AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. PDBMSnBD EVEET TnOBSDAT HOBNJHO BY jobii B. Bratton. terms. SoDsOßiPTiow.-^n^" l^®l^ anl Two aid Conts if not T f?J«uhinthe year. These terms will bo rig- , P dW adhered to every instaneo. No sub icrintion discontinued until all arrearages are paid unless at the oidion of the Editor. Advbbtiseuents— Accomliamed by the cash; • and not exceeding one square, will bo inserted throe times for One Dollar, and twenty-five cents tor each additional insertion. Those of agroat <cr length in proportion. , Jon-l’iuNTiNd — Such as Hand-bills,, Posting bills, Pamphlets, Blanks', Labels, &c.,&o.,exe cuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice. |Mral. LOVE’S SEASONS AND REASONS. I love my lovo in fho spring time. For beauty fresh as May, For cheeks, like early roses. For eyes as bright as day; For breath like balm of lillics, For smiles like sunrise clear, I lovo'my lovo "in spring time, And love her all the year. 1 love my love, in summer, For promise warm and true. For froth like noonday throwing A light on old and now; For wßßlth'of bloom and freshness. Which glows when X am near; I love my lovo in the summer, And lovo her all the year. Hove my love in the autumn. For fruit of gentle deeds, For wisdom to bo garnered, To servo our future needs; For x irtnes ripening over, Like harvests full in oar, 1 lovo my lovo in autumn, . And love her all the year. I love .my love in the winter, for charities untold. For warmth of household welcome, For looks that thaw the cold; For harmless mirth'and-pastime, , And richest Christmas, cheer; I lovo my love in the winter, AniTlovo her all the year. ST-iBS AND FLOWERS. When Eve had led her lord astray, And Cain bad killed Ills brother, Tito Stars and Flowers, the poets say, Agreed with ono another. To cheat the cunning.tempter’s art. And tench the race its (Inly, By keeping on ii« wicked heart, . Their oy.es ol light and beauty. . A million sleepless lids, they say, 'Will be, at least, a warning; And so the flowers that watch by day, The stars from ere to morning. On hill and prairie, field and lawn, Their dewy eyes upturning. The flowers still .watch Crum reddening dawn. Till western sltys are burning. Alas, each hour of daylight fells A tale of shame so crushing, , That seme turn white as sea-ldeached : shells, And some are always Hushing. But when the patient stars look down Oh all their light discovers— The traitor’s smile, the murderer’s frown', The lips of lying lovers. They fry to shut their saddened eyes, And in tho vain endeavor We see them twinkling in the skies. And so they wink forever. . : . 3fiisftilqnwiro;; The'Jewelled Watch- Among tVic ninny officers who, at the closcof the Peninsular war, retired', on half pay. was Captain Dolton, of the —lh regiment lie had lately manied the pretty, portionless daughter of a deceased brother officer : and filled with romantic visions of rural bliss, and “ love in a ■cottage.” the pair;Who were equally unskilled iii the practical details of housekeeping, fancied they could live in affluance, and enjoy all the luxuries of life, on the half pay which formed their sole incortic. , They took up their abode near a pleasant town i i the south of England, and (ora time got on pretty well : hut when at the tndnf the first year,a sweet little hoy made his appearance, and at the end of the' second an equally sweet little girl, they found that nursemaids, baby linen, doctors, and all the etceteras appertain ing to the introduction and. support of these baby-visitors, formed a serious i:un in their yearly expenditure. For a while they struggled on without falling into debt : but at length their giddy leet slip ped into that vortex which has engulfed so many, and thein affairs began to assume a very jiloomy aspect. About this time an adventurer lamed Smith', with whom Captain Dutton be came casually acquainted, and whose plausible manners and appearance Completely imposed on ithe frank, unsuspecting soldier, proposed to him a plan for insuring, as be represented it, a large and rapid 'fortune. This was to be effect-' <cd by embarking considerable capital in the nhamifnclure of some new kind of spirit-lamps, which Smith assured the Captain would, when cnee known, supersede the, use of candles and •oil-lamps throughout the kingdom. To hear him descant on the marvellous vir tfi’ues and money.making qualities of his lamp, ■one .would be inclined to lake him for the lineal 'descendant of Aladdin, nn inheritor of that iscainpish individual's prcc ons hi irloom. Our ■modern magician, however, candidly confessed shat he still wanted the “slave of the lamp," or. an other words, ready money, to set the invea ition going: and he at length succeeded in per suading the unlucky capiain to sell out of. the WT ■ nl , invest the price of his commission in this luminous venture. If Captain Dfitton had .refused to pay .the monev. untjl he should be . able to pronounce correctly the name of the in •venlion, he would have saved his cash, at the ■expense probably of a semi dislocation of his jaws; foe the lamp rejoiced in an eight-syllable title, of Which each vocable belonged to a difter •ent tongue—the first being Creek, the fourth .■Syriac, and the last taken from the aboriginal (language of New Zealand; the intervening ■sounds believed to bo respectively akin to Latin, tCtrmnn, Sanscrit, and Malay. Notwithstand ing, however, this prestige of a name, the lamp was a decided failure : its light was brilliant •enough, but the odor it exhaled in burning was iso overpowering, so suggestiveof an evil origin, every way abominable, that those adventur ous purchasers who tried it once, seldom .sub mitted their olfactory nerves to a second ordeal. The sale and manufacture of the lamp, and its accompanying spirit, were carried on by Mr. Smith alone, in one of the chief commercial ci ties of England, he having kindly arranged to take all the trouble oft his hands, and only rc •qmring him to furnish the necessary funds.— IFor some time the accounts of the business 'transmitted to Captain Dutton were most flour ashing, and ho and his gentle wife fondly tho’t they were about to realize a splendid fortune for their little ones ; but at length they began to feel anxious for the arrival of the cent.-per ■ceni. profits which bad been promised, but which never came; and Mr. Smith’s letters B j’dd°nly ceasing, his partner one morning set ■on to inspect the scene of operations. Arrived at L , he repaired to the street ■where the manufactory was situated, and found ■»t shut up ! Mr. Smith had gone oft' to Amen ica, considerably in debt to those who bad been American BY JOHN B. BRATTON. VOL. 44. foolish enough lo trust hirn ; and leaving more rent due on the premises Ilian the remaining stock in trade of the unpronounceable lamp would pay. As- to the poor ex-captain, he re turned to his family a ruined man. But strength is often found in the depths of adversity, courage in despair,; and both our hero and his wife set resolutely lo work to sup port themselves and . their children. Happily", they owed- no debts. On selling out, Captain Dutton had honorably paid every farthing he owed in the world, before entrusting the re mainder of his capital to the unprincipled Smith ; and now this upright conduct was its own reward. lie wrote a beautiful hand, and.whde seeking some permanent employment, earned a trifle occasionally by copying manuscripts, and en grossing in an attorney’s office. His wife worked dilligently "with the needle; but the care of a .voting family, and the necessity of dispensing with a servant,,hindered her from adding much to their resources. Notwith standing their extreme poverty, they managed to preserve a decent appearance, and lo prevent even their neighbors from knowing the strains to which ihey were often reduced. Their little, cottage was always exquisitely elennand neat: and the children, despite of scanty clothing', and often insufficient food, as they wore, the the sons and daughters of a gentleman. It was Mrs. Dutton’s pride to preserve the respectable appearance of her husband’s ward robe ; and often did she work till midnight at turning his coat, and darning his linen, that he might appear as usual among.bis equals. She often urged him to visit bis former acquaintan ces, who had power jo befriend bint, and solicit their interest in obtaining some permanent em ployment ; but the soldier, Who was (is bravo as a lion when facing ,the enemy, shrank with the timidity of a girl from exposing, himself to the humiliation of a refusal, atid could not bear to confess his urgent need. He bad too much delicacy to press his claims ; he was too proud io be importunate ; and so others suc ceeded where lie failed It happened that the general under whom ho served, and who had' lost sight of him since his retirement from the -service, came to spend a few months at die watering-place near which the Dutton’s resided, ind hired for the season a handsome furnished. .House., Walking one morning on the sands, in a disconsolate mood, our hero saw, with surprise, his former com mander approaching ; and with a sudden' fee!- ingof false shame, ho tried to avoid a rccogni lion. But the-qnick.cyeof General Vernon was not lobe eluded, and intercepting him ivith an outstretched hand he exclaimed— “ What. Dutton ! is that you ? It seems an age since we nict. -Living in this neighborhood eh/” “ Yea. general; I have been living here since I retiredJfrom the service.” Apd you sold out, I think—io please the mistress, [ suppose, Dutton? Ali ! these-la dies have a great deal to answer Tor. Tell Mrs. Uni ion - I shall call on her some morning, and rend her a lecture for. taking you froth us;” Poor Dutton’s look of confusion, as he pic tured the general’s visit surprising his .wife, in the performance of her menial labors., rather not occur to him. lie bad had a great regard for Dutton, considering him one of thebest apd bravest oflioerfs under, his- command, and, wits sincerely pleased at meeting him again ;■ so, af ter -a ten minutes' colloquy! during the pro gress of Which the ex-soldier, like the war horse who-pricks up his cars at the sound of a trum pet, became gay apd aiijmatcd;-as old associa tions of the.camp and field came back on him, tlie general shook; him heartily by the hand, and said — “ You'll dine with mo. to morrow, Dutton, and'meet a few of your old friends ? Come, I'll take no excuse i yon must not turn hermit on onr hands. ” At first Dutton was going (o refuse, but on second thoughts accepted the invitation; not having, indeed.- any good reason to offer for de clining it. Having taken leave of the general, therefore, he proceeded towards home, and an nounced their rencontre to his wife. She, poor woman, immediately took ont his well saved suit, and occupied herself in repairing, as best she might, the cruel ravages of time: as well as in starching and ironing an already snowy shirt, to the highest degree of perfection. Next day, in Gue time, he arrived at General Vernon’s handsome temporary dwelling, and received a cordial welcome. A dozen guests, civilians as well as soldiers, sat down to a splendid banquet. After dinner, the conversa tion happened to turn on the recent improve ments in arts and manufactures ; and compar isons Were drawn between the relative talent for invention displayed by artists of different countries. Watch making happened to be mentioned as one of the arts which had during late years been, wonderfully "improved/■ The host desired his valet to fetch a most beautiful little watch, a perfect chef d' aiivrc of work manship, which he had lately purchased in Paris; and which was less valuable for its richly jewelled case, than for the exquisite per feciion of the mnclieiiistn it enshrined. The trinket passed from hand. to hand, and was greatly admired- by the guests ; then the con versation turned on other topics, and many subjecis were discussed, until they adjourned to the drawing-room to take coffee. After sitting there a while, the general sud denly recollected his watch, and ringing for his valet, desired him to take it from the dining room table, where it had been left, and restore it to iis proper place. In a few moments the servant returned, looking somewhat frightened: heobnld not find the watch. General Vernon, surprised, went himself to search, hut was not more fori unate. “Perhaps, sir, you or one of the company may have carried it by mistake into the draw’- nig-room ?” “ I think not: but we will try.” Another search, in which all the guests join ed, hut without avail. ■ J “ W-hat I fear,” said the general, “is that some one by chance may tread upon and break General Venon was a widower, and this costly trinket was intended as a present to his only child, a daughter, who had lately married a baronet. “ We will none of ns leave this room until it is found !” exclaimed one of the gentlemen, with ominous emphasis, “ That decision,” said a young man who was engaged that night to a ball, “ might quarter us on our host for an indefinite time.' I propose a much more speedy and satisfactory expedient: let us all be searched'’* . This suggestion was received with laughter ana acclamations ; and the young man, pro. senling himself as the first victim, was search ed by the valet, who, for the once, enacted the part of. custom-house officer. The who at first opposed this piece of practical pleasant ry, ended by laughing at it; and each new in spection of pockets produced fresh bursts of mirth. Captain Dutton alone took uo share in what was going on: his hand trembled, his brow darkened; and ho stood as much apart as possible. At length his, turn cqme ; the other guests had all displayed the contents of their pockets, so with one accord, and Amid renewed laughter, they surrounded him exclaiming !hat he must be the guilty one, ns he was the lost. The captain,q)ale and agitated, mattered some excuses,-ttnlienrcd nmid the uproar. "Now for it, Johnston !” cried one, to. the valet. “ Johnson, we’re watching you!” said an other'; "produce the culprit.” . - The servant advanced ; but Dutton, crossing, his amis oh his breast, declared in an agitated voice, that, except by violence, no one should lay a hand on him. A Very awkward silence ensued, which the general broke by.saying— " Captain Dutton is right; this child’s play has lasted long enough: I claim exemption for him and for myself.” Dutton, trembling and unable to speak, thanked his kind host by a grdtefnl look! and then took an early opportunity of withdrawing. General Vernon,.did not make the slightest re mark on his departure, and the remaining guests, through politeness, imitated his re serve ; but the mirth of the evening was gone, every face looked anxious, and the host himself seemed grave and thoughtful.. Captain Dutton spent some time in wander ing restlessly on the sands before he returned home. It was late when he entered the cottage, and. his wife could not repress an excla mation of .affright, when she saw.his pale and troubled countenance. ' What has happened ?” cried she. “ Nothing,” replied her 1 husband, throwing himself on a chair, and laying- a- small packet, on tho table”. •• You have cost me very .deny,” he said,'addressing it. In vain did his wife try to soothe him, and obtain an explanation.- ‘•Not now. Jane,” ho said ; “to morrow we shall see. To-morrow I will tell you ail.’-’ . Early next morning he went (6 General Ver non’s house. Although lie walked resolutely, his mind was sadly troubled. How could ho present himself ? In what way would he_be received ? How could he speak to ihe general, without risking the reception of some look of word whifili he could never pardon ? The very meeting with Johnson was to be dreaded. ■ He knopkcd ; another servant opened the door, and instantly gave him' admission.— “ This nian', at all events,” he thought, “know* nothing of what has passed.” Will the general' receive him ? Yes ; he is ushered into.his dres sing-room. Without daring-to raise his eyesi the poor man began to speak in a low, hiuricm Voice! ■ . . “General Vernon', you thought my conduct strange last night; and'pajnfnl and humiliating as its explanation will be, I feel it due to you and to myself to make it.” , His auditor tried lb speak, but Dutton went on, without heeding (he interruption. .“My tniscry. is at its height ;.this is ray only excuse. My wife and our four little ones arc actually starving!” , ’ , "My friend!” cried the general, with emo tion- But Dutton proceeded. “I cannot describe iny toolings yesterday. While seated at your luxurious'table. 1 tbo't of my (wor jane, depriving herself of h morsel of breadto give it to Tier baby : of my little, pale, tGin Annie, whose dclicate.appetitc Ejects the coarse food which is all we can give her.; and in an evil hour I transferred, two putes, from my plate to, my pocket, thinking they would ■teOiptniylUtledar!ifigdO'icOTr**T i *itOTld'%!rVV died of sliamo, had these things been produced from my pocket; and your guests And servants made’ witnesses of my cruel' poverty, Now. general, you know’all; and but for (he fcarpf being suspected by yon of a crime, rriy distress should never have been known !” ; ’> “ A life of unblemished honor,” replied his, friend, "has placed you above the reach of sus picion besides, look here!", And he showed, the missing watch. “It is I," continued he. “who must ask pardon of you all. In a fit of absence I had dropped it into my waistcoat pocket, where, in Johnson’s presence, I discov ered it while undressing.” “If I had only known !” murmured poor Dutton. , i- “ Don’t regret what has Occurred," said the general, pressing his hand kindly. “It has been the means of acquainting hie with what you should never have concealed from an old friend, who, please God, will find some means to serve you. ’ In a few days Captain Dutton received an other invitation to dine with the general. All the former guests were assembled; and their host, with ready tact, took occasion to apolo gizo-for. his strange forgetfulness about the watch. Captain Dutton found a paper within the folds of hjsnapkin : it was his nomination to an honorable and lucrative post, which in sured competence and comfort to himself and family. iln Affecting Scene, ' A friend relates to us an effecting incident which occurred at Xenia, on Wednesday.— Amongst the passengers in the train from Cleve land, was a yoiing man of perhaps twenty, and a lady some few years his senior- The gentleman was plainly clad, but the girl was dressed in the extreme of fashion, and rogued cVcri beyond brazen wantoriesa. It was fre quently observed by the passengers that the young man appeared io be earnestly remons trating with the girl, and seemed to be deeply nllected. At Xenia both left the cars, and it was apparent that the course of each lay in dif ferent directions—the man to this city, the girl to the West. As the cars were about starting, theyoungmnn .kissed her“a hasty good bye and both burst into tears. The conductor see ing there was some grief, .at heart, invited the gentleman to a scat in the baggage car, as more secluded from the crowd. ‘Anywhere.’ said ho; only come with me. I must speak to some one or my heart will break. Alter becoming a little calmed, he said: “That lady and myself were raised-togeth er : with moss' for carpets, acorns for cups and saucers, and pebbles for walks, we played in childhood. She was a few years older than myself, blit we. were inseparable. She grew up to womanhood, was married, then separated from her husband and sought the city, and be came a wanton—a heartless, disgraced courte zan, steeped in sin as she is—shameless ns she may be—l cbuldnot help kiss her good-bye, for she is my sifter ! She has already hurried a loving mother to the grave, and brought dis grace upon her brothers and sisters. ‘But while she acknowledges itall, and sheds tears of apparent contrition and regret, no re monstrance pan change her course. Sho has just been litftnc to make us a visit, but has left, again for her residence in the city, to drown In the wanton’s life the remembrance of what she might have been. Do you blame me; then,’ turning to the sympathising conductor, ‘for weeping as I do. over one so loved and fallen ? It was no case of Action. - It was painful truth. Fallen, disgraced and shameless, she still shared a brother’s love, who would win her back to virtue’s path at any sacrifice. A brief career of pleasure; and we shall find the erring sister amongst the habitues of the Police Court or prisop.— Cincinnati Gazette. celebrated French woman has wol aafd that the greatest blessing.» Woman can re ceive on-oarth la the continuance of the affec tlon of her husband after marriage. K?” An Eastern poet says tlio glance of his .mistress would ripen poaches In a garden-vvuib 44 OUR COUNTRY —MAY IT ALWAYS DB RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.” , CARLISLE, PA., THUItSDAY, lB5B. An Elegy on the Death of a Wife. In the liflli watch of the first day of the year, when winter reigns in allhiSscvciity,my tender wife died, Is there on eartlia roan more unhap py than I? Oh if'lheu werrij»tlll alive, I would ' give thee a now roho lorlhu new year ! Biit, ulna, thou hast descended to; the gloomy king dom watered by tlio Fellow 1 * Fountain. Come to mo in the night; comb; to me in the third watch; let me ronety.fherilliuions of the past. ' In the second moon, at the. birth of the spring, tbo sun shines longer in the sky, and each fami ly washes its robes and linen in clean water. Husbands who have still their /wives, love to adorn them with new clothes; but I, who have lost .mine,.l am a prey to a grief that wastes my life away. I have removed *from hiy sight the little shoes that enclosed hcr'prctty leet. Some times 1 have .(bought of taking another compan ion ; but where should I tind;anothcr so beau tiful, so witty, and so kind ! .. ■ In the third moon, at the epoch called Tsing miug,thc pcach tree opensltsifose-coiored blos soms, and the willow. begin»;\o,display its green tresses. Husbands who haije wives, go with them to visit tbo graves of their relations. But I, who have lost niine, I go alone to visit'her grave. •. When I see the spot ivhere her ashes re pose. burning tears stream down my cheeks. I present to her, funeral offerings; I burn for her images of gilded paper. “Tender wife! ” X ex claim with a tearful voice,“,whero art thou? Tender wife! where artjhoulj’ But alas, she is deaf to my cries!'„ I see a solitary tomb,but I cannot see my wife. V ,In the sixth moon,.at the cjioch called Sanfd, It is,difficult to support the burning heat ot the day. The rich arid poor.tlien; spread their clothes to air. I will exposes silken robe to the snh’s.bot rays. Look berg is the robe she wore on festival days!—hera;;are-.tho elegant shoes that enclosed her pretty feet. But where is my wife? pil l where is the mother, of my children? I feci as if a cold iteei blade were dividing my heart. ■ ■ ;i ' ■ The fifteenth day-of the eiglitii moon, when her disc shines with the greatest splendor, men nnd.wonifn offer to the gods irtelons and cakes, which have a.ronnded form like that of tho orb of night.. Husbands and wives.go two and two to ;ynlk in the country, and/ enjoy the sweet moSriiighf; but the round disc/of the moon Can only Remind mo of the wife I Hate lost. At times to roliove my woo, I pour fpnjnyaelf a cup of "fhe-gfitierous wine; at times X/take my guitar, but scarcely can my trembling band draw forth a sound. My relations and friends conic, turn by fnrn, to invite me; but my liearl, full of bit terness, refuses tp share theifqjjieasnres.' In thepinth rapen, at the called Thong yang, the chrysanthemums open their golden cups, and every garden exhaleaa bahny odor. I would .gather a hunch,of ,newly blown flowers, if X had still a wife whose hair ttjey could adorn. My eyes are wet with tears, my imnds are con tracted by grief, and beat iny flfshlejs breasts. I enter irifo-lhe elegant chumbQf that was once, my wife’s ; my two children/follow trie, and come sadly lb embrace ‘my. knees./ Each one takes me by .the hand, and ealUjjne with a chok-, ing voice. By their fears, tfaelr*(sobs, and their gestures, they ask me for their, fwothcr. ■ 'Tlie first day of the tenth mb«n, both rich,and poor present winter clothes to tbair wives. But clothes? When I fhink of hcr.who sharedmy lied; who rested onlhe same jiifimV/ItHirn lor her images of gilded paper, pps my tears flow fist. I send these orf'erings lp; her who now dwells beside the FellowFoiiniairi,. Iknpwnot whether these funoral.gjfts wilf.pp'ofuseto licr who ! is no nlore, hut atTbast her husband will have paid heir a tribute of love and regret. ' In the eleventh moon, when/l have saluted Winter, ! call my beautiful wife, /In my cold bed I double up my body, I dare no| strcach out my legs, and half o( the silken counterpane covers an empty place. I sigh and invoke heaven; I pray for pity on a husband who passes solitary nights. At the third watch I rise without hav ing slept, and weep until dawn. In tlie twelfth moon, in.the,midst of winter’s bold, I called my tender wife. , “Where art thou!” I said. “I think of fheo all day, yet I cannot see thy face.” The last night of the year she appeared to mo in a dream '; she pressed my hand in hers; she smiled on me with .tearful eyes; she encircled mo with caressingarms, and filled my soul with happiness. “I pray thee,” she said to’mo, “to weep no more when thou remenibcrest'ino; henceforth I will come thus each night to visit thee in thy dioains.” Although the world is so changeful and un certain, that quiet, amongst all its rarities,seems the thing most rare j there are many ..persons who appear to have more than .they iiko ot it, and aro so impatient for novelty, that they are continually leaping out of the;t'rying-pan of their own tormenting restlessness, into the lire of positive calamity. By changing for. the sake of change, they expect -trouble to give them ease, and find out, to their cost, that the 1 cure is worse than the complaint. Doubtless, however, is is owing to the real exigencies of life, and it is when a change is un questionably desirable, that the unfortunate transition from bad to worse, referred to in the proverb, is commonly made. And this arises frequently from a mistaken notion, induced by present suffering; that the evil which Is, is tho worst which will be j. but thoso who ‘have thus inadvertently once or twice excbangedthefrylng pan for the lire, learn to exorcise the -utmost circumspection in all cases where an important step is to be taken, and will over remain fa the frying-pan, however hot, as quietly as they may, if it is the coolest place to which they have ac cess,. - ~ But it is seldom tho case, even When change is moat desirable, that a leap is advisable. Ono may make more haste than good speed in escap ing from tho plague, by breaking out of a win dow. Some persons fairly kill ; themselves to save their lives. They leap.out of tho frying pan into the Are, not because thero was nothing better that they could do,.hutbocause they would not give themselves lime to do it. Many things are repented of at loisure,moroly because they were done in haste. The groat desideratum is a sound judgment in distinguishing between two great evils,so that we may choose tho, least. It must, bo remem bered,-however, that if they’bo of a moral kind, wo anynoithcr compelled, nor at liberty,.under any circunifd races, to ctiooKOeither. The princi ple, though of the utmost importance in cor rectly adjusting our notions of right and wrong, is but little regarded by many. “If wo mint commit a sin,” says a reverend .writer of tho last age, “lot it bo as lltllo as canity helped.” The thief's maxim, “One may asjfoll bo hung for a sheep as a lamb,” has nearly.aa tmich mor ality in it, a« is contained in this :.vory lenient injunction. No ono was over yet compelled to commit a sin, small or great, since there is al ways tho alternative of suffering. Ho who pre fers moral to physical haim, of two evils choo ses tho greatest! he, beyond a question, leaps out of the frying-pan ii^frhejirc. Jealousy is «aid ip ho tho offspring of lovo. Vet, unless the parent makes '.haste to strangle tho child, 11 1 0 child n'ill not rest till It has strangled tho parent. ' [£y- Some men so dislike tho dustkickod up, by the generation to which they belong, that, being unable to pass, they lag behind. , 05~Kcop your temper in disputes; Thocool hammer fashions the red-ho.t iron jnto auy simpo needed,. ; - , FROM TUB CHINESE. Change and its Effects, 12:1113 Doluntm'. A VISIT TU VALLEY FORGE. About sixteen miles up the Schuylkill from Philadelphia, a small stream leaves the rich and beautiful vallfiy of Chester, and winds its way through a deep ravine between two mountains and empties Its clear wafers Info the river. The mountains are filled With iron-ore, and as the stream affords water power, the old'inhabitnrits of the colonies erected at its- mouth a mill and around them a fcW houses, and.the.place was known as the “Valley Forge.” It was after the disastrous results of the hal tics of Brandywine and Germantown, in which (be Americans lost 2000 soldiers, whom in.their already reduced state they could too poorly spare/ that Washington was forced to give up Philadclphia.to the enemy, and lead his droop ingnud discouraged army to this secluded spot, which.the sufiferings of that little blind, while it lay and shivered there during the memorable winter of ’7B, hai made immortal. We approached the old encampment by a road leading down a narrow defile which.forms the bed of the stream, and ascended fo the sum mit where the army lay, by a rugged' pathway which is still to be traced amongdho rocks, and were shown by bur guide as we passed the dif ferent spots where the cannon had been planted to guard the entrance. When wo reached the summit wo found it partially covered with trees and underwood, yet eighty years had. not been able to destroy the efforts Hint feeble band had put forth for self-protection. There was still to be seen a ditcli and embankment, which is at present about three feet high, extending more than two miles around the top of the mountain. At the more open and unprotected points are still to bo seen fire different forts of different forms, more or less perfect. They were proba bly built principally of logs, but they have long since decayed;arid their forms at present arc to be traced only by piles of-dirt which hrid-been thrown up to strengthen them. The most per fect one at present is still about ten leet high, and .probably one hundred, feet square, with a dividing ridge running diagonally, from one cor. ner to the other, forming two apartments of equal size, bnt with, one, narrow entrance. It ail remains quite perfect an“d the walls or banks arc covered with trees. Tlio tenia of the sol diers were made of poles, which seem to have been twelve or fifteen feet long,.isiiilt in the form of a pen, with dirt thrown upon tlio out side to keep out the storm. Their remains are still to be;seen, situated in .little groups over the enclosure. While down near the Old Forge, we were shown a stone house, about 20 by 80. toot, which served as head quarters, in which Washington lived surrounded by bis staff during the winter. t Wo entered the venerable building with feel, ings of the deepest emotion, and examined the room which served the illustrious chief as bed room and audience chamber. It is very plain,, and the fnrriifure much as he left it. A small rough box in a deep window sill, was pointed out as having contained his papers and writing material. The house is occupied by a family who take pleasure in showing to visitors the different items of interest. The old cedar shin gled roof which protected the “Father of his country” eighty years ago, had ttijt sheltered the old head quarters until, a year or two ago, when it was removed, ond Us place occupied by fin.-... ' . The graves of the. soldiers arc still to be seen ,jpd.i’tAPt.. < ily?ten'ef o Mb«'gw l W'l*.hritsromQ»t numerous in the northeast division, where the. regiments from the South were quartered, death having rtolect most fearfully among them; they being less'able to endure the severities of a northern winter. . ■ It was during their encampment hero that the tracks of the soldiers could be traced by their blood, as they gathered wood to warm their miserable huts. And it is boro that Washington is said to have shed tears like a father, while beholding their sufferings, while they gathered amend him and plead for bread and clothing; and he bad not tho means to furnish them. Yet although every thing seemed so discouraging, it was near here that tho “Friend” went homo surprised; and exclaiming, “ the Americans will conquer yet I the Americans will conquer yet, for I beard a whisper in tho woods, and I looked and saw their chief upon his knees, and be was asking God to help them.” ~ I t may bo groa t to lead a powerful army on to victory, but surely it was greater to preserve the shattered remnants of a discouraged band toge ther, whon'tho enemy, was trampling over them, when their Congress could do nothing for them, when starving families at homo were weeping for their return, and when their sedmed no pros pect before them but miserable" defeat. ■Numerousgraves have recently been opened, and the bodies of many of fho officers have been removed by fhoir friends to other hurying grounds in fhoir..native States. But the poor and obscure, soldiers who still remain, have monuments more, beautiful than art can form erected over them, for nature has planted him dreds of as a silent tribute fo their mem ory, which have been watered by the pure and generous tears of night, and they are now form ing living wreaths of evergreens over their graves. Charles Lamb's Warning. Charles Lamb, a genius and a drunkard, tells his sad experience ns n warning to young men, in the following language: “ The waters Imre gone over me. But out of the black depths, could l be heard, I would cry out to all those who have but set a foot in the perilous flood. - Could the youth to whom the flavor of his-first wine is delicious as the opening scenes of life, or the -entering upon some newly discovered paradise, look into my desolation and be made to understand what a drearj r thing it is when a man shall feel himself going down a precipice with open eyes and a passive will—to see his destruction and have no power to stop it, and yet feel it all the way emanating from himself; to sec nil godliness emptied out of him, and yet, was not able to forget a time when it was otherwise ; to bear about tbd piteous spectacle of his own ruin ; could ho see my feverish ’ eye, feverisbed with last night’s drinking, and feverishly looking for to-nights repetition of the folly; could ho bat feel the body ol death out of which I cry hour ly, with feebler outcry to be delivered—it were enough to make him dash the sparkling bever age to the earth in all the pride of its mantling temptation.” v If you have a young friend who may, bo m 1 danger of acquiring an appetite for strong drink, invito his attention to Charles Lamb’s dreadful experience. Common Schools In Pknnstlvania.—We have received from Harrisburg the annual report of the Superintendent of Common Schools for the year ending June 2d, 1857. It appears that exclusive of the city of Phil adelphia there are-18,956 public schools in the Stale, being an increase of 259 as compared with the last previous report. There are yet wanted 604 schools to satisfy the requirements of the existing districts. There are employed 12,475 teachers, being an increase of 118 over Inst year. Including the city of Philadelphia, the' number of teachers is 13,445, of whom 7,924. are males and 5,524 females. Whole .number of scholars, exclusive,of Philadelphia, 541j247, being an increase of 17,493, over last year, and 60,092 over 1853. Including Phila delphia, the aggregate of th# whole State .is ,590,008. ‘ AT 32,00 PER ANNUJI firantifnl Sentiments Eloqntnlljr Expreiscd. The Hon; Edward A. Hannegan, a former United States Senator from Indiana; but now of St. Louis; lately defended a young mulatto boy by tho name of Smith, upon the charge of murdering his wife. The defence was insanity, caused by his wife’s infidelity with another. The defence was overruled and the prisoner convicted- Mr. Hannegan made, however, a very able speech, whicli is published, in the S Louis papers, in behalf oi the. unfortunate cli ent. On tho infamy of the crime of seduction, Mr, Hnnnegan thus speaks: ' There is no' offence upon the face of earth which causes such deep, overwhelming, heart rending grief, and sorrow as docs this single one crime of seduction, whether if be of a man’s wife or daughter. To penetrate a family with tho fonlest designs in the heart is an ofience which the law has never.}et devised a. proper punishment. for, for it. never can ;. and it is a strange fact that where the sorrow and agony which is caused by au'acf of that kind is moat pressing, moat potent, where the wreck andTuin that follows is most irretrievable, that there tlie world looks upon it most carelessly. Tbo world often, too often; turns'from the sad page of bit terness with scorn, where the occurrence is in the poor man’s family, the poor, humble and ohsclire, and yet yon well know, every mnn within the sound of my voice, that upon them it fails with heaviness. Tho high and wealthy man—flic wealthy are always called the high—l cannot understand why—l know it is very far from being tho case. Tho wealthy mail, 1 am sorry to say it, is not always the high man. My definition of a high man is’lhe high in heart, and elevated in senti ment, tho noble in feeling, the gentle in action; and 1 look for him and recognize him as much in the ditch, where, with a shirt upon his back, ho delves, as though he lived in a prince’s pa lace,. But, speaking after tbo fashion of the world, the “high and wealthy’! from injustice like this can. turn nt once and,console them, selves with enjoyment and pleasure. The rich man can make tor himself a home everywhere, and ho can command, unbounded visitors and attcridarits. At his new home he can call to bis sumptuous board troops of friends —the rich always have friends; the poof man rarely has any—and those friends come to hiiri with their faces all glad with, smiles, or wreath ed in sadness, just as the occasion may require, bo it what it may—of grief or of joy—the voices and graces of the throng are always ready. It grief press at the rich man’s heart, the. silken voice of the parasite distils into his car the well prepared music to sooth him. If, for a wrong like this for which Smith struck, q rich man should strike with the avenging arm at the be trayer of his honor and his pence, the public voice cries out at once tlio deed was righteous, the death was merited; ho has butaclod in.obe dience to the dictates of his nature, sustaining his own sacred rights.' A trial for him is hnt a form. He comes before the tribunal with a proud and lofty bearing, which proclaims bis feeling of security, and he at .length. goes forth with tho plaudits of the world ringing in his oar; ho goes forth again to plunge into that sea of pleasure which liesatrewn in bacchanal profti undivided-possesion of bis affections; the pay world always, perhaps, divided it with her; Ho has one pttractiori less np;v; and it is one as soon supplied by one with fresher lips and brighter eyes. Not so with the poor mao. i His home is tho 'centre of nil his enjoyment—it is his earthly pa radise. The .wife who resides there is the queen ot all his thoughts and affections. Ho comes homo at eventide,and tells over to her the earn ings of the day or week, upon which they are to rely hereafter for their support, and they count over the prospect of laying by a little,day by day, or week by week, to provide for days of sorrow. Ho sits there and looks around the humble dwelling, and feels no sorrow, no care, no wish to wander out in search of licentious pleasures. He is at ease in bis mind and body. She is by him; he silently thanks his God lor such sweet and precious gifts as those .that'are aronnd him, and, above all, he thanks Him for the dear, dear wife that met him when he came hack, with tho bright, smiling eye, and the warm, welcoming kjss. How many thousand such homes as this that I have described are spread around ns. Bo not suppose that I. am going to limit this (o tho homes of the “hewers of wood and drawers of water.” JS’o ! - -It is as much a picture of the home of tho professional man, tho poor doafor, the poor lawyer, the pen niless minister of God, ns iHs of tho poor tink er—as "it was. of this poor mulatto, William Smith. Would you take this home away from him who has it ? Would you lake it away? Would you fill Ill's every dish with loathsome pulri/nc tion ? Would you make his home a den ot his sing serpents, to coilupon'.bis hearthstone or ! nestle in his bed? Would you plunge your knifo into the heart 'of her he loves when lie was yet away, and place her dissevered head, all gory, on his plate to nieet him when lie next came back—wouldyou? Ton had better, fen thous and times hcler, do this, and ail this, thanto.do as tho villian does who steals into another’s bouse, makes Ids home a brothel, and his wife a prostitute, to greet him when ho conies back with lewd display and brazen harlotry. . . Smith saw.it—felt it. no more a homo, no' warm welcome again—no fond ondeofnlents— no cheerful evening fireside—ho form to love, and no heart to beat responsive to his own. Pressed as with a fiery bolt, the crushed spirit of the man rose at once to fury and madness, and his heart and brain on fife, he bathes his bands in tho blood of'qil that came within his reach, and first of all in that of her who had I murdered his peace and bis reason. ’ I Labor.— Wo would urgently impress the minds of young men with the great importance of having some aim—some purpose in view ; and that this aim. this purpose of life, should always have the hearty sanction of integrity of principle. . This is.the only sure foundation of all honorable attainment. They should at all times scorn the shallow notion of the giddy, that honest laboris disreputable. Be ashamed of nothing but sin —that embraces the entire catalogue of meanness. It is wholesome coun sel which advises you to resolve to do some thing useful, honorable, dutiful, and to do it heartily, Bepcal the thought that you can. and therefore you may live above work and without it. Among the most pitiable objects in society is the roan whose mind ha» not been trained by the discipline of education, who has learned how to think, and estimated the value of his immortal powers, and with'all these no ble faculties cultivated and prepared for an honorable activity, ignobly sits down to do nothing, and exercise no influence over the pub lic mind—with no interest ro the concerns of his country, iior oven his neighborhood—to be regaidcd ns a drone, without object or charac ter, with no hand to lift, and no effort (p put forth to help the right or defeat the wrong,— Who can think, with any calmness, of such a miserable . career ? And however it may bb with you in po)|ye enterprise, never permit your influence to to in.hostility (p the cause of truth and virtue. So live, that, with the Chris' tian poet, you may nay that If your country siand.not by your skill, . At least yourfollies have hot wrought her fall. VCT? Applause Is thy spur of able minds the ,otuf and aim of weak oops., 3Cnog(r Ml'' DC?” To dream (hat you arc being hugged to death by a blue-eyed Peri, and awake and find a piece of stove-pipe lying across your neck— is rather unpleasant. Or The press, the pulpit, and the petticoat. The first spreads the news, the second 'spreads religion, and the last all over tho pavement. - - • O” There is an old fellow in Nashville who snores so loud, that ho is obliged to sleep' at a house in the next ■ street, to avoid awakening himself.” , NO. 37. O' Why is a colt gelling broke like a young lady getting married? ’Rase he is going through a bridle ceremony. O'A photographic artist, of Bristol, rati nounccs, in flaming placards, his intention of taking “photograms. ” OCT* How eonfdF-you make a thin' child fat;? By throwing it out of the window it . would come down plump. ’ 0“-A banker asked a young lady what kind of money she liked heist. " Matri-moncy," she replied." ■ . ■ . • ‘ JET" “ Industry must prosper.” as-the man said, when holding the baby forbis’wifetochdp tvood; . .. O* Wanted, n coachman, to look after o pair of horses, of a religious turn of mind. (ET* It is not very absurd to callhillathUt you are not able to pay, •• bills payable oE7* Benevolent old lady —“ Suites alive, child! what do yon want two pails of cold vic tuals for? You had only one yesterday !”~ Lillie Girl—" Yes. ma'am; hut mother’s ta ken Boarders since 0“ A lady wishing the service at a dyer, was referred to an excellent; workman.; -The la- d y asked; •> Are you the dying mini ?'• - No. ma’am, I'm a llying man—but I'll.dye foryou, ” DC7" A Frenchman, who promised toestabligh a school, having heard that a “high school!" would be more respectably patronised,-tdok a room in the garret of a four story house,. , ; (CT* What two placcs’nnmcs in France will describe the language of a parent who refuses to give his daughter in’ marriage 1 Usharit, Havre, (You shan’t have her.) ' ! ICT"“ My dear Tom,’’said old Sheridan one day to his son, "I wish you would take : a wife.” “ I hav;o no objection, sir'; whose'Wife shall I take ?” said Tom. (C 7““ What makes the milch so'warm?” said Bctty to the milkman when he brought the pail to the door one morning. “Please, mum, the pump-handle's broke, and missus took the water from the biler." DH7“ Not a thousand miles from Oneida Go., a coroner's jury lately rendered, a verdict that, a certain deceased maw "came, to his death by excessive drinking, producing apoplexy in tho minds of the jury.” C7* “ Daddy, 1 want to ask you a ques tion.” Well, my son?” v Why is neigh bor Smith’s liquor shop like a bad shilling?"-- " I cant’t tell, ray son." “ Because you can't . pass.it,” said the boy., (C?’We have at last discovered the reason gentlemen of the present day stoop so: it is On . account of their being constantly bent- iippn plcasuytu—We hope they will not be straiteufil.. ;; ; by circumstances. 03*“ “ Now, Patrick.” said.a judge, “wbat : do you say to the charge—arc you guilty or not’ guilty.?" “ Faith, but dial's difficult for your honor' to tell, let alone myself—wait till IHjar the evidence.” O” In ancient days, (tie celebrated precept was, “Know Thyself.” In modern times, it has been supplanted by the fur more' fashipna ■ riblc mariiti, “Kiitw rhy neighbor/ andevery thing about him.’’ ,;V C?” “ The morning is‘breaking, ’’ said a /servant, ail be knocked at his master'sdoor,— “Let it break,” was the growling reply: “Jet lit break, it owes me nothing!” And the mer chant—a fair sample of a - class—“addressed him again to sleep.” O’ Booth, the tragedian, had the misfortune to have bis nose broken by Tom Flynn,, A la dy said to him. “ I like your acting and beau tiful reading, Mr. Booth, but I cannot get over your nose!” “No wonder, madam,” replied he the bridge has gone ?" O’ “Do you know the prisoner,. Mr. Jones?”' “Yes,, to the bone.” “ What is bis character ?” “ Didn’t know he had, any,”—■ “ Does he live near yon ?" So near that he has only spent five shillings for wood in eight years.” OZ7“ At an invitation party a gentleman passed a branch of thyme ioji young Indy, bis sweetheart, in the presence'of her .mother and all the guests, which she refused, and said, “It is not time I want, but opportunity.” SZT “Gouge on Banking,”.is the title, of a work issued from lire press. A cotemporary remarks.that “Banks on Gouging," Would be an appropriate title for a work setting forth the .operations of the present system. OCT* A Bridget called at a grocer’s,' and ask ed for a qli'aft of vinegar. It was measured out, and she put itinto a gallon jug. She then asked for. another quart, to be .put' into tho same vessel. “And why not ask fur a half gallon ?" asked tho grocer. • Och! bless ycr iltle soul," answered she, “isn’t it for two that I want it ?” "You have said that white walking with an umbrella over your bead, you fell into ihc’re servoir, and was badly injured. Did you break any bones, sir, at that time ?" Witness—“l did, sir.” Counsel—“What.bones?" Wit ness—“ Whalebones, sir." DC?" A man whom Dr. Johnson reproved ‘for following a useless and demoralizing business, said, in* excuse: “You know, doctor, that I ■must live!" To this the brave old hater of everything mean and hateful coolly replied, that “he did not sco the least necessity for that !’’ K7> A lover once wrote to a lady who had rejected him, saying that heintcnded to *; re tire to some secluded spot, and breath away, his life in sighs!" to which the lady replied, by in quiring whether they were to bo mediniti or large size. The man has not since- been heard from. .1 , ICT* “ What are you doing there. Jane?’’— “Why, pa. I’m going to dye my doll’s pianforc red." “But wltnl have you to dye it with?” “Beer, pa.” “Beer ! W.ho on earth told you that beer would dye red?” “Why, mo told me yesterday that it was beer that made your nose so red, and I thought that ” “Here, Susan, tube this child to bed 0“ Lately, a simple-looking countryman was observed to throw a letter into the box of the post-office at Charleroi, and then’to reipain upwards of two hours without moving from the spot. At lost the sentry, who had. perceived the whole proceeding, addressed him, andsipd: “My good man, what arc you doing there, with yopr eye 1 ) fixed on the . letter-box for the last two hours?” “Why,” replied the other; “I . am waiting for the answer!” O’A boy was going along H>« street, car rying a pitcher of milk, when presently he stumbled, and smash went the pitcher, 'and away ran the milk. Another boy, across tho way. saw the accident, and shouted: '“Oh! wont you catch it when you go home; your mother’ll give it to you!” “No she won’t, neither!" screamed the other: "my mother always says, ‘Never cry for spillcd nwik !’V K7*An editor in Minnesota threatens to breakup bpitsc-kecping, and go to boarding with his delinquent subscribers. , .Wc should .call that ‘boarding ropnd.’ ’ • '
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers