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rfingiecopiesnf the pwpe.rfutri.hed,in wrapper*,
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Communications on subject "f local or genera!
interest are respectfully solicited. To ensure at
tention, fav.-rs of this kind must in variably lie
accompanied by the name of the anther, not for
publication, but as a guaranty against imposition.
All letters pertaining to business of the office
should be addressed to
DL'TTUORROW A I-L'TZ, BEFO*I>, Pa.
3?rofa*tauil & gSajtfiutf €xxis.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
lOflS T. EKAGY,
.1 ATTORN KY-AT-LAW.
. Office opposite Reed A Schell's Bark,
t'neusel given in English and Uerman. [apl26]
i ' IMMKLL AND LIN'OENFELTEK,
JV ATTORNEYS AT I.AW, BEITORD, ra.
Have formed a partnership in the practice o!
;he Law Office on Juliana Street, two doors South
• the Jlengel llou.e. [April 1, 15(54-tf
a I . A. POINTS,
jVI ATTORNEY AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.
Respectfully ter. iers hi professional services
t„ the public. Office with J. W. Lingenfelter,
H- ... ,n Juliana street.
recollections promptly ma lc. [Dee.9,'64-tf.
HAVES IRVINK,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Will faithfully and promptly attend to all bust
intrusted to his care. Office with<s. B. Spang.
,n Juliana street, three doors south of the
Merge! House. May 24: ly
I tsPY M. AIJ3IP,
la ATTORNEY AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.,
Will faithfully and promptly attend to all bu'i
., , entrusted to his care in Bedford and adjoin
• c unties. Military claims, Pensions, back
i-.v Bounty, Ac. speedily collected. Office with
Matin A Spang, on Juliana street, 2 doors south
ft ha Mcngel House. pH> 1864.—tf.
, r. merefts w - DICKERSOS
MI. VERS A DICKERBON.
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
BEDFORD, Pisi'L,
Office nearly opposite the Mengel House, will
practice in the several Courts of Bedlord county,
pensions, bounties and back pay obtained and the
rrchaseofßeal Estate attended to. [may 11 ,'66-ly
| B. CESSNA,
,J . ATTORNEY AT LAW,
See with JOB* CESSNA, on the square near
the Presbyterian Church. All business
ci.trusted to his care will receive faithful and
- .inpt attention. Military Claims, Pensions, Ac.,
,-peedily collected. [June 9,18(55.
J/ B. STUCKEY,
11TORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
and REAL ESTATE ACiENT,
Office on Main Street, Itetween Fourth and Fifth.
Opposite the Court House,
KANSAS CITY. MISSOURI.
Will practice in the adjoining Counties of Mis
r• and Kansas. July 1-ttf
-.1. It -ttU 4- U- LOSOEXEf KER
! ) i SSELL A LONGENECKER,
[ V VTTORVEYR A CM SSELLORS AT LAW,
Bedford, Pa.,
M ; I attend promptly and faithfully to all busi
• entrusted to their care. Special attennon
„ to collections and the prosecution of claims
I'ack Pay, Bounty, Pensions, Ac.
"wyOflice on Juliana street, south of the Court
lb.use. Apriiatlyr.
J■ M'D. SHARPS *• '• KRRR
CJHARPE A KERR.
0 A TTORSK YS-A T-LA H .
Will practice in the Courts of Bedford and ad
joining counties. All business entrusted to their
care will receive careful and prompt attention.
Pensions, Bounty, Back Pay, Ac., speedily col
lected from the Government. ....
Office oil Juliana street, opposite the banking
house of Reed A Schcll, Bedford. Pa. mar2.tf
j. n. I.I'TZ.
DU RBORROW A I.UTZ.
ATTORNEYS AT "LAW,
BEDFORD, PA.,
Will attend promptly to all business intrusted to
their care. Collections made on the shortest no-
Thev are, also, regularly licensed Claim Agents
i'v ill give special attention to the prosecution
:.:s against the Government for Pensions,
B k Pay, Bounty, Bounty Lands, Ac.
Office on Juliana street, one door South of the
•Men 'el House" and nearly opposite the Inquirer
.-. ~e April 23. lS65:t.
PHYSICIASB.
AUM. W. JAMISON, M. D.,
Eloocv Rrx, PA.,
Respectfully tenders his professional services to
the people of that place and vicinity. [decSilyr
DR. B. F. HARRY,
Respectfully tenders his professional ser
vices to the citizens of Bedford and vicinity.
1 iffice and residence on Pitt Street, in the building
formerly occupied by Dr. J. H- Hofius. [Ap 1 1,8..
| L>i ARls' >l' K l '. M. In.
J . Having permanently located respectfully
tenders his pofessional services to the citizens
of Bedford and vicinity. Office on Juliana street,
or-■ site tbe Bank, one door north of Hal! A Pal
mer's office. April 1, 1864—tf.
i\R S. G. STATLER, near Schellsburg, and
) Br. J. J. CLARKE, formerly of Cumberland
juuty, having associated themselves in the prac
tice of Medicine, respectfully offer their profes
sional services lo the citizens of Schellsburg and
vicinity. Dr. Clarke's office and residence same
a- formerly occu.vied by J. White, Esq., dee d.
S. G. FTATLER,
-chelLl nrg, A jrill2.-!y. J. J. CLARK K.
HOTELS.
UWASHINGTON HOTEL.
This large ami commodious house, hacing been
re.taken by the subscritver, is now open for the re
ception of visitors and boarders. The rooai-* are
large, well ventilated, and comfortably furnished.
The table wili always be supplied with the best
the market can afford. The Bar is stocked with
the choicest liquors. In short, it is my purpose
to keep a FIRM-CLASS HOTEL. Thanking
the public for past favors, I respectfully soli, .t a
renewal of their patronage.
N. B. Hacks wili run constantly between the
Hotel and the Springs.
may 1T,'67: ly WM. DIBERT, Prop'r.
1 I ORRISON HOUSE,
i>J HUNTINGDON. PA.
I have purchased and entirely renovated the
large stone and brick building opposite the Penn
"-Svsntß Railroad Depot, and have now opened it
for the accommodation of the travelling public.
The Carpets, Furniture, Beds and Bedding are all
< ' rely new and first class, and I am safe in say
ing that I can offer accommodations not excelled
i.'. Centra! Pennsylvania.
I refer to my patrons who have formerly known
while in charge of the Broad Top Ci'v Hotel
• . i Jor kson House.
: ,; 25 if JOSEPH MORRISON.
MWCELLAIEOVS;
1 >UPP A SHANNON, BANKERS,
i I BEIIFORE, PA.
BANK OF DISCOUNT AND DEPOSIT.
' lections made for the East, West, North and
t atL. and the general business of Exchange
'.rans.o ted. Notes and Accounts Collectevl and
Remittances p.romptlymade. REAL E>TATE
1 gbt and sold. * feb22
| \ A NIEL BORDER,
1J PITT STREET, TWO boobs tn OF TBK bsd
• Kti HOTEL, BEZFJHD, PA.
WATCHMAKER AND DEALER IN JEWEL
RY. SPECTACLES. AC.
lie keeps on hand a stock of fine Gold and Sil
ver Wwtches, Spectacles of Brilliant Double Refin
ed Glasses, also Scotch Pebble Glasses. Gold
M ati h Chains, Breast Pins, Finger Rings, best
quality of Gold Pens. He will supply to order
any thing in his line not on hand. [pr.28.'65.
OYES! 0 YES!—The undersigned has taken
out miction license, and tenders his services
! who have sales or auctions to cry. Give
I n., a call. Post Office address. Spring Meadows,
Bedford eounty, Penn'a.
April com' HENRY B. MOCK.
DI'KUORiiOW A LI'TZ Editor* and Proprietors.
§f.ciirg.
IMHAM StTSMUU
BY EM KLIN K Y. STTLTU.
Just after the death of the flowers,
Aad before thej are hurled in snow,
There comes a festival season,
Vf flea nature is all aglow—
I A glow with mystical #plcndor
That rivals the brightness of spring,
Aglow with a view more tender
Than aught which fair Summer could bring.
Some spirit akin to the rainbow
Then borrows its magical dyes,
And mantles the far spreading landscape
In hues that bewilder the eyes.
The sun, from bis cloud pillowed eb. mbcr,
Smiles soft on a vision sy
And dreams that bia favorite children,
The flowers, have not yet passed away.
FIRMNESS.
Wei! let. hiin go, and let biiu stay—
I do not mean to die;
I guess he'll find that I can live
Without him, if I try.
lie thought to frighten me with frowns,
So terrible and black—
He'll ?tay away a thousand years
Before I ask him back.
He said that I had acted wrong.
And ftoliably beside,
I won't forgive him after that
I wouldn't if I died.
If I was wrong, what right had he
To he so cross with me?
I know I'm not an angel, quite—
I don't pretend to be.
He had another sweetheart once,
And now, when we fall out,
He always say 3 she was not cross,
And that she didn't pout.
It is enough to vex a saint—
It's more than I can bear:
I wish that other girl of his
Was—well, I don't care where.
lie thinks that she was pretty, too —
Was beautiful as good;
I wonder if she'd get him back
Again, now, if she could?
f know she • uU, and there -he is—
She lives almost in sight:
And now it's almost nine o'clock—
Perhaps he's there to night.
I'd almost write to bun to come—
But then I've said I won't;
I do xot rare so much—but she
Shan't have him if I don't.
Besides. I know that I was wrong
And he was in the right:
I guess I'll tell hiin so—and then—
I wish he'd come to night.
GOSSIP ABOL'T WHITERS.
JAMES PATRON.
Of all American writers few are more strict
ly national than James Parton. or more de
serving the praise of Americans. Born in
England 1822, he came to this country at an
early age, and after teaching for a short time
began the life of a journalist, lie has been
connected with -everal newspapers ; but first
attracted notice as a writer of brilliant articles
for the Home Journal, and as editor of the
Phrenological Journal. His connection with
the former paper led to his acquaintance with
Fannv Fern, whom he afterwards married, j
About the same time be began his Lije of
Horace Greeley , which proving successful,
led him to adopt lit-rature as a profession,
and with the exception of a number of review
articles, and a series of short biographical
contributions to the Ledger, he has since de
voted himself to book-making. His history
I has had few incidents. Like Sonthey he has
led the life of a recluse, closely occupied with
his literary labors, and only closing them for
visits to collect materials for his works. His
resemblance to Soother is still further shown
in the most successful work of each. Mr.
Parton's Butler at Xeic Orleans, like Mr.
Southey's Life of Xelscn, was a piece of hack
work, written to supply an emergency, and
like the latter, proved most successful, and
had an enormocs sale.
The character of Mr. Parton, like that of
most men, has been largely influenced by
circumstances. Compelled to subsist by news
paper writing, where success depends so
much on expression, and where the '' art of
putting things " has reduced to a science,
he has been forced to study style, and expres
sion. and as a result displays in all his writ
ings a sometimes excessive tendency towards
brilliancy and effect. We do not mean that
be wilfully misrepresents anything, or alters
the truth to suit his purpose, but simply that
like Mac-aoley, and all similar writers, be has
been tempted, in order to put things in a
striking light, to exaggerate, or understate
the truth. Probably from intention his sub
jects have all been suited for the display of his
: peculiar taunt.
Among so many works of contemporary
writers, perfect impartiality is hardly to be
expected. The life of Greeley and Butler,
pre suppose a strong faith in their subject and
are, perhaps, as fair as was possible under the
circumstances. In the case of Aaron Burr,
it was natural that the odium attached to his
peculiar facination, should induce a strong
sympathy in bis biographer, and an apparent
partiality. In the main, however, Burr's
| character is fairly expressed, and his faults
I properly reprobated.
The life of Jackson was a task beset with
■ difficulties, which it wili begenerally acknowl
edged Mr. Farton has fairly overcome, and
i produced a standard work which has already
' reached deserved popularity. Mr. Parton has
I expressed the opinion that his life of Irank
lin is his best work, and posterity will prc
i bably confirm his choice, though its sale has
I been less than any other of his writings. It
t isf however, an admirable work, written in
I his best style and with few defi-cts.
j His latest, and in some respects best work
Famous Americans of Modern Times, con-
Lsists of various magazine and review articles.
A LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWSPAPER, DEVOTED TO POLITICS, EDUCATION, LITERATURE AND MORALS
the most prominent of which arc on Clay, |
Webster, Calhoun, John Randolph, Good- J
year, Girard, Vanderbilt, and James Gordon j
Bennett. For condensed information, per- j
spicuity, and artistic finish, these are unsur
passed by anything Mr. Parton has written. ;
The article on Bennett is a masterpiece of |
mental bisection, and did full justice to its
subject. Since these were composed he has
written an ndinirable series of articles on the
three great cities of the West for the Atlantic
Monthly, which have received deserved atten
tion. lie will continue his articles for this
periodical and the Xorlll American Jlevieir,
and is also prepared for his favorite work, a
Life of Voltaire, which he desires to make
the coming work of his literary career.
His aim has been a laudable one, viz., to
elevate biography into a floe art. Whether
he has succeeded in doing so remains to be
seen. No one will deny that he has shown
some of the most important traits of the bio
grapher—conscientiousness, thorough knowl
edge of his subject and an active want ofdul
ness. lie has a shrewd knowledge of human
nature, but not such as can pierce down into
the very depths like Hawtho-ne. He is the
perfect antithesis of that writer. He prefers
the tangible to the bidden, and has little taste
for subtile requirements or delicate analysis.
Ilis best qualities are his love of right and
hatred of all that is low or mean. He has a
strong faiili in,human progress, and especial
ly in that of the American people.
His style is clear, flexible, and picturesque.
He is apt to be careless at times and indulge
in slip-shod expressions, but in his best work
he is careful and accurate. He is conscien
tious and unceasing in labor and research: to
use his own w v ords, " never beginning to
write on a snbject, until be had exhausted
every source of information connected with
it." He is one of the few American writers
who live entirely by the pen.
In appearance, Mr. Parton is small, with a
slight and somewhat delicate figure. -His
head is small and from the front appears nar.
row, but is highly developed in all the moral
faculties and also in the propelling forces,
which would be imagined from his untiring
energy. His complexion is sallow, which
givee his lace an inert expression, but when
auimated his eye flashes with the fire of intel
lect. and his whole appearance changes. He
is very affable in conversation, and talks as
brilliantly as he writes.
DICKENS AND BL'LWER.
Translated from a German Work.
Bulwer lives in his beautiful villa in Ful
hau>, a quiet, lonely village above London.
A tranquility disturbed by nothing, reigns in
the house. Notwithstanding the warm
spring day, Bulwer sits near the fireplace,
where a bright coal fire is burning. Outside
the brauches of a cherry tree, covered with
an exuberance of blossoms, bang down on
the window, and the low, chirping notes of
the birds penetrate into the room. The cele
brated author a tall, slender form, wrap
ped in a sky-blue, soft lined, silken morning
gown, which is fastened with a strong cord
around his waist —sits at his large empty
table, and has before him only a blank book,
in which he writes his new novels.
His large, light blue eyes cast longing
glances out of the windows : his auburn hai r
flows iu the ringlets down on his high, narrow
forehead : the large, slender nose bangs over
his small mouth, and his read whiskers fail
from his long and narrow chin on ' is breaG.
The whole face looks decidedly too long, lie
i has a sickly appearance, and is abstracted.
His family affairs are at the bottom of his
melancholy, which no one can fail to perceive.
His little daughter died ; bis son, the heir of
his baronetcy, is estranged from him : and his
wife, lady Bulwer, has long since been sepa
rated from him and lives in the city. Let us
enter her room.
She -its on her writing table, for she is
likewise at work upon a novel. Her corpu
lent form, her round face, her radiant, deep
biue eyes, her raven hair, every thing forms
a striking contrast with the appearp.nce of her
husband. She contemplates the portrait of
her son : she charges her husband with an
other Lovelace, and refusing to pay her debts.
Her large eyes look at us languidly : her full
cheeks con lain a number of dimples, such as
Rubens liked to paint; her lips are still as
swelling, fresh and red as those of Titian's
daughters, and yet she is much over forty.
On thinking of this our suspicions are arous
ed : the crimson on her cheeks is too fra
grant : the heavy braids surmouutiug her fore-,
head are 100 black, her manners are decided
ij* too kind and polite, and cannot be sincere
—we escape from hc-r, bearing in mind the
bleeding heart of ber melancholy husband,
and the mournful tone of his novels.
Let us now go to Charles Dickens. There
are several aristocratic carriages and plain
hacks in front of his elegant residence, where
a numerous party is assembled. Ihe celebra
ted romaneist has returned from an extended
I trip to Switzerland and Genoa, and gives to
i night a soiree, such as are the order of the
| day, at his h spitable house. He is blonde,
! his eyes art light blue, hts face flushed with
Iwine, neither meagre nor ronud, but brimful
of good humor and kind-heartedness. He is
conversing with two ladies, who cannot re
; train from bursting into loud laughter.
You can tell at once, on looking at his face,
j which is by no means expressive in itself,
i when Dickens describes, recites or satirizes.
| Dickens is precisely as he writes—lively,
! sanguine, a bon vivatit, now iu a poetical
mood, now observing, all seemingly superfi
cially, and yet what a deep heart is concealed
under this restless surface ! If it is said that
i the currents of the world are injurious to
genius, Dickens' example proves the con
trary : for his creations spring from the ob
servations of life : he would be nothing with
out seeing, observing, and living with what
he beholds.
Informer times his wife, a stately lady,
was to be teen on such occasions. Het black
eyes, her full fonn, her measured conduct,
were iu striking contrast with those of ber
husband, and we regret to say thai the quarrel
which disturbed their relations and their hap.
| piness after a blissful wedded life ol many
BEDFORD. Pa.. FRIDAY. NOVEMBER 1.1867.
years has not yet been settled. 1 hey are
yet reconciled. The husband drowus his
cares in his literary activity, and in his noisy
bustle of the world. .
BACHELOR'S PERILS.
Marriageable men are beginning to be
wary. Even if a man is allowed ta visit in
the guise of a friend, the chances are that he
will eventually drift into matrimony. Sup
posing there are several daughters in the fam
ily where he visits, he will look on the num
ber as his greatest safeguard. He may imag
ine that he will never attempt to single out
one, from the difficulty of discovering which
one to single out. The girls would, of course,
lead him to believe that they looked upon
him as a brother, and that- papa and mamma
looked upon him in the light of a son not a
son-in-law! The lucky bachelor would thus
be lulled to sleep. He would become un
guarded in his actions, and would allow his
feelings to lead him whither they listed, and
as a sequence, he would eventually single
some one rose from these flowers of woman
hood, as being a li'tle fairer, having a little
more charming manner, or for in some way
or other coming nearer than her sisters to his
ideas of all that is excellent in woman. If a
bachelor of middle age, he would most prob
ably have selected the youngest of the family,
cheating himself into the belief that he did so
simply out of a sort of fatherly regard fo r
her. He would christen her the "baby'' of
the house, though she might be a fine grown
maiden of eighteen summers, and have all
the airs and ideas of a woman of three times
her age. He would more frequently address
his conversation to her than to her sisters,
but at the same time he would rarely talk
sweet speeches, talking more like a school
master than an admirer, that she might be in
structed somewhat. He would prefer walk
ing with her, that he might point out the
beauties of nature, or illustrate the harmo
nies of creation; and in effect, he would not
fail to show his preference in spite of his awk
ward apologies aud grotesque effects at con
cealment. The sisters would be careful not
to check legitimate sport. They would man
cenvre so that the lovers, as they would joke
ingly call them, always sat next one another
at the family board, that they were partners
in all amusements, and that in party drives or
walks they should either be left behind or be
left iu front. Of course this style of pro
ceeding would not fail to be observed. The
lady friend of the family would feel in duty
bound to tell her husband, and the husband
would have no other alternative, than to
inform his friend that, owing to the
talk of the neighbors, he must either cease
his visits altogether, or continue them on a
diffcrt nt footing. The poor bachelor has but
one course open to him —w a man of hrmnv
and a gentleman, he must as speedily as pos
sible raise the "baby" of the family to the
dignity of matron.
MATTERS Of FACT PEOPLE.
It was said of an ancient poet, that
he was so thin and light, that lead was
fastened to his shoes to prevent his being
blown away. The story is told by a writer,
who at the same time in the gravest manner
discredits it, for. says he, "How could he car
ry about sufficient weight to prevent his being
blown away, if he was so weak as to be una
ble to resist the sea breeze ?" This matter of
fact way of regarding a humorous fable is ex
ceedingly amusing, and recalls a somewhat
similar criticism upon the following Ameri
can story: A traveller, after a long journey,
anxiously looked about for some inn where
his jaded borse might have a bait, but no ac
commodation being found, he sought a grassy i
spot for pasturage, but without success. In i
this dilemma be produced a pair of green
glass spectacles, end placed them on the
horse's face, and led him into a carpenter' s
yard, where the deluded animal immediately
commenced his meal upon shavings and saw
dust. The absurdity of this story produced
a laugh in all but one hearer, who after a few
moments of solemn abstraction exclaimed,
"I beg yonr pardon, sir; but I doubt your sto
ry, for I cannot understand how the specta
cles could have been fixed on the horse's
nose."* How true is the saying, " the pros
jrerity of a jest lies in the ear of him trho
hears it.''
THE SMILES THAT HIDE GRIEF.
Some one said to Dr. Johnsou that it seem
ed strange that he who so often delighted his
company by his lively conversation should say
he was miserable. "Alas! it is all outside,"
replied the sage; "I may be cracking my joke
and cursing the sun; sun. how I hate thy
beams!" Boswell appended a foot-note in
which he remarked that beyond a doubt a man
may appear very gay in company who is sad
in heart. His merriment is like the sound of
drums and trumpets in battle to drown the
groans of the wounded and dying. It is well
known that Cowper was in a morbidly des
pondent state when he penned "John Gil
pin," of which delectable ballad and his cog
er.ers he himself bears record: "Strange as it
may seem, the most lndricrous lines I ever
wrote have been when in the sadest mood,
and but for that saddest mood perhaps would
never have been written at all."
In the height of his ill fortune, 1826, Sir
Walter Scott was ever giving vent, iu his dia
ry or elsewhere, to some whimsical outburst
of humorous sally; and after indicting an ex
tra gay jeu rTesprit in his journal just before
leaving his dingy Edinburg lodgings for Ab
botsford, he lollowsit up next day by this bit
of self-portraiture: "Anybody would think
from the fal de-ral conclusion of my journal
of yesterday that I left town in a very good
humor. But nature lias given me a kind of
buoyancy—l know not what to call it—that
mingles with my deepest afflictions and most
gloomy hours. I have a secret pride—l fan
cy it will be most truly termed—which im
pels me to mix with my distress strange
snatches of mirth which have no mirth in
. them.
A WAX connot possess anything that is better
Ithan a good woman, nor any thing that is
worse than a bad one.
OL'R THOUGHTLESS WORDS.
Reader, did you ever think how much a
word can wound? Perhaps some borrowing
mortal is near you even now, thirsting in her
heart for a single gentle word. Every "heart
knoweth its own bitterness," but how few of
us ever sympathize in another's wee. We
pass and repass the mourning, sorrowing one
and perhaps a few common-place words of
condolence fall with a cold, unmeaning, life
jess expression from or lips, and we think our
duty done; and often, very o'ften, a smile of
derision, an unkind word, aud a rankling,
festering wound is afflicted which burns the
heart as long as life lasts.
Ah! how little do we think how our thought
less words influence the destiny of others for
time and eternity! A single harsh expres
sion falls from our lips, which is forgotten by
us almost as soon as uttered, and a mildew
blight falls npon some heart, which had our
words been fitly spoken, might have budded
and blossomed in an eternity of happiness.
Then, reader, let your words be those of
gentleness, and your actions ever kind. The
human heart is easily touched, and from its
hidden fountains will gush forth snch a stream
of gratitude and love, that you, will never re
gret the effort you have made, nor forget to
thank God for the good yon have been the
means of doing.
"A lit tie word iu kindness spoken.
A motion or a tear,
Has often soothed the heart that's broken,
And made a friend sincere."
Givixo JOT TO A CHlLD.— Blessed be the
hand that prepares a plersure for a child, for
there is no saying when and where it may
again bloom forth. Does not almost every
body remember some kind-hearted man who
showed him a kindness in the dulcet day 6 of
his childhood? The writer of this recollects
himself at this moment as a barefooted lad,
standing at the wooden fence of & poor little
garden in his native village: while with long
ing eyes he gazed on the flowers which were
blooming there quietly in the brightness of a
Sunday morning. The possessor came forth
from his little cottage. He was a wood cut
ter by trade, and spent the week in the
woods. He had come into the garden to
gather flowers to stick into his coat when he
went to chnrch. He saw the boy, and break
ing off the most beautiful of his carnations—
it was st reaked with red and white—he gave
it to him. Neither the giver or the receiver
spoke a word, and with bounding steps the
boy ran home. And now here, at a vast dis
tance from that home, after so many events
of so many years, the feeling of gratitude
which agitated the breast of that boy expres
ses itself on paper. The carnation has long
since withered, but now it blooms afresh.
A Pno MAX'S Wisn.—l ajked a student
what three things he most wished. He said:
"Give me books, health, and quiet, and I
care for nothing more."
I asked a miser, and he cried: "Money,
money, money."
I asked a pauper, and he faintly said:
"Bread, bread, bread!"
I asked a drunkard, and he called loudly
for strong drink.
1 asked the multitude around me, and they
lifted up a confused cry, in which I heard
the words: "Wealth, fame and pleasure."
I asked a poor man, who had borne the
character of an experienced Christian. lie
replied that all his wishes might be met in
Chris'. lie spoke seriously, and I asked him
to explain. He said; "I greatly desire three
things: first that I be found in Christ: sec.
ondly, that I may be like Christ; thirdly, that
I may be with Christ."
I have thought much of his answer, and
the more I think of it the wiser it seems.
CHEIRFCLSRRS AXD MOROSEXESS.— If we
are cheerful and contented, all nature smiles
at us; the air seems more balmy, the 6ky more
clear, the ground a brighter green, the Jrees
have a richer foliage, the flowers a more fra
grant smell, the birds sing more sweetly, and
the sun, moon and starsappear more beaut*
ful. We take our food with relish, and what
ever it may be, it pleases us. We feel better
for it —stronger and lovlier, and fit for exer
tion. Now what happens to us if we
are all ill-tempered and discontented? Why,
there is nothiug which can please us.
We quarrel with our food, with our dress,
with our amusements, with our com
panions, and with ourselves. Nothing comes
right for us: the weather is either too hot or
too cold, too dry or too damp. Neither sun,
nor moon, nor stars have any beauty, the
fields are barren, the flowers are lustreless,
and the birds silent. We move about like
some evil spirit, neither loving nor beloved
by anything.
TALEXT AND TACT.— Talent is something,
but tact is everything. Talent is serious, so
ber. grave and respectable; tact is all that,
and more too. It is not a seventh sense, but
it is the life of all the five. It is the ope n
eye, the quick ear, the judging taste, the keen
smell and the lively touch; it is the interpre
ter of all riddles —the surmounter of all diffi
culties —the remover of all obstacles. It is
useful in all places and at all times: it is use
ful in solitude, for it shows a man his way
into the world; it is useful in society, for it
shows him his way through the world. Tal
ent is power—tact is skill; talent is weight—
tact is momentum, talent knows, what to do —
tact knows how to do it: talent makes a man
respectable—tact will make him respected;
talent is wealth—tact is ready money. For
: all the practical purposes of life, tact carries
it against talent —ten to one.
NEVER make use of a woman's name iu an
, improper time, or in mixed company.
Never make assertions about her that you
feel she herself would blush to hear. When
you meet with men who do not scruple to
make use of awoman's name in a reckless
manner, shun them, for they are lost to every
sense of honor.
i TRUTH. —There is nothing as pleasant as
I the hearing and speaking the truth. lor this
reason there is no conversation so agreeable
as that of the man of integrity, who hears
: without any intention to betray and speaks
I without any intention to deceive.
YOU MK (0; SO. 13.
1 >I-.U TY. -Socrates called Beauty a short
lived tyrant; Plato, a privilege of natuie;
1 hcophratus, a silent cheat; Tlieocrituß, a de
lightful prejudice; Cameades, a solitary king
dom; Domitian said, that nothing was more
graceful; Aristotle affirmed that beanty "-as
better than all the letters of recommendation
injthe world; Homer, that, was a glorious
gill of nature; and Ovid calls it a favor be
stowed by the gods. But a.- regards t>e ele
ments of beauty in woman, it is not too much
to say—and who will not agree with us'.'— that
no woman can be beautiful by force of fea
tures alone; there must be as well sweetness
and beauty of soul.
JONATHAN'S HI NTING .EXCURSION.—
"Hid you ever hear of the scrape that I and
Uncle Zekel had duckin' on't on the Con
necticut?" asked Jonathan Tirnbertoes,
while musing his old Hutch hostess, who
had agreed to entertain him under the roof
of her log log cottage'for and iu considera
tion of a bran new tin milk pan.
"No, I never did, do tell it," was the re
ply.
"Well you know that I and L'nc-le Zeke
took it into our beads on Saturday afternoon
to go a gunnin' arter ducks in father's skiff;
so in we got and skulled down the river, I
tell ye—a slew of them lit down by the
marsh and went to feeding on muscles. 1
catched up my powder horn to prime, and
it slipped right out of my hand and sunk to
the bottom of the river. The water was
amazingly clear, and I could see it on the
bottom. Now, I couldn't swim a jot; sol
says to Uncle Zeke, 'you're a pretty clever
fellow; just let me take your powder horn to
prime;' and don't you think the stingy crit
ter wouldn't. 'Well,' says I, 'you're a
pretty good diver, and if you will dive and
get it I will give you a priming." I thought
he'd leave his powder horn, but he didn't,
he stuck it in his pocket, and down he went
—and there he staid."
Here the old lady opened her eyes with
wonder and surprise, and a pause of some
minutes ensued, when Jonathan added:
"I looked down and what do you think the
critter was doin' ?"
"Golly!" exclaimed the old lady, "I'm
sure I don't know."
"There he was," said our hero, "settin'
rite on the bottom of the river, pouring the
powder out of my born into hizzen !"
WE WERE AMUSED yesterday (says the J
Virginian Enterpriie) at a story told upon
himself by a mau who is notorious as a long
winded talker. Said he; "Seeing my friend
Jones being bored by a man who had him
button-holed, and was talking him blind. I
called to Jones that I wanted to see luiu at
once, on particular business. He came to
me, when I explained to him that I had no
business, hut was merely calling him away
to save his being talked to death. 'Very
much obliged,' said Jones, 'but (looking
anxiously about him) who in thunder will I
find to save me from you?"
TIES DlFFEß.—' There is your railroad
tie —useful but not ornamental. The Ma
sonic and Odd Fellow tie —mystical and
queer. The tic of love —rose and poetic.
The highty-tighty tic—uffy and morose, in
dulged by ladies often. The tie of nation
ality—the burden of song and sentiment,
and principally confined to them. The tie
on a shoe—very pleasant for a lady who
wants some young fellow to fumble round
her foot and fix her purposely loose string.
The tie up half way home about midnight
a tie young men illustrate with too much
frequency.
THE Bishop of Wurtzhurg onee asked a
sprightly shepherd bay: "What are you do
ine here, my lad?" "Tending swine.' j
"How much do you get?" "One florin a ;
week!" "I, also, am a shepherd," eontin- J
ued the bishop, "but I have a much better
salary." "That maybe; but then, I sup
-1 pose, you have no more swine under your
care," innocently replied the boy.
THE Boston Pott is responsible for this;
—At a printer's festival recently held in
Lowell, Massachusetts, the following toast
was presented : ' 'The Printer—The master
of all trades —he beats the farmer with his
Hoe, the carpenter with his rules, and the
mason with setting up his tall columns; he
surpasses the lawyer and the doctor in at
tending to his cases, and beats the parson
in the managemens of the 'devil.
PREACHING. —A minister, in A highly elab
orated sermon which he preached, said, sev
eral times, "The commentators do not
agree with me here." Next morning a poor
woman came to sec hitn with something in
her apron. She said that her husband had
heard his sermon, and that it was a very fine
one. and as he said " the common tators
did not agree with him," he had sent some
of the best kidneys!
AT Lynn, Mass., a Sunday School teacher
asked a little girl who the first man was. —
She answered that she did not know. The
question was put to the next, an liish child
who answered loudly, "Adain, sir, with
apparent satisfaction.
"Law," said the first scholar, "you
needn't feel so grand about it, he wasn't an
Irishman."
THE Mississippi Sentinel sums up his cot
ton crop intelligence thus: " The accounts
from all sections of Mississippi are so dis
heartening that we do not think it necessary
to go into details. Suffice it to say, that the
crop on many plantations throughout the
State is totally destroyed by worms, and on
others not over a bare to the hand will be
raised. '
You No man, you are waiting for some
door to open into a broad and useful futnrc ?
| Dqn't wait. Select the door and pry it
open, even if you have to me a crow-bar.
ORATORY.—Persons who think that the
careful preparation of the language of
speech despoils it of its right to be consid
ered really eloquent, either forget or have
never known, that the Grecian and Koman
orators, who have ever been considered the
greatest models of eloquence, always wrote
out their speeches and committed to mem
ory. Demosthenes and Cicero both did so.
Indeed, the most eloquent speech of the
great lloman was written out ready, but
was never delivered. In English Senato
rial history we have a still more remarkable
example of the paradox of the most elo-
quent speakers preparing carefully the
points and illustrations with which their
most famous speeches were apparently on
the impulse of the moment adorned.
Richard Brinsley Sheridan was sarcastic
ally taunted with being 'the right honora
ble gentleman who is indebted to his imag
ination for hi.-, fact;-, and to hie memory for
hi- wit, which simply! meant that the
pungent .-an.-a.-ni which he seemed to throw
ofi .spontaneously in the heat and excite
ment of debate, had lieen generally thought
over and modelled before, and kept in his
memory, ready for use when any good op
portunity presented itself. This may hive
been carry ing preparation a little too far.
But the example ot ancient orators of the
greatest eminence all go to prove that the
title of orator must not by any means be
limited to those who depend for their lan
guage on the impulse of the moment.
ETERNITY. —"Eternity has no gray hairs."
The flowers fade, the heart withers, man
grows old and dies; the man lays down in
the sepulchre of ages; but time writes no
wrinkle on the brow of eternity. Eternity!
Stupendous thought. The ever present,
unborn, undenying, the endless ehoin. com
passing the life of God, the golden thread,
entwining the destinies of the universe.
Earth has its beauties, but time shrouds
them for the grave; they are but as the gil
ded sepulchre; its possessions, they are but
toy 3 of changing fortunes, its pleasures,
they are bursting bubbles. Not so in the
untried bourne. in the dwelling of the Al
mighty, can come no foot steps of decay.
Its day will know no darkening—eternal
splendors forbid the approach of night. Its
foundations will never fail; they are fresh
from the eternal throne. Its glory will
never wane, for there is the ever present
God. Ita harmonies will never cease, ex
haustless love supplies the song.
HAVE you ever noticed how an icicle is
formed? You notice how it froze, one drop
at a time until it was a foot long or more.
If the water was clean, the icicle remained
clear and sparkled in the sun; but if the
water was but slightly muddy, the icicle
looked foul, and its beauty was spoiled.
Just so our characters are forming. One
little thought or feeling at a time adds its
influence. If each thought be pure and
right, the soul will be lovely.
ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL. —At a festival party
of old and young, the question was asked,
Which season of life is most happy? After
being freely di.-sussed by the guests, it was
referred for answer to the host, upon whom
was the burden of fourscore years. He
asked if they had noticed a grove of trees
before the dwelling, and said: "When the
spring comes and in the soft air the buds
are breaking on the trees and they are cover
ed with blossoms, I think, how beautiful is
spring! And when the summer comes, and
covers the trees with its foliage, and singing
birds are all among the branches, I think,
how beautiful is summer! When autumn
loads them with golden fruit, and their
leaves bear the gorgeous tint of frost I think
how beautiful is autumn! And when it is
sere winter, and their is neither foliage nor
fruit, then I look up, and through the leaf
less branches, as I could never until now. I
see the stars shine through.
A SILVER MINE has Been discovered on the
farm of Mr. John J. Larew, ten miles south
west of Stanton, Ya. Surface specimens of
the ore have been analyzed, which arc said
to be very rich and to promise a fine yield
upon going deeper into the bowels of mother
earth.
A SCHOOLMISTRESS, while taking down
the names and ages of her pupils, and of
their parents, at the beginning of the term,
a-ked one little fellow : " What's your fath
er's name?" "O, yon needn't takedown
his name ; he's too old to go to school to a
woman," was the innocent reply.
A LITTLE Swedish girl was walking with
her father one night under the starry sky in
tently mediating on the glorious to heaven.
At last looking up to the sky, she said,
" Father, I have been thinking if the wrong
side of heaven is so beautiful, what will the
right side be?'"
A Sox OF Eaix, driven to desperation by
the stringency of the money market and the
high price of provisions, procured a pistol
and took to the road. Meeting a traveler,
he stopped him with, "Your money or yonr
life." Seeing Pat was "green," he said,
"I'll tell you what I'll do—l'll give you all
my money for that pistol." "Agreed." Pat
received the money and handed over the pis
tol. "Now," said the traveler, "hand back
that money, or I'll blow your brains out."
"Blaze away, my hearty," said Pal; "never a
a drop of powther there's in it."
LAUGHABLE.— The following amusing inci
dent is related in the Cortland (New }ork)
Gazette:
A very amusing affair occurred last Bab
bath morning in a church not far from this
village. The clergyman was discoursing as
eloquently as the state of the weather would
permit, yet one of his auditors—a young lady
—was so overcome by the heat as to fall
asleep in the midst of the discourse. Those
behind her were somewhat amused, observ
ing her efforts to keep her head in a perpen
dicular position. The superintendent of the
Sunday School happening to look around just
as the lady's head was going over backward,
supposing she had fainted, and springing to
his feet called out to the doctor to stop and
send down from the desk a tumblers of water,
which request was immediately complied with
and a copious supply of water was adminis
tered to the somnolent young lady before she
recovered. _
IT is a good thing to have utility and beauty
combined, as the poor washerwoman said
when she used her thirteen children for
clothes-pins.