-fcitTJ ■" ;^r -p.. 1 BY DAVID OVER. TJ3ZE3 I * published every Friday morning, in Julian* Street, in the white frame bttilning, nearly opposite the Meogel House, by DAVID OVER. TERMS: If paid in advance, $1.50; within the year, $2.00; and if not paid wiShin tie year, $2.50 will be charged. No paper discontinued until a!i ar rearages are paid—except at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a discontinuance will be regarded as a new engagement. jidvertiscmenls not exceeding a square,(lo lines,) inserted three times for $1 —every subsequent in sertion, 25 cents. Longer ones in the same pro portion. Each fraction of a square counted as a full square. All advertisements not specially ordered for a given time wiil lie continued until forbid. A liberal deduction wili be made to those who adi ertise by the year. Job Printing of all kinds executed neatly and promptly and on reasonable terms. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. Ross FoawAnn. O. 11. GAITHER. Forward & tailher, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, Bedford, Fa. "O OSS FORWARD, of Somerset, and O. 11. JX GAITITER, have opened a law office in Bed ford, Fa. O. 11. GAITHER, having located per manently in Bedford, will be assisted duiing evet} Court by the tormer. Ail business entrusted to them will be promptly and carefully attended to. Office on Juliana street, two doors south of the In quirer office. Dec. 31, 1858. R7B. BARCLAY, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BEDFORD. PA.. WILL attend promptly and faithfully to all legal business entrusted to Ins care. on Juliana Street, in the building lor jnerly occupied by S. 51. Barclay, Esq., dee'd. March 26, 1858. ATTORNEY AT LAW. McCONNELLSBURG, PA. ¥ILL practice iQ the Courts of Fulton, Bediora and FraakU, .Counties. on Main Street, opposi* is Hotel. Sept em bar -'.•* * JOB MANN, G. H. SPANU. I AW PARTNERSHIP. —The undersigned j have associated themselves in the Praticc of the Law, and will promptly attend to al busi ness entrusted to their care in Bedford and ad joining counties. on Julianna Street, three doors south otMengel oH :se and opposite the resi dence ofMaj. Tate. MANN & SPANG June 1, —1851. tf. D. S- RIDDLE, Formerly of Bedford, Pa- AHomey and Counsellor at Law, T4, WALL ST. XEW YORK- Alt business promptly atended to. Dec. 3, 1858. J. W. LI\EYFELTER, Attorney at Law and Land Surveyor, W r ILL attend with promptness to all busiea s entrusted to his care. Will practice in Bedford and Folton Counties. onertloor Weat el the Uaien Hotel. Dec, 24,1858. ef. QfaiMn, PHYSICIAdNT ANU SCH ELLS BURG. PENN*A. OFFERS his services to the Public in the prac tice of Medicine. Will attend promptly to all ca ses entrusted to his care- He will also perform all operations on the teeth in a neat and sciAlific manner. Teeth plugged and inserted from a single tooth to * An Entire Set, Mounted on gold or silver plate, on the latest and most approved principles. TERMS moderate, and all operations warranted. April 8,1869.—tf. fHH I I Will p-rn-DtAHw oM-tfeliykl El cp*rat:oOß i- if ji I t : - JViHU fiifd. pi.itrz-4, ike., wi j j 1 j art twi*: fTd to in entire at. J j I t 4 rovlefmir, A*d ai\ wamuned. r~ T,~ira INVARIABLY CASH- i • ltd. W8 P:: r.rt, A>/t ~ DR. J. S. ESHLEMAN, ~~ RESPEBTFUELY tenders his professional ser vices to the citizens of Pattonsville and vicinity. Night calls piomptly attended to. Pattonsville, March 18, 1859.-Z _____ RESPECTFOLLY tenders his professiona services to the citizens of Bedford and vi cinity. Office and residence on Pitt-Street, in the building formerly occupied by Dr. J. H. II of i us. Nov. 6,1867. Dr. F. C Reamer, Physician and Surgeon. O **peetlully tenders his service* <o -IA the citizens of Bedford and vicinity. He may always be found (unless professionally en gaged) at his Drug and Book Store, in Juliana St. Feb. 19, 1857. -m. be ■- THE undersigned have associated themselves in the practice of medicine in the village of St. Okirsville, night calls promptly attended to. Office opposite the St. Clair Inn. WM. A. VICRROY, G W. STATLEK. Feb. U, 1859.-8 mo . A Weekly Paper, Devoted to Literature, Politics, the Arts, Sciences, Agriculture, &c., &c—Terras: One Dollar and Fifty Cents in Advance. NOT ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. BT JOHN PIEIU?ONT. "To fall on tbe battle field, flihtirg for my dear country, that would not be hard."— The Neighbors. O, no, no—let me lie Not on a field of battle, when I die! Let not tjje iron tread OI the mad war-horse crush my helmed head; Nor let the reeking knife, That I have drawn against a brother's lite, Be in nay hand when death Thunders along, and tramples me beneath Ilis heavy squadron's heels, Or gory felloejj of his cannon's wheels. From such a dying ted, Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red, Aud the bald eagle brings Tbe clustered stars upon Lis wide-spread wings, To sparkle in my sight, O, never let rny spirit take her flight! 1 know that beauty's eye is all the brighter where the gay pennants fly, Aud brazen helmets dance, And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance: I know that bards have sung, Aud people shouted till the welkin rung In honor of the brave Who on the battle-11-Id have found a grave: I know that o'er their bones Have grateful hands pi',ed monumental stones. Some of those piles I've seen: The one at Lexington upou the green Where the first blood was shed, And to my country's independence led; Add others, on our short*, The "Battle Monument" at Baltimore; And that on Bunker's Hill. Ay, and abroad, a few moie famous still; Thy "Tomb," Tbemistocles, * That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas, Aud which the waters kiss That issue from the gulf oi Salamis. And thine, too, have I seen, Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green, That like a natural knoll, Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll, Watched by some turbaned boy Upou the margin of the plain of Troy. Such honors grace the bed, 1 know, whereon the warrior lays his head, And hears, as life ebbs out, The conquered flying and the conqueror's shout. But as his eye grows dim, What is a column or a mound to him? What, to the parting soul, The mellow note of bugles? What the roll Of drums? No, let me die Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly, And the sofi fummer air, As it goes by me, stirs my tbiD, white hair, And lroiu my forehead dries, The death damp as it gathers, and the skies Seem waiting to receive My soul to their clear depths! Or let me leave The world, when round my bed Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered, And the calm voice of prayer And holy hymning shall my soul prepare, To go and be at rest With kindred spirits—spirits who have blessed The human brotherhood By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. In my dying hour, When riches, fame and honor have no power To bear the spirit up, Or from my lips to turn aside the cup That all must drink at last, O, let me draw refreshment from the past! Then let my soul run back, With peace and joy, along my earthly track, And sec that ail the seeds That 1 have scattered there, in virtuous deeds, Have sprung up, and have given, Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven! And though no grassy mound Or granite pile says 'tis heroic ground Where my remains respose, Still will I hope—vain hope perhaps—that those Whom 1 have striven to bless, The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless, May stand around my grave, With the poor prisoner, and the poorest slave, And breathe an humble prayer, That they may die like him whose bones are moul dering there. The N. Y. Herald admits that the Democrat ic party is weak, and advises it to take refuge in the impregnable strength of the administra tion! This is like the boy who was named John, but for shortness, they called him Jouathau. The Cincinnati Commercial tells of a rattle snake beitJg lately billed at a place called Ram say, twenty miles west of Terre Haute, which was over twenty-one feet long, and had one hundred and eleven rattles, showing it tc be 108 years old. Every mau must, in a measure, be alone in the world. BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY, JULY 29, L 859. POUR WAYS OP LIFE, Or, Envy, Avarice, Extravagance, and Contentment. Mr. Felix Mark was on the eve of departing from his uativc city for a long residence abroad. Living in a retired but highly respectable court, he had become a familiar acquaintance of sev eral of his neighbors; and he thought it no more than proper that he should call upon them, and pay his parting respects. They were of widely different characters, as ho wall knew, aud aa will be seen by the substance of the four in terviws he obtained. Me first called upon Mr. and Mrs. Covet, and tuade known his iuteution of going. "You are a lucky uiau," said Covet, regard ing him with a pained expression. "I wish I was as fortunate. But I suppose I shall always be a poor mope and drudge, while everybody else is happy and getting ahead." Mrs. Covet tat rocking in her chair, uneasi- Ij "The same for myself," said she, after a pause. "1 never can go abroad anywhere, though I have always had a passion for travel. Tom must drudge to keep our bodies and souls together, aud I must iead tbe pot, I wish we had half the money that old Mr. and Mrs. Clutch, over the way, have got. But we can take it out in wishing. We shall always be worse off than everybody else. It makes me mad to tli|ukkff it'" "Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Clutch are to bo envied?" a-ked Mr. Mark. "I envy tbetij their money," sighed Oayot, "though 1 don't envy them, exactly; you koow they're very grasping. llow I despise graspiog people!—always gra-ping, grasping, grasping, as it they bad nothing else to do but grasp! i dou't believe they're happy." "Did you see how respectfully everybody bowed to thorn the other evening at the lecture?"' asked Mrs. Covet. "It was ouly for their mon ey, i know. But they don't make half as touch show as Mr. and Mrs. Crash make; though how they can afford to cut such a dash, I don't see. How do you suppose the Crashes pay their reut, Mr. Mark, and live o high and uress so splen didly?" "I never hear J, atnl dou't know," was his reply. "Crash don't have more than seven or eight hundred dollars a year—that I kt)O.T, for pos itive fact," said Covet; "yet be lives like a na bob, drives a splendid turnout, gives magnifi cent parties, and has the best of everything. I don't see how he does it; I know I couldn't do it, and make both ends meet." "I wish 1 had that elegant shawl his wife put on the other day: bran new, for I never saw her wear it before," declared Mrs. Covet. "I don't see why it is ordered so! They are not a hit better than wo are, aud they've no business to have such good things, i often bite uiy finger nails to the quick, thinking of it!" ''Well, it's enough to make anybody fret, that's a fact," contiuued Covet. Some people seem to tne to have uothing but a continued ruu of good luck. Which ever way 1 turn, I see everybody with something better than I can get for me and my wife. It's sickening enough by jingo! .1 don't thiuk 1 shall live long; aud I dou't want to—in a world where honest merit never gets rewarded." Mr. Mark, fearing that be might catch the morbid gloom of that envious couple, bade them a last adieu, and went over to do the same to Mr. aud 3lrs. Clutch, their mutual neighbors. The Covets had not exaggerated the ruling propensity of the Clutches: the latter were as miserly as the former were envious. They were fairly mated. When they were married thoy were matched indeed. "Please to rub you feet carefully on the mat before you go up," said Mr. Clutch.— "Too much brushing is apt to wear out tbo car pet." "You might have gone in the steerage for much less than that," said Mr. Clutch, when he heard of Mark's meditated voyage. "1 should like to travel, but it costs too much to be mov ing about. I hope you will not prove to be a rolling SIODC which gathers no moss." "1 shall get as much 'moss* as i can, said Mark, smiling; 'that is my object iu leaviug my native land." "That's right. Be saving; and get all you eau, and keep all you get. That's my maxim- Nothing like money, llusbaud your time! time is money. What a wonderful man Benjamin Franklin was!" Mark heard the door-bell ring; and, soon af ter the door was slammed to loudly, and Mrs. Clutch appeared, with a red face. "These pesky beggars!" exclaimed she.— "Half the people are beggars, i belive. I wear out a pair of shoes a year going to the door te answer beggars. I'm sure tbey don't ooroe for the encouragement they get; for they never got a crujub from me in my life." "The authorities ought to see to them," said Clutch. "They ought to bo sent to tlie alms house." "Or to the bouse of correction," added Mr<- Clutch. "They have no business distressing others with their distress. What's the use io worrying our souls out, almost, in trying to save ■f we are going to be giving away all the time? "Penny wise and pound foolish." They we:.r ail the paint off our doorsteps, too." "Who giveth to the poor landeth to the Lord " said Mark, gravely. "Eh?" said Clutch, starting, and piqued.— "We could easily lead all we have in that and if we were poor ourselves, wonder if tie Lord would take care of us? The Lord knovs for I don't; aud I shouldn't like to try " 'Riches take to themselves wings and fy away,' said Mark. 'You may be poor your selves some day.' 'That's just it,' said Clutch; 'but it won't jc any fault of ours. Kiohes do have wings cnoupb, that's a factj without one helping them to ly sway. We shan't do that little thing*, we look oat for a rainy day. How much do you snppoae itaoaf* us to live—we two?* HJao't imagine,'said Mark, curiously scan f-itig their thin visages and mean apparel. "It teoudn't have cost us over a dollar for j oar food, last week," said Mrs. Clutch, proud- I?- J "That woman is a getu, Mr. Mark," declared Clutch. "She has the sharp eya nu expenses ! Jye like a hawk, air!" | "Aud the heart and clutch of one, too," tnoniiht Mark. "You'll never find us burdeniug the towu," aontinnesl Clutch. "We keep ourselves to ourselves, and live in Christian humbleness.— If God made beggars, be will take care of them. It is our duty to prevent ourselves from being beggars. Wo sot on principal—principle is j I ihe thing ; and we've made it a rule not to ; give away anything. If people are poor enough | to beg, let them die, and be out of their misery. We can't help theui. It should be a warniog to us uot to get poor." Mr. Mark shook his head, shook hands with their cold and grasping digits, and hastened out j for his heart almost stood still, as if it threatened ossification. "Oh !" sighed be taking a long breath of heaven's air, as he stood upon the sikewalk ; "was there ever a mean man who hadn't, plenty of reasons on his side I The heart I knows but little of logic ; here are the Crashes people of quite the opposite stamp, as far as the disposition of money is concerned. 1 will give them the next parting call." Hinging, ho was admitted and ushered at once into the parlor, where be found Mr. Crash I and Mr. Crash's landlord—who, from their ap pearances could nut have been engaged in a very pleasant conversation. "Ah, Mark 1 glad to see yoa—very glad !"' sai l Crash, advancing, and soaking him hearti ly, "glad to see you," (the landlord stiffly took | his leave,) doubly glad ; for your coming his sent that fellow away—my landlord. lie has j leeu boring me for tbe rent these two boors— i j in confidence, my boy." Mrs. Crasn entered, in sumptuous dress, Mr. Murk told them be was going abroad, t© be | absent for several years. \ "Sorry we couldn't have given you a hand | same supper, Felix," said Crash. "Would, if wn had only known it in time; though, to tei! oifij. truth, ge itSB 4 good deal bothered by credi tors ]tHiFtiWr w " < Mrs. Crash colored. "You needn't mention it, though, to everybody." "Oh! Mark is confidential," said Crash, gayly. "He knows we must live, and cru3t to luck for payment. I expect to be rich yet.— Ttio only way to be rich is to appear so. Clothe a mam in rags and see how much money he can borrow! Live in a hovel, and what rich folks will ever visit you ? A poor man can't afford to live or look poor—he mint keep up appear ances ; but a rich man can do a3 he pleases— live, look, and be mean, like old Clutch there, over the way. What do you think. Mark ?" To teli the truth, I approve of living witLiu one's mean* —that don't argue meanness." "Hut bad policy." "It is good policy to be independent, Mr. Crash, and not he haunted by creditors." "Hut a man ought to have force enough to face his creditors—tell them to wait. Foitune favors the brave, and good luck will come at last. Look at tbe house—isn't it furnished j beautifully? Well, between you and I, not j two-thirds are paid for—mostly on trust.— What is the use, tell me, of having friends, ; unless they could confide in you?" "But we should take care not to betray that confidence, Crash." "Very true, and I never intend to. But ev erybody must wait, wait till the luck comes; then you can pay theui what interest you please." "But you are anuoyed by creditors, all the time, following that plan—always in jeopardy —may fall at any moment. And what eau you do without means or reputation?" "But we have exceptions besides. And at any rate, the world owes us a living, and a poor man had better fit himself to move where money is, than where it isn't. 1 act on tho priuciple of 'Live while you do live,' at any rate. Turn your face down hill, and walk down, and there will be plenty to help you ou the road. Have a glass of wine? [lt was brought, and they drank.] That cost ten dol lars a bottle, or will, when it's paid for. lia, ha, I see you stare; but I'll wager I'm much happier than old mulligrubs over the way, who is rich, and counts his mouthfuls." Oa the strength of a long acquaintance, Mr. | Mark volunteered a little prudential counsel to | Mr. Crash; but he saw it was thrown away, : and so he desisted and departed. Rut he saw | before he went, that behind all this seemieg gaiety a deep anxiety was lurking; and his kind heart ached for the reckless votaries of | extravagance. "So goes the world," thought he. "How ! much of the misery of which the world com | plains is made by themselves! Ah, here is ; uottngo's hous?. I wist bui them good bye." It was tho poorest dwelling in the court, an old wooden tenement, which had a crushed" look, by the side of the lordly dwellings which rose in towering pride around it, as it it longed for the annihilation to which a rise in the land would soon consign it. Mark knocked at the weather-beaten door, and a poorly clad, but bright-faced woman opened it and weloomed him in. A cheerful wood fire burned in the old tasbioncd fireplace, aDd a baby's socks wore drying on the heads of the andirons. The rosy baby slept, ajmiliog, in a pine cradle. Thero was no paint oa. the floor, but it was white with work. Such kit chen utensils as were visible, prcaehed silent sermons of tidiness and order. Mr. Cottage was a carpenter, aud was drawing plans for a bouse. "Excuse my bringing you into the kitchen," said Mrs. Cottage; but you know we are poor, and csb't afford two fires." "Glad to see yon, Mr. Mark," said Mr. Cot tage, "but sorry to lose so good a neighbor, for I hear you are going away. I bopo yea will oome back rich." "Thank you, I hope so, too; though money don't ensure happiness always." "Thai's true," said Cottage. "Look at us. We are poor enough, but we have health, and fowl, and shelter, auch as it is; and as long as we have work, we can keep 'the wolf from the door,' as the saying is, and 1 don't worry fory more. As to my wife, she can speak for ber- , self." 'I doa't waut to be any happier,' said Mrs. , Cottage, 4 and can't expect it. I see so maoy unhappy people, that it make? me thankful that we are as wbll off as we are, though we do lire very humbly.' 'You are rich in having such a disposition,' returned Mark, comparing their contented faces with those ho bad just parted from—'richer than some of your neighbors. 3 'I think that,' replied Mr. Cottage, smiling archly, 'we every day manage to give something to the uufortunate, who come to us after hav ing been turned away from other doors. Few so poor that they don't see poorer. 1 often wonder if the itch ever tbiuk, when they close their great doors on the starving and ragged, that they may be poor themselves.' 'They deserve to be, at auy rate,' said Mark, 'without the luxury which a poor mau has, in his own applauding heart, when he gives from his litilc store to a poorer brother.' Mark took his leave, and, on the following day, bade a long farewell to Uia native land; as her shores receded behind the blue waters, over which, as he gazed, he felt he might never pass again. To the distant mart, where he had chosen to cast his lot, his business boucd him for a period of ten years; and then, with ea ger heart, he returned from his long but pros perous exile 'l wonder,' thought be, as the vessel ncared his native city, 'how oar oid neighbors of tbe court get along? Dead, or gone away, per haps. Ix will be interesting to know; and the alteration may be a comment upon tbe traits they exhibited.' Soon after lauding, ho repaired to the old familiar court. But neither Covets, Clutches, Crashes nor Cottages were to be found there, fie ascertained the address of the Cottages," however, and called upon them forthwith. The carpenter had become a rich man, and now lived in a handsome mansion. Industry, enterprise, integrity, and a contented spirit had found his way to fortune—powerful auxil iaries to Lis -kilt in his craft, and, after con gratulating the worthy family upon the agreea 6ie changes in their affairs, Mark asked them what had become of their old neighbors. l Tbo Ciutcbes, you will be astonished to hear, now live in a iWiserable cellar, in an ob scure quarter of the city. Two years after you left, their house was destroyed by fire, xvithoat insurance; and by the failure or a bank and a land speculator, they were reduced to nothing with not a friend to help them. In their prosperity, they were kind to nobody; in their adversity, none were kind to them.' 'And the Crashes V 'They crashed, for about four years ago every thing was taken from them; and they now board out somewhere, and, perhaps, are taking useful lessons iu honor, industry and foresight.' 'Aud the Covets?' 'Both died of dyspepsia, consumption, or some kindred complaint, brought OD by worrj iug about the affairs of other people. They died within a year of each other, and are now resting where there is no chance to envy their neighbors; for all are situated alike on the last great democratic level." As Mr. Felix Mark wended bis way to his hotel, he pondered seriously upon the great changes which had occured to those four fami lies within the short space of ten years; and it seemed to him, that if some poor story writer should be made acquainted with the facts, he might deem theur worthy of a uarrative, if only for the moral they coutaiued. Tlie Sickles Reconciliation--Fetter from the Injured but Forgiving- Husband. TO TOE EDITOR OF THE NEW YORK HERALD. NEW YORK, July 19,1859. ■"'Through the course of sad events, which during the last fpw months have brought so much affliction upon my tidily, I have been silent. No amount of misrepresentation affect ing myself only could induce me cow to open my lips ; nor eouid 1 deem it worth while un der any circumstances to notice what has been or can be said in journals never regarded as the sources or the exponents of public opinion, for in these it is too often obvious that only unworthy motives prompt the most vindictive assaults upon tho private life of citizens hold ing public stations. Rut the editorial comments in the Herald of yesterday, although censorious (of which I do not complain, whilst I read them with regret,) differ so widely iu tone and tem per from the mass of nonsense and calumny which has lately been written concerning a recent event iD my domestic relations, that 1 cannot allow a mistake, into which you have been led by inaccurate information, to pass without such a correction as will relievo others from any share of the reproaches which it is the pleasure of the multitude at this moment to heap upon me aud mine. Referring to the forgiveness which my sense of duty and my feelings impelled mo to ex tend to an erring and repentant wife, you ob serve, in the course of your temperate aud dignitiud article, that, "It is said, however, that the last phase of the affair was brought about'througb the advice of his lawyers."— This is entirely erroneous. I did not exchange VOL. 32, NO. 81. a word with one of my counsel upon the sub jeot, nor with any one else. My reconciliation with my wife was ruy own act, done without cousukatioxr with any relative, connection, friend or adviser. Whatever blame, if any belongs to the step, should fall alone upon me. I am prepared to defend what 1 have done before the only tribunal I recognize a* having the slightest claim to jurisdiction over the subject—my own conscieoca and the bar of Heaven. lam not aware of any statnte or code of moral?, which makes it infamous to forgive a woman ; nor is it usual to make our domestic life a subject of consultation with friends, no muter bow near and dear to us. And 1 can not allow even all the world combtned to dictate to me the repudiation of my wife, when I think it right to forgive ber, and restore her to my confidence and protection. If I ever failed to comprehend the utterly desolate positioikof an offeuding though peni tent woman—the hopeless tuture, with all its daik possibilities of danger, to which she is doomed when proscribed as an outcast—l can. now sec plainly enough, in the almost uni versal howl of denunciation with which she'ia followed to my thrhshold, the misery and perils from which 1 have rescued t'ue mother of my child. And although it is very sad for me to incur the blame of friends and the reproaches of many wise and good people, I shall strive to prove to all who feel any interest in me, that if I am the first man who has ventured to say to the world an erriug wife and mother tny be forgiven and redeemed, that in spite of all the obstacles in my path the good results of this example shall entitle it tc the imitation of the generous and the commendation of the just. Tbeie are many who think that an act of duty, proceeding solely from affections which can only be comprehended in tho heart of a husband and a father, is to be fatal to my pro fessional, political and social standing. If this be so, then so be it. Political station, professional success, social recognition, are not the only prizes of ambitioo ; and I haTe seen enough of tho world in which I have moved, and read enough of the lives of other? to teach me that, if one bo patient and resolute, it is the man himself who indicates the placo he will oecopy, and so long as I do nothing worse than to reunite my family under the roof where ibey may find shelter from contumely and persecution, I do not fear the noisy but Setting voice of popular clamor. The iimwitude accept their first impression froia a few ; but ia the end men think for themselves, and if I know the human heart, and sometimes I thnk that in a career of mingled sunshine anJ storm I have sounded nearly all its depths—then I may re assure those who look with reluctant forebod ings upon my future to ba cf good cheer, for'l will not cease to vindicate a just claim to the respect of my fellows : while to these motley groups, hero and there, who look npon my mis fortunes only as weapons to bo employed for uiy destruction, to those I say, once for all, if a man make a good use of his enemies they will be as serviceable to him us bis friends. Ia conclusion, let toe ask only one favor of those who from whatever motive, may deem it necessary or agreeable to comment in public or private upon this sad history ; and that is, to aim all their arrows at my breast, aod for the sake of my innocent child to spire her yet youthful mother, while she seeks in sorrow and couttition the mercy and the pardon of Him to whom, sooner or later, we must all appeal. Very respectfully, Your most obedient servant, DANIEL E. SIOXLE3. WASHING THE HEAD.— Dr. Bissel, one of the Quarantine Physicians at Staten Island, is of the opinion that "if a person's hair be wash ed and combed every day he is not liable to disease." The Norfolk Herald supports the opiniou with an instance : "So important a result," says that paper, "from so simple a cause may seem incredible to many, but not to us. Thote is not a more effectual preventative or a disase than the im mersion of the head ia cold water the year round. We know an old gentleman, now rising of seventy, who says that until he was thirty years old 1.0 was of a weakly constitution, and particularly liable to attacks of bilious fever, violent colds and headache ; but having heard that the best preventative of headache was to wash* the head in cold water every moruiug, immediately after rising, ho then com menced the practice, and has continued it to the present time, and during the interval of forty years has never Lad the bilious fever, hardly kuows what the headache is, and though sometimes taking cold, has never bad a cold, that biudred him from attending to his ordinary, affairs ; add to this that he passed unscathed through the terrible epidemic of 1855." SICKLES. Tbe world is skeptical, and it has refused to believe entirely the story of the reconcilliatioo of Daniel E. Sickles and Teresa, his wife.— It demands confirmation of it, and to satisfy, this demand, wo publish a letter from the dis graced hero of this disgraceful social drama, in which he acknowledges the truth of the report and attempts to justify himself in the eyes of the world. For uo other reason weald we consent to poiluto our columns with a name so' dishonored, or call up to memory a story so shameful, and a tragedy so cruel, so uncalled for and so wholly unatoned, as thai which ex cited the whole of American society last spring. The country has been disgraoed by the interest it took in tbe vindication of the honor of D. E. Sickles; t'ue laws have been disgraced by the manner iu which they were mads to excuse a murder he had committed. The shame can not be wiped cut. All we cac do is to try and forget it, aud now, having published S okles' acknowledgment of his shame over his own signature, wo banish the subject from out ! columns.— Phila. Bulletin.
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