BY GEO. W. BOWMAY NEW SERIES. 5 elect PoctrT). Where may Rest be found i Tell sr.e, ye winded winds That round my pathway roar, Do vou not know some spot Where mortals weep no more.' Some lone and pleasant dell, ' Some valley in the we,t, Where, free from toil and pair, The weary otil may rest ? fbe low winds softened in aw hisper low. And sighed for pity, as they answered—"No!" Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows ;ound me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, Some island far away, t Where wretched man may find The bliss for which he sighs ? Where sorrow never lives, And friendship never dies ? The loud wave, rolling in perpetual flow, stopped lor a white, and an swered—'No ?" And thou, serenest moon. That with such holy face Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace— Tell me, in all thy rounds, liast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man .Might find a happier lot ? r.ehiml a cloud the moon withdrew in wo, And a voice sweet, but sad, responded—"No!" Tel! me, my secret soul, I O! tell rne, Hope and Faith, I- there no resting place From sorrow, sin and death ? Is there no happier spot -- Where mortals may be blessed, Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest? faith, Hope and Love, best boons to mortals given. ' Waved their bright wings arid whwpered—"Yes, in . Heaven!" From Harper's Magazine. THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE. On 'lndependence Day" we took a steamer for the county of Rockland, determined to pass | the Fourth in peace and quietness, and desirous > ol refreshing our patriotism amidst scenes hal- , lowed by the sacred memories of the Revolu tion. We visited Washington's head-quarters at the little village of Tappan, the 'Seventy-Six j House,'whete Andre was confined, the place where lie was executed, the grave where he j vas buried, and wheqee he was exhumed. V\ e conversed with a verieraMe lady who gave him tour beautiful peaches on the morning in which ; lie vent forth to die. 'He thanked me with a I sweet smile,* she said, 'llut, somehow or 'noth t-r.he didn't seem to have no appetite. Heon iv hit into one of 'em.' vanning by his grave, we could see across i: broad Hudson, the very place u here he was ; crested bv Van Wert, Williams and Paulding, ■' •I the gleaming of the white monument erect- ; -i! to their memory : the place where Washing- i ton stood when Andre went forth to die, and the stone house where he was taken to die up on a gallon s. The following account of Andre's execution i is one of the most minute and interesting that i we have ever read. It was furnished by Nlr. ' William G. Haselbarth, of Rockland county, 'he history of which he is engaged in writing. It was taken down from the lips of a soldier in (olone! Jeduthan Baldwin's regiment, a part ol which was stationed a short distance from j where poor Andre suffered : One of our men, whose name was Armstrong, j 'ping one of the oldest and best workmen at ins j trade in the regiment, w as selected to make his cotfin, which he Hid and painted it black, as ; was the custom at that period. At this time Andre was confined in what was tailed the Old Dutch Church—a small stone ! building with only one door, and closely guard ed by six sentinels. When the hour appointed for his execution arrived, which was two o'clock in the after noon, a guard of three hundred men were para ded at tiie place of his confinement. A kind of "cession was firmed by placing the guard in 'injle file on each side of the road. In front uv re a large number of American officers of. •V) rank on horseback. These were tollow ed j v the wagon containing Andre's coffin, then a ■L'e nuri,her of officers on foot with Andre in | "leirrritisl. fhe 'procession wound slowly tip a moderate v rising ground, about a quarter of a mile to ' West. On the top was a field without any "ucjosure, and on this was a very high gallows, U'&te by getting up two poles or crotches, and i "iving a p o | e ()n tp e to p_ the wagon that contained the coffin was 1 r; wvn dnvctly under the gallows. In a short I l!n " Andre stepped into the hind end of the >a Jon, then on his coffin, took off his hat and ' ■"d it down, then placed his hands upon his j •py and walked very uprightly back and forth ; far as the length of the wagon would permit, le time casting his eyes up to the pole i,is head, and the whole scenery by which , ■ v w as surrounded. He dressed in a complete British uni ,ri) - His coat was of the brightest scarlet,' c ' ■ and trimmed with the most beautiful j "' vn - His under clothes, vest and breeches ; " " bright buff; he had a long and beautiful * a '> cf hair, which, agreeably to the fashion, hiiV^ 00 * black ribbon, and hung down many minutes after he took his stand : "MhecoSn, the executioner stepped into with a halter in his hand, on one ( 7 01 which *as what the aoldiers in those • a . Vs called a 'hangman's knot,' which he at- to put over the head and around the Uebforfc 4HH C'Sa wit \ I neck of Andre ; but by a sudden movement of j bis band, this was prevented. Andre now took off the handkerchief from his j neck, unpinned his shirt collar, and deliberately took the cord of the halter, put it over his head, I ; placed the knot directly under his right car, and ! i drew it very snugly to his neck. He then took ! j liom his coat pocket a handkerchief, and tied it : before his eyes. This done, the officer who j commanded spoke in rather a loud voice, and ' said : 'His arms must be tied.'' Andre at once pulled down the handkerchief I I which he had just tied over his eyes, and drew from his pocket a second one, which he g3ve to j | the executioner, and then replaced his handker- \ chief. Disarms at this time were tied just above j j the elbows, and behind the back. 1 The rope was then made fast to the pole over head. The wagon was very suddenly drawn from under the gallows ; which, together with the length of the rope, gave him a most tremen dous swing batk and forth ; but in a few mo- j ments he hung entirely still. During the whole transaction he seemed as little daunted as John Rogers when he was a-j bout to be burnt at the stake, although his coun tenance was rather pale. He remained hanging from twenty to thirty minutes, and during that time the chambers of j death were never stiller than the multitude by j whom he was surrounded. Orders were given ! to cut the rope, and take him down without let- ; ting him fall. This was done, and his body i carefully laid on the ground. Shortly after the guard was withdrawn, and spectators were permitted to come forward and ; view the corpse ; but the crowd was so great \ : that it was some time before I could get an op i portunity. When I was able to do this, his | coat, vest and breeches had been taken off, and i his body laid in the coffin, covered by some j ! under clothes. The top of the coffin was put; on. I viewed the corpse more carefully than 1 ! had ever done that of any human before. His j head was very much on one side, in consequence iof the monnei in which the halter had drawn I upon his neck. His face appeared to be great- ; ; ly swollen and verv black, resembling a high i degree of mortification. It was indeed a most j j shocking sight to behold. There were, at this time, standing at the foot I of the coffin, two young men of uncommon short ; stature. They were not more than four feet ; , high. Their dress was extremely gaudy. One | i of them had the clothes just taken from Andre hanging on his arm. 1 took particular pains to learn who they were, and was informed that they were his servants, sent up from New York j to take care of his clothes—but what other bu- I >iiiess I did not learn. I now turned to take a view of the execu | tioner, who was still standing by one of the ; posts of the gallows. 1 walked near enough to j lav mv hand upon his shoulder, and looked him ! directly in the face. He appeared to he about j twenty-five years of age, and bis whole face was covered with what appeared to rne to have ! | been taken trom the outside of a greasy pot.— j ; A more frightful looking creature I never be held. His whole countenance bespoke him a | fit instrument for the business he had been do- j ing. 1 remained upon the spot until scarcely twen ty persons were left ; but (lie coffin was still be j side the grave, which had peviously been dug. ! i ABSfißCfi OF SUA. j It is not always the "longest pole that knocks , down the most persimmons," either in the ; game of bluff or the more difficult game of life. | ; "There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough j hew them as we will," and it often happens j j that w hen a man consideis himself "hunk,"' he j |is as far astray as possible. Here is a case in j j point : Dr. Joshua Cadwell, who lived for many j years in the town of Florence, on the Western Reserve, Ohio, was a most skillful doctor, but j j one ol'the most eccentric and absent-minded I persons in the world, except Margaret, his j i wife, who was fully his equal. One summer { 1 morning the doctor got caught in a tremendous t j shower, which drenched him to the skin, it; soon cleared off, however, and Dr. Josh rode j into his own yard, where he took his dripping j saddle from the horse, and Jet him go adrift in i the pasture. The saddle he had placed upon a ; stout log of wood, which was elevated about j l four feet from the ground, where the doctor ! had began to build a platform to dry peaches; ! on. After having got his saddle all fixed so as j ! that it would be dry, he took the bridle, and! i putting the bit over the end of the log, he stretell- ; 'ed out the reins, and hitched them to the horn jof the saddle, and went in to change his wet | | clothes and get breakfast. Joshua junior was; ' from home on a visit, and so the seniors sat j ' down together to the morning's meal. When I 'they were about half through, Jim Attwood, a I ! farmer who lived eight miles distant, came in, j : telling the doctor lie wished he would hurry j and go over to his house, as he reckoned he; ; might be wanted there before night. The doc- j tor promised to be there, and Jun went off in a hurry to the village for the necessary fix ings-. When the doctor had finished his breakfast, i I he took his saddle-bags and went into the yard, where he deliberately mounted his saddle, and i set out in imagination for Jim Atwood's. For! j a considerable length of time he rode on in the ; ; most profound silence, with his eyes fixed in- ! tent ly on Buchan's Practice, which lay open or> i the saddle before him. At length he began to J feel the effects of the fierce rays of the midday | sun, and looking tip from his book, he discover- j ed a comfortable little house close to him, upon ' which he sung out lustily for a drink of water, j ; Aunt Margaret, who had been for the last two hours very buy in the garden, made her ap . pearance with a pitcher of milk, and after the I 'thirsty stranger had taken a long draught the! FRIDAY MORNING, BEDFORD, PA. JUNE 13, 1850. two entered into an animated conversation, the doctor launching out into rapturous praises of the scenery about the place, the neatness of the building, the fine orchard of peach and apple! J trees, and the lady who got a glimpse of the! ; saddle-bags, made a great many inquiries about J ! the health of the neighborhood and things in I genera!. The doctor finally took leave of the! lady, assuring her that lie would call upon his 1 Mum, and have some further conversation with ! her, as she reminded him so much of his wife, ! j who, he was sure, would be happy to become ' acquainted with her. The lady turned to enter • Ihe house, and the doctor had just gathered up i his reins, when Jim At wood dashed up to the i ; gate with his horse in a lather of foam. "What j in the thunder are you doing, doctor ?" yelled i Jim : "get off that log and come along." The j I doctor was a great deal astonished at first, but ; after a few minutes it got through his hair that i he had been all the morning riding a beech log j in his own door yard. IVHIiU WAS THE COWARD. nv T. S. ARTHUR. "Will you bear that, Edward ?" The young man to whom this was addressed ! stood facing a young rr.an about his own age, pn j whose flushed countenance was an expression j of angry defiance. The name of this person : j was Logan. a ! A third party, also a young man, had asked the question in a tone of surprise and regret.— j ; Before there was time for response, Logan said sharply and with stinging contempt : "You are a poor, mean, coward Edward Wil j son ! I repeat the words, and if there is a par ' tide of manhood about you—" Logan paused for an instant, but quickly ad j fled r "You will resent the insult." Why did he pause ? His words had aroused a feeling in the breast 1 of Wilson that betrayed itself in his eyes. The j word "coward," at that instant, would have more fittingly applied to James Logan. But, us quickly as the flash leaves the cloud, so j quickly faded the indignant light from the eyes \of Edward Wilson. Wtiat a fierce struggle ag itated him for a moment! "We have been fast friends, James." said Wilson, calmly. "But, even if that were not so, I would not strike you." "You're afraid." "I will not denv it, I have always been j afraid to do wrong." . "Pah! Cant and hypocrisy !" Said the oth er, contemptuousl v. * "You know me better than that, James Logan : and 1 am sorry that, in your res-nt- I ment of an imagined wrong, you should so far forget what is just to my character as to charge upon me such mean vices. I reject the im plied allegations as false." There was an honest indignation in the man ner of Wilson that he did not attempt to re press. "Do you call rne a liar?" exclaimed Logan, in uncontrollable passion, drawing back bis ' hand, and making a motion as it he were about to strke the oltipr in the fare. The eyes of Wilson quailed not, nor i sliglitest quiver of a muscle perceptible. From ; some cause the purpose of Logan was not e\- j cuted. instead of giving a blow, he assailed his an tagonist with words of deeper insult, seeking thus to provoke an assault. But Wilson was not to be driven from the citadel in which he had entrenched himself. "If I am a coward, well," he said. "I would rather be a coward than lay a hand in violence on him I have once called my fiend." At tliis moment light airlish laughter and the tinging of merry voices reached the ears of our ; j excited young men, and their relations of an- ; tagonism at once changed. Logan walked away in the direction from j which the voices came : while the other two remained where they had been standing. "Why didn't you knock him down?" said the companion of Wilson. The latter, whose face was now very sober ; and pale, shook his head slowly. He made no ; response. "i believe you are a coward !" exclaimed the other impatiently : and turning ofl, he went i the same direction taken by Logan. The moment Wilson was alone, he seated ; himself on the ground, concealed from the par- . tv whose voices had interrupted them by a large rock, and covering his face with his hands, continued motionless for several minutes. How much he suffered in that little space of time we will not attempt to describe. The; struggle with his indignant impulses had been very severe. He was no coward in heart.— What was right and humane he was ever ready j to do, even at the risk to himself of both physi cal and mental suffering. Clearly conscious was he of this. Yet the j consciousness did not and could not protect his j feelings from the unjust and stinging charge ol ; cowardice so angrily brought against him. 11l spite of his better reason, he lelt humilia ted ; and there were moments u hen be regret- j ted the forbearance that saved the insolent Lo- ; gan from punishment. They were but mo ments of weakness; in fhe strength of a inauly j character he was quickly himself again. ■The occasion of this misunderstanding is brief ly told. Wilson made one of a little pleasure party 1 from a neighboring village that was spending an afternoon in a shady retreat on the banks ol ; a mill stream. There were three or four young men and half a dozen maidens; and, as it happens on such oc- 1 casions. some rivalries were excited among the former. These should only have added piquancy to : the merry intercourse of ail parties, and would have done so, had not the impatient tempera- , ment of Logan carried him a little beyond good Freedom of Thought and Opinion. feeling and a generous deportment toward# the others. Without due reflection, yet in no sarcastic spirit, Ed ward Wilson made a remark on some ; act of Logan that irritated him exceedingly. An angrv spot burned instantly on his cheek, I and he replied with words of cutting insult ; j so cutting that all present expected nothing less than a blow Irom Wilson as an answer to his ! remark. His impulse was to deal a blow. But he re strained the impulse; and it required more | courage to do this than to have stricken the j young man to the ground. A moment or two Wilson struggled with himself, and then turned off and moved away. His flushed and then palling face, his quiver- I ing lip and unsteady eyes, left on the minds of : all who witnessed the scene an impression some what unfavorable. Partaking of the indignant excitement ol'the moment, many of those present looked for the instant punishment of Logan for his unjustifi : able insult. j. When, therefore, they saw Wilson turn ■ away, without even a defiant answer, and heard t ho low, sneeringly uttered word, "coward," I from the lips of Logan, they felt that there was a craven spirit about the young man. A coward we instinctively despise; and yet | ho!W slow we are to elevate the higher moral courage which enables a man to bear unjust judgment, rather than do what he thinks to be wrong, above the mere bruit instinct which, in the moment of excitement, targets all physical consequences. As Edward Wilson walked away from his companions, he felt that he was regarded as a coward. This was for him a hitter trial ; and j the more so because, there was one in that lit tle group of startled maidens for whose gener ! ouf regard he would sacrifice all but honor. It was, perhaps, half an hour after this un ; pleasant occurrence that Logan, whose heart still burned with an unforgiving spirit, encoun ; terni Wilson under riicumstances that left him free to repeat his insulting language, without disturbing the res! of the partv, who were n mtwing themselves at some distance, and beyond the range of observation. He did nut succeed in obtaining a personal encounter, as he de sired. Edward Wilson had been for some time sit ting alone with his unhappy thoughts, when lie was aroused by sudden cries of alarm, the tone of which told his heart too plainly that some im minent danger impended. Springing to his feet, he ran in the direction of the cries, arid quickly saw the cause of the excitement. Recent heavy rains had swollen the moun tain stream, the turbid waters of which were tfown with great velocity. Tu< young girls, who had been amusing themselves at some distance above, in a boat that was attached to the shore by a long rope, bad, through some accident, got the fastening loose, and were now gliding down, far out in the cur rent, wilh a tearfully increasing speed, towards the breast of a mtlldam, some I u ldredsoi yards below, from which the water was thundering down a distance of over twenty feet. Pule with terror, thwpoor voung creatures were stretching out their hands toward their companions on the shore, and uttering heart-ren ding ciies for assistance. ! Instant action was necessary, or all would be lost. The position of the young girls would have been discovered while they weie yet some distance above, and there happened to he anoth er boat on the ir.illdam, Logan and two other voting men had loosed it from the shore. But, the danger of being carried over the dam, should anv one venture out in this boat seemed so in evitable, that none of them dared to encounter the hazard. .Now screaming and ringing their hands, and i now urging those voung men to try and save their companions, stood the young maidens ol | the party on the shore, when Wilson dashed through them and springing into the boat, cried i out : "Quick, Logan! Take an oar, or they are lost." But, instead of this, Logan stepped back a pace or two lrom the boat, while his face grew J pale with fear. Not an instant more was was ted. A*, glance Wilson saw that if the girls were savd, it must be by the strength of his own arm. Bravely lie pushed from the shorp, and with giant strength, born of the moment and fur the ; occasion, from his high unselfish purpose, he dashed the boat out into the current, and, ben ding to the oars, took a direction at an angle with the other boat towards the point where the water was sweeping over the dam. At everv stroke the light skiff* sprung for ward a dozen feet and scarcely half a minute elapsed ere Wilson was beside ihe other boat. Both were now within twenty yards of the , fall ; arid the water was bearing them down with a velocity that a rower with every advan tage on bis side could scarcely have contended against successfully. To transfer the frightened girls from one boat to the other, in the few mo- ! ments of time left ere the down-sweeping cur rent would bear their frail vessel to the edge of the dam, and still to retain an advantage was, for Wilson, impossible. To let his own boat go and manage theirs, hp saw to be equally im possible. A rrv of despair reached the young man's ears as the oars dropped from his grasp into the water. It was evident to the spectators of the fearful scene that he had lost his presence of mind, and that now all was over. Not so, however. In the next moment he had sprung into the water, which, near the breast of the dam, was not three feet deep. As lie did so, he grasped the other boat, and bracing himself firmly against the rushing cur rent, held it poised a few yards from the point where the foam-crested waters leaped into the > j whirlpool below. He had gained, however, but a small ddvan -5 tage. It required his utmost exertions to keep ■ the boat he had grasped from dragging him down the fall. , The quickly formed purpose of Wilson, in thus springing into the water, had been to drag the boat against the current to the shore. But this he perceived to be impossible the moment he felt the real strength of the curreut. ! If he weie to let the boat go he could easily save himself. But no such thought entered his bosom, i "Lie down close to the bottom," he said, in a ! quick, hoarse voice. The terror-stricken girls obeyed the injunction instantly. With a coolness that wns vvondprful under all circumstances, Wilson moved the boat sev eral yards away from the nearest shore, until he reached a point where he knew the water below the darn to be more expended and free from rocks. Then throwing his body suddenly against tlieboat,and running along until he was within a few feet of the fall, he sprang into it and went over. A moment or two the light vessel as it shot out into the air, stood poised, and then went plunging down. The fearful leap was made in safety. The boat struck the seething waters below, and glan ced out from the whirlpool, bearing its living freight uninjured. "Which was the coward?" The words reached the ears of Logan, as he gathered with the rest of the companv around Wilson and the pale trembling girls he had so heroically saved. Fair lips asked the question. One maiden had spoken to another, and in a louder voice than she had intended. "Not Edward Wilson," said Logan, as he stepped forward and grasped the handoi'him he had so wronged and insulted. "Not Edward Wilson ! He is the noblest and tbe bravest!" W iison made an effort to reply. But he was for some moments too much excited and exhaus ted to speak. At last he said : "I only did what was l ight. May I tver have courage to do that." Afterwards, when alone with Logan he said : "It required a Air greater exercise of courage to forbear when vou provoked and insulted me in the presence of those who expected retalia tion, than it did lo risk mv life at the milldam." There is a moral heroism that few can ap preciate. And it will usually be found that; the morally brave man is quickest to iose the sense <>t personal danger when others are in peril. A MISSISSIPPI SPORTING ADVENTURE. HV A BACKWOODSMAN. I have often seen accounts of "hair breadth 'scapes," in such cases, which very wise people —who know nothing about it—in more civili zed places, have charged to the marvellous, but which we of the woods—at many of us— know not to be only possible, but highly prob able, and in some instance? by sad experience. In illustration of which, I will endeavor to de scribe an adventure of my own. In 1837.1 resided on the banksof the Mississippi, (C. W.,) as I had done from infancy. I was then about 20 years of age, stout and athletic, and passion ately fond of wild scenery and sporting ad ven tures. The month of October had arrived—the great season of partridge and deer—hooting : and in accordance with my almost daily custom, I sallied out with my fowling-piece, one barrel containing ball and other small shot. I had succeeded in bagging some small wares, and in passing a creek observed a raccoon, busily em ployed turning over the stones in search of frogs, worms, &c. Without giving the matter much thought, I succeeded in removing "Ursa Minor" to another if not a better .vorld ; and being rath er corpulent to carry through ttie woods,! hung him upon a sapling, intending to send lur him the next day ; and as the part of the country which I was in did not very often afford large game, I charged the second barrel with shot a!- , so. I proceeded perhaps a mile, and was cross ing the outskirts of.a Tamarack swamp, through ! a succession of narrow, rocky glens, with high and precipitous sides, and had sprung from a rather high rock into a rift of not more than three feet wide, when I perceived the eyes of an immense buck glaring at me at not over ten feet distant. A glance showed me that h" had no means of escape except over myself; nhd a wareot the desperation of this other-wise timid creature, under such circumstances, and at this particular season, I formed my resolution in an instant. I cocked both locks, placed my fingers on the triggers, and resolved to wait his spring, as I did not think my charges would injure him except at the verv muzzle. I knelt upon one knee and watched his eye. All this took place in a very few seconds. At length, the haunches and ears were drawn back, and with a tremendous snort he bounded in the air with the evident intention ofdescen- . ding upon me. Quick as lightning both bar rels were discharged full into his breast, and I received a shock as if from a pile engine, which j deprived me of al I sensation. About three hours after, as near as I could judge by comparing af terwards, I was brought to a state of partial sen sibility by something licking my face, and some thing growling and scratching my clothes ; but being faint 1 did not look up till enormous paws tore my flesh with them. Then, indeed, I did look Up —when what wis my horror to see a huge bear, coolly licking the blood from my la cerated breast. Weakness, more than self possession, kept me still a moment, while two half-grown cubs were tearing and scratching my legs and feet. The desperation of the rase a roused me to sodden energy, and I slowly stretched my left hand (my right arm was bro ken,) to my back for my hunter's knife, resol ved, if such can be called resolution, to c ave my life if possible. I had got it drawn from the sheath, and was watching a favorable op- TKRHS, Stl I*Kit iKAR VOL XXIV, NO. i\. I port unity to plunge it into the brute's throat, • when, with a terrible roar, it fell across my body > apparently in the agonies of death. A fearful i struggle ensued, which soon put a stop to my feeble exertions. When I next came to my Senses, f was s<-a --• ted, leaning against a rock, and a stalwart In dian youth, who had been my companion in many a hard day'? hunt, was busily employed binding up my wounds with leaves and stripy torn from his own scanty garments. .Not being able to take me home tnat firght, be madp a fire, and nursed me as a mother would a child, and the next day carried me by easy siages to my parents. It appeared that he had called for me, being told that I was only gone a few minutes, thought he would make up to me. He acci dentally came to where I had shot the laccoon.- but found that some bears had broken the sap ling, and eaten their cousin. He then struck their trail, and followed them to where he saw the old one apparently devouring something, he did not know what. He fired, and being aware 'of their tenacity of life, wanted to reload his rifle, ere venturing toadvnnce, a sad job for me, as by its dying struggle I have been maimed for life. It is worthy of remark, that the deer had beert so close upon me, when I fired, that his chest was singed, and that the barrels of the gun were found neatly eight inches deep in the wound farmed by their own discharge, while I and the stock had been driven upward of thirty feet by tile force of his spring. Such are some of the hackwood "sports,' and which, with msnv other equally romantic, is an "over true tale."' as 1 and many others know bv hard experience. A Tempera lice Joke. Joe Harris was a whole souled; merry fellow, and very fond of a g!a>s. After living in New- Orleans for many years, he came to the conclu sion of visiting an old uncle away up in .Massa chusetts, whom he had not seen tor many years. Now there is a difference between New Orleans and .Massachusetts in regard to the use of ardent spirits, and when Joe arrived there, he found all the people run mad about temperance, he lelt had; thinking with the old song; that "keeping the spirit up by pouring the spirit down," was one of the best ways to make time pass, and be gan to feel indeed that he was in a pickle. But on the morning after his arrival, the old man and sons being gone out at work, his aunt came ; to him and said : "Joe, you have been living in the South, and no doubt are in the habit of ta king something to drink about eleven (.''clock.—• Now 1 keep some for 'medical pur|oses,' but let no one know it as my husband wants to be a * good example." Joe promised, and thinking b- would get no more that day, took, as he expressed it, a "bus ter." After lie had walked out to the stable, who should nwet him but his uncle. "Well, Joe,*' said he, "f expect that you areaceustom ed to drinking something in New Orleans, but you find us all temperate here,and for the sake of my sons 1 don't let them know that I have any brandy about, but I just keep a little for my rheumatism. Will you take some ?" Joe signified bis readiness, and took another big horn. Then continuing his walk he ranu* to where the hoys were mauling rails. After conversing aw hile one of bis cousins said : "Joe, 1 expert vou would like to have a dram, and as the folks are down on liquor, we have some out here to help us on with the work." Out came the bottle, and down they sat, and} as he says, by the time that he went to dinner; he was as tight as he could be. OCCUPATION,—What a good thing it is for human heart, Those who work hard seldom yield themselves up to fancied or real sorrow.— When grief sits down, lolus its hands, and mournfully feeds upon its own tears, weaving the dim shadows that a little exertion might sweep away, into a funeral pall, the strong spir it is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes the master. When troubles flow dark and heavy, toil not with the waves—wrestle not with the torrent!-—rather seek, bv occupation, to divert the dark waves that threaten to overwhelm you, into a thousand channels which the duty of life always presents. Before you dream it, those waters will fertilize the present, and give birth, t > fresh flowers that may brighten the luture— flowers that may become pure and holy in the sunshine which penetrates to the paths of duty in spite of every obstacle. Grief, after all, is but a selfish feeling : and most selfish is the man who yields himself to the indulgence of any passion that brings no joy to his fellow man. THE DYING SOLDIER.—IN the memorable con flict at Waterloo, a soldier, mortally wounded, was conveyed to the re3r by a comrade, and at a distance from the battle was laid down under a tree. The dying man lequested to have his knapsack opened, that he might obtain from it his pocket Bible. He then requested his com rade to read to him, if but a small portion of it I before he should breathe his last. He was ask ed what passage he would have read, and he fixed upon John 14-: 27. "Peace I have with j you, and peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.'' "Now," said the dying soldier, "I die happy. I desired to have peace with God, and I possess the peace of God which passeth all understanding." A little w-hile after one of the officers passed near, and seeing him in such an exhausted state, he asked him how he felt. He replied, "I die happy, for I enjoy the peace of God which passeth all understanding;" and then expired Finn ON THE MOUNTAINS.— Extensive fires have prevailed recently on the mountains in the vicinity oi Poltsville, Pa., aud a considerable a mnunt of timber and other property has been de stroyed. Last Sunday week several persons who had left Port Carbon to proceed to Tusca roia were compelled, Dy the vjolence of the flames on either side of the road, to return.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers