-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.
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Job Printing of all kinds executed neatly and
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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.