-y-> .-jSt*.. t,Jßmnruhms,ra ir]US&Mi gsgagfeataat M prices. b«|Njij|pL t win iwelwe attfceeeyßgy. it tD O* from t^iMMMwEk is ,'*» U» Tritmtu CWc*. V* tiatity. , ud nw* MtiiliiHat, r all who ent-o»t their m»k to [Haicb 31 tIHU; CO £ A I «.S fr- o« -li&f Si fe . oj* s 1 *lB ' 1 ■ W wf «. |j W 0 ■.fjia-ii I«! S||| W |3S bw i|tli * 3 a fall r jas'SS,'*J -j f O-O* il ‘ g*3> tf a!w- SRSIONE^A^ma<- n» nf Altoona and vkiaitr that - W np lmiicer of CTIONAKIBS. SDTB, STICKS ' *'4r_ emready Be-tiwSe#h|*B. rap oohanda goad «MdE.af «t*fii tnauAcnra. - IBSES, RAISINS,AC. wwnn of ;w. Molasses, B»tW. WHITE WHEAT FLO,VB. n/ICR, CORK URAL, JtC, * Mk io krct orinmfl jtirtMw, price mj stock mil Jon viU And u.aaT in town. JACOB WB». t x question whjoh tv sated of etery - njto best artiple fcrmyM^B;: » other matter*. th* - paiplto direct. but if you H' , iirUrtf OE SHOES >»te«tinn of hi* stock mad wqtk» tel hand at Assortment nfTTimtentoi ll which bo offers at &ir prices. T; V tiattentioD to ctutom —rti. p[f ie4-jtejglepisti». w»ari«bly IB adTmßCf,; SUS#. ; trt per« *» the expiration of the lime *r Af»ViiTiasG I ituteriioti - do. ;; do. $ $ &}£ $ 90 *o 7o I 00 . If. - I 00 1 So *OO *>i •• } 1 Wt ti 0u 250 ~r r cur-«* and teas than three mootta. cent* ‘“r **»eh Hwertion. ..i «<•#>- t hue*). months, fl months. l5O $ 3 00 ssoo 2 m 4 00 7 00 4 00 6 00 10 00 .... s oo ft oo 12 go 6 00 10 00 M 00 lO 00 WOO aooo "*• '.'‘T is 00 40 00 rtaimstrawr. and Kx f ß h** Notic *?; i 116 ,1 -rchanl. adtertWnp f '- T lh<> J««> »*>»« I"""- ' sih*rtV to pr C«rd*, not mm*dto K 8. with u*p*r. l* r ® ®V :-• nnicaikm* of* political mmeUaoT indMdnalin , ~11char zed according to the aboee rate*. ■"r i<*« i-jaar*-. BALTIMORE LOCK HOSPITAL VLtabushbd as a rbfcoe pbomquackuby. The Only Place Where a Care Can be Obtained. DK. JOHNSON has discovered the taost Ortalo, Speedy and only Effectual Remedy in • all Private Di«w»«. Weaknea* of the Back iw*. Strictures, Affection* of the Sidneys ... iotoioaury Diaeharges, Impolency, General Debility, Dyapepay, Languor, Low Spirits. Confoaion I i-x*. Palpitation of the Heart, Timidity. Tremblings, •/aw** of Sigh* or Giddiness, Disease of the Head. -au No*e or Skin, Affections of the Liver, Longs, Stom - r Boaelf —those Terrible disorders arising from the Habit- of Tooth—those sscan and solitary prmc uorv total to their victims than the song of Syrens to " Mariners of Ulymea, blighting their most brilliant anticipations. rendering marriage Me irapow- YOUNG MEN *.-«rikllv. srho bare become the victims of solitary vice. *ii dreadfal and destoctire habit which annually sweeps , i untimely glare thousands of Young Men of the most -liCtea talent* and brilliant intellect, who might othet'- • 1- late entranced listening Senates with the thunders : or waked to ectasy the living-lyre, may call fall confidence. MARRIAGE. *Urriel Persons, or Young Men cotetnplating marriage, >-.r.c aware of physical weakness, organic debility, defcr i.;». ic., speedily cured, ii-- who places himself under the care of J. may xe -uslr ‘con&l* In hh* honor as a geu«lem*|fc and coofi - „;;v r.’-Iv upon his skill as a physician. ORGANIC WEAKNESS Cured, and full Vigor Restored. Hu* Diitressing Affection —which renders. Life miserable iB,- marriage the penalty - paid by the • fcjims of improper indulgences. Young persons are to ,|.j ij commit excesses from not being awaie of the dread- Ic-coaseqneace* that may ensue. Now. who that under* -Uais the subject will pretend to deny that the powtjr of is lost *»ner tv those falling Into improper bahit- than by the prudent? Besides being deprived the of healthy uffspring. the most serious and de •suctive sTtaplom> t » both body and mind arise. The .-.item become* Derang*!, lb* Physical and Mental Fnnc_ :ij&s Weakened, Lo*- of Procreative Power, Nervous IrrT ability. Dyspepsia. Palpitation <>f the Heart. Indigestion, Debility. a Wasting of the Frame, Cough ."Va-amptloD. Dec*v and Death. , OFFICE, NO. 7 SOUTH FREDERICK STREET, Lrit hand side going frum Baltimore street, a few doors ;rwn thr corner. Fail not lo*observe name and number, betters must be paid and contain a stamp. The.Doc r* Diplomas hang in his office A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO DAYS. .Vb Mercury or Xuseons J>rugs. OR. JOHNSON. „ • Meaber of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. .Grad- - ute trots one of Hie most eminent Colleges in the United jiitt*. and tlie greater part of whose life has been spent in h>piuls of London, Paris, Philadelphia and else •lifte. has effected some of the most astonishing tores wer>- ever known; many troubled with.ringing in the: and ears when asleep, great nervousness, being kiirmol at indden sounds, bashfrilness, with frequent attended sometimes with derangement of mind, **:* cared immediately; TAKE PARTICULAR NOTlCE addrossea mll those who have injured themselves. l -j improper indulgence and solitary habits, which ruin >& body and mted, unfittiag them for either business, society or marriage. The«e are some of the sad and melancholy effects pro 'ixi by early habits of youth, vlx: Weakness of the S*:t and Limbs, Pains in the Head, Dimness of Sight, i** of Muscular Power, Palpitation of the Heart. Dys* rj»r, Nervous Irritabilitj. Derangement of the Digee -V Functions, General Debdity, Symptoms of Coosump* .Jrc. : •’ 'llxtallt.—The fearful effects of the mind *re much to '- ireaded—Loss of Memory, Confuioo of Idea*, Be rr-nUm of spirits, Brll-Forebodiog*, Aw*ioa to Society, l*ore of Solitude, Timidity, Ac., are some of produced. Theism cff persons of aliases can now judge what U : - a dkO«e of their decttalng health, losmg their rigor, be ■aiog weak, pale, aerroits and emaciated, haring a gin- appearance aboal the eyes, cough and symptoms of ■-a*amptioo. YOUNG MEN ■ *■■ -■ :.av-‘ injured themselves by m certain practice to* aiS'd in when alone, • habit freqnently learned front ■ra companions, or at school, the eflbeta of muce t» ■■shilr Mt, eren when asleep, and if not cared render* csrnsg. impoeible, and deetroy* both nrind and body, •weld apply immediately. Wbut a pity that a young man, the hope of hie country, fee darting of bi> parent!, should be anatched from ail ;-c;epecli and enjoyments of life, by the consequence of, Gristing from the path of nature, and indulging in n secret habit. Sncb persona iresr, before content r-Uting _ MARRIAGE, -Beer thet a vjutul mind ami body are the moot neeeaaary ■tioisitn to promote connubial happiness. Indeed, with al these, the journey through life becomes a weary pii trtmige; the prospect hourly darkens to the view; the -•ud becomes shadowed with despair and filled with the -oUncholy reflection tb.e the happiness ot another be "" ‘■"'S blitted with oar barn. ' DISEASE OF IMPRUDENCE. , . . Wien the misguided and imprudent rotary of Mim tads that he has imbibed the needs of this painful die it too often happens that an UMinaed sense of shame., or dread sf discovery, deters him from allying to those 'ha. from education and respeeUbßity, can alone ho •neni him. delaying HU symptoms of •in horrid diaeaae make their appearance, such Miore thrust, diseased nose, nocturnal pain sin the head jaa limbs, diocese of sight, deafness, node* on the shin • a*, *ad arms, blotches on the bend, free and eitremi *»• Programing with frightful rapidity, tm at last the [f dc of the month or the bone* of the nose fall In, and Tictim of this aarlhi disease become** horrid object of raeuaiseratlos. Oil death pats a period to hie dreadful '•ftriags, by sending him to “that Undiscovered Country ' no traveller returns.” it ii a mdoaedofy fact that Hwmsande fall victims to “ a terrible disease, owing to the nnskOlfnlnesa of igno- Pc-tendervwho. by the use of that Zteadly Autm, "““■g. ruin the consUtatioa and nuke the' residue of miserable. ,„, STBAM6ERS , i • rsjt Dot jour |i rM , or baalth to the cere of the mine ; k«m4 ud Wortblcm Pretender*, deetitnte of knowl f.. ■ tuu or dmeftr, who copy Dr. JtAneton'i edrcr* ■»arati or style tbemeelTee, in the newspaper*, rega wj faceted Pfayriciuu, fnemble of Curio*, they keep *? month after month, ukfag theiriUhj w» ? 3WB5 ® compounds, or as long at the smallest fee cti u and in decpalr, leare yon with rained health iSri 0 /** I" 0 ®* 1 galling disappointment, j? - Johnston U the only FhyskrUn auiTcrtiaißg -5? credential or diplomas always hang In his oft*, on remedies or treatment are unknown to all othtra, glared ttm a Ufe spent in the great hospitals of Korofm, toJixl* ** ooontoy and nmoreeztsosire wy otter PhysWah |p the wortd. - JNDOtSeMEHT or THE PRESS. emny tboamads cured at thSsimtitetion, year after lm|OCT oa» important Surgical operations Johnston, witnessed by the reporters of the »'to aiu * many other papers, notfcee'of appeared again and agaia before thepnblic, .•/•nrfJr* •'coding as a gentlemen of character and re ‘n wiity, u a sufficient guarantee to the afflicted. So uSi* diseases speedily cured. w * iTe< l nalees poet-paW end containing a Hs«ili 0b % tt **‘ ,on Person* wrfifegriumU stale portion ofedrertUesentdoKrlblag •jraptonu. ’*W^.TrH nc AooU •* particular hi directing thetr , 40 ' hi * Inutntiott, in the following meaner; JOMNSTOII. Of the Baltimore Lock Hospital. Uarri* €k«wf IfMfej. .U. C. OKBN, AN APPEAL TO YOUNC MEN. BT OUTER WESOELL BOLMtS, Lkten, young hero*! Jfcnr country is calling! Time strikes the hdar for ihe brave ao4 the true Nov, while the foremoat are fighting and foiling!. Fill op the ranks that have opened for yon! Yoo whom the fathers made free and defended. Stain not the scroll that"emblazons their fotoe! Yon whose foir heritage spoUms descended. heave not yoor children a,birthright ot shame! Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping: Wait not till Honor lies wrapped la bis pall! Brief the lips* meeting be, swift the hand*’ clasping— y Off for the wan!” I* enough for tb*-ra all. 10 00 Break from the arms that wo old fondly careas yon Hark! *tas the budebhitl sabres are drawn! Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you. Maidens Mull weep few you when you are gone! Never or now! cries the bloqd ofa nation. poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom I Now U the day and the hour of salvation— Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom! Never or now! roars the heart throated cannon Through the black conopy blot ting the skies: Never or now! flaps the abethblasted pennon O’er the deep oose where the Cumberland lies! From the tool dsns where our brother* are dying. Aliens and toes in the land of their birth. From the rank swamps where our. martyrs are lying. Pleading in vain Ibr a handfol of earth; From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered. Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough. Comes the load summons; too long you have slumbered. Hear the last Angebtrump—Never or Now! jltlKt |§|is«Uatt|), A BLINDFOLD MARRIAGE. The elite of the court of Louis XIY, the great monarch of France, were assem bled iu the chapel of the great trianon, to witness the nuptials of Louis. Count of Franche Compte—a natural son of the King —with Lydonie, Duchess de Bali verne,, a worthy heiress. The singular feature of the ceremony was that the bridegroom's eyes were ban daged with a white handkerchief. This circumstance excited the wonder of all. Had the bride been old and ugly, they would not have been surprised. On the contrary she was young and quite pretty. The king alone understood this strange freak of the bridegroom, and, though much enraged, he prudently held his peace and suffered the ceremony ,to proceed. A few words will explain the motives of the bridegroom. When Louis XIY came back from his great campaign in the Palatinate, he de termined to unite his son, whose valor and Haring in the war had greatly pleased him, to one of the wealthy wards of the crown. He proposed the union to the young Duchess of Baliveme, and found her fa vorably inclined. She had just come to court, having but recently emerged from the convent where' she had completed her education. She had seen the young Count often, though be had nevef deigned to cast a glance upon her. She knew he was brave and noble, and she thought him handsome.— The barsinister in bis escutcheon was no objection. * ■ Unfortunately, Louis of Tranche Compte, who, lie his father, was some thing of a reprobate, would not accept her. “My son,” said the great King, “I have resolved that you shall many,” ’ “My worthy sire and most excellent father,” returned the Count, “I have re solved to do no such thing!” The King frowned.- He was not in the habit of being contradicted. “I have made a formal proposition, in your name, for the hand of the. Duchess of Boliverne, and she has accepted you,” said he, gravely. “Doubtless,” sneered the young scape grace, “her taste is excellent, and how could she refuse met Perhaps it would have been as well to have consulted my inMinstinna in this matter. I do. not wish to many.” “Are yon in love with any one!” “No.” “Then love my Duchess. She is noble and wealthy.” t “I am your son—-that, is nobillity enough;” he bowed low as he spoke, and the King smiled at the compliment; “and the- Jews trust me—what could I do with more gold?” “She is the prettiest woman in my court.” “ I'm tired of pretty women; they are always fools.” “Gould you but see her, you would be sure to fall in love with her.” “ I never will see her,” answered the Count, determinedly. / “See her or not, you shall marry her!” cried the King in a rage. “If I do rn marry her with my eyes shut!” returned the Count. The King.grew purple with passion. : “Haxfcy*e, boy! Yon owe me obedi ence as subject and aS son. It is my will you bestow joint hand upon the Duchess de Baliteme. The wedding shall take place this day fortnight. Sub mit to mv will with a good grace, and I ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 7, 1862 will create yon a Duke on year wedding day. Dare to disobey me, and I will strip foil of your title and the lands yon hold from me, and cast yon into the hos tile.” This was what had brought the Count of Tranche Cample blindfolded to he mar ried. The King smiled grimly, but said noth ing- The Count placed the ring upon the finger of his bride, bnt he did not salute her: and when the ceremony was over be turned his back upon her, took the hand kerchief from his eyes, and walked out of the chapel. Lydonie pouted her pretty lips, and was almost ready to cry for vexation.— The King took her in charge, escorted her to her carriage, and they were conveyed to the hotel her husband occupied. 1 “Here you are, my dear,*’said the King, conducting her through the apartments he had expressly furnished for her reception ; “here you are, at home.” “But where’s my husband ?” said Ly donie. “Silly boy!” muttered the King, look ing very much annoyed. “Never mind, my dear, he is your husband : the rest will come in time.” “What is the use of having a husband if he will not look at you ?” pouted Ly donie. “He shall look at you, or I’ll send him to the Bag tile.” “Oh, no,” cried Lydonie, “do not force him to look at me. If he has not curios ity enough to see what kind of a wife he has got, I’m sure I do not wish to oblige him to look at me. 1 see how it is,” she continued, a sad expression stealing over her countenance. “Sire, you have forced the Count into this union!” The King coughed and looked guilty. “Oh!” cried Lydonie, with anguish, “he never loved me, then —he never will love me “Why should you care ?” “Because 1 love him,” answered Lydo nie, innocently. “Love him!” “Oh 1 so dearly ; that is why I married him. 1 had loved him from the moment I first beheld him. And now lam his wife, he will not look at me.” Lydonie burst into k flood of tears, and sank upon a sola. The King pitied her sincerely; but what could he do ? He bad forced his son to marry her, but he could not force him to love her. He thought of the Bastile. It would not make him love hi# wife to send him there. “Well, well,” he said, “you are his wife. I will make him a duke, and I dare say you’U'find him home before morning.” With these words the King withdrew. Lydonie was left alone with her sorrow. But die was not one to droop long. She soon dried her tears, and looked all the better, like a rose after a shower. Her old mirse came in, and together they inspected her new home, which Ly donie found entirely to her satisfaction. The Count did not come home that night. A week passed by, and he did not make his appearance. Lydonie came to the conclusion he would never come. She knew it was useless to appeal to the King. He had made jFranche Compte a duke, but he could do frothing for her. She de termined to ascertain what her' husband was about. She dispatched a trusty servant for in telligence, and, like all wives who place a spyupon their husbands’ movements, she was not at all pleased ; with the news she received. i The Duke was plunging into all kinds of dissipation. He was making love to all the pretty daughters of the shopkeepers in the rue St Antoine. In fact Cor a newly married man, his conduct was shameful. „ “To leave me to run after such cana ille /” exclaimed Lydonie, - She panned suddenly. An idea had entered her brain. She determined to act upon it. While she is meditating upon it, let ns see what the Duke is about. One night, about eight days after his marriage, the Duke, plainly attired and muffled in a cloak, roamed through the Fauburg St Antoine, as was his wont in quest of adventures.. As he turned the comer qf one of. those narrow lanes that intersected that quarter at that period, a piercing shriek burst upon his ear, min gled with suffocating cries for assistance. The Duke’s sword was out in an ; instant He was brave to rashness. Without a moments thought he plunged into the lane. He beheld a female struggling in the grasp of a man. The man fed precipitately at his ap proach, and the girl sank into his arms, convulsively exclaiming; “Save me! oh! save me!” The Duke sheathed his sword and en deavored to calm her fears. He led her beneath the lamp that swung at thecomer. “Why, you are a perfect little beauty!” he cried rapturously, and in surprise The giri ost down her eym and Unshed deeply, and the Duke felt the little hand [IXDKrKXIJEVT IN EVERTTHISG.j j that rested upon his arm tremble. Biit i she did not seem displeased. “ Do vou reside in Paris ?” “Yes: but we have only been here a short time. We came from Bellville— mother and I.” “From the country, eh? Where do yon live, my pretty blossom ?” “ In the rue St. Helene.” “ Why, that is some distance from here. Will you not permit me to escort yon home? These streets are dangerous, as you have found, to one as beantiful as you are.” “ I would very much like to have you see me home—if—if—” She paused and appeared confused. " If what?” asked the Duke, eagerly. “If you would only be so good—as to promise not to —to—try—to—kiss me again, if you please, sir,” replied the girl, innocently. The Duke was charmed. There was a simplicity, a freshness about this young girl which pleased him. “ I give you my word as a gentleman,” he Said frankly, “ that no action of mine shall displease you, if you accept my es cort.” She came to his side and took his arm with confidence. “I am not afraid of you,” she said with sweet simplicity; “I know you are too good to injure me.” The Duke Unshed for the first time in —he could not remember how many years; he knew be was receiving a better char acter than he deserved. “What is your name?” he asked, as they proceeded on their way. “ Bergeronette,” she replied. “What a pretty name! And so you live here in Paris, all alone with your mother.” “Yes.” “I dare say you have plenty of sweet hearts?” “No; I haven’t one.” “ What—no one that loves you ?” “None,” replied Bergeronette quite sadly. “ Would you not like a sweetheart ?” “ Perhaps.” / “ You must be particular in your choice, or you would have had a sweetheart be fore now. What kind of a one would you like, now?” Those sparkling grey eyes were lifted to his for a moment. “ I would like one. if von please, like —like —” “ Like what?” “ Like you /” “Phew!” thought the Duke, “I am getting on here. Now, is this cunning, Or is it simplicity?” They walked off some time in silence.— Bergeronetje checked the Duke before a little cottage, with a garden in front.— There was a wicket gate leading into the garden. “ Here is where I live,” she said. She took a key from her girdle and unlocked the gate. “ Will she invite me tp enter ?” thought the Duke—and the thought was father to the wish. “ Good night, sir,” said Beigeronette, “ and many thanks for your kindness.” “ She is a Dian!” was the Duke’s men tal reflection. “ Shall I never have the pleasure of see ing you again ?” said the Duke. “Dfr you wish it?” she said, earnestly. “ Most ardently.” : ‘‘l’ll ask my mother.” An oath rose to the Duke’s lips, but he prudently checked it. “ Will yon receive me to-morrow ?” “ iTon may come, and if my mother is willing—yes.” “I shall be sure.” “You will have forgotten me to-mor row.” “I shall never forget yon!” “ I have heard my mother say the men always protest more than they mean.” “Your mother is”—the Duke paused, and tat his lip. “What is she?” asked Beigeronette, archly. “She is—is right. But/mean what I say. As sure as the morrow comes, so will I.” “Come. Good night” She turned from him, and was about to enter the gar den. , “ Bergeronette,” he said, quickly, “ one kiss before I go. Surely my forbearance deserves it” She made no answer, but she inclined her head gently toward him. For a mo-, ment she lingered in ‘his arms, and then tore herself from his embrace, and passed quickly through the gate. The Duke de termined to Mow her. When he placed his hand against the gate he found it se curely fastened. Bergeronette had pru dently locked it after her. So the Duke went to faoi lodgings—he had taken bachelor apartments on his wedding-day—to dream 'of Bergeronette. The next day he went to the cottage in Bue St Helena. He was received by Bergeronette timid ly, and introduced by her to her mother, a fipe, matronly dame,wfao sat quietly spin ning in the oovner, axd allowed the young couple to rove abont the garden at will. The Duke thought she was a very sensi ble old woman. The Duke departed at Hie end of the three bouts, more in love than ever. He came eveiy day for aMbitnight, and every day he pressed his sni(. But there was only one way in which Bergeronette could be won—on honorable marriage. The Duke was in despair and iat his wit’s end. He had a stormy scene with the King, who threatened to send, him to the Bastile if he did not return to the Duchess. So he came to Bergeronette, on the fourteenth day, to make a final effort to obtain her. They were alone to gether. “Hear me, Bergeronette, h® cried, when he had exhausted every argument and found her still firm, “I swear to you w'ere I free, this instant would I wed yon. I will confess all to you. I have told you that I am a Duke, but not my title. — Now you shall know all. lam the Duke de Tranche Compte, and —l am already married P' “ Married P ’ echoed BergeroAette with a smothered sermon. “I was forced into this union by the King’s command. Ido not love my wife. I have never even seen her face. I left her at the altar’s foot, and we have never met since. She possesses my title, hut you alone possess my heart. Fly with me. In some distant land we may dwell in hap piness, blessed with each other’s society. Time may remove the obstacles to our un ion, death may befriend us, a divorce may be obtained, and then I swear to you, by every saint in Heaven, you shall become my Duchess!^ “ Were you free, would you' really make me your wife ?” “ I have pledged you my w'ord.” “I believe you.” “ You will fly with me.” “I will. “'Dear Louis,” she murmured, for so had he taught her to call him, “ I also have something to impart to jpou.. My name is not Bergeronette, am not what you take me to be.” “ What do you mean ?” “ I have a title equal to your own.” “Then this old woman?” “ Is not my mother, but my muse.” “ And the man who assaulted you ? “ Was my lackey instructed for the pur- pose.” The Duke looked bewildered. “And like you,” she continued, “ I am —MARRIED.” “ I’ll cut your husband’s throat,” ex claimed the Duke wildly. “I don’t think you will when yon know him.” “Who is he then, and who are you?” “ I am Lydonie, Duchess de Tranche Compte, and you are he.” The Duke was thunderstruck. Lydonie knelt at his feet “ Forgive me this little plot,” she pleaded; “it waste gain your loye. If it has succeeded l am happy—if it has failed, with my own lips I will sue to the King for our divorce.” “ Up—up to my heart,” cried the Duke, joyfully, as he- caught her in his arms; yon have insured our mutual happiness. Ah, none are so blind as those who will not see. Little did .1 think when : I stood blindfolded by your side at the altar that I whs rejecting such a treasure.” They passed their honeymoon iat the , little cottage, and the Duke was hot sent to the Bastile. Grave Words.— The following ring ing sentences from the conclusion of a late sermon of Henry Ward Beecher: ' • “I am not a prophet. lam not san guine, though hopeful. I think:: victory awaits us at every step, but if God thinks victory too dear to be purchased so cheap ly, we can give more sons, more treasure, we will give everything, but thisi:opnntry shall be one; and one nndivided.l The Atlantic and the Pacific shall sayit, deep answering to deep. “Hear it, England, one PeopUi, one Constitution, one Government. ' “One God, one country, one dag, and one destiny—-cost what it may. we will have it Let God name , the price and it shall be paid.” CuPFDfGS ntox Yxsrrr Faib.—-State of the weather at present-—-no small change. ; Puds most in Vogue at present—Pow der-puds. Good, with the hot work before us—A general draft all around. ThefoDowing message has just been sent” by Commodere Farragut to Vicksburg, under a dag of truce, “ Dry up.” ; ' Jenks is anxious to declare that although there may bea “ shamrock” infbe “arms?’ of Ireland, there is pothingbat “ the real griP in the arms of her brave sons who fed>t under our glorious, banner. 0-A queer looking customerinserted his lurid into an auction store and gravely inquired: “Cap I Wd?” ' , , : '; “Certainty,” arid the auctioneer. “Writ, then,” said the w*g, w*lking off, I bid you gMd night.” EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS. A GOOD SEVERAL. The fortitude required of him is Terr different from the unthinking alacrity of the common soldier or common sailor in the face of danger or death; it is not a passion, it is not an impulse, it is not a sentiment—it is a cool, steady, A-tiWyy. principle always present, always equable ; having no connection with anger; temper ing honor with prudence; incited, invig orated, and sustained by a generous love of tame; informed, moderated, and, direc ted by an enlarged knowledge of its own great public ends; flowing j in one Mended strgam from the opposite sources of the heart and head, carrying in itself its own commission, and proving its title to every other command, by the first and most diffi cult command, that of the bosom in which it resides—it is a fortitude which unites with the courage of the field, the more ex alted and refined courage of the council ; which knows as well to retreat as to ad vance; which can conquer as. well by de lay as by the rapidity of a march, or the impetuosity of an attack; which win be, with Fabius, the black cloud that lowers on the. top of the moon tains, or with Sdpid,. the thunder-bolt of war; which, undismayed by false shame, can patiently endure the severest trials that a gallant B pint can undergo, in the taunts and pro vocations of the enemy, the suspicions, the cold respect and the “mouth honor” of those from whom he should meet a cheer ful obedience which, undisturbed by falaA humanity, can calmly assume that most awful moral responsibility of deciding when victory may be too dearly purchased by the loss of a single life, and when the safety and glory of their country may demand the certain sacrifice of thousands.— lturke. THE FIRST RAILROAD. To-day (July Bth) we received our first yearly pass on a Minnesota Bailroad.— Nine years ago we got our first pass on the Pennsylvania Central and do not deep well at nights without having that ppa? renewed yearly, even when we do not ex pect to see the road during the year. The sight of it brings up dll the old familiar places and pleasant faces—the station we adorned with shrubbery and shade trees — the comfortable cars, with the sense of se curity in them—the gentlemanly conduc tors, and the regular passengers. We watched that road from the first locomo tive that came staggering and whizzing along, dragging its loads of rocks and ties and rails, until it was an institution of which the United States baa reason to be proud; and now we cannot help looking forward nine years to what the Minnwmta and Pacific Bailroad may be at the end of that time. It is ten miles long now; but, bless me how that child does grow! In six months, it will most likely be thirty miles long ; and six more will bring the iron horse to St. Cloud, if the water is not too low to get the rails up to St Paul. In six years he will run to Superior, bear ing his teeming burdens of civilisation, through the woodland haunts of Hiawatha. Cities and towns null send up their spires where the red man now pursues his game. The trees we shall plant aroqnd some prairie station will give rest and shelter to dusty, tired travelers, and our rases will bloom under 1 them as millions upon mil, lions of dollars worth of commerce shall roll past when we get our tenth yearly ticket —St Cloud (ifrn.) Democrat. Thai's Mt Wife.—Two of our citi zens, who we will call A andß, while ri ding out leisurely the other day, had attention attracted fay three todies who were walking ahead of than, one of whom excited the admiration oif A, who expa tiated in warm terms upon her fine form, beautiful ankles and graceful gait B quiesed in all that A said in praise of the tody, and became quite interested in her. When they had overtaken the todies and were able to see their feces, A was greatly surprised to hear B. exdafm—“Thunder that’s my wife.” —Pawtucket Gatette. O' If a law abiding citizen stops a drunken ruffian in the act of abusing Jus family and smashing his neighbor’s win dows, would it bp right to make the good man pay the cost of prosecution, and re pair the damaged windows! Such in principle, is die’ question now before the people of this country. Doughfaces and traitors say we should make loyal' nwh pay the expenses of the war, rattier than confiscate the property of tb&rebels. At a recent splendid burial in New Orleans, Gen. Butler determined—from some intimations—to act the part of-a re surrectionist. He had the coffin opened, and found the “remains” in an ‘.