VOLUME 57. NEW SERIES. THE BEDFORD GAZETTE IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING BY BY B. F. MEI ERS, At the following terms, towns $1 .50 per annum, CASH, in advance. $2.00 ' ' if paid within the ypar. $•2.50 " il' not paid wi.thin the fear. subscription taken for less than six months. paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the publisher, it has been decided by the United States Courts 4 tha: the stoppage of a newspaper without tne payment ol are rearages, is prima fact* evidence of fraud and is a criminal offence. courts have decided that persons are ac countable for the subscription price of newspapers, if the> take them from the post office,whether 'hey subscribe for them, or not. RATES OF CHARGES FOR ADVER TISING*. Transient advertisements will be inserted at the rate of SI.OO per square of ten lines for three inser tions, or les-, but for every subsequent insertion, 25 cents per square will be charged in addition.— Table and figure work double price. Auditor's notices ten line.- and under, SI.OO ; upwards of ten lines and under fifteen $1.50. Liberal redactions made to persons advertising by the year. SELECT THE BATTLE OF FREEDOM, The true men have risen; the battle of freedom Again must be fought by the true and ihe brave; They come from the mountains, they come trom the seashore, They come from the lands which the bright wa ters lave. They come, they the true men, the just and the brave. They come from the East and the West and the South land, But cnlv on him who our laws has defied , They come, they the strong men, true power of the , nation, T be power on which Freedom has ever relied, The sons of the men who for liberty died. The laws have been broken, the government sullied, The ffag of the Nation laid low in the dus" ; The freemen are arming, they now are awakened, In the God of their Fathers they still put tbeir trust, The brave men, the true men, the sons ot the just. They come to defend the bright flag of our Union, The " Stars and the Stripes" which all nations have known, i'hey rome with true hearts, and the voice of the people Will bless them and honor them, ever their own, The sons of the true men who liberty won. The cheers of strong men and the tears of fair wo men. With blessings will greet them wherever they go; The brave men, the true men who join in the battle When liberty calls them who never say no; The sons of the Fethers who conquered our foe. O ! God of the Battles and God of the Nation, Grant Liberty once moie success in the fight; Grant power to the true in whatever their station, Who join in the conflict, the cause of the Right, The brave who their all still for liberty plight. And grant. Oh ! thou God, who art ruler ot all things The fight may not cost e'en the enemy's blood, But grant that the battle may soon be decided, For those who for Liberty firmly have For the country and flag of the true and the good, For those who tor Liberty ever will be, For the hearths and the homes of the brave and the free. 111)0(0: OR, The Charcoal Burner of Rouen. A THRILLING SKETCH. Not many miles from the city ot Rouen, in France, is located a wild and somewhat exten sive lbrest. This wood is chiefly inhabited by charcoal burners ; and many are the dark le gends in which they figure. Of course these tales are mostly exaggerated, and in most cases have no touedation at all. During the year 183—, however, several trav ellers, whose way lay through this forest, mys teriously disappeared. The whole place was scoured, and the inhabitants rigoromlv examin ed, but no clue was obtained, and they were dismissed. For several months alter this no travellers were missed, and finally the public excitement was allayed. It is at this time that the incidents related in this sketch occuried. It was a fine morning in early autumn, and the woods presented a beautiful appearance.— The birds were gaily singing, and the rays of an afteinoon sun were gilding the tree tops. In tne very heart of the forest, surrounded by the heaps of smoking earth, stood one of those burn ers. He was a splendid specimen of a man, as far as physical proportions are concerned j fully six feet in height, and stout in proportion. His broad shoulders might have contained the strength of a Hercules. His head was large and covered with a shaggy mass of hair, and his leatures were decidedly repulsive. His eyes were small and neatly covered with bushy eye brows. He had, altogether, a cruel and malev olent appearance As we introduce him to the reader, he was leaning upon a large axe apparently in a listen ing position. The road ran by the place where he was standing, but he could not see far along it on account of a sudden turn a little distance from hm. The clatter of a horse's hoofs, how ever, could be plainly heard, and in a few min utes horse and rider came in sight. The new comer was a small and active-looking man, and and from bis dress was a gentleman well off.— His eyes were unusually keen and searching,and were bent upon the charcoal burner in such a 33 rbforft dttfc (B>mttie. manner that the latter completely quailed be fore him. " A fair day, my good man," said the horse man, in the easy manner of one speaking to an inferior. " Excellent, Monsieur, for one of my trade. I love not the bioiling suns of summer, nor vet the bleak winds of winter." " Since you are so nicely suited, I suppose you are what so few are in this woild—happy." " You say tiulv, Monsieur—few, f-w indeed are truly happy. Tfiere is no happiness with out contentment." " Aiid are you not content ?" "At limes I think the nobleman riding by in his coach and four, rolling in riches, with servants to oney his every wish, and I have to toil hard lor my daily bread I cannot help thinking that (iod is sometimes unjust." " And do you never think of appropriating any ofihese superfluous riches to yourself." " What does Monsieur mean ? I trust that no thought of disobeying alike (he laws of CJod and man ever enter into my mind." I meant nothing : it was merely an idle ques tion ; but I did not stop to talk thus, but to am the way to P . It is getting late, and J must be on the move." " If Monsieur is in a hurry I can direct him to P in about hall the time " " I shall be much obliged to you my friend." " This lane begins very near my home,which is about half a mile further on. You had bet ter stop there, as my wife can point it out to you." " I will do so. Here is a reward," exclaim ed the horseman, offering him a pieceot gold. The other drew back and refused to take it, alleging he had done nothing to deserve it.— The horseman then put spurs to his horse and rode "awav, a bend in the road soon hiding him from sight. Having rode cm until he imagined that his horse's hoofs could not be beard by the charcoal burner, should the latter he listening, he dismounted and retraced Ins steps. He arii ved at the place where he had left his fiwnd the charcoal burner, but the latter was not to be seen. The stranger hastened back to his horse and remounted. '•lt is as I expected," he muttered. This road makes a large bend here, and by cutting across he can leach his hut before me. I care liltle, though, as I a;n forearmed. We shall see who'll come out first. I comprehend why he refused my gold piece, lie considers it as nis own, ar.d he thinks he may as well take all to gether ; but f must hurry on and finish this bu siness before nightfall." So saying he put spurs to his horse and rode on. Ten minutes'sharp riding brought ne char coal burner's hut in view. As he first caught sight of if, he thought he detected a man's face pressed against one of the windows. Of 'his, however, he could not be certain, as the face, if such it was, instantly disappeared. At the sound of his horse's hooU, an old woman appear ed in the doorway, and gazing curiously at tun, waited till he rode up. The horseman ould not help thinking that the woman was a most fitting companion for her husband. The expres sion of her countenance was even more villain ous. The stranger, however, did not slop to crit'cise her appearance, but courteously salu ted her saying : "I believe, madam, that you are the wile of the charcoal burner, whom I met up the roid ?" The woman replied in the affirmative. "Then I will tell you that I am bound for p * — y which I wish to reach before niglil fall. He told me of a lane which was much shorter than the regular road, which, he said, you could point out to me." "Certainly ! If this is all Monsieur wishes, he is easily satisfied. You may see a little way cpthat laige tree which towers above the rest; jest beyond that large rock and ibe lane enters the road on the other side of it. As it is very narrow and grown up with bushes, you would hardly notice it. But with these directions you can hardly fail. "Never you fear ; I shall not miss the road." "Is that all Monsieur wishes ?" "I believe so ; but slop a minute. I offered your husband a piece of gold, out he refused to take it. Perhaps you may be more sensi ble." The old woman greedily took the proffered coin, saying : ""Pierre is too sensitive. We might both starve before he would take a cent." "I see you differ from him a little," return ed the horseman, laughing. He then put spurs to his horse, and rode on. In a few minutes he reached the large rock alluded to, and could then perceive the entiance to a narrow lane, artfully concealed by bushes. He soon made his way through them, and when once in the lane, found it a little wider than he expected. It also becapie free of bushes, as he proceeded. He stopped a moment to examine th priming of his pistol, muttering : "My worthy friends are rather sharp. Th<v do not do their murdering in the open road, where spilled blood might lead to their detec tion, but inveigle the unfortunate traveller in to the dark laue, where he may be safely put out of tfef w y and none be the wiser of it.— At any rate, 1 am fully prepared fir them, and they will not put me out of the way without a struggle." Having seen that his arms were ready for use, he rode slowly forward, keeping a careful watch on each side of the road, that he mitrht not be surprised. As long as the woods kept open as they were, he had no'fear, as there was no good hiding place for a man. Ere lonn the woods began to get thicker and more sombre. Little hillocks, covered with bushes became more frequen', until at last they became a long range ski;ting at ach side of the mad. The horseman felt that the ttrr.e which was to ry him was r.ear at hand and he diopp.-d the reins until his hand covered a holster pistol, which he firmly grasped, in such a manner as a per- BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 24,1861. son would not notice, and he then assumed an air of carelessness, though his watch was now keener than ever. At length he cam.* to a place which he feil contained his enemy. Na ture seemed to have adapted this place for the purpose of concealment. The rocks which skirted the road at this place were about bieast high, and so perpendicular as to be nearly im pervious. The tall trees on each side of the road twined Ih-ir top together, forming a nat ural roof of leaves an J branches, and render ing the place as dark,and dismal as midnight It was a scene sufficient to appal the stoutest heart, but the hors-mai, although he knew that :ht* next moment might be his last, rod-on with ascatelessan air as he might have worn had he been traveling th<* streets of a populous city. His hand still grasped the butt of a pis tol, and hi-> keen eyes still searched each cov eit. Suddenly a pistol shot rung out upon the air, and his hat fell to the ground, with a bul let-hole through it, not more than an inch above where his head had been. Instantly turning in the direction ol the sound, hebeheid a slight wreath o< smoke cuiling up fiom henind a hush, and without fa m unenr's hesi tation, he leveled his pistol and filed. The aim was terribly fatal. A wild shriek rang up on the air, and the nest moment there sprang from behind the tree, not the charcoal burner, as he had expected, but his wife. The blood was flowing copiously from her forehead, and presented a horrible spectacle. She tottered to the edge of the wall of rocks and fell into lbs road, a corpse. "Had I known it tobea woman," the horse man IT.uttered, " I never would have fired. But it is too late to moralize. What can have become ol my friend, the charcoal burner ? " As he spoke, he turned round quickly and encountered the object of his thought. Jt was luckily for him, that he was so quick. The charcoal burner held a gleaming knife in his hand, already uplifted to strike. While the hoisemans attention had been engaged by the tragical end of the woman, he had silently crept up behind him, and the would-be assassin sprung forward, rr.akmg a desperate pass at his brest. The horseman still held the des charged pistol in his hand, and with its long barrel managed to pairy the blow. He then buried his spurs deep into the horse's sides, and the goaded beast sprang for ward so violently as to dash the charcoal bur tier to the ground, and completetly spring over him dashing the knife from his hand, leaving him stunned in the middle ol the toad. The hor.-mao J n.oiautO, n..0 U■ aw 11< w litj re maining pistol from his lolstt, waited for the other to rise. The latter staggered to his feet, and leaning against the IOCKS on the side of the road, gazed sullenly and revengefully on his conqueror. Thus the strange couple regarded each other for some time, until at last the horseman broke the silence: "So my friend" he said, "your career is en ded at fast." "Yes, curse you i I'd rend you asunder too if-" "You dared, I presume", put in the stranger. "I doubt not your good intentions, and ca.i only thank heaven that you have not a powei proportionate to your will, but I am doubly thankful that I have been the means of ridding the earth of such a monster, i presume you can give a pretty good account of those mysterious disappearances of late ?" "Aye, that I can ! you are the first richly freighted tiaveler who lias entered that lane, and escaped the bullet or !h knife." "Pshaw! do you take me for one of those simpletons whose purses are bHtei filled than th"ir heads?" "No" exclaimed the other with sudden en ergy. " I know better. From the vr-rv first you seemed to have read my very intention, and you must have been sent expressly to en trap me. In other words you are a detective in disguise. Well, you have come out best, but you have played a desperate part. Few would hav e escaped as you have, fur my wife is a good shot. But you seemed from the first to be fortune's favorite." "1 certainly had a jtattow escape," remarked the other, pointing to the bullet hole in his hat. "But it is not the first time that fortune has proved friendly to me." "Well, who are you?" at length demanded the other. "My name is Vidocq " "flreat heavpns! the Parisian detective!—l mi lit have known that it would be all upwith me when you are pitted against me." "Yes ; business at the metropolis be-ng rather dull, and having heard some rumors of your doings, I thought I wonld take a trip out here, if only for the good of my health, but, it is late, and you must be moving." "Whgre must I go ? " "To the gallows, in the end," was the cool reply ; "but at present, to the jail at P " "To the gallows!" returned the other fierce ly. "Never! any death but that"' "You shall have a bullet through your Head, if you prefer it!' The other ducked his in expectation of the shot, and then made a desperate spring at the detective. The latter, however, was in no hurry to fire, and coolly awaited the other's attack. The charcoal burner grasped the reins with his left hand, and with his right endeav ored to gra-plhe pistol. The detective, how ever, caught his rigiu hand, with his own left, and holding it up with an iron grasp passed his right hand under, until his pistol pressed against the other's forehead, when he fir a d. The other instantly relaxed his hold, and, with a t-rrib|e cry f- II back a corpse. Tbe detecitve, having accomplished the pur pose of his visit, did not delay his return to Paris, hut fining explained the affair to the authorities at P he depaited. And thus was the earth rid of two as great monsters in human form as ever lived. Freedom of Thought and Opinion. WHAT IS A RATION ? For the information of numeious inquirer ß , We give the following list of articles constitu ting a'ration, from the army regulations: 20 oz. fresh and salt beef or 12 oz. pork. 18 oz. soft bread or dour, or 12 oz. hard bread. 21 oz. beans or 3-5 oz. rice. 1 5-6 oz. sugar. 1 oz. coffee, ground. ' & gill vinegar, i <<z. candles. J oz. s >ap. ft oz. salt. I his must answer for the subsistence of a soldier during the da\ - , and, properly husband ed, it is enough. The rations for a company of seventy-seven men aggregate as follows : 96i lbs. fresh and salt beef, or 57 J lbs. pork, 86j lbs. salt bread or flour, or 57f lbs. hard bread. II i lbs. beans, or 7J lbs. rice, lbs. sugar. 4? lbs. coffee, ground. 3f quarts vinegar. 3 pecks potatoes. 1 3-16 lbs. candles. 3i lbs. soap. 1 quart salt. 3 pints soft soap. Company rations are served daily, and each company has its own cooks, who can, with pioper attention and care, supply the men well each meal, ami have enough to spare. If they do not know how they will soon learn, bv sa ving scraps, making mixed dishes, &c., to rnsrke the rations go as far as possible. POETICAL VIEW OF CHILDHOOD. We never could have loved (he world so well if we had had no childhood in it —if it were not the earth where the same ftowrrs came up again every Spring that we to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat lisping to ours-lves on the grass—the same hips and haw on the au lumn hedgeiows—the same redbreasts that we used to call " God's bird," because they did no harm to the precious crops. What novelty is worth that monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known ? The wood 1 walk in on this mild May day, with 'he young yellow brown foliage of the oaks be t tween ins- and the blue skv, the white staiflow- J? , r- e Ct ri speedwell and the around lIT at my fee—what grove ot tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid broad petailed slossoins, could ever thrill such deep and deli cate fibres within me as thes home scenes. These familiar flowers, these well remember ed bird notes, this sky with its fitful brightness, hese furrowed and grassy fields, each" with a ion ol personality given to it by the capricious hedgerows—such things as these are the mother ongue ol our imaginafion, the language that is aden with all the subtle inextricable associa 'ions, the fleeing hours ol childhood left behind hem. Our delight in the sunshine on the deep jladed grass to-day might be more than the aint perception of wearied souls, if it were not For the sunshine and the grass in far off* years, which still live in us. and transform our per ception into love.— Mill on the Floss. THE ABSENT. —Of all the exercises of the infettered mind, perhaps none is atten led with a more benign influence than that >f indulging in a kind remembrance of theab ;ent. Every loving word that fell from fthe 'lips rf the absent is treasured with tenderness. Each kind act is lecollected with affection. We look forward to a meeting with unbounded lappmess. Hrve we parted in anger! Time softens us nto indifference—at length into a qui~t ac iowlrogment of past frienship. Have W e larted in silent estrangement! This, too, wears iway, and we must meet again to forget the last in future communicatons. Havp we parted in grief ? The sorrow is mutually jorne, and tenderly consigned to the corner of iur hearts devoted to the absent sharer. Have we parted in love? No joy so great as lie remembrance of it—no event so delighted >r sacred as the re-union. Absent, but not fogotten, is a sweet and ouching memorial. SOMETIME. —Tt is a sweet, sweet song, flow ng to and fro amongst the topmost boughs of he heart, and fills the whole air with joy and ;ladness, as the songs of birds do, when the iummer morning comes out of the darkness, and he day is boin on the mountains. We have ill our possessions in the future which we call 'sometime." Beautiful flowers and sweit iinging birds are there, oniv our hands seldom ;rasp the one, or our ears hear, except in far off strains, the other. But, oh, reader, be of good -beer, for all the good there is a golden "some hing!" When thp hills and valleys ot time are all massed, when the wear and the fever, the dis appointment and the sorrow of life are over, hen there is the place, and the rest appointed if God. 0 homestead, over whose root falls no ;hadow or even clouds, across whose threshold he voice of sorrow is never heard ; built upon he eternal hills, and standing with thv spires ind pinaclesof celestial beauty among the palm rees of the city on high, those who love God shall rest under thy shadows, where there is no Tiore sorrow, nor pain, nor the sound of weep ng—sometime.—Peterson's Ma^mine. During a recent fire an old woman was very anxious to go through a street, which at Ihe time was considered dangerous, hut all hpr pfforts were unavailing. At length she pushed ane of the policemen aside, when that worthy prese-rv r o the public peace said, •* Now, maim you can't pass ; if you do you'll be killed, and then you'll blame us afterwards." DIDN'T TAKE TIIE PAPERS. Some years ago, a lady noticing a neighbo who was not in her seat at church one Sabbath called on her return home to inquire wha should detain so punctual at) attendant. On en tering the house she found the family busy a work. She was surprised when her friend ad dressed her— "Why la! whpre have you been to-dav drpssed up in your Sunday clothes .* "To meeting." "Why what day is it ?" "Sabbath day ; " "Sal, stop washing in a minute! Sabbatf day ! Well 1 did not know it, for my bus band has got so plaguey stingy, he won't taki the paper, and we know nothing. Well whc preached ?" "Mr. S." "What did he preach about?" "It was on the death of the Saviour." "Why, is he dead ' Well, all Boston ir,aj be dead and we know nothing about it! I won't do, we must have the newspaper again for everything goes wrong without the news paper ! Bill has almost forgot Ins reading, anc Polly has go] quite mopish again, because sht has no poetry and stories to read. Well, if wt have to take a cart load of jotatoes and onioni to market, I'm resolved to have a newspaper.' STRANGER YOU KIN COME IN. —A worthv friend from the farming districts, who occasion ally drops in upon us to get the latest news narrates the following. A traveler passing through his neighbor hood on horseback stopped at a modest rot lag* Dn the ro. Iside, and asked for shelter, as if was raining. "The head of the family came to the door, and accosted the traveler with "What do you want ?" "T want to stay all night. "What are yer ? "The interrogatory was not fully unde.-tood by the traveller a.id he asked an explana tion. "I mean what are yer politics ? rejoined the [ormer, are they fur the Union or agin it? know. This was a poser, as the traveller uas not ceitain whether the man was fur the Union or for the secessionists, and as he was anxious to put up for the night—so he made up hrs mind ind said— "My friend, lam for the Union and the Const i ' *<Mrsuiger y-e-ieo Kin eooic in It is needless to remark that the traveller dismounted, and both man and beast were hos pitably taken care of for the night. DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. —Love is like the dev il, because it torments ; like h-aven, because it wraps the soul in bliss ; like salt, because it is refreshing. Like paper, because it often sets one on fire— Like sugar, because it is sweet— Like a rope because it is often the death of a man— Like a prison, because it often makes a man miserable— Like Wine because it is here to-day and gone o-tmrrow— Like a woman, because it guides one to the wished for port— Like a Will-o'-the-Wisp, because it often eads one into the bog. Like a fierce courser, because it often runs a way with one. Like the bite of a mad dog,'of the kiss of a r>r"tty woman, because they both make a man un mad. Like a goose, because it is silly. Like a labbit because there is nothing like if. In a word, it is like a ghost, because it is ike everything and like nothing—often talk •d about, but never seeen, touched nor under i'ood. LETTERS BY PRIVATE HANDS. —Of all the 'kind offices"solicited on the scoree of acquain ance or friendship, that of asking one to con vey ai.d delivere a letter by private hand is imong the most unpleasant and annoying, it is also the most uncertain mode of convev ince in the world, for we think it may he aid down as a rule that those who resort 9 it never get (he benefit of a prompt de ivery of their communictions, but frequently ind that they nave been resting quietly in the :arpet-bag or pocket of the obliging private nessenger for days and sveeks, entirely lorgoi en and neglected. Such has been our own ex jerience, both as the sender and receiver of etters by private hand, and we persume that promptness and accuracy in the matter referred ois the exception and not the tule. Men's houghlsare apt to be upon their own business, ind although when they assume such little ob igations they intend to carry them out, vet hey olten discovei, to their great mortification, bat they have made a miserable failure in heir attempt to play private letter carrier. Ttiis is our advice: don't send letters which are of the least importance by private lands if it can possibly be avoided. —U. S. Mail. Good counsel is on§ of the rarest and most difficult things to get. The prosperous man is not always wise. Is it wise to love money, and to fill our thoughts in getting and saving money ? But the advice. How many thousands feel the want ot it ? They are lost. They stand like men where several r<>ads meet not knowing which to take—with no one to tell them ; they shut their eyes, trust to luck, and lake the wrong one. Does any one doubt that thousands of ruined men and women could have been saved by a little timely counsel, backed by timely help? Good counsel is often all that is needed. The young man who hesitates— who stands betwenn good and evil—if he had but good counsel to help bim to resist tempta tion, might be saved. WHO EE NUMBER, 3948. (Er~ Tbe-girJ of my heart :—Oyster Patty. When is a sick man a contradiction ? When he is an impatient patient. on purpose?" "No sir—he hit me on the head." • not books alone, but men ; and chiefly, be careful to read thyself. £?" No woman is capable of being heauti lul who is not incapable of being false. Kir"A njaii passes for a sage if he seeks for wisdom; if he thinks he has fjund it, he is a fool. t (KP"The miser lives poor to die rich, and is the jailer ofhis house anc the turn-kev of his wealth. [£F"The light of friendship is like the light of phosphorus—seen plainest when all around is dark. ttP~Happiness must arise from our own tem- I per and actions, and not immediately from any external conditions. CP"A man's'nature runs either to herbs or weeds, therefore let him seasonably water the one and destroy the other. CP""I feel," said an old lady, "that I've got about throjgh with this world. I shan't enjoy much more trouble." CP*Love is our best gift to our fellow be ings, and that uhicn makes any gift valuable in the sight of heaven. XP~ The following bill rendered by a carpen ter fo a farmer, for whom lie had worked, seems at least, curious : " To hanging two barn doors and myself seven hours, one dollar and a half." That was a fearful jest of L >rd Norbury's, on sentencing to death a thief who had sloleQ a watch ; " you made a grasp at time, my lad, but you clutched eternity !" [T?"T can show thee a man whom thou must not imitate. He hath always an hundred things begun, and finished not one ; so he nev er does anything, though he be everlasting busy. CP" A man was suspected of stealing a horse and was arrested. " What am I taken for?" he inquired of the Sheriff. " I take you for a horse was the reply whereupon he kicked the Sheriff over and ran off. TP"Of a truth, a home without a gill is on ly half blest ; it is an orchard without blossoms, and a spring without song. A house full of sons is like Lebanon with its cedars, but daugh ters by the fireside are like roses in Sharon. CP* " Henry, you ought to be ashamed to throw away bread like that. You may want it someday." " Well, moiher, would 1 stand any better chance oi getting it then, if I should eat it up now iTP*An Irishman having a looking glass in one hand shut hi* eyes and placed it before his lace. Another asked him why he did so.— "Upon my sowl," replied Teddy, "it's to see how I look whin I'm aslape." (CP" " Tom, you sot," said a temperance man to a tippling friend, " what makes you drink such stuff as you do? Why the very hogs wouldn't touch that brandy !" " That's cause they's brutes," said Tom. " Poor creaturs. They dunno wats good !" WANTED —Material aid for constructing a life-boat that will float on "a sea of trouble," rise on the waves of misfortune," stem the " tide of adversity," sail clear of the " quick sands of error," and steer safely to the " haven of rest." 'CP" A Physician at Cincinnati, had for some time been annoyed by depredators ; who drank up the milk left at his door at an early hour.— One day, recently, he put an emetic in the pitcher, and, soon after the milkman had passed the doctor found a policeman in a neighboring alley, " making his returns." (CP" An old Dutch lady, at a religious meet ing became very much concerned for her soul, and went abou' sighing and would not be com lorted. Upon being asked by the minister what the matter was, she replied : " That she could not read English and she was afraid the Lord couldn't understand Dutch." !CP"A young lady, in reply to her father's question why she did not wear rings upon her fingers, said : "Because, papa, they hurt me when anybody squeezes my hand." "What business have you to have your hand squeezed ?" ''Certainly none, but still you know papa, one would like to keep in squeezable order." CP" A young lady once had a beau. One evening said beau was anxious to enjoy some private conversation with his charmer; but, there being two children in the room, somewhat marred his wishes. The gentleman looked to gee them sent to bed, but he was disappointed. The youngest child, a bov three years old, slept with the young ladv and had no idea of retiring without his bed-fellow. Stretching his chubby length upon the carpet, the youngest watched the twain with resolutely wide-awake eyes, until the bell struck nine, when patience becom ing exhausted, he raised his little head and said: 'JVine o'clock is bed-time. Don't you think your moiher mats you now ?" This was one of 'he tallest hints the •gentleman had ever re ceived in a civil kind of way, and the mingling of embariasiinent, and v.-xaiio.i, and mirth pro ducer! by it, was sunny in theextieme. "Son ny" was sent to bed every night after that, so i lus, and much to the relief of the \i>itor VOL. 4. NO. 41.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers