been used with excellent effect by J. B. Elliot, Merchant, Hall’s Cross Roads, Md. Wistar’s Balsam ol Wild Cherry, None genuine unless signed “L BUTTS,” on the wrapper. For sale by J. P. DINSMORE, No. 491_Broadway. New York, S- W. FOWLB & Co., No*lB Tremont street, Boston, And by all Druggists. GROVER & BAKER’S CELEBRATED SEWISG HI WERE AWARDED THE HIGHEST PREMIUMS OVER ALL COMPETITORS, AT THE FOLLOWING STATE FAIRS OF 1863 For the best Family Sewing Machines, the best Manufacturing Machines, and the best Machine Work, New York, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illi nois, Michigan, lowa, Kentucky and Oregon, beside a score of County and Institute Fairs. The work executed by the GROVER & BAKER MA CHINES has received the First Premium: at every State Fair in the United States where it has been exhibited. The Grover & Baker Sewing Machine Company-manu facture, in addition to their celebrated GROVER & BAKER STITCH MACHLNES, the most perfect SHUTTLE OR « LOCK STITCH" • Machines in the market, and afford purchasers the opportunity of selecting, after trial and examination of both, the one best suited to their wants. Other com panies manufacture but one kind of machine each, and cannot offer this opportunity of selection to their cus tomers. J9&* Pamphlets containing samples of Sewing; Embroi dery, Ac., sent free to any address. Office, 73« Chestnut st,, PHILADELPHIA. fe29eow PHILADELPHIA COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE, FOR YOUNG LADIES, 1530 ARCH. STREET, PHILADELPHIA. REV. CHARLES A. SMITH,. D. D., Principal. The Ninth Academic Year will begin s on Monday .Senfc.i 14th* For circulars, and: other information* address Box 2611, Post. Office. Circulars may be, obtained at. the Presbyterian House, 1334 Chestnut l street. jyl6-2m.a
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