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AH letter* should be addreeaed to JOHN LUTE. 3 lloral anli general jlrtospaprr, Drbotfti to |?o foctn;, SHALL THE PAST BE EOKUOTTENT x RMfoxit to rax rorPEßHi.ta meaokks wbo SAT "LET ET-coee* UK *r-OO*ES." Am—**Tke Strord of Bunker Hitt, n No: never while a tombstone stands Above a soldier's grave. Can we forget your treason to The land he died to saTe. These speaking monuments of death That tell the hero's fame, Will tell to millions yet unborn The story of your rbame. And pillars broad that rise on high. Like Banker Hill's great shaft. To every clime beneath the skies Your treachery shall waft. Our glorious flag, unfurled aloft, !In ev'ry port and sea, Will bear upon its waving stripes Your damning infamy. And nations o'er the whole wide world, Shall hear ywor craven cry, When freemen rushed their rights to save, Or, fa.".ng, nobly die. No, no; the past is ail secure. And each returning year Will make your treason viler still, And liberty more dear. THE STAMMERING WIFE. Br you* G. sstc. When deeply in love with Miss Emily Cline I vowed if the maiden would only be mine, I would always endeavor to please her— She blushed her consent, though the stuttering lass Said never a word, except "You're an ass— An ass—an as*—iduous teaser 1" But wben we were married I found to my ruth Tbe stammering lady had spoken the truth. For often, in obvious dudgeon, she 1 say—if I ventured to give her a jog In tbe way of reproof—"You're a dog—you're a dog— A dog—a dog—mttic curmudgeon!" And once, when I said, "We can hardly afford This extravagant style witb our moderate board," And hinted we ought to be wiser, Sbe looked, I assure you, exceedingly blue. And fretfully cried, "You're a ju—you're a ju— A very ju—dick -a adviser!" Again, when it happened that, wishing to shirk Some rather unpleasant and arduous work, I begged her to go to a neighbor, She wasted to Show why I made such a fuss, And saucily said, "You're a cu*—cus—cus— You were always ac—customed to labor!" Out of temper, at last, with the insolent dame. And feeling that madam was greatly to biame To scold me instead of caressing, I mimicked her speech—like a churl as I am— And angrily said, "You're a dam—dam— dam— A dam —sge instead of a blessing!" Initial FOR WHOM SHOULD THE YOUNG -MEN VOTE? What ticket should the young menof the country rapport ? A large number of young men will cast their first vote for President at this next election. Doubtless they want to support that ticket whose election shall most benefit the country. They do not wish to do that of which they will have to repent hereafter. General Sherman said once that he voted for Buchanan, and had been sorry for it ever since; and General Sherman is not the only one who entertains such regrets. To the young men whe have a few words to say. Everybody knows that before a very long time passes, there must come about a reorganization of parties. Those who have studied most thoughtfully the political and industrial condition of the country are persuaded that many import ant interests arc neglected, and that the country suffers in different ways, because this reorganization of parties has been so long delayed; and that it will continue to suffer until parties are formed upon the real questions of the day—which are taxation and finance. In the present canvass neither of these important questions takes the lead. Tbe Democratic party had the power, if its lead ers had possessed the necessary wisdom, to make these questions prominent. It had only to accept accomplished facts, to take for granted the reconstruction of the south ern states, and to fling out of the arena of politics all the old questions, which prece ded and grew out of the war; and to an nounce a policy of equal civil and political rights, and with this a policy of justice, wis dom and good faith, upon the questions of taxation, internal and external, the curren cy and the debt. But the Democratic leaders have neither the courage nor the wisdom to place them selves in the advance: they cannot or will not see that the attitude of protest, which they have held for so many years, is not the attitude of a victorious party. They pro tested. in 1860 against the spread of liberal opinion on the slavery question—aod were beaten. They protested in 1864 against the war for the Union, and demanded an imme diate cessation of hostilities—and were still more badly beaten. In 1 868, they still pro test —against reconstruction at the moment it is accomplished in nearly every State; against tbe debt, wheo the people have made up their minds to pay it honestly; against tbe negroes voting, when they have voted in every Southern State. Now, in the first place, it is plain that so loug as the Democratic party thus disputes the validity of accomplished facts, so long as its sole policy is to go back, to carry the country back over old tracks, to undo what has been done, to begin again tbe turmoil through which we have just painfully pas sed—just so long is any true progress im possible. The old questions must he put aside before the Dew ones can come op ior argument. It is the Democratic party, therefore, which bars the way to progress, and when it is swept out of the way then only can we come to that discussion of oth er Questions most important to the whole country, which is so necessary and impera tive It is, therefore, for the general interest and welfare that the Democratic party should be beaten in the coming election; for thus only can these questions which it at tempts to revive be put aside for ever. Tbe party protested against emancipation until it was beaten in 1868; but that defeat settled the question, and put the slavery question out of our polities tor ever. So, in 1868, a defeat of the Democrats will compel even them to accept the reconstruction, now al ready accomplished, aod suffer the country to pay attention to other and more impor tant matters. But this is not all. There was a time BEDFORD* PA., FRIO when (he Democratic party was the party of progress, the party of sound ideas, of gen erous instincts, the party of justice, of hu ; man brotherhood, of equal rights, of free dom. Then its leaders had courage, they were aggressive, they were not afraid to at tack wroog whenever they found it, or to maintain the right wherever it led them. If it were that now: if it bad in it even any of the old leaven of righteousness, it might be well to support it, and keep it from des truction. But it has Dot a single good Democratic quality remaining; it is the par ty of hate, of inhuman prejudice: it has planted itself on injustice and dishonor. During the war it was ready to surrender the Union; since the war it is ready to dis grace the nation by repudiating the debt. It denies justice, and boastfully appeals to the baser passions of the multitude. Is that a paity with which the young men of the nation, generous, full of ardor, lov ing liberty, having faith in mankind, believ ing also in the irresistible progress of this great Union, in intelligence, virtue and wealth, can join ? Here, for instance, is this question of paying the debt, which is treated by the Democratic party as though this nation were a bankrupt debtor, ruined in substance, without health or strength, or future. But what young roan believes this? Who of them does not feel his heart inspir ed with the faith that tbe American people stand just upon the threshold of a long and glorious career? Who of them, with warm blood in his veios, does not scorn to tarnish the honor of this growing nation by wrong ing its areditors? Who of them does uot know that the pressure which seems so se vere now, to the men without faith or hope, will pass away so completely and rapidily that our children will no more comjrehend ; it than we comprehend the dark days after the Revolution, and will no more forgive us for faintheartedness than we forgive the fainthearts of the ante-revolutkmaiy days. There appears to be no hope of an honor able*future, or indeed of any future, for the present democratic party. Its leaders are possessed by ideas which are not in conso nance with the spirit of the aee. They must, in tbe nature of things, linger out their days in an attitude of vain but bitter protest against facts and events. Tbey are tbe true re actiooaries, wbo, in the rough speech of a western man, "go about tread ing on the coat tails of progress, and crying ont Wboal whoa!" They have shown them selves during seven or eight most important years, unable to catch up with events; and their position is that of a man running after a railroad train, and vainly flinging up his hands in rage with the flying locomotive. AY a have not been as ail our readers know blind friends of the Republican party. YVe hare had occasion, very often, to blame the errors, the blunders, and the excesses of some of its leaders; we have not failed to condemn important parts of their policy; and believe they have been in many ways unwise. But it cannot be denied th-1 their spirit has been a spirit of lily rty and humanity; often when they have erred, it has been from a love of liberty, and not from -levotion to slavery; and often again, the prevailing ignorance of politicians upoD all other questions but that of slavery, has made the party in power tbe victim of de signing and selfish men, and the scapegoat of their misdeeds. Bat the democratic leaders have not shown a disposition to do better. Tbey offer to repeat the blunders of the Republicans; and, worse yet, they even put into their last platform a "protec tionist plank, "and thus abandon tbe last | distinctively democratic ground tbey had ' retained. I here is hope of the Republican party, it seems to hare a future bcfcre it; it can be wielded and formed by the young men of the nation. But even if it c> >uJd not, it should, in this election, receive the support of all young men, of all voters who vrish to get i done with the neepo in politics, of all who de-ire to recognise accomplished facts, and who see that the country imperatively needs that other questions than those relating to the rights of negroes, shall be discussed and settled, without loss of time. These ques tions cannot come up until the present issue is decided; until, by a repetition of the de feat of 3*64, the democrats are forced to accept reconstruction, as an accomplished fact, and turn to other questions.—Even ing I'ott. ANTICIPATED REPUBLICAN CAINS. Mr. George Wilkes has published his viewsof "The Philosophy of the Campaign," in which be expresses the opinion that the victory of General Grant will be so signal that it may be likened to a march rather than a contest, and will hardly wear the look of an election at all. "We also believe," be says, "that Grant will carry the state of New York, and that John A. Griswold, who is now nominated on the Grant ticket for its Governor, will defeat anv candidate who may be set up against him." As the democratic vote last year was three hundred and seventy-three thousand, which is more than three thousand above the highest Republican vote ever cast in this state: and as the highest vote of both j parties is cast when there is a Presidential! election, we are not so confident of a large I majority. But the democratic Tote in this j city last year included several thou-and resi dents of other states brought hither to deter mine whether O'Brien or Connelly should be sheriff; the German Republican Central Committee took no part in the election, or ! aided the democrats, on account of disaffec j tion created by the Excise law; and there were Republicans who vote! the democratic ticket, just to administer a rebuke to their political associates. This fall the Pennsylvania voters will be wanted at home; and the disapponted Re publicans will vote for Grant and Griswold. ' Besides, there are many changes in the j state for Grant and against Seymour, but we hear of none the other way. The Re publicans of this city have not been more united in feeling for ten years. 3fr. Gris wold is a strong and unexceptionable candi date, and is generally worth several thou sand votes on bis persona! popularity. These considerations give us strong hope of his , election by a handsome majority. If Pennsylvania gives as full a vote as she did in 1566, and the states of Ohio and Indiana come in well at. the October elec tions, there will he little motive for the democrats of this state to work, as the ut most to be accomplished would be to place its destinies at the feet of Tammany Hall. The best judges predict a majority of 20,- 000 in Indiana for Governor Baker, and a much larger one in Pennsylvania for Gen. Hartranft. Nobody entertains a doubt of ics, (education, Hitrrature aiilJ J&ora(s. . AUGUST 21. 1868. Ohio or lowa. This is propitious augury for New York Letters from the Pacifie coast promise tbe electoral vote of Oregon and California lor Lrant snd Colfax. We have never doubted that fradulent voting defeated the state ticket in June, as there was an in creased vote principally in tbe oonnties and towns next to the territory of Idaho. Cali fornia was h>st last j'ear by divisions in tbe llepubliesn party, which have been adjus ted, and tbe Republicans promise to Grant a majority of twenty-five thousand. In Louisiana it is said that the majority will be 40,000. It is hardly the way to carry tfce state to "do tall boasting," and we shah leave it to our political adversaries But the outlook is infinitely more promis ing than it was at this time in 1864. It did seem then as if Mr. Lincoln conld be defea ted it the democrats would nominate a man for 'hat purpose; but madness ruled their counsel?, and they received but the insig nificant rate of three states. A similar io fatuationWs adhered to them in 1868, and they are only sure of three states now. The rest is all bragging. Tbe Republicans can carry* New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Delaware and Oregon, if they will. THE AUTHOR OF THE SCHON BEKG-COTTA FAMILY. The moment of our departure from Eng land had arrived: we were at that point in a long journey when the feeling of expecta tion for the unknown, is satisfied, and one's thoughts turn fondly towards home. But ODe more pleasure was in reserve for us—we were invited to spend our last night under the roof of the author of the "Schonberg- Cotta Family." Mrs. Charles lives at Hamp stead, one of tbe pretty suburban village? that are sprinkled thickly around L]ndon. About six miles distant, it is perched on a hill which commands a full view of the city. An hour s drive on a hAutifui summer af ternoon brought us to the place, where, af ter climbing up and winding about the quaint old streets and lanes, we stopped before a house on tbe brow of a bill overlooking a wild landscape. YY'hat a cbatm in these English homes! There is such an air of taste and comfort, and yet such an absence of pretention. The plain brick walls are covered with ivy, and the flowers in the window, and vines over the door, give to the most modest dwelling an air of refine ment This sense of beauty is increased wben, as tbe centre of a picture, a kind and gentle woman appears to give us welcome. Y\'e always form an idea of an author's looks. The "Sehonberg-Cotta Family" if so thor oughiy a German book—not only because tbe scene is laid in Germany, but in all its details of domestic life, it such a perfect oouleitr loath that wben I first read it, years since, I took it for granted that the writer was a German. Indeed, it was my first im pression that it was a very old book, writ ten one or two hundred years ago, and just brought to light. Imagine, then, my sur prise at seeing a lady still young aod emi nently English. of small, slight figure, whose modest, almost timid manners at once en gaged our interest and sympathy. There is among women a sort of intuition of char acter, which reveals them to each other. It needed but a glance to recognize a pure, transparent nature in this true English wo man. Mrs, Charles is a native of Doven shire, the only child of a member of parlia ment, who died some years since, leaving a name greatly respected ic that part of Eng land. Her mother, a lady, of great excellence, live# with her. Mr. Charles is a merchant of London, who, though engaged robustness, shares it; the tastes of his wife, and furnishes her ample means for their gratification. Thus placed in the most favorable posi tion, nothing seems wanting in this beauti ful home, to make tbe happiness of a wo man, but the voices of children. But it is perhaps this very freedom from family cares which ha? given her leisure to study and to write. Her first books were the fruits of years of reading and observation. She had made herself familiar with German literature and history, especially the history of the reformation, and in travels on the comment had observed the scenes and customs which she wished to describe. Thus fitted for her task, she put into the ' Sehonberg Cotta Family" the fruits of this long preparation. But all this literary culture, she would hardly have undertaken the labor of writing books, except from a higher motive than reputati-D. Her object from the first, as she says herself, with as much truth as sim plicity, has been, "to do good." It is easy to see that she is much more preoccupied with their usefulness than with the fame they bring to herseil. It was a real pleasure to be able to say to her, that on the other side of the ocean her books were in the hands of our young people, and made the delight of thousands of family circles; to see her eyes fill with tears of gratification, and to have neither to flatter nor to spare the susceptibilities of an author for a work which had been a labor of love and charity- She observed life, not witb the cold eye of a philosopher or moralist, but with the heart of a woman, full of pity for ignorance and misery, and of sympathy for the poor and the obscure, especially for her own sisters in England and all other parts of the lands, who are lonely and unfriended, who seem to be disinherited of the common enjoyments of life, and need to be led to the source of con solation. ODCS knowing Mrs. Charles, it Is impos sible to regard her writings any longer mere ly from a literary or artistic point of view— since her aim is far higher. She is not an author writiog for money or fame, but a true philanthropist or missionary, anima ted with a Christian purpose, to combat igno rance and impiety, to strengthen faith, and to soothe human sorrow, by whispering into the ears of the unhappy words of peace and hope—a noble Christian woman, who finds in her own heart, oversowing with goodness, a perpetual inspiration.— N. Y. Emngelht. I)R. HOLMES, of Boston having been call ed upon and considerably bored by a gentle man who had devoted himself to lecturing , in Kogiand without much ability fordoing so, inquired, "What are you about at this particular time?" The answer was, "Lec turing, as usual. I hold forth this evening at Roxbury." The Professor, clapping his hands together exclaimed, "I am glad of it. j I never liked those Roxbury people!" IT is immortality that makes life a derira- j ble blearing; without this it would be but an j unprofitable and burdensome trifle, preeerv- j ed with anxiety and quitted with terror. 1 AN EASY PLACE. A man appealed to Henry YY'aid Beecher as follows; . _ __ LANCASTER, Feb. stb. 1867. "Rev. Hemy YYareh Beecher Sir: I hardly know how to address so great a man. You said in a sermon, some time ago, 'that honesty ought to be rewarded.' lam hon est with my fellow-man. myself, ami my God. Can get ret ommendations (the best) from lawyers, doctors, preachers, etc. Get me an easy {tic) situation, that honesty may be rewarded. C. V." We give an extract from Mr. Beecher's reply: "Surely a man as honest as you are has been rewarded already. What! honest with your fellow-men, yourself aod your God! There are few men who can say as much: Honest with your fellow-men! How kmg has it been so? Have you eome to it grad ually. as the winter apple ripens, or has it always been so? Excuse these questions, I am deeply interested. You belong to an exceedingly smaU class. You have few fel lows on earth. . Indeed, when w>u say that you are honest with yourself,' I cannot keep you company. You are ahead of me: and that clause—- honest with your God' —takes you entirely out of my sight. Why do you come to me? I ought to sit at your feet. You are my master. No doubt you can get 'recommendations from lawyers, doctors, preachers, etc.' You piace these gentlemen, doubtless, in a climax. Lawyers are proverbially honest—doc-tors never deceive—preachers always practice what they preach. Recommendations from any of these would smack of self-laudation Every man praises his own virtues. Get some one not so inevitably good to recom mend you. Are there no editors, no mem bers of Congress, in your neighborhood? But I am now c-ome to the most impor tant part of your letter: 'Get me an easy situation, that honesty may be rewarded.' I am ready to do all in my power for you. Had you siguified the sort of easy place you would prefer I should have been less per plexed. Let me see. You are a bora President! All parties are looking out for you. They want a man 'honest to his fellow-men. to himself, and to his God.' YY'hat a motto is that to run a race with ! Thus far they seem not to have found just the man. If I were to divulge your name no doubt you would be ravished away to YV ashington in spite of your screams. And the only reason why I do not disclose your whereabouts is that I fear the Presi dency would not prove that ~emy' place which you justly think is due to your hon esty. Don't be an editor if you would be 'easy." Do not try the law. Avoid school-keeping. Keep out of the pulpit. Let alone all the ships, stores, shops and merchandise. Ab hor polities. Keep away from lawyers. Don't practice medicine. Be not a fanner or mechanic; neither a soldier or sailor. Don't think. Don't work. None of'them are easy. Omy holiest friend ! you are in a very hard world ! I know of but one real easy place in it. Tbat place is in the grave. How is it in Lancaster? Can they not serve you there? Even graves are very dear. Try and get suited at home." TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. YY'e sometimes think of genius as a way ward. fickle faculty: but it is rather that persistent power of the soul which, like faith "laughs at impossibilities." and cuts its way through every obstacle. The life of Charles Goodyear illustrates this in an emi nent degree. The Scientific American says: YY'e presume that the story of his eventful life will be made public in some more formal mode, and we will not attempt fully to trace the progress of his inventions. It was in 1834 that Mr. Goodyear turned his atten tion to the manufacture of India rubber. There was a mystery about this tropical gum which gave it a strange charm to his imagination. It was mat an article of com merce. but appeared from time to time only as a rare curiosity brought from foreign lands. The savages who possessed it kept the mode of its manufacture a profound se cret. It was found only under the burning sun of tbe equator, in the gloomy swamps of unexplored Amazon, or the jungles of Asia and Africa. Its nature was as mysterious as its origin; the chemists who examined it were baffled in their attempts to make it of practical use. Ingenious men, abroad and at home, had attempted to solve the mys tery, but all had failed. That it was of im mense value in the arts, to supply a thou sand wants of civilized life, was obvious to all, but the elastic gum kept its own myste rious secret, and there was no clue to the discovery. To discover the secret aDd solve the prob lem became the dream of Charles Goodyear's life. The difficulties and failures which he encountered only made it more dear to him. He a.?kSd aid from men of science, but they discouraged him; his associates abandoned the pursuit iu despair; his friends, one after another, left him, but he only clung the closer to his cherished faith. In one of the contests by which pirates of invention sought to rob him of his rights, the veil was half withdrawn from the life of the inventor, and a few details of the privations which he endured were given. He was in such ex treme penury that his bed was sold from un der him: he was so poor that it was said he could not buy an ounce of tea on credit. In the dead of winter there was no food in his house, and no fuel for fire. This was not the struggle of a few months only, but it was the story of yeture; for it was not till 1844, after ten years of toil, that he perfect ed patented his discovery. His labor, however, did not cease, and even to the hour of his death he was devoted to his fa vorite pursuit on which he lavished the im mense sums which he received from his pat cots. His life was subject to the strangest ; vicissitudes' He went from a poor debtors' prison to a palace in Paris. The man who | was an object of cold contempt in an obscure tillage, on account of his poverty, received the Grand Cross of the legion of Honor | from the Emperor Napoleon as a reward of i his genius. In Europe as well as in Ameri ; ea. his name was honored and his merits ap- I predated, but to the hour of his death he was the same enthusiastic and patient inven- tor. Charles Goodyear has well been called : the American Palissy, and to his last hour he acted cm the principle that God did not = create him to leave him idle. I WHO becomes every day more sagacious in observing his own faults, and the pcrfec ; tions of another, without cither envying j him, or despairing of himself, is ready to | mount the ladder on which angels ascend j and descend. VOL. It: XO. 31 SURROUNDINGS OF THE THEATRE We have seen with our own eyes a once quiet aud orderly portion of a great city thoroughfare so changed in character by the opening of a theatre there as to make it any thing but pleasant, if not often actually unsafe, for a woman to pass the spot after nightfall without a protector. With what sin gular constancy the gin-palace, the gambling hell and the house of the lost woman make their appearance in its vicinity! How conn s it that these means and appliances of dissipa tion and vice so constantly spring up in the place whither theatre-goers resort? Why do these breathing-holes of perdition open their devouring mouths around the theatre as naturally as ashes gather about the crater of a volcano? Dr. Bellows admits that "the immorality and recklessness of society, its folly and vice, have clustered around the theatre. ' Now why is this, if not because "'birds of a feather flock together?" As long as the theatre attracts such a compan ionship, na sophistries of special pleading will persuade thinking minds that the source of attraction is other than the sympathy that naturally springs up between similari ties of taste and character. C>f the French Revolution the celebrated Edmund Burke writes: "While courts of justice were thrust out by Jacobin tribunals, and silent churches were only funereal mon uments of departed religion '—when Paris "was like a den of outlaws —a lewd tavern for revc-l and debaucheries ' —there were in that city "no fewer than twenty eight thea tres crowded every night!" From debau chery, blasphemy and butchery in the day time to the theatre at night—from the the atre at night back to butchery, blasphemy and debauchery in the day-time! What is there in the theatre that can adapt itself to tastes and passious so beastly? Are schools of virtue, are our churches so facile, plastie and pliant?— Rev. IF. P. Breed, D. D. LAWYERS. Two doctors in the law came to Luther at Wittenberg, whom he received and salu ted in this manner. "O ye canonists! I could well endure you, if ye meddied only with imperial, and not with Popish laws. But ye maintain the Pope and his canons. I would give one of my hands on condition all Papists and canonists were compelled to keep the Pope's laws and decrees; I would wish them no worse a devil "The bishop of Mayence cannot boast, that with a good conscience he has three bishoprics; but ye maintain it to be lawful and right. Ye doctors who meddle with Popish laws are nothing; therefore, a doc tor in the Popish laws is nothing; he iss cbimers, a monster, a fable, nothing. A doctor in the imperial laws is half lame, he has had a stroke on the one side; the Pope's laws and decrees altogether stink of ambi tion. of pride, of self-profit, oovetonsness, superstition, idolatry, tyranny, and such like blasphemies. "Ye that are studying under lawyers, fol low not your preceptors in abuses or wrong eases, as if a man could not be a lawyer un less he practised such evil. God has not given laws to make out of right wrong, and oat of wrong right, as the unchristian-like lawyers do who study law only for the sake of gain and profit. "Every lawyer is sorely vexed at me be cause 1 preach so harshly against the craft; but I say, I, as a preacher, must reprove what is wrong and evil. If I reproved them as Martin Luther, they need not regard me, but forasmuch as Ido it as a servant of Christ, and speak by God's command, they ought jo hearken unto me; for if they repent not, they shall everlastingly be damned; but I, when I have declared their sins, shall be excused. If I were not constrained to give an account for their souls, I would leave them unreproved."— Luther t Table Talk. DOES IT PAY TO SMOKE. Pecuniarily considered, of course it does not pay to smoke. It costs the world an nually five hundred million dollars for tobac co. And this connects the use of the weed with higher considerations, for this comes out of the world's surplus fund, out of which comes the means of extending civilization. In the United States, moreover, four hun dred thousand acres of land are exhausted by tobaoeo, which should be devoted to grain for the thousands who have needed it the past winter. One strong point made bv Mr. Parton is that tobacco is the enemy of women. Not only because its filthiness keeps men away from the sex and makes them seek the com pany of each other to indulge the habit, bnt because it manhood. The point is simply this:—Tobacco, by disturbing and impairing vitality, tends to vitiate the rela tions between the sexes, tends to lessen man's interest in woman and his enjoyment of her society and enables him to endure and be contented with, and finally even to prefer the companionship of men. Pat that thought into your pipe and smoke it Among the great men of our country who did not smoke, were Washington. Franklin and Jefferson. Washington Irving was not a smoker, though nobody ever drew such de lightful pictures of lusty Von Twillers en veloped in clouds of tobacco smoke. Goethe never smoked, nor could he have smoked and remained Goethe. The man so perfect in bodv, so lofty and splendid in intellect, and so grand in character coald not have been a smoker. SO I NI) VS. SIGHT. I dare say you have often notieed, when in company, that, on being introduced to a very plain looking lady, you found it difficult to avoid saying to yourself "'What an unattractive person!' at the same time in tuitively shrugging your shoulders and expressing j our belief that you will never like her. Presently, however, you hear her relating, in sweet, melodious tones, some affecting incidents. The soft intonation of her voice acts as a charm on your feelings and you think, after all, she is not so very plain-looking as you at first imagined In fact, you repeat to yourself '"Whata nice woman that person is!"' Now, on the other hand, take a pretty-looking female, whose fine forehead, artistically pencilled eyebrows ana exquisitely small mouth strike you as being wonderfully beautiful and preposses sing. You think no human creature can be fairer. When, however, you hear her speak in a harsh and haughty strain, using bitter, scornful words where reproaches were not called for, the mach-prired loveliness ap pears to vanish, and an unfavorable impres sion, too frequently of a lasting character, is produced. | RATES OP ADVERTISING. All advertisement! for lea than 3 msothe 18 [ tent* per line for each insertion. Special notice* one-half additional. AH re*..!ti->o of Awccia iioß*, conuannicatioßa of a limited or iodiridal ictereat and notice! of marriages and deaths, ex ceeding fire line*, 10 eta. per line. AII legal noti ces of every kind, asd all Orphans' Co 8 and other Jadicial sales, are repaired i>j law to he pub lished in both papers, Editorial Notice* IS cents per line. All Advertising doe alter first insertion. A liberal discount made to yearly advertisers. 3 moats, t months. 1 year One square $ 4.59 $ 6.00 $10.06 Tire squares 6.08 0.69 16.06 Three square* 8.00 12.90 20.86 One-fourth c01umn..... 11.09 20.80 35-00 Half column 18.00 25.88 45.60 One cg! hied 3£.