VOL: 7.
THE DEAD SOLDIER
BY. R. J. 0.
Near Potontno's bright waters lic the bones of tha
rave,
Who died in the Right his country to save ;
Tho’ he sleep there in eilence, he'll ne’er be forgot,
No flowers ons o’er him, no etone marks the
gpot ;
No father was near when ntangled he lay,
No mother wept o'er him while his life ebbed |-
awa;
No sister, iL broken, shed a tear o'er the grave
Of a brother who died his country to save,
The soldier who fought so bravely that day,
Shed a tear when he died from home far away ;
His eyes looked to Heaven—his heart broke with
ain,
He os ' 0, my mother, could I see you again!’
No mother was near him, no father to bless,
No sister's kind word to ease his distress;
May God rest the soul of the soldier 80 brave,
Who sleeps his last sleep where the bright waters
wave,
Tread lightly that sacred pot peace to his bones;
od ever was with him—He heard all his moans ;
Speak of him kindly—he’s now with the blest,
hot hig bones are all mould’ring, his soul is at
reet.
The eannon’s loud thunder will wake him no
more,
He sleeps on in peace, near Potomac’s fair shore
And memory’s tear, it will hallow the brave
Who died in the Right his country to save.,
Peace to his ashes! God biess the hand
That struck in defence of the Flag of onr Land 7
Disturb notthe Hero in his lone, silent tomb,
His troubles are over and Heaven's his home 3
His name shall not wither, he'll ne'er ho forgot,
A tree we'll plant o’er kim to mark the dear spot;
When passing by, stranger, drop a tear on the
grave
Of the soldier who died his country to save
Whiscellangous,
Tennessee Blacksmith.
A THRILLING SKETCH.
Near the cross-roade, not far from the
Cumberland mountains, stood the village
forge. The smith was a sturdy man of fif«
ty. He was respected wherever known for
his sterling integrity. He served God and
feared no man—and it might be safely ad-
ded, nor devil either. His courage was pro-
verbial in the neighborhood ; and it was a
common remark with those wishing to pay
any person a high compliment, to say ¢ He
is as brave 45 old’ Bradley.’
One night, toward the close of September,
as he stood alone by the anvil plying his la
bors, his countenance evinced a peculiar sat-
isfaction as he brought his hammer down
with a vigorous stroke on the heated iron.—
While blowing the bellows he would oc
casionally pause and shake his head, as if
communing with himself. He was evident~
ly meditating upon something of a serious
nature. It was during one of these pauses
that the door was thrown oper, and a pale
trembling figure came staggering into the
shop, and sinking at the smith’s feet faintly
ejaculated : :
‘In the name of Jesus, protect me !’
As Bradley stooped to raise the prostrate
form, three men entered, the foremos: one
exclaiming,
‘ We've treed him at last! There he is—
seize him !’ and as he spoke he pointed a
the crouching figure.
The others advanced to obey the order;
but Bradley suddenly arose, seized the
sledge-hammer and brandished it about his
head as if it had been a sword, exclaiming :
‘Back! Touch him not, or by the grace
of God, Ill brain you.’
They hesitated, and stepped backward,
not wishing to encounter the sturdy smith,
for his countenance plainly told them he
meant what he said.
‘Do vou give shelter to an abolitionist 2
shouted the leader.
‘I give shelter to a weak, defenceless
man,’ replied the smith.
“He is an enemy !” vociferated the leader
* Of the devil ’ said Bradley.
“He is a spy ! an abolition hound !" ex«
claimed the leader, with increased vehem-~
enee, ‘and we must have him. So I tell
you, Bradley, you had better not interfere.
You know you are already suspected ; and
if you insist on sheltering him, it will con
firm it.’ :
‘ Suspected of what! exclaimed the
smith in a firm tone, riviting his gaze upon
" the speaker.
« Why, ofadhering to the North,’ was
the reply.
¢ Adhering to the North "” cjaculated Brad-
ley, as he cast his defiant glances at the
speaker. “I adhere to my country—my
whole country—and will, so help me God,
aslong as I have breath,’ he continued, as
. he brought the sledge hammer to the ground
with great force.
¢ You had better let us have him, Bradley
withous further trouble. You dse only risk-
= & your own neck by your ‘interference.’
(Not as long as I have a life to defend
him,’ was the answer.
Then pointing to the door, he continued,
¢ Leave my shop,’ raising the hammer as he
spoke,
They hesitated a moment, but the firm
demeanor of the smith awed them into com-
plisnce.
“ You will regret this course in the morn-
ing, Bradley,” said the leader as he retreat.
ed.
* Go,” was the reply of the smith, point-
ing toward the door,
Bradley followed them menacingly to the
entrance of the shop, and watched them un-
til they disappeared down the road, When
he turned to go back in the shop, he was| Joh
met by the fugitive, who grasping his hand
exclaimed :
¢ Oh, how shall I ever be able to thank
you, Mr. Bradley #’
¢ This is no time for thanks, Mr. Peters,
unless it is to the Lord. You must fly the
country at once.’
¢ But my wife and children 7’
¢ Mattie and I will attend to them.
you msst go to-night.’
¢ To-night #’
¢ Yes, they will return in the morning, if
not sooner, with a large force and carry you
off, and probably hang you on the first tree.
You must leave to-night, certain.’
‘But kow ¥
¢ Mattie will conduct you to the rendez
vous of our friends. There is a party made
up who intend to cross the mountain and
join the Union forces in Kentucky. They
have provisions for the journey, and will
gladly share with you.’
At this moment a young girl entered the
shop and said,
¢ Father. what is the trouble to-night ?’
Her eye resting on the fugitive, she ap~
proached him, and in a sympathizing tone,
continued, ¢ Ah, Mr. Peters, has your turn
come so soon ¥’
This was Mattie. She was a fine rosy
girl, just past her eighteenth birthday, and
the sole daughter of his house and heart.—
She was his all—his wife had been dead
five years.
He turned to her, and in a mild but firm
tone said :
¢ Mattie you must conduct Mr. Peters to
the rendezvous immediately ; then return
and we will call at the parsonage to cheer
his family. Quick! No time is to be lost.
The blood-hounds are upon the track,—
They have scented their prey, and will not
rest until they have secured hun. They
may return sooner than we are expecting. —
So hasten, daughter and may God bless ye.’
This was not the first time Mattie had
been called upon to perform sich an office.
She had safely conducted several Union men
who had been hunted from their homes and
sought shelter with her father, to the place
designated, from whence they made their
escape across the mountains into Kentucky.
Turning to the fugitive she said ;
¢ Come, Mr. Peters, do not stand upon
ceremony, follow me.’
She left the shop and proceeded but a
short distance upon the road, and then
turued oft in a by~path through a strip of
woods, closely followed by the fugitive. A
brisk walk of half an hour brought them to
a secluded spot. Here Mattie was received
with a warm welcome by several men, some
of whom were engaged in running bullets,
while others were engaged in cleaning their
rifles and fowling pieces. The lady of the
house, a hale women of forty, was busy
stuffing the wallets of the men with bis-
cuits. She greeted Mattie very kindly. —
The fugitive who was known to two or three
of vhe party was received with a bluff, frank
spirit of kindness by all, saying that they
would make him chaplain of the Tennessce
Union Regiment when they got into Ken-
tucky.
When Mattie was about to return home
two of the company prepared to accompany
her, but she protested, war 1ing them of the
danger, as the enemy was doubtless abroad
in scarch of the minister. But, notwith
standing, they insisted, and accompanied
her until she reached tae road a short dis-
tance above her father’s shop. Mattie hur-
ried on, bu! was somewhat surprised on
reaching the shop to find it vacant, She
hastened into the house, but her father was
not there. As she returned to go to” the
shop she thought she heard the noise of hor-
ses’ hoofs eiattering down the road. She
listened but the sound soon died away. Go-
ing into the shop she blew the fire nto a
blaze ; then beheld that things were in great
confusion, and that spots of blood ware up"
on the ground. She was now convinced
that her father had been carried oft, but not
without a desperate struggle.
As Mattie stood gazing at the pools of
blood, a wagon containing two persons
drove up, one of whom, an athletic man of
five-and twenty, got out and entered the
shop. .
‘Good evening, Mattie. Where is your
father 2” Then observing her very strange
demeanor, he continued: ¢ Why Mattie,
what has happened ? What ails you 2’
The young girl's heart was too full for her
tongue to give utterance, and throwing her
head upon the shoulder of the young man
she sobbingly exclaimed :
¢ They have carried him off. Don’t you
see the blood ?’
¢ Have they dared to lay their hands u pon
your father 2 The infernal wretches 1’
Mattie recovered herself sufficiently to
narrate the events of the evening. When
she had finished he exclaimed :
¢ Oh that I should have lived to see the
day that old Tennesse was to be thus dis-
graced. Here Joe I’
At this the other person in the wagon
alighted and entered the shop. He was a
stalwart negro.
‘Joe,’ said the young man, ‘would you
like your freedom 2
* Well, Massa John, I wouldn’t much like
to leab you. but den I's like to be a free
man.’
¢ Joe, the white race have maintained their
liberty by their valor. Are you willing to
fight for yours ; aye, fight to the death 2’
But
¢ 's fight for yours, apy time, Massa
ohn. :
‘I believe you, Joe. But I have desper-
ate work for to-night, and I don’t ish you
to engige 1 it witheut a prospect of reward.
If I succeed I will make you a free man. It
is a matter of life and death. Will you
gov
“I will, Massa.’
* Then kneel down and sweat before the
everlasting God, that if you falter or shrink
from the danger, you tay hereafter be con -
signed to everlasting fire I”
‘I swear, Massa,” said the negro kneelirg
kown ; ‘an’ [ hope that Gor almighty may
strike me dead ef I don’t go wid you tht’o
fire an’ water, and through eberyting 1’
‘I'am satisfied Joe,” said his master ;—
then turning to the young lady who had
been a mute spectator to the singular scene,
he continued :
¢ Now Mattie, you get into the wagon,
and I'll drive down to the parsonage, and
you remain there with Mrs. Peters and the
children until I bring you some intelligence
of your father.’
* * * * *
While the sturdy old blacksmith was
awaiting the return of his daughter, the
party he had repulsed returned with in«
creased numbers and demanded the minis-
ter. A ficree quarrel ensued, which resulted
in their seizing the smith and carrying him
off. They conveyed him to a tavern half a
mile distant from the shop, and there he
was arraigned before what was called a vil
lage committee. The committee met in a
long room on the ground floor, dimly lighted
by a lamp, which stood on 2 small table in
front of the chairman. In about half an
hour after Bradley’s arrival, he was placed
before the chairman for examination. The
old man's ars were pinioned, but he cast
a defiant look around him.
‘ Bradley, this is a grave charge against
you. What have you to say ?’ said the
chairman.
¢ What authority have you to ask 2’ de
manded the smith.
¢ The authority of the people of Tennes-
see,’ was the reply.
‘1 deny it.’
¢ Your denials amount to nothing. You
are accused of harboring an abolitionist, and
the penalty of that act is death. What have
you to say to the charge ?’
‘I say that is a lie, and he who utters
such a charge against me is a scoundrel.’
* Simpson,’ said he addressing the leader
of the band that had captured Bradley, and
who now appeared with a large bandage
about his head, to bind up a wound that
was the result of a blow from the fist of
Bradley, ‘Simpson,’ continued the chair
man, ‘v-hat have you to say
The leader then stated that he had track
ed the preacher to the blacksmith’s shop,
and that Bradley had resisted his arrest,
and that upon their return he could not be
found, and that the prisoner refused to give
any information concerning him.
‘Do you hear that, Mr. Bradley ¥ said
the chairman. :
‘Ido. What of 1t 2
“Is it true ?’
‘Yes,’
¢ Where is the preacher ?’
¢ That is none of your business.’
¢ Mr. Bradley, this tribunal is not to be
insulted with impunity. I again demand to
know where that preacher is. Will you
tell ¥
‘ No.’
‘Mr. Bradley, 1t is well known that you
are not only a member but an exhorter in
Mr. Peters’ church, and therefore some lit.
tle excuse is made for your zeal in difend-
ing him. He is from the North, as has long
been suspected, and 1s now accused of being
an abolitionist, and a dangerous man. You
do not deny sheltering him, and refusing to
give him up. If you persist in this you
must take the consequences. I ask you for
the last time if you will inform us as to his
whereabouts 2°
¢ Again 1 answer no !’
‘ Mr. Bradley, there is also another seri-
ous charge against you, and your conduct in
this instance confirms it. You are accused
of giving aid and comfort to the enemies of
your country. What have you to say to
that 2’
‘I say it is false, and he who makes it is
a villain,’
«I accuse him of being a traitor, aiding
the cause of the Union,’ said Simpson.
«If my adherence to the Union merits the
name of traitor, then I am proud of it. I
have been for the Union—and will be as
long as life la sts.’
At these words the chairman clutched a
pistol that lay upon the table before him,
and the bright blade of Simpson’s bowie
knife glittered near Bradley's breast ; but
before he could make the fatal plunge, a
swift-winged messenger of death laid him
dead at the feet of his intended victim }
while at the same instant another plunged
into the heart of the chairman, and he fell
forward over the table, extinguishing the
light and leaving all in darkness. Gonfu
sion reigned. The inmates of the room
were panic stricken. In the midst of the
consternation a firm hand rested on Brad-
ley’s shoulder ; his bonds were severed, and
he was hurried out of the open window.—
He was again a free man, but was hasted
forward into the woods at the back of the
tavern, and through them’ to a road a quar.
ter of a mile distant, then into a wagon and
driven rapidly off. In half an hour the
smith made one of the party at the rendez
BELLEFONTE, THURSDAY MORNING, JUNE 19,
vous that was to start at midnightacross the
mountains. :
‘John,’ said the smith, as he grasped the
hand of his rescuer, while his eyes glistened
and a tear ran down his furrowed cheek,
‘I should like to see Mattie before 1 go.’
¢ You shall,’ was the reply.
In another hour the smith clasped his
daughter to his bosom.
It was an effecting seccme—there in that
lone House in the wilderness, surtounded by
men who had been driven from their homes
for their attachment to the principles for
which their patriotic fathers fought and
bled—the sturdy old swith, the type of the
heroes of other days, pressing his daughter
to his breast, while a tear stole down his
check. He felt that perhaps it was to be
his last embrace ; for his heart had resolved
to sacrifice his all upon the altar of his
country, and he could no longer watch over
the safety of his child. Was she to be left
to the mercy of the parricidal wretches who
were attempting to destroy the country that
had given them birth, nursed their infancy,
opened a wide field for them to display the
cbilities with which nature had endowed
them ?
¢ Mr. Bradley,’ said the rescuer, after a
short pause, as you leave the State it will be
necessary, in these troublesome times, for
Mattie to have protector, and I think that
our marriage had better take place to-night.
¢ Well, John,’ said he, as he relinquished
his embraces and gazed with a fond look at
her who was so dear to him, ‘I shall not ob.
Jject if Mattie is willing.’
‘Oh,’ we arranged that as we came along,’
replied the young man.
Mattie blushed, but said nothing.
In a short time the hunted down minister
was called upon to perform a marriage ser
vice in that lone house. It was an impres
sive scene, Yet no diamonds glittered upon
the neck of the bride ; no pearls looped up
her tresses ; but a pure love glowed within
her as she gave utterarce to a vow which
was registered in heaven.
Bradley, soon after the ceremony, bade
his daughter and her husband an affectionate
farewell, and set out with his friends to jein
others who had been driven from their
homes, and were now rallying under the
old flag to fight for the Union, and, as they
said, ‘Redeem old Tennessee !’
a SOLD CI J
CouLoN'T po 1.—In Schoharie county
there lives a man whose addiction to swear
ing is such that his name has become a by-
word and a reproach ; but by some infernal
thermometer, he so graduates his oaths as
to make them apply to the peculiar case in
hand ; the graver the mishap or cause for
anger, the stronger and more frequent the
adjurations. lis business is that of a gath-
erer of ashes, which he collects mn small
quanties and transports in an ox cart. Up-
on a recent occasion, having, by dint of
great labor, succeeded in filling the vehicle,
he started for the ashery, which stands on
the brow of a steep hill ; and it_was not un-
til he reached the door that he noticed,
winding 1ts tortuous course down the long
declivity, a line of white ashes, while some-
thing short of a peck was in the cart. “Fhe
dwellers by the wayside, and they that tar-
ry there,” had assembled in great force, ex-
pecting an unusual anathemical display. —
Turning, however, to the crowd, the unfor-
tunate man heaved a sigh, and simply re-
mark : he
*¢ Neighbors, its no use ; I can’t do jus:
tice to the subject.”
—— eer
Brains Against Har. —There is no place
where a man can see so wuch whisker in
the same space of time as during a stroll in
Broadway on a pleasant afternoon. Hair 1s
assiduously cultivated in New York, and
the crops are large. The man of fashion
would not consider his face in full dress if
you could see his mouth. He keeps it em-
bowered in a mass of fibres, through which
he strains his soup to make them grow. —
Do the ladies like that sort of thing 2 Of
course they do. A man with his lips hid~
den in hair, a pair of wing-like whiskers,
and a beard as long as a turkey’s tail, is a
‘duck,’ in their estimation. To be sure, the
elegant fellows do not look very intellectual;
gentlemen that run to hair seldom do. Na.
ture apportions her gifts impartially. To
some she gives an abundance of brain, to
others a superfluity of fibre. The former
can oniy be properly developed by study,
the latter is easily brought to the highest
perfection with dye and grease ; and one
who is ignorant of fashionable weaknesses,
can have ne idea how many adorable creat.
ures prefer cultivated whiskers to cultivated
minds.
A HARD SHELL SERMON. —* My brethren,’
said a hard shell Baptist, who was holding
forth one Sunday, If a man is chuck full
of religion, you can’t hurt him."
‘ There was the three Arabian children,
they put ’em in a fiery fuinace hetted seven
times hotter than it could be het, and it
didn’t singe a hair on their heads.
‘ And there wasJohn the Evangeler—
and brethrén and sisters where do you think
they put him? Why they put him in a
calbornic of bilin’ lie, and biled him all
night ; and it didn’t faze his shell.
‘¢ And there was Daniel —they put him in
a lion’sden. And what my fellow traveler
und respected auditors, do you think he
was put into the lions den for? Why for
praying three times a day. Don’t be alar-
med, brethren and sisters ; 7 don’t think
any of you will ever get into a lions den!”
1862;
A “BRILLIANT COURTSHIP,
Ther¢ was many effectin ties which made
me hanker arter Betsy Jane. Her father's
farm jined ourn ; their cows and onr’n sqen-
cht their tharst at the same spring: our old
mares both had stars in their forfeds; the
measles broke out mn both families near the
same period ; our parents, (Betsy's and
mine) slept regularly every Sunday in the
same meetin house, and the neighbors used
to obsarve, ‘“ How thick the Wards and
Peasleys air I’ It was a sublime site, in the
Spring of the year, to sce our several moth
ers, (Betsys and mine with their gowns pin-
ned up so they couldn’ sile ’em, effectionate.
ly bilin soap together and abusin the na
bora.
Altho T hankered intensely arter the ob
Jeek of my affection, I darsunt tell her of the
fires which was ragin in my manly buzzum,
Id try to do it but my tung would kiwollup
up agin the roof of my mowth, & stick thar
like death to a deceased African, or a coun-
try postmaster to his offis while my hart
whanged agin my ribs like an old fashoued
Flale agin a barn floor.
(T'was a carm still nite in Joon, All na-
tur was hust and nary zefler disturbed the
sercen silens. I sot with Betsy Jane on the
fense of her daddy’s pastur. We'd binrom-
pin threw the woods, kallin wild flowers,
and driven the woodehuck from his natiy
lair, so to speak, with long sticks. Wall
we sot there on the fense, a swinging our
feet two and fro, blushing as red asthe Bal
dinsville schule house when it was fust
painted, and lookin very cimple, 1 make no
doubt. My left arm was ockepied in bal.
lunsin myself on the fense while my rite was
wound lovinly round her waste.
I cleared my throat and tremblingly sed,
. Betsy you're a Gazelle,”
I thought that air was pretty fine. I
waited to see what effeck it would have upon
her. It evidently did’nt fetch her, for she
up and said,
“You're a sheep !”?
Sez | “Betsy I think very muchly of
you.”
“L don’t b’leeve a word you say—so there
now cum !” with which observashun she
hitched awayfrom me.
“I wish there was windows in my soul,’
sed I, * so you could seo some of my feel-
ins. There’s fire enuf in here,” sed I, stri.
kin my buzzam with my fist, ¢ 10 bile all
the corn and beef and turnips in the nabor-
hood. Versoovius and the Critter aint a
circumstans. :
She bowd her head down and commenst
chawing the strings to her sun bonnet. *
Ar, could you know the sleeplis nites I
worry threw on your account, how vittles
has ceased to be attractive to me 4& how
my lims bas shrunk up, you would’nt dowt
me. Gaze on this wastin form and these
‘ere sunken cheeks”’—
I should have continered on in this strain
probly for sum time, but unfortunately I
lost my balluns and fell overinto the pas-
ter ker smash, tearing my close and seveerly
damagin myself gincrally.
Betsy Jane sprung to my assistance in
dubble quick time and dragged me 4th.—
Then drawn herself up to her tull lute she
said’;
“I won't listen to your noncents no lon~
ger. Jess say rite strate what you're dri.
vin at. If you meen gettin hitched I'm
IN!”
I considered that enuff for all practical
purpuses, and we proceeded amejitly to the
parson’s and was made 1 that very nite.
ewes
[7 Dad,” said a hopeful sprig, ¢* how
many fowls are there on that table 2”
¢ Why !" said the old gentleman, as he
looked complacently on a pair of finely roas-
wed chickens that were smoking on the din-
ner table; ‘why my son there are two.”
“ Two !” replied yonng smartness, * ‘there
are three sir, and I’ll prove it.”
*Three !”’ replied the old gentlemrn who
was a plain matter of fact man, and under.
stood thing as he saw them. “I'd like to
have you prove that.”
Easily done sir easily done sir, easily
done! Aint that one, laying his knife up-
on the first.
‘Yes that’s certain,” said his dad.
“And aint that two ?” pointing to the
second, “and don’t one and two added to-
gether make three 2” :
Really said the father, turning to the old
lady, who was listening in astonishment at
the immense learning of her son, really wife
this boy is a genius and deserves to be en.
conraged for it. Here old ;lady do you take
one fowl, and I'll take the second, and John
may have the third for bis learning.
ra
[CFA smart Yankee, managed to raise the
wind by advertising to exhibit, ¢2 boys
with 4 heads, arms and legs.’ Of course
everybody went to see the show, and found
them accord with the programe; 2 boys
Joreheads, arms, etc., same as any other
boys—it was a goed play upon words—or
figures rather.
ee — a
IZA musician, whose nose had bécom®
distinctly eolored with the red wine he was
wont to imbibe, said one day to his little
son at the table—-You must cat bread, boy
boy replied —‘Father what lots of bread you
must have snuffed up.’
——— -
02” The man who would try {o stab a
ghost sticks at nothing.
URIOSITY AS A_ SUBSTITUTE FOR
COURAGE.
A writer for the Eastern press tells these
anecdotes as illustrations of the power of
curiosity : : : :
1,0nce admired a certain young lady —
would have liked to marry her —didn’t dare
to ask her—couldn’t ask her—was too much
of a coward to ask ker ; but onc day my cu-
riosity got the better of me. I was so ,eu-
rious to know what she would say, that I
positively did ask her, and she suid ¢ Yes.’
But, Heaven bless you ! that wan't courage
bat curiosity —pure, slicer, unadulterated
cutiosity. ‘
I remember once my big brother fell into
the mill pond—a very injudjcious proceed
ing on his part, for he couldn't get out. I
saw him, and would have been glad to take
him by the neck, drag him out, and give him
a good licking, which he richly deserved for
getting his clothes wet and spoiling my
watch, which he had in his pocket; but I
didn’t have courage to go near him. Ire
membered all the stories I had heard about
drowning fellows pulling in other feilow
who tried ty help them —was awfully fright
ened, scared and cowardly-—Kept on think-
ing about the danger of going near drowne
ng fellows—the certainty of being pulled in
and going to Davy Jones with them —thought
very fast—remembered in ten seconds every
story I had ever heard, of such instances--
got more and more scared cvery second.—
All this time Big B. was going through
comical, serious, aqueous, gymnastics, pre-
paratory. to making his bed at the bottom of
the pond —knowed he’d sp»il his breeches if
he did this and also spoil my watch (lepine,
silver, cost $4,25, on four months time,)
Began to feel a great curiosity to know if
his watch had stopped yet ; also to know if
a drowning fellow always does pull non-
drowning fellows m. Curiosity got the bet-
ter of me at last, and I positively went in,
and instead of B. B. pulling me to the bot-
tom, I pulled hum to the iop, and dragged
him to the bank. Never should have dared
to do it in the world, but curiosity pulled
me through and pulled him out. Then }
ducked him for not taking off my watch
when he went in to drown.
Curiosity has increased every day of my
life, till now it’s so great that I believe I
would go to Tophet and spend a week in in-
spceting the premises, if I could get a pass
from Satan to come out on Friday night, so
as to be home on salary day.
Keepin Tues Awake, —Near Newark N.
J. lived a very pious family who had taken
an orphan to raise, who, by the way, was
a little underwitted. Llc had imbibed very
strict views on religious matters, however
and once asked his adopted mother, if she
didn’t think it wrong for the old farmers to
come to church and fall asleep, paying no
better regard to the service. She replied |
she did. Accordingly before going to church
the next Sunday he filled his pockets with
apples. One bald headed old man, who in
variably went to sleep during the sermon,
particularly attracted his a:tention. Sceing
him at last nodding and giving nasal evi-
dence of being in the ¢lagd of dreams’ he
hauled off and took the astounded sleeper,
with an apple, square on the top of the tald
pate, The minister and arous:d congrega
tion at once turned and indignanily gazed at
the boy, who merely said to the preacher,
ad hie took another dprle in his hand, with
a sober honest expression of countenance,
¢ You preach on, old hofy, I'll keep ‘em
awake.’ : .
as :
Joxes axp His Purs.—Jones being a grea
lover of dogs, has a famous breeder and the
pups are in great demand among those who
know and appreciate their quality. Jones
has a-great many friends, and when any
of them visit him, his enthusiasm for dogs
leads him to boast of the breed of his own.
The «result is, his frierds make him promise
to keep one of the pups for him when the
next litter is produced. One day Mrs.
Jones inquired in a quiet way.
“Jones how many pups will that won
derful dog have ??
‘Three or four perhaps.’
‘Do you know how many of the next
litter you have promised to your friends ?’
‘No.’
‘You Have promised no less than thirty
five.’
‘Well,’ replied Jones, reddening slightly
and speaking with considerable vehemence.
‘a man that won't promise a friend a pup,
is a mighty mean man.’
L0SS IN THE BATTLE OF FAIR
OAKS,
WasnixaroN June 8.
The following statement of the loss in the
battle of Fair Oaks has been received at
the War Department .
Hon. E, M, Stanton Sec. of War :
The following 1sa statement of the killed,
wounded, and misting of the 31st of May
and June 1, 1865 in front of Richmond.
Corps. Killed. Wounded Missing.
Sumner (second ..... 183 894 146
Heintzelman. 259 980 155
Keys 448 1,753 921
Total. 890 3627 122:
The grand total killed, wounded and miss
bread makes your cheeks red.” The little!
ing is 5,749 A nominal list will be furn.
{ished as soon as the data can be received.
G. B. M'CLELLAN.
[7 When are gloves unsaleable ? When
they arc kept on hand.
JZ There is a blind phrenoligist in St.
Louis, who ig great on . examining bumps.
A wag or twogot one of the distinguished
judges. who thinks a great deal of himself,
and has a very bald head, which he gener-
ally covers with a wig, to go to his rooms
the other day, and have his head axamined.
Wags and judge arrive, ‘Mr. B,,’ said one,
‘we have brought you for examination a
head ; we wish to test your science.” Very
well,” said the parenologist, ‘place the head
under my hand.’ He wears a wig, said
one. ‘Can’t examine with that on,’ replied
the professer. Wig was accordingly taken
off, and the bald head of the highly efpcc-
tant judge was placed under manipulation
of the examiner. ‘What's this, what's this 2
said the phrenologist: and pressing his
hand upon the top of his head, he said,
somewhat ruffled, ‘Gentleman, God has vis-
ited me with affliction ; I have lost my eye-
sight, but T am no fool ; you can't palm this
off on me for a head.’
—————cete ey
[T= GeN. WinrieLD Scort, tho hss been
staying at the family mansion in the city of
Elizabeth N. d., hag taken his departure for
West Point. As soon as the fact became
known that he was about to leave for a pe-
riod, the Mansion of, the : patriotic warrior
became crowded with .vjsitars and friends
anxious to pay their farewell respects, In
conversing with one geltleman in particular
on the present aspect of affuirs of the couns
try, he warmly culogized the proceedings
of Gen. McClellan, using at the same time,
these emphatic words :—Did I not tell you
that McGlellan was the man to save and rc-
store to the r former grandeur the Union and
the Constitztion of the United States.” To
another he remarked, “T may, and I may
not live to sce 1t. but I trust to God I shall.”
——— 0 Bs
I~ The passage of the bill by Congress
recognizing the governments of Hayti, and
Liberia will introduce into the fashionable
circle at Washington a new feature. There
will be added to the diplomatic-corps at the
nalional capital officials as black as ebony,
dressed in their gold lace, with a retinue of
attendants and bveried servants, to partici-
pate in all the fashionable gatherings in the
select circles, Their appearance will no
doubt enable Sumner, Wilson, Lovejoy and
stevens to accept invitations to the parties,
levees and social gatherings at the Whit
House.
eee es
177 At a bible class meeting, held in a
country town, the passages in the New
Testament describing the Savior’s ride iuto
Jerusalom ‘on an asses colt,” was the
subject under consideration and the pastor
inquired, *‘For what purpose did the peos
ple throw branches of palm trees in their
way 7; . ts
This was a poser, but one old dedcon ven-
tured on an answer —
“Ireckon’ said he it was to skeer tho
colt!
a
CouvLpNr Seg It.—A juggler was perfor-
ming to a western audience, and exhibiting
one of his feats of mysterious disappearance
accompanying it with the following
strain : : .
¢ Now, gentleman I take the ball thus, in
the palm of my left hand, cover it. with my
right hand, thus; rub them gently together
in this style ;.and beheld it is gone. You
thus see gentleman— Bie, |
¢ No I can’t see,” replied an individual
among the audience.
The juggler repeated his performance. . I
take the ball thus, et cetera, and behold tig
gone. You thus Sec gentleman— ce
+No I cannot see,” reiterated the same
individaal. i .
“May 1 ask,” returned the excited jug-
gler, “why the gentleman cannot sce,
when —
blind.” ”
The juggler rang down the curtain.
EE a or 2
IZA boy in Sunday School was once
asked what economy meant. He "promptly
replied ‘Paring potatoes thin.’ The answer
was received with a smile, but the defin-
ition was right 4s far asit went. The lad
got a just idea of the matter ; his rule qnly
wanted carrying out, and applying to things
generally, to be perfect.
i :
077A young girl who had become tired of
single blessedness, wrote to her true swain
as follows ; \ .
“Deer Gim cum rite off ef you are cum
min at all. Bill Collins is insistin that i
shall have him, and he hugs and kisses mo
so kontinerally that i cant hold owt much
longer, But will have 2 cave in.
Bersy.
JZ" Parson Brownlow makes his loyalty
pay. Two of his lectures delivered in N. Y.
and Brooklyn, yielded him about $3,700.—
It is said he averages about 1000 a lecture.
This beats Artemus Ward.
ep
7 There is a grocer in Philadelphia who
is said to be so mean that he was seen to
cteha flea oft his counter, hold him up by
his hind leg, and look into the cracks of his
feet, to see if he had’t been stealing some
of his sugar.
—ree eh
. IZ” A philosopher, who had married a
vulgar but amiable gi*l used to call her
* Brown Sugar,” because, he said, she wag
sweet but unrefined.
“Yes ; that’s about the same thing, I'm
si po hii Bi
Hoge