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D I tie com ts have decided that persons are ac
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il they lake thein tiom the post ollice, whether they
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K'OBITIt V.
THE TWO ARMIES.
As Life's unending column pours,
Two marshalled hosts are spen.—
Two armies on HIP trampled shores
That Death flows black between.
One marches to the drum-beat's roll,
The wide mouthed clarion's bray.
And bears upon a crimson scroll,
"Our glory is to slay."
One moves in silence hy the stream,
With sad, yet watchful eyes,
( almas the patient planet's steam
That walks the clouded skit".
Along its front no sabres shine,
No blood red pennons wave ;
Its banner bears the single line,
"Our duty is to save."
l or those no death-bed's lingering shade ;
At Honor's trmjipet call.
\\ ith knitted brow and lilted blade
In Oiory's arms they fall.
For these no clashing falchions bright,
No stirring battle-cry ;
The bloodless slabber calls by night,—
Kaeli answers, "Here am I !"
For those the sculptor's laureled bust,
The builder's marble pile",
I he anthems pealing o'er their dust.
Through long cathedral aisles.
For these the blossom-sprinkled turf
That floods the lonely graves,
When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf
In dowry-foaming waves.
hu- v[wnn ftotn t/ii JH )
And angels wait above.
Who count each burning life-drop's flow,
F.acti falling tear of I.ove.
I hough from the Hero's bleeding breast
Her pulses Freedom drew,
I'i ough the white lilies in the crest
Sprang from that scarlet dew, —
While Valor's haughty champions wait
Till all her scars are shown,
Love walks unchallenged through the gate.
To sit beside the Throne !
CAPITAL SELECT STORI"
TIIK POT OF UOU).
Deacon Bancroft, though a very good man in
the main, and looked np to with respect ly all
the inhabitants of tie village of Centreville,
tvaa rumored to have, in Yankee parlance, 'a
pretiv sharp eye to the main chance'-a peculiar
ity from which deacons are nol always exempt.
Tn worldly matters he was decidedly well to
•do, having inherited a fine farm from his father
which was growing yearly more valuable. It
might be supposed that under the-. ■ circumstan
ces, the deacon, who was fully able to do
would have found a help meet to share his
bouse and name. But the deacon was wary.
Matrimony was to him in some measure a mat
<er o'money, ant! it was his fir m resolve not to
■marrv unless he cotild then by enhance his
worldly prosperity. Unhappily, the little village
of (Vntreville and the towns- in the immedi
ate vicinity, contained few unmarried ladies who
were qualified in this important particular, and
of those there were probably none with whom
the deacon's suit would have prospered.
So-it happened that year after year passed a
way, until Deacon Bancroft was in the prime
ol life—forty-five or thereabouts—and still un
married : ami in all probability likely to remain
<o.
Deacon Bancroft's neighbor was a widow.
The widow Wells, who had passed through
•one mali imonial experience, was some three or
pour years younger than Deacon Bancroft. —
'-die was still quite a comely woman. Unfortu
nately, the late Mr. Wells had not been able
to leave In r sufficient to make her independent
of the world. All that she possessed was the
mall, old-fashioned house in which she lived ?
and a small amount of money, which was in
sufficient to support her and a little son of seven,
hardly to be classed as productive of anything but
mischief.
The widow was therefore obliged to take
t hme or four boarders, to eke out her scanty
living, which of course imposed upon hercon
iderable labor and anxiety.
Is it surprising, then, that under these circum
tances she should now and then have bethought
herself of a second marriage, as a method of
bettering her condition 1 Or again, need we
:tecm it a special wonder, if, in her reflection
upon this point she should have cast her eyes
upon iter neighbor, Deacon Bancroft ? The
deacon, as we have already said, was in flourish
ing circumstances. He would be able to tnain
lain a wife in great comfort : and being onn ol
the chief personages in the \ illage, could afford
iter a prominent social position.
He was not especially handsome, or calcula
ted to make a profound impression upon the fe
male heart—this was true but he was ola
good disposition, kind hearted, and would no
doubt make a very good sort of a husband a
desirable match.
Some sagacious person, however, has obser
ved that it takes two to make a bargain a fact fo
be set toils I y considered : lor in the present case
it was exceedingly doubt fid whether the worthy
deacon, even it he had known the favorable
opinion ofhts next neighbor, would have been
inclined to propose changing tier name to Ban
croft, unless, indeed, a suitable motive was]
brought to bear upon him. Here was a chance
for finessing.
One evening, after a day of fatiguing labor,
the Widow Wells sat at the fire in the sitting
room, with her lept resting upon the fender.
"If I ever am so situated as not to have to
work so hard," she murmured, "J shall he hap
py. It's a hard life keeping hoarders. If I
was only as well off as D -aeon Bancroft."
the widow kept up her thinking, and by
: and by her lace brightened up. She bad an
idea, which she was resolved to put into execu.
j tion at the very earliest practicable moment.—
l\ hat it was the rearltr will discover in the
| sequel.
"Henry, ' said she to her son the next morn
i ing, "I want you to stop at Deacon Bancroft's |
| as you are going to school, and ask him if he J
will call and see me in the course of the morn
ing oi afternoon, just as he finds it mos.t con
j venient.
Deacon Bancroft was a little surprised at the
I summons. However, about 1 i o'clock he called
itt. 'I he widow had got on the dinner, and had
: leisure to sit down. She appeared a little em
barrassed.
"Henry told me that you would like to see
me," he commenced.
Bancroft. I do • but am much i
afraid you will think strange of it—at least, of
what f may say to you."
I The deacon very politely promised not to be
: surprised, though at the same time his curiosity
; was visibly excited.
"Suppose," said the widow casting dawn her
i eyes—"mind I atn only supposing a case—sup
i pose a person slioul find a pot full ol gold pieces
in their cellar, would they have a right to touch
; it, or would it belong to them ?"
The deacon pricked up his ears.
< "A pot of gold pieces, widow ? VV!iy un
questionably the law would have nothing to do
with it."
"And the one who had formerly owned the
j house couid'tvt come forward and claim it, could
lie, deacon ?" inquired the widow further, with
apparent anxiety.
"No, unquestionably not. When (lie house
was disposed of, everything went with it."
"I am glad to hear it, deacon. You wont
think strange of the question, but it happened
to occur to my mind, and I thought I would
like to have it satisfied."
•'Certainly, widow, certainly," said ihe dea
con. abstractedly.
"And, deacon, as you are here, 1 hope you
will stop to dinner with us. It will be ready
punctually at twelve."
I 1 ,
"Well, no," said the deacon rising ; "I'm
much obleeged to ve, but tliev'l! be expecting
tne home. '
"At any rate, deacon." said the widow, ta- j
king a steaming mince pie from the oven, "you |
won't object to take a piece of mince pie, you •
! must know that I pride myself on niv mince i
i . "
i P' I*- 1 *-
The warm pie sent forth such a delicious ;
odor, that the deacon was sorely tempted, and
after saying, "Well, really," with the intention
of refusing, lie finished by saying, "On the
whole, I guess I will, as it looks so nice."
The widow was really a good cook and the
deacon ate with much gusto the generous j
slice which the widow cut for him, and after a •
little more chatting, upon unimportant subjects,
he withdrew in some mental perplexity.
"Was it possible," thought he "that the
widow could really have found a pot of gold in
her cellar ? She did not say so much to be
sure, but why should she show so much anxiety
to know as to the proprietorship of treasure
thus found, if she had not happened upon some."
To be sure so far as his knowledge extended,
there was no one who had occupied the house
who would he in '.he least likely to lay up such
an amount of gold ; but then the house was one
hundred and fifty years old, at the very least,
and undoubtedly had had many occupants of
whom he knew nothing. It might be, after all,
' The widow's earnest desire to have him think
it was all curiosity, likewise gave additional
probability to the supposition.
"J will wait and watch," thought the deacon.
Jt so happened (l>al Deacon Bancroft was one
ol (he Directors of a Savings Institution, c:l
--nated in (he n< j xf town, anil accordingly us?d
to ride over (here once or twice a month, to at
tend the meeting of the hoard.
On the next occasion of this kind, (lie Widow
! H ells sent over to know if he would carry he!
over with him, as she had a little business to
! attend to there.
The request was readily accorded. Arrived
j in the village, Mrs. Wells requested to be yet
I down at the hank.
j "Ha ha !'" thought the deacon : "(hat means
j something.*'
fie said nothing, however, hut determined to
' come back, and tind out, as he could, readily,
' irom the cashier, what business she had with the
i hank.
} 'I lie widow tripped into the oiiice, pretending
! to look very nonchalant.
"Can you give small bills for a five dollar gold
piece ?"he asked.
"Willi pleasure," was the reply.
"By the way," said she, "the hank is 111 a
flourishing condition, is it not ?'*
None in the State on a better footing," wa
the prompt response.
"You r°coive deposits, do you not ?"
"\es, madam, we are receiving them every
day."
"Do you receive as high as five thousand
dollars."
".No," said the cashier, with some surprise,
''rather we do net allow interest on so large jr
sum. One thousand dollars in our limits. Did
you know of any one who"—
"It is of no consequence," said the widow,;
hurriedly; I only ask for curiosity. 13v the way,
did you say how much interest you allow on
such deposits as came within your limit ?"
"Five per cent, madam."
"Thank you, I only asked for curiosity. What
a beautiful morning it is!"
The widow tripped lightly out. Shortly af
terwards the deacon entered.
"How is business, Mr. Cashier ?" he inquired, j
"About as usual."
"Had any new deposits lately ?" - ~
n V ~. , . <* . *
"I brought over a lady this morning who,
seemed to have business with you."
"The Widow Wells "
"Yes."
"Do you know whether she lias had any
money left her lately ?"
"None that I know of," said the deacon,
pricking up his ears. "Why? Did she deposit
any
"No." replied the cashier, "but she asked
whether we received deposits as high as five
thousand dollars."
"Indeed!" ejaculated the deacon. "Was that
all she came for ?" he inquired a moment altei
wards.
"No : she exchanged a gold piece for some
bills."
"Ha !" pondered the deacon reflectively,
"did she give any reason for inquiries
"No, she said she only asked from curiosity."
The deacon left the bank in deep thought.—
He came to the conclusion tfiat this "curiosity"
only veiled a deeper motive. He no longer
enteitained a doubt tfiat (lie widow bad actually
found a pot of gold in her cellar and appear
ances seemed to indicate its probable value was
equal to five thousand dollars. The gold piece
which she had exchanged at the bank, seemed
to confirm this story.
"I rather think," said the deacon, compla
cently, "I can see into a millstone about as tar
as most people,"—a statement the literal truth
of which I defy any one to qu"stiou, though, as
to the prime fact of people's being able to see
into a millstone at all, doubts have now and then
intruded themselves upon my mind.
The next Sunday, the Widow Wells appear
ed at church in a new and stylish bonnet, which
led to some such remarks as these—
"How much vanity some people have to be
sure !"'
"How a woman that lias to keep boarders
for a living, can afford to dash out with such a
bonnet is more than I can teil ! I should think
tfiat she was old enough to know better.*'
This last remark was made by a ladv just six
months younger than the widow, whose at
tempts to catch a husband had hitherto proved
unavailing.
"I suppose" continued the same lady, "she's
trying to cairh a second husband with her finery
Before I would condescend to such means I'd—
I'd drown myself."
In this amiable speech the young lady hat
unwittingly hit upon (he true motive. Thi
widow was intent upon catching Deacon Ban
croft, and she indulged in a costly bonnet, no
because she supposed he would be caught with
finery, but because this would strengthen in his
mind the idea that she had stumbled upon hid- i
den wealth.
The widow had calculated shrewdly, and the
display had the ell'ectshe anticipated.
! Monday afternoon, Deacon Bancrolt found
Freedom oPThonght and OpinioD.
BEDFORD, PA, FRIDAY MORNING, JULY 16, 1858.
| an errand that called him over to the widow's,
ft chanced to he about tea time. He was im
portuned to stay to tea, and, somewhat to his
, surprise, actually did.
f'lie nolilic widow, who knew the deacon's
weak point, brought on one of her best mince
pies, a slice of which her guest partook of
with zeal.
"You'll take another piece I know," said she
persuasively.
"Really, I am ashamed," said the deaCon,
and he passed his plate. "The fact is," He said,
apologetically, "your pies are so nice, I don't
know where to stop."
"Do you call these nice ?" said the widow,
modestly. "I only call them common. I can
make mince pies, when I set out to, but this
time 1 dhln't have as good luck as usual."
"I shouldn't want any better," said the dea
con emphatically.
"Din I hope if you like them, you'll drop
into tea often. We ought to be more neighbor
ly, Deacon Bancioft."
Deacon Bancroft'assented,and be meant what
he said. The fact is, the deacon began to think
; that the widow was a very charming woman.
She was very comely, and then she was such
an excellent cook ! Besides lie had no doubt
m his own mind that she was worth a considera
ble amount of money. What objection would
there be to her becoming Mrs. Bancroft ? He
| brought this question before her one evening,
i'he widow blushed—professed to be greatly
surprised—in fact she had never thought of the
thing in her life—but on tiie whole, she had
always thought highly ol the deacon, and to cut
the matter short, accepted him.
A month afterwards she was installed as mis
tress of the deacon's large house, somewhat to
the surprise or the village people, who could
not conceive how she had brought him over.
Some weeks after the ceremony, the deacon
ventured to inquire about tiie pot of gold which
she had found in hei cellar.
"Pot of gold 1" she exclaimed in surprise, "I
know of none."
j "But," said the deacon, disconcerted, "you
■ know you a&k-d me about whether the law
"O, lor! deacon, I only asked from curiosi- j
i ty."
"And was that the reason you made inquirus
at the hank ?"
"Why, certainly. What else could it have
been ?" J
The deacon went out to the barn, and for a
bout bait an hour sat in silent meditation. At
the end of that time, he ejaculated as a consola
tion, "alter all, she makes good mince pies."
It gives me pleasure to state that the union
between the deacon and the widow proved a
vc TV happy one, although to the end of his life,
he never could quite make up his mind about
that "Pot ol Gold.''
AN ELOQCENT EXTRACT.
"Generation after generation," says a fine
writer, "have felt as we feel now, and their
lives were as active as our own. They passed
away like a vapor, while Nature wore the same
aspect oi beauty as when her Creator comman
ded her to be. The heavens shall he as bright
over our graves as they are now around our
paths. The world will have Ibe same attrac
tions for our offspring yet unborn, that she had
once for ourselves, and that she now has for our
children. Yet a little while and all will have
happened. The throbbing heart will be stilled:
and we shall be at rest. Our funeral will wind
its way, and the prayers will be said, aqd. our
friends will all return, and we shall be left be
hind in silence and darkness tor the worm.—
And it may be for a short time we shall be spo
ken of, but tho things of life will creep in and
our names will soon be forgotten. Days will
continue to move on, and laughter and song
will be heard in the room in which we died ;
and the eye that mo irnd for us will be dried
and 2listen with joy; and even our children will
cease to think of us,and will not remember to
lisp our names. Then shall we have become,
in the touching language ol the Psalmist, "for
gotten and out of mind."
VERMIN RIDDANCE.
Half an ounce ol soap boiled in a pint of
water, and put on with a brush while boiling
hot, infallibly destroys the bugs and their eggs.
Flies are driven out of a rooin bv hanging up
a bunch of the Plantain or Fleawort plant, aAer
it lias been dipped in milk.
Rats and mice speedily disappear by mixing
rqual quantities of strong cheese and powdered
squills. They devour this mixture with great
greediness, while it is innocuous to man.
When it is remembered how many persons
have lost their lives by swallowing in mistake,
mixtures ol strychnine, ratsbane, corrosive
sublimate, which are commonly employed for
this purpose, it becomes a matter ol humanity
to publish these items.
House ants ravenously devour the kernels of
walnuts, and shellbarks or hickory nuts. C rack
some of these, and place them on a plate near
the infested places ; and when the plate is full
of the ants, throw the contents in the fire.
Cockroaches, as well as ants, are driven away
by strewing elderberry leaves on the shelves
and other places frequented by the tioublesome
insect*.— Hill's Journal.
KF*A lady at Mobile, having lost her teeth,
found them in the craw of a turkey, after kill
ing seven turkeys not guilty.
TOUCHING INCIDENT.
Ihp following extract, taken Irom an ac
count written by the Rev. James Miller, am
quoted by the author of "Old Redstone," wi!
give the reader some idea of the pecuniary em
barrassment* of early ministers and of the-ene
ral state of the Western country, and also o
■ the remarkable interposition of Divine Provi
dence for the relief of one of those ministers.
"Our story," says Mr. Miller, "will carry tin
reader back to the period when all norlli of th<
Ohio river was almost an unbroken wildernes
—the mysterious red man's home. On tin
other siue a bold hardy band from beyond tin
mountains had built their log cabins, and wen
trying to subdue the wilderness. To them evcr\
hour was lull of peril. The Indians wouk
often cross the river, steal their children ani
horses, kill and scalp any victim that came it
their way. They worked in the field with
weapons at their side, and on Sabbath met in s
grove or rude log church to hear the Word 01
C.od, with their rifles in their hand.
I o preach to these settlers, Mr. Joseph Smith,
a Presbyterian minister, had left his pareutal
home, east of the mountains. He it i? said, I
was the second minister who had crossed the
Alonongahela. He settled in Washington !
county, Pennsylvania, and became the pastor of'
( ross Creek and Lppei Bullalo congregations,
dividing his time between them. He found j
them a willing and united people, but still una
; ble to pay him a salary which would support i
his family. He, in common with ail the earlv '
ministers, must cultivate a farm, fie purchased !
; one on credit, promising to pay for it with the j
saiary pledged to him by his people. Years i
passed away. The pastor was unpaid. Little |
or no money was in circulation. Wheat was I
abundant, but-there was no market. It could
not be sold fir more than twelve and a ball
cents, in cash. Even tHeir salt, which had
been brought across the mountains on pack
horses, was worth eight dollars per bushel, and
twenty-one bushels of wheat had often to be
given for one of salt. The time came when the
payment must be made, and Air. Smith was told
Ho muct pni- or leave his farm.
1 people. For the want of this, his land, his im
provements upon it, and his hopes of remaining
among a beloved people must be abandoned.—
I The people were called together, and the case
laid before them, and they were greatly moved;
4 counsel Horn on high was sought: plan after
plan was proposed and abandoned, the congre
gation was unable to pay a tithe of their debts,
and no money could be borrowed. In despair
they adjourned to meet again the following
week. In the meantime, it was ascertained
that a Mr. Moore, who owned the only mill in
the country, would grind for them on reasonable
terms. At the next meeting it was resolved to
j carry their wheat to Mr. Moore's mill; some
| gave fifty bushels, some more. This was car
ried from fifteen to twenty miles on horses to
the mill. In a month word came that the Hour
was ready to go to market. Again the people
were called together. Atter an earnest prayer
the question was asked, "Who will run the
flour to New Orleans This was a startling
question. The work was perilous in the ex
treme, months must pass before the adventurer
could hope to return, eveu though his journey
should be fortunate; nearly all the way was a
wilderness, and gloomy tales were told of the
Indians. More than one boat's crew had gone
on that journey aud had come back no more.—
. "Who tiipn could endure the toil and uravc the
danger ?" None volunteered, the young shrunk
back, and the middle aged had their excuse. At
length a hoary headed man, an elder in the
church, sixty-four years of age, rose, and to the
astonishment of the assembly said, "Here I am;
! send me." The deepest feeling at once per
vaded the whole assembly. To see their ven
erated old elder thus devote himself for their'
' good, melted them all to tears. They gathered
around Father Smiley to learn that his resolu
tion was indeed taken; that rather than lose
their pastor he would bravp danger, toil, and
even death. Atter some delay and trouble,
two young men were induced, by hope of a
large reward to go as his assistants. A day was
appointed tor starting. The young end old, j
from far and near, from love to Father Smiley
and deep interest in the object of his mission,
gathered together, and with their pastor at their
head came down from the church, fifteen miles
away, to the bank of the river, to bid the old
man farewell. Then a prayer was offered up
by their pastor, and a parting hymn was sung.
Thpn said the old Scotchman, "Untie the cable,
and let us see what the Lord will do for us."
This was done and the boat floated slowly
away.
More than nine months passed and no word
came back from Father Smiley. Many a prayer
had been breathed lor him, but what his fate
was unknown. Another Sabbath came . the
people came together for worship, and there,
on his rude bench, before tin preacher, com
posed and devout, sal Father Smilev. After
WHOLE *1 TIBER
service the people were requested to meet early
m the week to hear the report. All rame again
After thanks had been returned to (iod for his
safe return, Father Smiley rose and told his
story That the Lord had prospered his mis
sion , that lie had sold his flour for twenty-seven
dollars a barrel, and then got safely back. He
j then drew a large purse and poured upon the
fable a larger pile of gold than most of the spec
tators had ever seen before. The young men
" were paid each one hundred dollars. Father
Smiley was asked his charge. He meekly re
, P'ied,that ho ought to have the same as one of
" the young men, though he had not done quite
|as much work, ft was immediately proposed
|to pay him three hundred dollars. This he re-
i fused till the pastor was paid. Upon counting
! the money it was found there was enough to
; ' pay w! ' a( was due Mr. Smith, to advance his
; salary tor the year to come, to reward Father
I Smiley with three hundred dollars, and then
; have a large dividend for each contributor.—
| Thus their dehts were paid, their pastor relieved,
; and while life lasted he broke for them the
| bread of life. The bones of both pastor and el-
I tier repose in the same churchyard, but a grate
j ful posterity still tells this pleasing storv of the
past."
A ( AS E CF WINE. —A Kentucky lawyer on
circuit v, as asked to dine with the Judge. At
the table, the Judge, as is his custom, asked a
blessing, and shortly afferwards rose from his
seat and took from the sideboard a bottle cf Old
Bourbon, of which be invited his guest to par
take, partaking freely himself, as is his custom.
After dinner was over, the lawyer said.*
"Judge, will you permit me" to ask vou a
question ?"
i 'Oh, certainly,* replied the Jucfcp, "what
• is it ?"
"I observed," said the lawyer, "that after
you asked a blessing, you set on the bottle.—
Now I wish to know whether you were asha
med to ask a blessing on the liquor, or whether
vou thought it was good enough without ?"
The Judge took the case under advisement.
J7 Doctor Charles Wilson has written a
volume ofsorne hundred pages, to explain the
po/A-ology of drunkenness. Diogenes defines it
in two sy tables— zig-zag f
"love of a bonnet," suburban rides and pic-nics,
will do tow ards espanding the feminine heart,
and getting into the father's house.
O-T'Hard times produce one good thing :
they check gossiping. Mrs. Clacker has only
"had company" once since last summer. The
consequence is, that the neighbors' characters
stand higher than they hare for the last five
years.
A lady asked a physician whether snuff
was injurious to the brains.
"No," said he, "for no body who has any
brains ever takes snuff."
i I^7°"ln a story of the courtship of a loving
couple, alter had been arranged, and matters
"fixed up," the narrator says : "Here their lips
came together, and the report which followed
was like /u/hng a horse's hoof out of the
mire
GLP*A lady, complaining that her husband
was dead to fashionable amusements, he repli
ed ;
"But, then, my uear, you make me alive to
the expense."
fT7 = *"This is a net gain," as the spider said
w hen he caught the fly.
tEP'Mr. Singlestick mystified a tea-partv the
other day by remarking, that women are facts.
When pressed to explain his meaning, he said
"Facts are stubborn things."
{£7°* At a county court, a witness was asked
if In* w;, a husbandman, when he replied, ".No,
sir, I'sc not married."
37^"A said to a gentleman who was suf
fering with influenza : "Mv dear sir, what do
you take for your cold ?" "Five pocket-hand
kerchiefs a day madam."
——— 6
THE BEST JUDGE.—A lady said to her hus
band, inJerrold's presence*
"My dear, you certainly want some new
trousers." ,
"No, I think not," said the husband.
"Well," Jerrold interposed, "i think the
lady who always wears them, ought to know."
[TF = '"Plaze sir," said an Irishman to a trav
eller, "would yez be so obliging as to take mv
great coat from here to Boston !" "Yes," said
the traveller, "but how will you get it again?"
"Och easy enough though," said Pat, "for shure
an I'll remain in it."
KF"A queer genius being asked why he did
not attend the funeral of his wife, replied—
"that he could not leave his shop, and that it
was always better to attend to business before
pleasure."
is said that a man who is hung does
not pay toe debt of nature, but sirnp'y gets an
extension.
love the silent watches of the night,"
as the nocturnal thief said when he robbed the
jewelry shop.
(UPTunch has a portrait of "the next ambassa
dor to Naples." It is a seventy-four pounder,
behind winch stands an English tar, with his
hand on the fuse, (iunpowder diplomacy,
thai 1
VOL 1, NO. 50