a
Democratic at
Original Poetry.
TOL A. H.
BY 5. ¥. FUREY
Fair lady, I willne’er forget
The happy hour when first we met ,
When first [ saw, with glad surprise,
The pure, sweet beauty of thine eyes :
And noted there the holy light,
That beamed within those orbs so bright,
‘Whose every glance revealed a soul,
Whose truth and beauty all extol.
‘There all the Virtues are enshrined—
‘The Graces, too, are all combined
To render thee a being rare,
As pure as any infant's prayer.
To me thou seom’st a spirit bright,
Bent from the othereal realms of light,
To cheer us on the toilsome road
That leads us to the Throne of God!
Thou art a mortal—yet, but we,
Forgetting God, would worship thee,
Did not thine own sweet purity,
Rebuke our blind idolatry !
Forgive me, if my willful muse
Hath led me where I can but choose
The paths toward which my feet have led,
But which I may not dare to tread.
" For deep within my soul, I bear
A cherished feeling for thee there ;
And all my heart's best prayers shall be
For thee, my truest friend, for thee.
Time flies as swiftly as a dream,
And bears us lightly down the stream ;
Boon Earth and earthly things will be
Wrapt in along Eternity.
Sweet maiden, then I'll ne'er forget
The hour when you and I first met;
When first I saw thy charming grace,
And blegsed the sweetness of thy foce
ooo ——
WELCOME TO SUMMER.
BY PETER PERE.
Welcome, glorious Summer,
Heartily welcome now ;
Thy basket full of beauties,
The smile upon thy brow,
£o gently here thou comest,
Gladiy do we greet thee;
Most beaut’ful and fair one,
Merrily we meet thee
What has kept thee. bright one?
Long have been tue hours
“bat we've watched and waited
For thy buds and flowers ;
For birds and buds and blossoms,
Looked we ‘ong in vain,
But now they're coming, coming
With thee back again.
Know'st thou yet my maiden,
Bloowing ficsh aud fair,
With gooduess in her bright eyes,
The sunskine in ber hair ?
Aba! thou'st not forgot her,
Lo thy joyous glee;
Kuow'st thou that I love her,
And my waid loves ne ?
‘I'ben this is why we've waited,
Looked and waited long ;
For thy buds and blossoms,
Thy birds with boonio song.
Yee, this is why we've waited
30 long and anxicasly.
Yo steal thy buds and blossoms
My pretty maid and me.
Then welgome gentle Summer,
Gladly we'cone nov,
Thy basket full of beauties,
The smile upon thy brow ;
B80 sweetly now thou comest,
GHadly do we greet thee ;
Most beautiful and fair one,
Merrily we meet thee,
BrLLEFONTE, PA.
Miscellaneous.
“Tew 1 Was Gare of Gain
A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.
My friend was a captain of onc of the!
mail steamers plying between New Orleans
and Mobile. Ile spent some days with me
not long since : and among other adventures
which had befallen him, he related the fol
lowing :
I had been engaged on beard the steamer
something over a year, and was then serving
in the capacity of mate. During the first
few months I had been rather shy of New
Orleans by gas light. 1 had heard so many
stories of robberies and murders, and of
strangers being attacked from mere wanton-
ness, that I preferred to keep myself as safe
as possible. Sometimes I spent the night
at the hotel, where the officers of the vari~
ous steamers had assembled for a social
time, and sometimes went to a theatre. At
length however, I hecame Requainted with
the city, and the old timidity wore off, and
1 finally accompanied some of my brother
officers to places where the more startling
episodes of real ¢ity life occured. From the
hotel we went to the theatre, and from the
theatre we, went to some of the most famous
gambling houses.
Suffer me, my friend, to inform you here
thatT am iota gamester. I have played a
little as I shak be obliged to confess; but
the charm was broken, as you shall hear.
On the third or fourth visit to the gam.
bling house, one of my companions laugh.
ingly proposed a small ventare at the faro
table. With a smile on my countenanae. I
threw down a quarter eagle. The banker
yoked me if T bet on the queen. 1 was then
onished to put my money fairly upon
we card. I pushed the card further on;
and the confusion I exhibited must have in~
formed the bystanders that T was elightly
verdant touching the rules, regulations and
mysteries of the faro bank. The banker
began to slide oft the card, and presently
drew off the piece of gold I had ventured,
and threw down a cheqe representing [ had
won. Ismiled at my luck, and wher the
cards were next shuffled I placed my gheque
back upon the queen. Iwona again, and
again I smiled, for the thought that I was
gambling did not enter my mind. I bet up-
ou the queen again, and 27ain 1 won. Be-
fore the next play, I calculated a little. It
was not likely that the same card would win
again, so I made my venture upon the ace.
The queen lost, the ace won. At’ the end
of an hour I had won $75 or $80, and then
went with my companions to the hotel,
where we spent another hour before retiring
to our boats.
After this 1 frequently accompanied my
friend to the gaming houses, and I also
made future ventures at the faro bank. A
love of the excitement grew upon me before
I was aware of it—grew upon me so strong-
ly that more that once I ventured alone into
a gambling house not far from our ho tel.—
One evening four «f us officers were at the
St, Charles, and after supper the question
was started as to how we should dispose of
the next few hours. Two were for the
theatre and two for the gambling house.- -
How should we decide? As neither party
was willing to give up, it was finally arran-
ged that we should go just where our incli-
pations led us. Two went to the theatre,
and two for the gaming house. I was one
of thelatter. My companion was a captain
he informed me that he mustjbe on board by
midnight, as Le was to to start early in the
morning. This was all pleasant to me, as 1
had madcup my mind to be in my state
room before the hour he had mentioned. —
So off we went over towards the third Mu-
nicipality, nearly a mile and a half from
our hotel, where we found the gaming house
we had planned to visit. We sat in the
bons room awhile and smoked a cigar,} and
then went into the hall. We lounged about
and observed the progress of the different
games, amd finally stopped at a faro table.
| I made another venture which was success
ful, I made another venture and lost, and
another and won, Then [ bought $20
worth of cheques,
When I bought my cheques there were
seven players beside mysell at the table.—
Two of them were steamboat captains, and
four of them were cither merchants or gen.
{tleman of that stamp. They may have
been gamblers by profession—regular
black ess —but that dosn’t matter. They
appeared to be gentleman, and certainly they
behaved as such. The seventh man at the
table was a study, and had there not been
an overbalance of gentility in the company,
1 should not have stopped where he was. —
le was evidently a boatman, and when 1
heard him speak, I made up my mind that
he was a hoosier. Ile had como down from
Ohio with bis flatboat, and sold his cargo
and us:less lumber, and was now on a bit
of a “time.” Ile was truly a tough look-
ling customer. Ile must have stood six feet
bara two or three inches Ligh, with a frame
| like an ox. His shoulders were broad and
! heavy, and his ars long and muscular, and
| his hands so long and hard that it was diffi~
{cult for him to put down his cheques. Of
| hs face but little was to be scen, the lower
| part of it being covered by a thick long
{ beard of a grizzly color, while the upper
| part was shaded by the slouching of the
: broad rim of an old f:it hat. 1 could see
| his eyes, and they were black and keen
enough. They looked black in the deepest
shade, but when his head was turned so
| that the light fell upon his face, they seem-
ed to have a metalic lustre, changing from
i steel to brass. Presently those eyes were
| turned upon me with a threatening look,
tie owner seeming to intimate that I had
stared at him long enough. At any rate I
took it as a hint, and went on with my
play.
My luck was changeful. I won, and then
I Jost. Then I won once more, and then I
lost again. Finally I touched the knave
with a dozen cheques, worth five dollars each
and won. The Hoosier had staked twelve
cheques on the queen. He lost, and the
banker pushed te pile on the queen over to
me. [I let the twenty four cheques remain
where they were and the loosier put twen-
ty four on the queen. At this point my
companion came and told me he must be go-
ing. 1 was too much excited with the play
to leave tte table then, aud told him not to
wait forme. The queen lost—the knave
won—and again the banker passed to
me the cheques which the Hoosier had
lost.
Once more my companion asked me
if T would go with him. I told him I could
not—and he went away without me. Forty
eight cheuqes were upon the knaves, in four
stacks.
¢ Stranger, do you go them yer—all 2’
The Hoosier asked me this question, at
the same time pointing to my cheques. I
told him ‘‘yes.” He bought more cheques,
and placed a number equal to mine on the
queen.
+ *“This yer keard must win some time,”
he muttered, as he straitened up his stack of
ivory, and then added, glancing at my pile,
‘“an’ that yer knave's got to Jose afore he's
much older.”
The dealer began to throw off the cards
agair, The knave came first ; it had won.
The queen came next; the banker turned it
upon his left hand—the bank won--the Hoo-
sier lost. As before, the cheques which
came from the queen were passed over to
me.
I hesitated, but the spell was upon me,
and I could not break it: I piled up the
cheques—ninety-six of them—and ventured
them upon the knave again. The Hoosier
eyed me sharply, and then ventured a like
EAA bb GN a ie a —“"
of an up river boat, and before he set out
amo1nt pon the queen, at the same time’
BELLEFONTE,
muttering to himself that such luck couldn't
last always. Again the cards were laid off
and to the astonishment of all who were
watching the game, the knave and queen
came out very nea: together—the knave to
| the right the queen to the left. Thad won
| "the Hoosier had lost. The banker had
| now taken in my smaller cheques, and gave
me in exchange some worth twen'y dollars
each. My last stake had been four hundred
| and eighty dollars, and my present pile was
consequently nine hundred and sixty,
* Make it a thousand !”’ whispered the
Hoosier,
** Done,” I replied, and added two cheques
to my accumulated venture,
Again the banker began to throw off his
cards, right and left. The knave came up
first to the right. Ihad won. The queen
came up to the left—lost, The Hoosier
drove his hand into his bosom, and brought
forth a pocket~be k, from which he tock 8
roll of bank notes.
*“ Go yer two thousand!” he said in a
hoarse whisper, -* I’ve got that much.”
My first impulse, before he had spolten,
had been to do that very thing, but now I
hesitated. What had I todo with im? I
was not playing with him —I was not bet-
ling against him—my play was simply
against the banker and his was the same.—
I told him as much.
‘No, no,” he said eagerly. © I's agin
luck we're playin’. Them two keards is in
for it. The knave’s yourn, and the queens
i mine. Go yer two thousand.”
| All that I had on the table before me, save
{one solitary cheque of twenty dollars, I had
| won ; so I had little real risk to run.
“It is done,” 1 said; and went two
thousand dollars upon the knave.
The Hoosicr placed his venture upon the
queen ; there were some cheques and some
bank notes, in all two thousand dollars. —
dis hand quivered a little as he pushed the
pile forward,jand then he turned t> watch
the movemer ts of the banker,
The cards began to move off once more,
and this time the table was swrrounled by
an eager crowd. There was something no-
vel in the spectacle of two men playing
against each other at faro ; and it struck me
as being excessively novel, too. Bat it was
no doing of mine. The Ioosicr seemed to
have a superstitious faith that our chances
were running together Ilowever, I meant
to make this one venture farther, and then
break the spell, let it be win or lose. Right
and left, right and left. The queen came up
first—to the left! Lost! The knave came
up—to the right! 1 had won again!
gathered up my gains, and then looked for
the Hoosier, but he had gone.
** Perhaps youll try the knave again?"
said the banker.
I told him *¢ No, I had played enough.”
[ pushed over my cheques, and he gave me
the cash for them—sore gold and some
bank notes— to the amount of nearly. six
thousand dollars.
I went to the bar and took a glass of
wine and then started for my boat. The
nightswas dark, and I had a long distance
to walk. [Ilooked at my watch as I came
through the hall, and found it to be half ab
hour past midnight. I began to think I had
been a fool, Butthere I was, and I must
make the best of my way to the boat. So I
started at a brisk walk, intending to strike
the Levee near the mint, and then follow
the course of the river. Thad gone half a
mile or so, when I heard heavy footsteps
behind me. I increased my ate of speed,
but the foliowing footsteps still came nearer.
I hurried on but to no effect—the echo be-
hind me was not to be outwalked. I felt
for my pistol, but I had none. I Lad not
brought it with me ; 1 had a dirk-knife and
that was all, By-and-by the step sounded
80 near that 1 turned to see who it was that
thus pursued me. Ata distance of only a
few yards came a tall, gaunt figure, which I
at once recognized by the street lamp, As
the dull glare fell upon the ox like form, I
knew 1t was the Hoosier !
I would have started to 1un, but it was
too late, He was upon me and his hand
was'upon my arm. I would have shouted
for help, but he might have killed me to stop
my noise. I would have drawn my dirk-
knife, but the show of opposition might on~
ly have called the giant’s strength down up-
on me to crush me. My instinct told me to
be passive and wait for the worst. We
were in a lonesome spot, with not a light
visible. save the few street lamps that sent
their sickly rays through the dingy glass;
and if the fellow meant to rob me or kill me
I knew not how to help myself.
¢ Stranger,” he said, his voice sounding
frightfully low and hollow, “you played
again me to-night.
¢ No,” I replied trying to speak plamly
—to speak calmly was out of the question
—+I had nothing to do with you. I was
playing against the bank."
«It's all the same,” he replied,” ** Our
luck run together, an’ "twas you agin me,
an’ me agin you. It don’t make no odds
now, I'm dead broke. I ain’t gota single
pic. Hold on! D’ye see this?”
He reached his right hand over his shoul~
der, and from beneath his coat he drew forth
the largest, longest, brightesc and most sav-
ageslooking bowie knife I had ever seen.—
My knees smote together, and my heart
Icaped to my throat.
« You've got money,” he went on, as he
held the gleaming weapon at hand. ¢ You
won it—won all. ‘1 lost—lost all. I'm
dead broke, not a pic, I want enough to
get home ; I paid twenty dollars in clear
yaller gold for this yer toothpick. Give me
fifteen dollars on it an’ I'll go. Ef vere a
man ye won't refuse that.”
Mercy ! What a letting down was that !
Instead of seekirg my 1fe, the poor fellow
had followed me for the purpose of pawning
his bowie krife! He was acquainted with
nove of those he had seen at the gaming
house, and he had no friends in the city .—
1 feared him no more. As I spoke with him
now, I felt that he was a true hearted man.
«If you get fifteen dollars, you will go
back to the gaming table again,” I said.
His answer was slow but sure—
«I've tried it twice, stranger: an’ when
1 try it agam, i'll let ye know,”
I tol2 the man to come with me.
¢ Come to my boat,” I said, “and
shall have the money.”
He said, perhaps I'd let him stay on board
all might.
Of conrse I would.
As we walked along, I made up my mind
just what ¥ would do ; and when we reach-
eld the boat, I took: him to my stateroom,
and handed him a chair. Said I--
“ My friend, I bave made a resolution
since we have been walking together ; I
have rogolved that I will gamble no more.
While you and I played at the same table
vou lost $3,900."
« "Xactly,”” he replied.
« Well,” I continued, “1 am going to
make up to you what you lost. I shall feel
better to do so.”
The Hoosier started in amazement.
“I de it as much for my sake as for your
own,” I went on before hs could make an
answer ; *‘ and if I can feel assured that the
event has cured both of us, I shall consider
it one of the most valuable experiences of
my life.”
The plam-hearted fellow seized my hand,
and my offer was accepted ; and when he
told me that he would never play again, I
believed him. lle took the money, and all
he could do in return was to make me accept
the bowie knife, and to promise me that he
should al'vays remember me with the warm
est emotions.
That was several years ago. I have not
ventured a dollar at any game of hazard
since, nor do [ believe my Hoosier friend
has done it either. I keep the Igng, heavy
bowie-knife, and I never look upon it but I
think how weak my knees were when my
gaze rested for the first time upon its gleam-
ing blade.
you
*roo—
* MCLELLAN'S ADDRESS.
[IeADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE PoroMac. |
Camp near Harrison’s Landing July 4. §
Soldiers of the Army of the Potomac: —
Your achievements of the last ten days have
illustrated the valor and endurance of the
American soldiers. Attacked by superior for-
ces, and without hopz of reinforcements,
you have succeeded in changing your base
of operations by a flank movement, always
regarded as the most hazardous of military
expedients. You have saved all your mate-
cept a few lost in batile, taking in return, |
[For the Watchman.
THE DEAD SOLBIER,
Dead, dead--hew mournfully fall the
words upon the hearts of those who, but a
fow months ago, crowded about the departs
ing soldier, to grasp his hand for the last
time, and tarn from him with
when thoughts of the horrors and dangers
that must henceforth surround his life in
trade themseives.
not swerve him from the path in which he
felt it his duty to walk, little did he dream
that ere twelve months of his new life had
come and gone, life would be
forever.
tearful eye,
But such thoughts could
to him lost
Now, on the banks of the Potomae, slum,
bers the youth. the lover the brother, the
friend, the warm hearted patriot, undisturh-
ed by the clamor of a mighty host strug-
gling onward in the path he has ceased to
tread, unmoved by the dangers which threat-
en the nation for whose honor and safety his
young life was sacrificed, and listless, alike
of the arigmsh of those friends, in
company he trod the path of childhood, and
of his plaze of burial, so far from the homes
of those he loved.
strange land.
smooth bak, with gentle touch the hair
from his throbbing temples ;
bend above him in anxious solicitude, to
catch
smooth down the pillow heated by its con
tact with his burning brow ;
group to surround the deathbed and weep
above the remains of the dead soldier.
cold hand of strangers minister to his wants
and attend to the last sad, solemn rites, hu-
manity ever calls for.
of the kindest and dearest friend, in com-
parison with the soft touch of woman, of a
mother or a sister, even
him, of all that surrounded his dying couch
and his grave, not one could tell whether in
the world he had a relation or a friend, not
one knew the place of his nativity.
and heart broken those friends wept his
loss, in the mountain hid centre of the Old
Keystone, while he slept his last sleep,
leagues from any one who ever called him
friend.
whose
Dead and alone in a
No soft, female hand to
no sister to
the half murmured request, and
no family
The
Poor as is the hard
that was denied
Sad
We hear that our loved soldier has been
in battle, that his eye has flashed with the
excitement of the conflict, that his hand for
once was raised to smite to the dust the
shameless {raitors who had dared to dese
crate our flag.
forced march, in the fierce charge, and in
the hand to hand conflict which
the battle to the honor of the old banner ;—
we see the flying foe and our own pursuing
legions ; among the latter gleams the bay
onet of our friend, victory perches upon our
standard, night drapes the battle ficll in
her sable mantle and shuts its horrors from
the eyes of man, and for weeks nothing re~
liable is heard from our absent friend. In
the interval the black wing of the angel of
death sweeps over him and he disappears
forever from our gaze.
battle, he was borne down by an enemy far
wore fearful than any ever met upon the
field of strife.
rial, all your trains, and all your guns ex-!pent were too much for a frame all unused |
We have seen him in the
terminated
But he fell not in
The exertion and excite-
to either, and now he who has passed thro |
| Ball Run.
guns and colors {rom the enemy.
Upon your march vou have been assailed
day after day, with desperate fury, by men
of the same race and nation, skillfully mas-
ed and led.
Under every disadvantage of number and
necessarily of position also, you nave, in
every conflict beaten back your foes with
enormous slaughter.
Your conduct ranks you among the cele-
brated armies of history.
Noone will now question that each of
you may always with pride say, ** I belong
to the Army of the Potomac.”
You have reached this
plete in orginization and unimpaired in
spirit.”
Rhe cnemy may at any time attack you.
We are prepared to meet them.
sonally established your lines.
come, and we will convert their repulse in a
final defeat.
Your government is strengthening you
with the rescorces of a great people.
On this, our nation’s birth day, we de-
clare to our foes, who are rebels against the
best interests of mankind, that this army
shall enter the capital of the so called Cons
federacy. That our National Constitution
shall prevail and that for the Union,
can alone insure internal peace and exter-
nal security to each State, must and shall be
preserved, cost what it may in time treasure
or blood.
(Signed,)
anopolis :
“Twill be for Jeff Davis till the Tenness-
ee river freezes over, and then be for him,
and scratch on the ice :
Jeff’ Vavis rides a white horse,
Lincoln rides a mule,
Jeff Davis is a gentleman,
Aud Lincoln is a fool.”
ee pre
07" Judge Kent says: * There are very
few evils to which a man is subject that he
might not avoid if he would esnverse with his
wife and follow her advice.”” The Judge is
sensible.
ree ly A A eer —
[2>>When the rebels fight, they soon get
out of wind. When they talk, their wind is
inexhaustadle.— Prentice.
GEO. B. M'CLELLAN.
Major General Commandiug.
re QA QP pre
IA secesh girl thus writes to her cou-
sin. who is prisoner at Camp Morton, Indis
new base coms
one of the hardest battles history ever re-|
corded, unhurt, is struggling mn the grasp of |
the destroyer. He is carried to Washing- |
ton, and there breathes his last sigh, un
heard by one sympathizing ear, where none,
save God, can record the name and virtues
of him who, if at home, had been surround-
ed by a hundred friends, been consigned to
the tomb by kind hands and mourned for by
affectionate hearts, who doubly mourn their
irreparable loss and their incapacity to do
aught to change his sad fate. But while
they mourn they fail not to heap curses up
on the heads of those who hare made it nec-
essary for such as he to be led forth from
quiet, peaceful homes to siruggle and to die
in sight of the spot from which the soul of
Washington took its flight.
We feel more keenly the loss of one who
from childhood’s earliest days has been our
constant companion. Thousands are daily
perishing who are as dear to other hearts as
is he to ours ; and oh, what a fearful thing
for those Who have brought about the frat-
ricidal contest now desolating the land,
when they stand face to face with their vic-
tims in the presence of the All Seeing
Judge. In vain, then, will your efforts to
hide your infamy by throwing upon others |
the blame, and by erying traitor to innocent |
men Who have cver striven to save the na.
tion from this baptism of blood. But God
Almighty be your judge, we seck not to
throw upon any one the crime of which he
will decide the perpetrator, May His kind
hand be extended to guide us in the hour of
our adversity, and pluck as a brend from
the burning flame, the fragments of this Un-
ion and unite once more in fellowship and
love the brethren who now so fiercely seek
each others lives. But whether for weal or
woe this strife is terminated, the dead sol-
dier, sleeping by the same waters that flow
by the tomb of Washington, heeds not ; he
sleeps as peacefully as though struggling
hosts were not marching above his grave ; |
it matters not to him how goes the tide of |
battle. It is immaterial to him whether or |
not, the traitors who scek to destroy our |
dead Union. [lis sleep is as dreamless and
peaceful as though his grave were in the
quiet country church yard surrounded by
the grassy mounds beneath which rest the
{hard that is not thankful for so many bless
ings,”
| with him, tear for tear, in his distress, and
government, shall envelop in the folds of our |
disgraced and drooping flag the body of the! his misery while there remains one act of
remains of his ancestors, And while we
honor the brillant names his'ory is linking
to the records of our nation, and glorify the
chieftain who 1s leading our conquering hosts
to the lair of the monster —treason—lét us
fail not to drop a tear to the memory of the
private soldier, who without half the induce-
ments, died in defencé of our cotintry. And
when history records the doings of this re.
bellion, let it fail not to say that on the Po~
tomac’s | anlts slumbér many who but for
the wickedness of our pablic una Hight
have filled the highest circles of private life
and gone down to th: tomb in pesce, sur
rounded by kind faces and monrnirg hearts.
Peace to their ashes.
Howarp, Pa. }
June 26, 1862. §
J.
vooon
ADVENTURES S52 NEW YORK
Sorhie scien months ago a little boy riot
quite eleven years old, became enchanted
with the military pomp, which at that time
pervaded the city and country. lle sought
for an available opportunity to leave home
for the +“ Seat of War.” Accordingly he
left with one of the New York Regiments
and with th-m w:nt to Poolsville. While
there, the Massachusetts First Regiment of
Volunteers arrived and encamped. Onr
young patriot was among the fiirst to wel
come them. Ile performed a part of a very
benefactor in his attentions to the Massachu-
setts officers, and be, of course, beczme a
universal pet, both among the officers and
men. Oac of the Captamns, in particular,
was very kind to the boy, whom he found
to be brimfull of intelligence and spirits. —
The attachment was increased, however,
when the boy related the sad tale of his
condition: that h’s father had beea killed in
the action at Bull Bun, and that his mother
had since died. The kind hearted Captain,
at the request of the boy, promised to adopt
him, and soon therefore proccedad with him
to Washington, where the riccessary forms
were gone through, the documents drawn,
and the boy regularly adopted according to
law. Meantime the father and mother of
the boy, who were living in New York, were
nearly heart broken over the loss of their
beloved son, The father made search in
every conceivable place where a boy might
be likely to go—he applied to ccromers,
police justices, police telegraphs and other
available points usually in poss:ssion of
news of lost persons, and travelled far and
near, but no tidings of the missing patriot.
At length the lost one was over matched by
his own accomplishments. Afraid that he
might be torn from the father of his adop-
tion. he cunningly wrote to some friends 1n
New York to no if the ‘cold folks” lad
said anything about his being away. As he
required an answer, he sent his address. and
his glad father was the courier of the reply.
The scene which took place when the exul~
ting parent and the astonished truant boy
met need not be described. The kind Cap
tain was as glad to relinquish his claims on
the boy as he was to know that the boy’s
father had not been killed at the battle of |.
The boy is now at home, and
says that he is well satisfied with his expe-
rience.
i a
“ IT'S VERY H ARD.
It's very hard to have no: hing to cat]
but porridge, when others have every scr!
of damty,” muttered Charlie, as he sat with
his wooden bowl before him.
‘It’s very hard to get up so carly on
cape from th: present war with
THE FUTURE OF THE LABORING:
CLASS.
No true patriot can contemplate the fu-
ture of our country without the most poign-
ant feelings ¢f so'fow and shame, sorrow
that the wealth-pro lucing classes are to be
burdened with taxes that shall eat out their
substance ; #nd shame that this great and
prosperous land should have sank, in about
one short vear, to the low condition it now
occupies.
No reasonable man expects to sec us és
less debt
than $2,005,u8,000% The public lang will
all be absorbed in “howéstcal bills” or in
bounties to sol liers, and there will be no
revenie from that source. The only re-
source left to provide for this debt will be
taxation. The interest on two thousand
m llions of dollars will be, at six per cent.
per annuffy, just equal to the interest upon
the public debt of Great DBntain, which is
three per cent. upon four thousand millions
of dol ars. Tg will thus be sen that two
years of “Republicin” party management
have loaded us down with the same burdens
which now enslave the preducing classes of
Eagland. There must come $120.000 000
every year from the pockets of the prodac.
ing classes to pay the interest on our public
debt. In other worls, there must be sold
each and every year, $120,000,000 worth of
the prolucis of labor, to go into the pockets
of capitalists. Tt is th: high rate of interest
in this coun''ry which, more thin any one
cause, is nlaking the poor poorer and the
rich richer.
Look at tha (rightful sum of moaey whici:
'n the course of fifty years, this interest on
our public debt would take from the work-
ingmen of this country. The simple intercst
in fitty years will ammat to siz thousand
millions of dollirs or threc tims the prin-
cipal. Bat this is not afl : ths $120 000, -
000 annually taken from labor is reloaned
each year, and at compound interest, which
is the tru¢ way to’ compute it, would amount
to a sum almost beyond the power of fis.
ues, No nation can stand this absorption
of the products of Iab)r by capitil without
the masses being reduced to poverty and
beggary. The public debt of England has
been a hundred years accumulating, and
the interest upon it is only three per cent.
and yet her wisest statesmen have found ft
one of the most diffi :ult of all questions to
handle. If the interests on her public debt
had been six instead of three per cent, the
tion could not have endured the burden.—
Nor can we for any length of time. It is
the high rate of interest which eats out th
of the people, and makes everybody in debt.
The simple reason is beeause the money ab-
sorbs more of the products of labor than it
ought to, and hence it accumulates in the
hands of those who possess it, and as it ac-
cumulates it keeps on absorbing the pro~
ducts of labor in & compound ratio.
The public debt of Great Braitain produc.
«d a revolution there. Itdestroyed the small
farms of yeomhrry, the tillers of the soil be.
ing always the first to feel tha oppression of
taxation, because the percentags of their
profits are leds than any other business.—
The small firms were absorbed by large
landed proprietors. and the children of the
farmers driven to the towns to become fac-
tory slaves. Property gradually concentra-
ted in the bands of a few, as under the
workings of a high taxation, it must always
continue to do. Does any one suppose thas
this country wil be an exception to this in~
evitable law ? It were madness to suppose
these bitter cold mornings. and work hard | so ; indeed we shall go down tae hill of
all day, when others can enjoy themselves |
without an hour of 1tbo~.” !
poverty with much greater rapidity than
they have across the water, for here the in~
‘ It’svery hard to have to trudze along | terest of our public dubt will take just dou.
through the snow, while others roll about in |
their coaches.” est.
“IV's a great blessing,” said Ins grand-
wother, as she sat at her knitting, “is a
great blessing te have a roof over one's head
when so many are homeless : it’s a great |
blessing to have sight, and hearing, and
strength for daily labor, when so many are
blind deaf or suffering.”
“Why grandmother you seem to think
that nothing is hard?" said the boy still in
a grumbling tone.
. *“No Charlie there is one thing that 1
think very hard.”
“Whets that 2’ ericd Charhe,
thought that at last his grandmother
found some cause for complaint.
*“Why boy, T think that heart is very
who
had
Sak Never Leaves Ilism.--Look at the
carcer of a man as he passes through the
world ; at a man, visited by misfortune ?—
How often is he left by his fellow men to
sink under the weight of his afflictions, un-
beeded and alone ? One friend of his own
forgets him, another abandons him, but
woman faithful woman, follows him in his
afflictions with unshaken affection; braves
the changes of feeling, of his temper, embit
tered by the disappointments of the world.
with the highest of all virtue ; in resigned
patience ministers to is wants, even when
her own are hard and pressing ; she weeps
is the first to reflect a ry of joy, should but
one, light up his countenance in the midst of
his sufferings ; and she never leaves him in
{love, duty, or compassion to be performed.
| And at last, when life and sorrow come to
gether, she follows hin to the tomb with an
i ardor of aftection which death cannot des
troy,
ble of the proceeds of labor to pay its inter.
Where it takes one bushel! of wheat
from a farmer m Egland, it will take two
here.
one hat there, here he must contribute twe.
Where the hatter has to contribute
Where the liborer gives one diys work
there, he mast give two here, and so on
through all the ramifications of business.
Bat when we add to the $120 000,000 of
interest the annual expenses of the govern
ment, we are at a loss tosee how we are go-
ing to obzam the sum.
it will be.
all, to be less than $3)0,000,000.
must come from hard earnings of the labors
ing classes.
No one can tell what
No one expects it, interest and
All this
There is no other place it can
ome from simply because all wealtn must
be produced, and money is the representa,
tive of wealth.
governmental annual expenses represent
just 80 much wheat, corn, rye, oats, barley.
hats, boots, shoes. clothing, &: .
the productions of labor.
see in this prospect any hops for the labor
ing classes, but iife of peaury and toil, he
can see more than our ken can discover. —
Those who are fortunate enough to have
money had better hold to it,
earn them six and seven par cent. wi hout
labor, and a comparatively small sum will
support a family with economy, but wos w
the toiler who must worc and produce all .
the products which pay this interest upon
the capital.
then there is no truth in figures. —Caucas-
wun.
ence the $300.000.000 of
whith are
Ll any person can
for that will
If he is not ground to poverty
er ree
~The worst men in this country are
the editors of the New York city dailies. —
We judge so from what each one says of
all the rest.
bere Be Spree 1a
ph : :
{77"She that marries because he is a good
‘match,’ mast not ve surprised if he 18 a
‘Lutifer,’