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Our prices for the printing of Flanks, handbills, etc. are also increased. C4t istlyht. HUNTINGDON, PA. ROCK ME TO SLEEP I= 'Mick-ward., turn backwArd, 0, Time, In your Ilight, Make me a child again, just for to night; Mother, come back from the erholoss shore.; 'Take me again to your heart as of yore; • ,Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my bale; •Over my slumbers your loving watch keep— ,Mock me to sleep, mother—rock mo to sleep f ittc.kward, flow backward, 0 tide of the ream I fT am so weary of toll and of toare— Troil without:recompense—tears all in vain— Tale tivemnna -give nee my ettlldhocd again I I have grown weary ntibast. sad decay—. Weary of flinging- my cool•wealth away; Mary of flowing for others to reap— Zook me to sleep, mother—rock me to elects I Tired of the base, the hollow, the untrue, Mother, 0, mother, lay bearta calla for yon? Idany a summer the gran has grown green, Onoaserned and faded, our !nee between; Tot, with strong yearning and paeelonatio pain long I tonight for thy presence again; .„ Come from the silence on long and so deep— Rock me to sleep, mother—rock Da oio sleep! Over ray heart, In the days that are flown. No love like enotherdove ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures— . 'Faithful, unselfish, and patient like your!': None like a mother can charm away pain, From the sick soul and the world-weary brain, Slumber's soft claim o'er my heavy lideereep— , Rock and to aleep, mother, rock tee to sleep! Come, let your brorne hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunnpedged shadows once more flaply will throng the sweet visions of yore— Lovingly, softly, its bright billows eweep— Zook me to sleep, mother—rock me to sleep! Mother, dear mother, the years have been long, lima I teat listened your lullaby Hong; flog, then, mid unto my soul it . ffhall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream. Clasped to your heart In a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Neverhereafter to webs or to -weep— Ittick me to elm, mother—rock me to sleep. _Yr/EL - v - Icl 11/ZELALssc>ri. BP JOAN G. WHITTIEIt Who of my young friends have read the sorrowful story of "Enoch Arden,'",so sweetly told by the great English poet? It is the story of a anan who want to sea, leaving behind v. sweet young wife and little daugh ter. He was cast away on a desert ifiland where he remained se T'tmlirrwitaT-4•r•-- was — • iscovere • and taken off, by a :passing vessel. Coming back to his native town, ho found his wife married to an old playmate—a good man, rich and honored, with - whom she was living happily. The -pOor man, unwilling to cause her pain and perplexity, resolved not_ to make himself known to her, and lived and diecralone. The poem has reminded sue of a very similar story of my own New England neighborhood, which I have often heard, and which I will try to tell, not in poetry, like Alfred Tennyson's, but in my own poor prose. I can Asians my readers that in its main particulars it is a true tale. 'One bright summer • morning, more than threescore years ago, David Matson, with his young wife' and his two healthy, barefooted boys stood on the bank of the river near their dwell- ing. They were waiting there for Pelatiah Curtis to .come round the__ Point with his whery, and take the husband and father to the port, a few miles below. The Lively Turtle was about to sail on a voyage to Spain and Pavia was to go in her as mate.— They stood there in the lovely morn ing sunshine, talking cheerfully; but, had you been near enough you could have seen tears in Anna Matson's blue eyes, for she loved her husband, and knew there was always danger on the sea. And David's bluff, cheery voice trembled a little now and then, for the honest sailor loved his snug borne on the Morimack, with the dear wife and Jre protty boys. But presently f ate wherry came alongside, and David was just stepping into it, when he turn ,ed back to kiss hie wife and children once more. oin with you, man," said Pelatiah Curtis. "There's no time for kissing, and such fooleries when tide serves." And so they parted. Anna and the boys went back to their home, and David to the port, whence ho sailed off in the Lively. Turtle. And months passed, autumn followed the summer, and winter the autumn, and then spring came, and anon it was sum mer on the river -side, and ho did not come back. And another year passed, and then the old sailors and fisher men shook their beads solemnly, and lurid the - Mively Turtle was a lost ship, and would never come back to port. And Poor Anna bad her bombazine gown dyed black, and her straw bon net trimmed in mourning ribbons, and tbcpcsferth she was known only as the Widow Matson. tlnd }}ow was it all this time with David himself? Now you must know that the 310. heaneclan peoyle of Algiers and Trip°. p l and lfagadbFo and Sztipe, on the • 42 GO 100 WILLIAM LEWIS, Editor and Proprietor. VOL XX, Barbary coast, had for a long time been in the habit of fitting out galleys and armed boats to siozo upon mer chant vessels of Christian nations, and make slaves of their crews and pas sengers, just as men calling themselves Christians in America were sending vessels to Africa to catch black slaves for weir plantations. The Lively Turtle fell into the hands of one of these roving sea-robbers, and the crow were taken to Algiers, and sold in the market place as slaves, poor David Matson among the rest. When a boy he had learned the trade of shipcarpenter with his hither on the Merrimack, and now he was set to work in the dock-yards. His master who was naturally a kind man, did not overwork him. He had daily his three loaves of bread, and when his 'elothing.was worn out its place was supplieruy the coarse cloth Of wool and camel's hair woven by the Bar ber women. Three hours before sun set be was released from work, and Friday, which was the Moham medal Sabbath, was a day of entire rest. Once a year, at the season call ed Ramadan, he was left at leisure:fora whole week. So time went on—days, weeks, months and years. His dark hair became grey. Ho still dreamed of his old home on the Merimack, and of his good Anna and the boys. Ho wondered if they yet lived, what they thought of him, and what they wore doing. The hope of ever seeing them again grew fainter and fainter, and at last nearly died out; and ho resigned himself to his fate as a slave for life. But one day a handsome middle-aged vntleman in the dress of ono of his own countrymen, attended by a great officer of the Dey, entered the ship yard, and called up before him the American captives. The atraugcn7 was no other than Joel Barlow, Com missioner of the United States to pro, cure the liberation of slaves belonging to that Government. Betook the men by the hand as they came up, and told" them they were free. As yon :might expect, the poor fellows were very grateful; some laughed for joy, some caps, while others with David Matson among them, knelt down on the chips, and thanked God for the great deliver ance. "This is a very affecting scene," said the Commissoner, wiping his oyes. "I must keep the impression of it for my iCohtmbiad; " and . , drawing out his tablet, he „Proceeded to write on the spot au apostrophe to Freedom, which afterwards found a place in his great epic. David Matson bad saved a little money during his captivity, by odd jobs and work on holidays. He got a pass to Malaga, where he bought_a nice shawl for his wife and a watch for each of his boys. He thon wont to the quay, whore an American ship was lying just ready to sail for Bos ton. Almost the first man he saw on board was Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed him down to the port seven years before. Ile found that his old neighbor did not know him, so changed was he with hisiong-beard and Moor ish dress, whereupon without telling his name, he began to put questions about his old home, and finally asked hint if ho know a Mrs. Matson. "J rather think I do," said Pelatiab," "she's my wife." "Your wife!" cried the other. "She is mine before God and man. I am David Matson, and she is the mother of my children." "And mine, too!" said Pelatiab. "I left her with a baby in her arms. It you aro David Matson, your right to her is outlawed ; at any rate she is mine, and I inn nat the man to give her up. 'God is groat l said poor David Matson, unconsciously repeating the familiar words of Moslem submission. "His will be done; I loved her, but I shall never see her again. Give these, with my blessing, to the good wo man and the boys," and he handed over with a sigh, the little bundle con tainii3g the gifts for his wife and chil dren. He shook hands with his rival. "Polatiab,' he said, looking back as he left the ship, "be kind to Anna and my boys." "Ay, sir 1" responded the sailor, in a careless tone. He watched the poor man passing slowly up the narrow street until out of • sight. "It's a hard case for old David," ho said, helping himself to a fresh end of tobacco; "but I'm glad that I've seen the last of him." .114 When Polatiah Curtis reached home, he told Anna the story of her . husband, and laid his gifts in her She did not Shriek - nor faint, for she was a healthy woman, with strong nerves; but she stele away and wept bitterly. She lived many years after, but could never be persuaded•to wear the pretty shawl which the husband of her youth had sent as his farewell gift.. There is, hOwever a tradition, that in accordance with her dying wish, it was wrapped about her in the coffin and buried with her. The little old bull's oye watch, Which is still 14 the possession of ono of her grandchildren, is now all that remains to tell of David Matson—tho lost . man . :- 7 0ur Young Folks. An Address by President Lincoln. His Views of Slavery and Negro Sol diers in the Rebel Army.—The Enemy at the End of his Resources. WASHINGTON, March 17.—A rebel flag, captured at Fort Anderson by the 140th Indiana Volunteers, was to-day presented to Gov. Morton, of that State, in front of the National Hotel. A largo crowd of people was in attend. ante. Gov. Morton made a brief epoch, in the course of which he congratulated his auditors on the speedy end of tho rebellion, and concluded by introdu cing President Lincoln, whose purity and patriotism ; he said, were, confess ed by all ; oven amongst the most Ilk). lont agitators. [Applause.] • His Administration will be recogni zed as the most important epoch of history. It struck the death-blow to slavery, [applause,] and built up 'no republic with a power it had never be fore possessed. If he had done noth ing more than to put his name to the emancipation proclamation, that act alone would have made his name im mortal. [Applause.] The President addressed the assem blage substantially as foltows i I ollgvC.Citizena It will ba hat is few Words that I shall undertake to eay I was born in Kentucky, raised in In diana, and lived in Illinois [laughter ; ] and I am now hero, where it is my duty to be, to care equally for the good people of all the States. I.am glad to see an Indiana regiment, on this day, able to present this ea • tured iio "dove - i-nor of the State of Indiana. [Applause.] I am not disposed, in say ing this, to make a distinction between States, for all have done. equally well. [Applause.] There aro but few views or aspects of this groat war . upon which I have riot said .or written something where. by my own views , might be made ' known. There is one—the recent at. tempt of our "erring brethren," as they are sometimes called [laughter], to employ the negro to fight for them. I have neither written nor made a speech upon the subject, because that was their business, and not mine; and if they had a wish •upon the subject, I ,had not the power to introduce it or 'make it effective. The great question with them was, Whether the negro, being put into the army, will fight for them ? Ido not know, and therefore cannot decide. [Laughter.] They ought to knew better than we, and do know. I have in my lifetime hoard many arguments why the negro ought to be a slave, but if they fight for those who would keep' them in slavery, it will be a better argument than any I have yet hoard: [Laughter and ap• plume.] He who will fight for that ought to be a slave. [Applause.] They have concluded at last to take one out of four of the slaves and put him in the army, and that one out of four who will fight to keep the others in slavery ought to bo a slave himself, unless he is killed in the fight. [Ap• plauso.] • While I have often said that all men ought to be •free, yet I would' allow those colored persons to be slaves who want to be, and next to them those white men who argue in favor of ma king other people slaves. [Applause.) I am in favor of giving an opportu nity to such white men to try it on for themselves. [Applause.] I will say ono thing with regard to the negro being employed to fight for them that Ido know. I know that he cannot fight and stay at home and mako bread too [laughter and applause]; and as one is about as important as the other to them, I don't care which they do. [Renewed applause.] lam rather in favor of having them try them as soldiers. [Applause.] They lack one vote of doing that, and I wish I could send-my vote over the wires, so that I might cast it in favor of allowing the negro to fight. [Applause.] But they cannot fight and work both. We must now see. the bottom of the enemy's re sources. They will stand out as long as they can, and, if the negro will fight fm• thorn, they must allqw hint to fight.. They -have drawn upon their last branch of rosourees—[applause)—and wo eau now see the bottom. [Ap- HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY; MARCH 29, 1805, --PERSEVERE.- I please.) . em glad to see the end se near at hand. [Applause.] I have said now more than I intend od to, and will, therefor°, bid yOu good bye. The President, then retired, while the erowd'belowsaluted him with loud and hearty ,cheers, the band at. tbe semi° time phiying a lively tune. Govern'or plorton then stepped for ward and remarked that they had now seen the rebel flag, and he: proposed that each man in favor of the perpe tuity of this Union should take off his bat and.giveithree cheers for the Un ion flag. Thp.requost was responded to with a hearty good will. Three rousing cheers were then given for president Lieoln, and three, more for Governor . Morton, after which the band: struck "Yankee Doodle." (from tho Pittsbirglx CoMmercl6l.] The .Teacher's Work. To love aVatitiful child is not diffi cult; if is oneibf the laws of our being. If with. a higher degree. of beauty there aro combined: intelligence and amiability, then ho who sees and does not love the possessor of these ties shows an incapacity to appreciate beauty and excellence.. The teacher's work is With•thn.beautiful and the de formed, the active and the dull, with those whose culture has been the pur est and , most'reflued, and those who have ever. been, subjected to the harsh est treatment, to the most vicious in fluences, or the tnost_ernel neglect. To become interested in the former and to listen to their well learned lessons, requires no great ,degree of patience, skill, or ability. To, instruct such is easy and pleasant, and their rapid ad vancement is no proof of the remark• able talent of their teacher. To ride a gentle, hind, and well trekked. „herse,.whose_.dispositigxs never been spoiled by Severity and treatment, is easy and requires no un usual horsemanship. To manage and control the high spirited and unsub dued steed and render . him gentle and useful, is the work' of a master—a Its rey. The ability and 'success of, the one est s Town .y the intellect ual and moral improvement of those naturally dull, and whose tempers have been chafed and worried by un mingled• unkindness. To exercise pa,. thine() at all times towards such, to encourage and stimulate them to effort in mental development, as ivoll as to restrain them, and to form and fashion thorn for goodnOss and greatneSS, re quires the rarest and highest talent.— He who fails here fails wholly. Ho who succeeds where success is una voidable, merits no praise. He who overcomes stupidity and dullness, as well as coarseness and viciousness, is, deserving of the highest rank in his profession. H who merely exhibits what the pupil has naturally, or has acquired from others, deserves no praise. There is, a strong tendency in very many teachers from want of reflection, judgment or selfeontrol, to exhibit greater kindness towards the bright, active and interesting than towards the opposite class. Unless they guard and control themselves well they will exhibit impatience and indulge in se vere remarks towards those who par ticularly need all their sympathy and aid. To blame and chastise a pupil for not doing what is out of his power, to hold him up to the ridicule of his fellow students as a blockhead, with out capacity--,ono who never can do anything, when this, in part at least, may be too true, is unkind and cruel in the extreme. It is crushing instead of cultivating. The lowest, vilest and most ignorant, can indulge in such language. It requires no learning, power or skill. To bo sensible of this dullness and ignorance is onough,with out the scorn and ridicule of others.— The business of the teacher is to make the most out of his material. No pol ishing will make a diamond out of a piece of clay. Harsh treatment, the use Of unkind epithets; may wholly discourage and ruin the student, de stroying all his self esteem and ambi tion. .An opposite course may arouse i and stimulate dormant faculties, and cause the adunce" to become far more distinguished than others, accustomed to nothing but words of praise and flattery. An experience of many years has shown me that many of whom I ex pected little have far surpassed in all that is good and noble those of whom I expected much. "The race is not to the swift." The brilliant and preco• cious dazzle for a time, but in the du ration of their light may he excelled by others. Many a youth have I seen apparently dull, uninterested in study, without energy or animation, giving no hope of future success and 'reflect ing no credit on their teachers, who afterwards, when studies suited to '.... . . ...f ~....„.„, , , ~ r„, ::,...,,, z......r._ ... 4, .4: 7 ,...-ii,, 1 s, --: fi: - ..-,, - . A 1 _ .., 4..., "ki , : , -'.:= ::::,.. : I , t ~,,. .2 . :• - • 11-! 11)* • their tastes *ere assigned them, or when placed in circumstances suited to their tastes, were at once .aroused, gave, evidence of high ability and be came distinguished men, while thoSe who wore:ever praised never rose 'to distinction. , That so called "duncci's, may make groat and useful men the names of Newton, Isaac Barrow, Dean Swift, Adam Clarke, Walter Scott, Sir Humphrey Davy, ChattertOn, 'Burns; Sheridan and numerous others, most satisfactorily prove. Lot the teacher, foci that the child uninteresting to him is interesting to others; that the mind whieh'he is seeking to develop and polish may through his instrumen• tality heoome radical and sparkling. -7 Lot him not by severe epithets and unnecessarily unkind treatment de stroy all desire of excellence and su periority. Tell him not he is a 'dunce; if such is the fact you are unreeling and brutal.; if it is not a tact you are guilty of faliShood. "" 'W-. Sixty Thousand POTOODE Drowned in 'lndia. Late advices reveal the full extent of the disaster inflicted by the terrible cyclono.in India. A Calcutta letter to the London Times, just received says : "I see that the news of 12,000 per sons having been lost in the cyclone was received with incredulity in Eng land. The estimate was wide of the truth, but 'only because it vastly un derated the calamity. AS every one who knows this country will readily conceive, there is no possibility of as certaining precisely 'the loss of life, because hundreds Might be swept away and leave no trace behind. But we are not without data for arriving at a conclusion, and it has now been calculated that there cannot be fewer than 00.000 persons drownedoe_pther ivise.iriiied-by that - fertiftil storm. In the island of Sangor alone, before the cyclone, wore 8,200 . persons. There are now about 1,200; nor have any left it to go elsewhere. Seven thou sand wore carried clean away by the storm wave. All up the river the pop ulation has been swept off . not in the same proportion but in large nninboVs. As will bo anticipated, disease is rag ing everywhere—cholera, fever, and smallpox.' The epidemic., fever, which I have mentioned in previous letters this year, is depopulating whole dis tricts. A magistrate told me the other day that he had been riding thrmigh village in which there was hardly a grown-up, person, loft. They had died without hope of assistance, without medicine, without food—for the crops are rotting on the ground in many places wore the salt_ water rushed in. The Ben - gales aro in a deplorable plight, and the Zemmders increase the gener al misery by turning the Ityets out of their huts because they aro behind with their rents. There .is money enough hero' to,give relief—such relief as can be got for money. But human means seem quite powerless to, stop the awful diseases that are walking through the land carrying thousands before them. The native feels himself ill, wraps himselfin his blanket, says it is his fate, and so perishes. In this enormous populationlet it bo remora. bored that hero in Bengal alone we have at least forty-five millions of poo plo—the few Europeans can 'only do good hero and there, and yet it is sole ly by Europeans that good is, being done. The rich native will not help his countryman. God gave him his money, and God intended, hint to keep it. That is pretty much his modo of reasoning. Sometimes the fever strikes him, and then in abject terror he offers English doctors a fee of five hundred rupees to come and visit him. In a recent case of that sort, the man =- who was worth about four millions sterling —bad refused ro give a pica to the poor after the cyelone. When death was at his throat ho altered his mind, and promised largo benefactions if he recovered. Ho was not spared to add falsehood to his cruel avarice. A country schoolmaster, pre paring for an exhibition of his school selected a class of pupils and wrote down the questions which ho would put to them ,on examination day. The day arrived, and so did the hope fuls, all but one. The pupils took their places as had boon arranged, ankall went on glibly until tho ques- tion of the absentee come, when the teacher asked : "In whom do you believer "Napoleon 13onaparto," was the an swer, quickly returned. "You believe in the Holy Catholic Church, dey on nut P' "No," said the youngster, ninid the roars of laughter, "the boy that ho- , Heves in that church hasn't come -to school today; ho's at home sick:abed." AO' Only crows and fools are afraid of a shabby salt of clothes. .o=iX,lSw?2,m4w i ki 3 O=MMyM TERMS, $2,00 a year in advance. PrOteotion of Birds, We have published much on the subject that heads this article, and .are ready to publish much more whenever there is anything useful comes under our. observation. Many farmers, for- Merly hostile to many 'varieties of birds, are beginning to see their Mis take, and instead of, destroying they strive to protect them. The following from a farmer in western New York, to the N. Y. Tribune, m to tbo point: ` - "Fam glad to see you go in so brave ly for birds. They are invaluable to us farmers. You may say to the world, and all mankind in particular that I am toady to give any person a good cow if they can show me any proof, by their own or any trustwor thy person's experience, that they ev er found a cherry or a rice bird eating sound cherries. .1 have watched them now for ten years, and I have never yet seen one attack a sound cherry. --1 Robins and woodpeckers will do BO when the wormy ones are gone, but oven they do not till the wormy ones are used up. • "The presence of the midge in wheat may always be detected by the yellow bird, and iLs ravages are accurately in dicated by their presence. If they. confine themselvoa to the outside of the field,'thet:e will not be , tnuch of a shower,' but if they go far into the Bold you may cut your wheat At once, for the midge has destroyed the built of the crop. "Say a good word for the crow and skunk, for they ate among the farmer's best friends. I never allow either the crow or skunk to be hunted on my promises- qn:tbe - spring I make a bargain with the, crows that if they Will let me alone I will pay toll at planting time and let them alone. I accordingly, when the corn is planted, scatter a peck or half bushel about the fields, and for years never had .any trouble. "Say all the good things you can for the eportsmen's . clubs. They have done and are doing good service to the country in helping to preserve not only .game, --bat also the useful birds." People have often said that no dif ference can bo detected in the analyz ation of pure and impure air. This is one of the vulgar errors difficult to dia. lodge from the public mind. The fact is, the condensed air of a crowded room gives a deposit which, if allowed to remain for a few days, forms a solid, thick, glutinous mass, having a strong odor of animal matter. If examined by a microscope, it is seen to undergo a remarkable change. First of all, it is converted into a vegetable groivtb, and this is followed by the production of anirnaleulm, a decisive - proof that it must contain organic matter, else it could not nourish organic being. This was the Kermit arrived at by Dr. Angus Smith, in his beautiful experiments on the air and,water of towns in England where he showed how the lungs and skin:gave out organic matter, which in itself is rank poison, producing headache, sickness, fever, or epidemic, according to its strength. When, if "a few drops of air of afoul locality . introduced into the veins of a dog, can produce death, with the usual phenol mon mot" typhus fever," what incalcula ble evil must it not produce ou those human beings who breathe it again and again, rendered fouler and less•na pable of sustaining lifb with every breath drawn ? Such contamination of air, and consequent hotbed of fever and epidemic, it is easily within, the Power of man to remove. Ventilation and:cleanliness will do all, so far as the abolition of this evil goes, and ventila tion and cleanliness are not miracles to he prayed for, but certain results of common obedience to the laws of God. A GOOD ONE: in tho outskirts Of Hartford there is a mission school that has.the reputation of being rather "noisy," so 'much so, that those appointed to take charge of it gener ally resigned in a few weeks. One Sunday, the school being destitute of a superintendent; a prominent manu facturer of Norwich, Connecticut, vol unteered for the day. Having called the school to order, and got most Of them seated, "Boys," said he, mount ing the platform, "let's see if we can't have instill," and he • put himself in a quiet posture for the school to imitate. As there was some noise, "Boys," said he, "wo can have it stiller, I know"—,- and walking to the front part of the stage and raising his hand—"Nolv, 'let's see if wo can't hear a pin drop." All was silence, wben a little fellow in the back part of the room, placing, himself. in an attitude of breathless' emotion, spoke 'out : "Let 46 'drop'!" The stern features of the superinteiti , dent are sad to have slightly. relaxed. NO. 40. Air Poison. How an Oil Well is Made. i. * As everybody in the city and out of • it is more or less intreetod'irr oil and: oil wells, a description of how the wolls, aro made will bo of interest to our readers: After selecting a ®pot for a. well, the artesian driller raises. a der:. rick about 11.0 feet . in height, bringing: up a steam engine of about six horse, power, and then, after driving down , an iron pipe about six inches in diam eter through tikr : earth and gravel some fifty feet or so,.te, the first stra ta of rock, introduces -a drill of about' two and S. half inches in diameter at• tached to a temper screw, and thence to. the- Ywalking beam" and—engine i with which he bores Bow at-the, 'rate of eight or ten feet per day'' Into the. solid slate soaPstone, - Ar Oniii - hundred, feet, ho ' hen corned teth:6'#iiit Strata, of siMdstone, which .- " May be tenor twelve feCt in "thiclinc64aiiii , he4iii . through this comes again __to. ,u slate and -soapstone, of-bluistr vett and' working on, say for twenty feat or so, he reaches the' secon lr strir ta of sandi3tone, out of 'which-Acre comes rushing up, when theright -vein is strtick; ibflamable gas salt water 6i. petroleum. The bore of thi3 well is enlarged by a 'trimmer," "and then an iron tube in motions of about four= . teen feet and closelyscreived together, is inserted bisections andrun down to' the veins of oil; a flax Seed bag, which - expands when wet, is fixed between the tubinga"and the Walls'of the in Order to prevent the surface Water from descending; a "plunger" or valve piston, is introduced into the, tube and sucker rod, being attached to the "walking-beam," - the conduit pipes and tank, which may hold sixty. barrels, being in readiness, the engine moves and the precious treasure , gushes forth. This is what is ,called pumping a well. In the "fiewing well"--that is such as send the oil Out spontaneously the drill Monet go doWn into the third strata of "sand stone; but this, in some inetnneee, is very deep. Out Out. It is many years since I fell in love with Jane Jerusha Sheggs, the hand gamest country girl by far that over went on logs. By meadow, creek, and wood and dell, so often we did walk, and the moonlight smiled on her melt ing lips, and the night winds . learned our talk. Jane Jerusha, was all to me, for my heart was young and true, and loved with a double twisted love, and a love that was honest, too. I roamed all over the neighbors' farms, and I robbed the -wild wood bowers, and tore my trowsera and scratched my bands, in search of flowers. In my joyonaL love I brought all these to ray Jambe' Yana; but I wouldn't bo so foolisk.nbyr if I wore a boy again. A city chap then came along all dressed up in store clothes, with a shiny hat and shiny: vest, and moustache under his nese.— He talked to her of singing sample, (for 'her fatherowned a farM,);and she left mo, the country love; and took the new chap's ann. And all that nightl never slept, nor could I eat Ant day, tor I loved that girl with , a fervent love that naught could drive away. I strove to win her back to me, butt was all in vain—the city chap with the hairy lip married Tomb& Jane. And my poor , heart was.sick and sore until - the thought struck me, that just as : good fish remainedas were ever caught in the sea. So I went to a popular church one night, and saw a dark brown curl, peeping from: undera gip sy hat, and I married that very girl.- And many years have passed and gone, and I think my loss my gain ; and often bless thafhairy chap that atole Jerusha Jane. COMPUTING INTEREST.--The fullow ing simple rules 1011 - be found very convenient for computing interest At any rate per cent.—Multiply the amount 'by the number of days, count ing AO days to the month. Divided by 60 gives the int. 6. per ct. if 45 n . 8 it " 40 " 9 ". 36 ct 10 't at 30 • 4,2 _Example-8228 for one year, tvrct months and nine days, or 429 days, is 94,880, divide 4 17 60 gives $15.6,, which is 'tile irlferest, like per cent.; add one•sixth for 'f per cent., or divi ded by 36 gives 626.27, interest at 14 per cent., &o. ' - Reduce the ,year to Mouths, add in like months, if :any, take in o,pp third of the days, and set to the right. of the months, in decimal form, multiply the result by one half of the principal, and you have the interest at sir per cent. pxample—slsCl for two years, tcre months apd,nine days • 29 3 • 7'5 1465 2051 21 97 5 s2l' 97 is the interest at 6 per tent.; for 7 per cent. add one sixth; for 8 per cent. one third; for 9 - per cent. one half; for 10 per cent. two thirds; for 11 per cent. fire sixths; for 12 per et. multiply by 2. As the good 1114 u ODA Lb, Si) auy wo; but as the good woman small; Ao it Enlist be. r-AlWaye lend a crutch td ing Humility, but tap-lir, if you will, the etiltts'ofYletersion. .. 4 15espondency is the ovor-weight at may make you kick tbe.beam anq the buq(et , both at ours, la 1:31
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