Mmm IBHH & olnutm'. [?} . « VOL. 51. AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. «. frUBXJSIIED feVBRY 'THURSDAY MORNING BY V JOHN H. BRATTON. TERMS': Dollars If paid within tbs tycarj and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, If not paid ‘•within the year. These terms will bo rigidly ad dicted to in every r instance. No subscription die 'continued until all arrearages are paid unless at the option of the Editor. . , Advertisements— Accompanied by thecAtflr, and exceeding one square, will bo im&rtod three , times for $2.00, and twenty-five cents for oaoh ’'additional insertion. Tboflo of a grcktCr length in . • i. JoßiPßfKTiird—Such asHand-bifls, Foatiftg--bills U?ampblbt3, Blanks, Labobs, '&e. &o<, executed with -accuracy and at thototroo. ' Jftortitd,- A LESSON OF ME TO. ' [Captain.Btono,. of a Massachusetts Regiment, jjoing wounded in an engagement, lay for three ’days upon the baltle-flold, and was saved from starvation only by a woundod rebel, who shared his rations with' him.] Fiercely raged the tide of battle, . Fiercely rang the wild hurrah, Strains of martial music blending With tho clarion sound of war. -. On.thoblood-red Hold of (ton quo at . , v Lay the horo spirit brave,' . - Whiidh.cdmradoVbbhing life blood ' 4i, '* NV ~ ,f * O'er him poured its crimson wave. ©ay bad passed, and night bad faded, Morning's sunlight dawned again, £(111 amid the'dead and dying Lay the hero in Uft pain. Oh, that long, long night of anguish, A.U, what careless lips shall till? Many a bleeding.form around him >. Gave .to earth a last farowell! . -Say what dreams of loved ones , On How England's *rocby shore, Jangled with the wilder fancies 'Of the cannon's fearful roari' say what mother's kisses On bis brow in fancy fell ? Who shall speak the tender yearnings Lingering round some old farewell.? Morning broke an glowing splendor O’er that field of oarnago rod,' Fiercely poured tho sunlight glory O'er tho piles of mangled. Fierce; grow tho feverish batnings* Breathing low Hb Uoth still. Battling With tho fiend Father, shall it bo Thy will ? Polo and wan with fearful anguish, Breathing forth one earnest prayer, Drinking in tho golden glory. Hovering over earth and air, Z>rlnking in the lo*r-toaod whispers ‘ ~Of.his doa r one's last farewell ; -Wihloriug fanoios'thrgtfgiag o'er him, .Thoughts no human tongue can tolU .’tHiirkl a swoot-tpnod voioo of succor; Soo ! a band extends hitu food. Comrade! brother! blissful music— Brother! though, of Southern blood! -Hand clasps baud with gontlo prossuro ■Saved, oh Father! by Thy will I -Yet a nation vainly yoarnoth For Thy blessed “ Peace bo still,” Dying heroes, weeping mother, Breaking hearts, oh God ! how long Ere Thy voioo shall calm the tempest, And the right replace the wrong ? God Of mercy—light eternal— ' From' the gracious Throne' above, 'Smile, upon our severed nation— Fold the North and^South inlovo. Jersey Blub. UNCLE JOE IN COURT, BY COL. DUNLAP. ■r Joe Bassett was a queer Roniua— ‘ Uncle ■Joe’ everybody ealllod him—and, though possessing but very few of the goods of this ■ world, yec he was one of the most useful men in town.. If anyone wanted an odd job done, Die was the man to do it. In short, he was a isort, pf universal * Man Friday, 1 and for a consideration he would perform any work Which might bo .called for. -He was a happy old fellow j. os full of fun as an egg is full of meat, and he.could crack some very *’ ar j jokes without hurting anybody.. He ,owned ■a little, hut oyer back of the village, to which was attached a faw acres of good land; and beside; this he hod a cow, .and some other items of stopk- _. Ho live 5 quite comfortably, and tha Impression had gone abroad that he Bad managed,tp lay;up some money, ' Oapt. DanielLober, -who had^ recently set tled in the town owned a fine piece of land ’ adjoining Uncle Joe’s lofc, and he was not long in making himself very disagreeable to our good Man Friday. Ho*was a proud,, sel fish person, and a little moan withal. Un cle Joe had some geese- and they ran upon Leber’s land; upon which the indignant captain threatened to shoot them if be caught . them there again. 4 Ef ye’d make yer fence tighter my geese Wouldn’t git through,- meekly suggested poor Joe. 4 My fence is as tight as the law requires,’ answered (be doughty captain; ana with this be walked away., n So Uncle Joe had to go at work and tight en the fence, and put larger yokes upon his i .liober’s next move was against Joe’s hens. Ho swore that be would shoot them if they 4vere not kept out of his lot. Joe built a hen-house, and placed his feathered bipeds therein;' but a sore trial to him, and people sympathized with him, though they could not help him. One season Oapt. Lober plowed up his land—some ten aores of it—and sowed it with wheat. The grain; came on finely, and the owner-used to take men out there to show them his field. It wda acknowledged to bo the bqst. pieoo of wheat in town. But the captain was destined to a piece of ill fortune which be had not thought of. This land was at some distance from his dwelling, and when busy at other points a! week or two might pass without his visiting it. One qftornooa he oame to see his wheat and when he reach ed the edgqof the field he stood aghast at -the sight which met his gaze. The tall, stout grairi was trodden and trampled down over half of the lot, presenting a scone of hayOo • and destruction truly horrible to hehold.-V —Atid waß a(rno losa-to abcount for the desolation, for near the oea taro of tho lot bo saw afcon?dv It was a jaqnt, heavily-built animal, of a dingy white color;, and though evidently well atrioken with years yet he capered and frisked about with marvelous spirit—now cropping a few of the well-filled wheat-heads, and anon trampling Way upon the devoted grain, as thongh he wore trending the trine vat,. I should not darttti toll till the oaths which On.pt. Ilobefr theft tod there poured forth; btxt they were terrible ones, and the white foaifi stood'upon his lips ns ho raved. As soon ns ho could collect his thoughts he star ted- for Uncle Joe’s. He knew that Joe must have seen the horse in there—for the animal could not have boon leas than three or four dayS'Ut the work—and perhaps the depredator might belong to Joe. Just as the captain reached the road, he met Sum War ner. Sam was not a temperance man, nor 'did he belong to the church, but ho was a particular. friend to Uncle Joe, and didn’t think much of Daniel Lobor. ~ ‘ Mr. Warner,’ cried the captain, trembling all over with rage, does' Joe Bassett Own a horse f ‘Yns, Believe he does, Squire,’ returned Sam. .-. ‘ Is it a white one V ‘ Kind o’ whitish.’ 1 How old is it?’ ‘Wal—'taint very old nor very young— But it’s kind o'shaky around the knees.’ Captain Lober posted off to Uncle Joe’s cot, and found the old follow at work- about the premises. . ‘Mr. Basset,’ he,said, with awful meaning, ‘do you own a horse ?’ . ‘ Wal—l rather—calkilate as haow’t. I dew, Squire,’ answered tho old fellow, 1 And did yod know that your horse had destroyed more than half of my wheat’?’ ■Jo-reio-sa-lom 1 You doan’t say so, Squire 1’ exclaimed Joe, in terror. .■s»,* 4 ltls a fact, sir; and now you may settle it, or suffer the consequences.' ' 1 But, 'Squire—railly—l can't believe it. My boss is sich a quiet critter.' •Are- you willing to settle it?' cried the captain, madly, * But—’Squire—railly—~l couldn't pay ye noth'g—sartin I couldn't,' ‘ Then you'll pay somebody else. You know that your horse has been in my field V 1 couldn't swar 1 'at he hadn't that's a fact.' ’ . ■* That’s enough/ And with that the captain wont off. He wont to one of the assessors,* from whom ho learned that Joe owned some two or three hundreaSdollars' wbrth of prop erty; and then be went to a lawyer's, and had Joe Basset sued, setting the damages at one hundred dollars. The lawyer sent Joe a letter, bat the old fellow refused to take any notice of rt,‘.and the case was carried in*, to court, Captain Lober having sworn that bo would push Uncle Joe to the last extrem ity. The court Was in session, and the day for tho trial arrived. The room was crowded, for a whisper had gpa«o abroad that Uncle, Joo would get the. best of it. Finally the case, was called bn, and Lober’s counsel made a statement of the cquso which had led to tho suit, enlarging upon the damage whioh had been done to bis client's property, and explaining how little , tho transgressor bad -eeerncd-dtrcare-foirit; — ; : —: ■ What is the defence!' ‘ Nobody seemed to know.' ‘ls tho defendant in court?' All eyes were turned upon Uncle Joe, and ho arose. . 4 Are.you the defendant in this case, ask ed the court,’ 4 Mo?’.returned Joe, with a vacant stare. 1 Yes— you/ • He is, your honor,’ said Lober’s lawyer. 4 Have you got counsel, sir ?’ the judge re sumed. "“Not’s E knows on,' replied Joe; with a half foolish, half wicked look. * You are probably aware of the reason why you have been called here, pursued the court, seeming to pity.tho man’s foolishness.’ *1 s’poae it's for some kind of complaint, Captain Lober’s been a making.' 4 Exactly,' said Lober’s counsel. 1 4 Your horse, has destroyed much property belong ing to my client.' 4 Guess not, 4 Squire, returned Joe, 'caqao fchat’/i on possible. My boss couldn’t do do sich thing.' ’ 4 What do you mean by that 4 Why 1 1- hain’t got no boss as is capable of doing* so much mischief.' 4 We’lileave that for others to decide, said the counsel; with a very significant not of the head., 4 You own a horse ?' i Why ’ * We want nono.of your why 1 ?! You own a horse ?' ' , . « ,• T r. t. * Bub I want to explain. Oap'n Loser, he come to me, a bilin’ over with wrath, and axed me did I own a boss, and I told him yes. Then he biled over more—made lots o’, threats —and went off in a heap o’ passion, afore I could ’explain.' - . 1 But do you deny that your horse was in 'my client’s field.?' 4 It couldn’t a been thar unless somebody put it thar.'_ , 4 That’s nob the thing. Do you deny that your horse did this damage V 4 Sartin, I do.' 4 Your’s is a white horse?* # 4 Rayther of a yalloriah cast, 'Squire. , 4 And poor and old?' A leetle shaky, I think.’ 4 Then how do you know that it -was not your horse that did this damage ? 4 That’s jest the p'int I wanted to ’xplam, 'Squire, answered Uncle Joe, very earnestly, and with imperturable gravity. Ef any bod y’d axed me this afore I come up here, X should a’ told 'em all about it. The foot is, 'Squire, I never owned bub one boss in the world, and I don’t never expect to—an that ere is a—saw hobs!’ , ~ , The court smiled, and hid its face behind a hook. captain’s counsel looked very blank, while tho captain himself turned very red, and very pale, by'furns. ’ In theTnean time the spectators came nigh splitting with laughter. Some attempt was made to repri mand Unole joe for this result; but he was so simple and honest on tho occasion that all blame fell , where it righteously belonged— upon the man who bad brought the suit. It was very easily proved that Joe never owned a live boss,’ and he was sent about his busi ness; It was a small affair, perhaps, bub it made a great noise; and so hot and heavy were the various remarks that came showering down upon Daniel Lober, that in less than a mopth he was glad to sell out and move* . Af ter this Uncle Joe’s geese and hens wandered about without the fear of being shot; but his 4 old boss’ never went away, save when it rode upon its owner’s shoulder. [C7*pn hearing the song entitled, 'The, dearest spot on ' qarth is homo,’a married, -man -remarked-tbat-be-found_hifl-home._^P-. dear that he was going to break up house- Reepiog and go to boarding. , “ °DIt COUNTRY—MAT IT ALWAYS BE R I,OIII—BUT EIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY.” [From tho Christian Advocoto and Journal.] MY SERMONS TO THE CLERGY. * BY BUZZ. You, my brethorn, have pummeled the ■class I represent all tho days of our conscious lives. You have employed . both telescope and microcope in tho discovery of our sins sins immediate and palpable, and sins re mote and invisible. One hundred and four times in tho year, besides week-night lectures, you have reviewed and scrutinized our con duct, motives, thoughts, and passions. You have peered into our domestic relations, dis cussed our business affairs, scrutinized our secial standing, and, in fact, examined us through and.through; to bring to light our bidden faults, until wo have not dared to look each other in the face'ns wo sat in church, nor ; keep company even with our leprous solves. How of .all, this wo.utter no com plaint; it is your calling, and you bravely execute your commission. Besides it must be confessed that our spiritutl indolence needs stimulation, our -self-deeeptiph£?expBtoe, while'our positive‘sins requiceT'rebukein fact, we are poor sinners, and deserve the se verest Gospel reproof. On the other hand you must admit that we bear it'all patiently and without murmuring. Better behaved than politicians, we never get up during ser vice and’contradict any statement; though our judgmehts may condemn your arguments we never expostulate, and are so considerate that you ;nre. always permitted to feel that’ the-viotory is yourS, Indeed, you hove a glo rious field in which to do battle,"since you have no foes; or.at least they never appear. It is true, wo Can stand more from the vet erans of the ministry than from the ■“ beard less youth” just from college, perhaps, whose artillery is drawn more from the classics than the Gospel, and who paints our follies with an air of superiority, as though he bad none of his own.. Now, in consideration of our life-long pa tience and uniform meekness; you will bear with us (will you not?) if once in"a lifetime we turn-upon-yoimnd'kindly preach you a few sermons. We will avoid harshness, con tent ourselves with suggestions, in fact will only whisper a few'things in your oar, with the assurance that your understanding will be less dull than ours, your car quicker to hear, and your heart softer to be impressed. LONG SERMONS. Much of your pulpit efficiency, brothorn, is weakened by long sermons. One hour, it is true, is usually appropriated fqr this pur pose in tho service, but generally against the judgment of the people. ■ A quarter of an hour'taken from the discourse, and divided into singing and reading, with perhaps re sponses by the congregation, wonld tend to enliven the whole service and bo a great im provement. Consider, if you please, 1. The hour of your discourse is the only one in the whole week when your congregation are required to sit actually still . Uuder any circumstances'it is a severe task, but when you consider the bad ventilation of the church (all sextons are ignoranlraltkobf tho laws of health and comfort,) and that we are usually ■wedgi like culprits confined in stocks, then the unreasonableness at an hour of close.attention to one part of the service more clearly appears. 2. Ministers, like layman , are apt to choose the easiest way in the discharge of duty. — Hence it is we have so many long sermons.; it is a saving of brain-work to preach them. It requires more study, more intense thought, and closer logic, to deliyer a discourse in for ty-five minutes, than to spin it out an hour, and a compound pressure, to get -it within thirty to forty minutes. Daniel, Webster once apologized to the court for a lengthy argument, on the ground that time had not been afforded him to be short , Condensation does, indeed, require, time, whether in boil ing substances to essences, or in, reducing sermons to essentials. It is not always tho quantity of a thing, but tho quality which makes it desirable. , • 3. When one is writing a book, it is imma terial how lerge it is so long as the matter is readable,, for.if.the reader,fails to finish it In one hour he may lay, it aside till. another is convenient; but the object of preaching is to make a lodgment of truth within a given time, and if the preacher fails to accomplish the object vyithin’forty-five minutes, the det feet is with himself, and it is consequently unfajr to the congregation to blunder on fif teen minutes more with the hope of final suc cess. A distinguished lawyer, once remarked, 44 If I fail to make an impression , upon, the jury within thirty miuutes my cause is hope less; all effort alter that is but waste of words.” 4. On ihetyiher hand impressions made within three qua,rters of an hour are often lost for want of sagacity to quit when the object is gained, ' R is sheer nonsense to feel obliged to finish the skeleton that lias before you when by dpingso you destroy the effect pro duced,by the part already delivered. When one has laid out a. fine 'argument, or embel» J ished his theme with a beautiful figure, it is hard, very hard,,,to lay either aside ; but the end, which is to'fasten truth uponjbo hear er, justifies the sacrifice. It surely is better for your hearers to go away with a few truths firmly fastened on their hearts, than to mul tiply propositions so that the earlier ones be come lost. And yet in very many cases this ,is the precise reason why so little impression is made by really excellent discourses. The preacher failed to discern the precise mo ment when the iuteiest on the part of the hearers culminated. 6. Other considerations may be added why sermons should he short. It your preaching is dull, thirty minutes is as long in all de cency as you should comtqand the attention of the audience. If your voice is weak t .or indistinct,, so that many of your hearers are forced to lean toward the pulpit in order to catch tho sentences, half hour is long enough to keep them strained. If you screech , (and the screeohers are numerous,) so that nervous sisters are shocked, it. is unfair to require an hour of penance, when halt the time will destroy more ear drums than all the 44 Von Eisenbergs” can restore. - 6. One hour may not bo too long when the followlngcohditionsacoord: 1. The Church shall be properly ventilated. 1 2. The audi ence shall nob bo jamed closer than four.on a seat. 3. The speaker phall have a pleas ant voice, a fervent spirit, and an interesting theme. 4. He shall feel conscious that he and his hearers are in harmony, and that they are moving along with Him in unflag ging interest to the end of the hour. Thus, brethern, we : have ventured on the first sermon. True to assurances in the out set, you soo we have, been kind, though can did. But if any feel aggrieved at these plain utterances, we will bo content in reflecting .that (following our own advice) when tho ob ject was gained we closed the discourse. \£y If time is really money, is not tKo longest ‘ note’ the best? J CARLISLE, PA., ; THURSDAY, JUNE 15, 1865, ME LAST DAYS OP BYRON.; I passed the winter of Byron’s death in Greece and in the latter part of February, went to Missolonghi to see him. Uo was then Suf fering from tho effect of afit of epilepsy; which occurred in the middle of February. Tho first time I called at his residence I was not permitted to see him ; but in a few days I re ceived a polite note from him at the hand of a negro servant, who was n native of Ameri ca, and whom Byron was kind to, and proud of, to tho last. I found tho poOt in a weak and irritable state, but he treated me with tho utmost kind ness. Ho said, that at the time I.first called upon him, nil strangers and roost of his friends were excluded from his room. “ Bat,” said he, “ had I known an American was at the door. yoo should not have been denied. I love your’country, air; it is the'only spot of God’s green earth not yet desecrated by tyranny.” In our conversation, I alluded to the sym pathy nt the time felt in America for tho struggle in Greece. All ho said at the time in reply was , “ Poor Greece 1 poor Greece 1 once tho rich est on earth. God knows I have tried to help theal” • Ho then referred in.rapturous terms to Boz zaris, then just fallen, and showed me a lat ter from the' chief. la a few days after I had loft him, I receiv ed note from him, requesting me to cull and bring with me Irving’s Sketch Book, I took it in my hand, and went once more to the illustrious author’s residence. He rose from his couch when .I entered, and pressing my hand warmly,' sa;d “ Have you got thtS Sketch Book t” I handed it to him, when, seizing it with enthusiasm he turned to “ theßroken Heart.” “ That,” said ho, is one of the finest things ever written on earth, and I want to hear an American read it. But, stay, do you know Irving ?” 1 replied that I had never seen him. “ Qod bless him 1” exclaimed Byron, “ ho is a genius; and-be has something better than genius—a heart 1 X wish I could see him, but I fear I never shall. Well, read ‘ The Broken Heart’ yes, ‘ The broken Heart,’ What a work I” In closing the first paragraph, I said “ Shall X confess it t I believe in 'broken hearts.” “Yes,” exclaimed Byron, “and so do I, and so does every one but philosophers and fools.” So I waited, whenever he interrupted me, until he requested me to go on, yet I oared more for the commentary ns it came fresh from Byron’s heart. While I was reading one of. the most touching portions of the mournful piece, I observed that Byron wept. Ho turned his eyes upon mo, and said “ You see me weep, sir. Irving himself never wrote that story without weeping, nor can I hear it without tears. I have not wept much in this world, for trouble never brings tears to my eyes; but I always have tears for ‘ The Broken Heart.’ ” When I read the last line of Moore’s verses, at the close of the piece, Byron said: “ What a being that Tom is, and Irving, beings all 1 Sir, how many each men as Washington Irving are there in America ? God don’t send many such spirits into this world. I want to go to America f6r five rea sons, I want to see Irving; I want to see your stupendous scenery; I want see Wash ington’s grave; I want to see the classic form of living freedom ;. I want to see your government recognize Greece ns an indepen dent nation. Poor Greece 1” These were the last words of Byron. Duels Among Public Mon. The other day an incident occurred in the Parliment of Belgium, which recalls some of the. mast unpleasant events in English and American history. A member of the Lower House by the name of De Loot, who repre sents the large, wealthy, and influential city of Antwerp, and who is regarded as one of the foremost politicians of the country, acous ed the Ministry of provoking the hostility of tbs United States by taking too active a part in the process of imperializihg Mexico, mere ly bceauso Maximilian tlio 'FirsC happened to be the son-in-law of the Belgian King.— In the course of his remarks he asserted that the officers of the Government had granted permits to emigrants for Mexico which were so worded that the holders could be shot as deserters unless they joined the army of Max* imilan upon their arrival in the distracted country of their destination. Hereupon the Minister of War, Baron Chazal, became ex ceedingly irate, and declared that the man who made such an accusation oould alone be capable of performing such an act of “ infa my.” The deputy from Antwerp appealed . to the chair, asking to have the Minister re buked fur what be deemed a violation of par liamentary decency. Failing to obtain satis faction in this way, the deputy challenged, the Minister. The challenge was accepted. 'Baron Chazal was slightly wounded, and then the combatants, in accordance with the usual custom in such oases, daolared themselves satisfied, shook bands, pronounced each other men of honor, and swore eternal friendship. There is certainly a comicallside of duelling. Two men, indulging in such bitter feelings of enmity, that each is willing to risk his own life the sake of endangering that of his adversary, meet, fire onoe or twice at each other, and then utter the warmest protesta tions of mutual regard. The most malicious animosity changed, by a pistol-shot, into the most devoted friendship I The days whsn duels among public men were common in Anglo-Saxon lands seem to have passed away. But they do not lie very far back in the past. In England, even dur ing the present century, such statesmen ns' Canning, O’Connell, the two Feeds, the Duke of Wellington, Castlereaoh, and D’lsraeli have not been courageous enough to refrain from sanctioning by their example this absur od and wicked practice. .In our country the list of! public men who have participated in duels is still larger. The mournful incident ot Hamilton's death, at the bands of Burr, is well remembered. Five shots were exchang ed between De Witt Clinton and John Swar twbut, while Clinton also challenged another gentleman. Jackson killed one man and fought several others. So did Benton." - Olay and Randolph fought in 1620. Many men still oomparitively young, will recollect the affair botwea two members of Congress, Oil ley and Graves, in 1838, in which the former was killed. . Even now scarcely-a session of our national legislature passes without threats of a resort to this code of honor. Happily of late years, either on account of the unwilling ness of our eminent legislators to deprive the country of their services, or because ,of a whqlesomo fear of public opinion, these threats have generally ended with their utterance. .(£/• Quilp, when requested to take time by the lorelookrexpreased the olif fellow bail any hair left to take bold of. A Moment of Dorm. For twenty-three years old Jake Willard has cultivated the soil in Baldwin County, and drawn, therefrom a support for himself and wife. He is childless. Not long ago, Jake left the haase in searoh of a missing oow. . His route led him through an old, worn-out patch of clay land, of about six acres in extent, in tho centre of which was a well twenty-five or thirty feet deep, that at some time, probably, bad furnished the inmates of a dilapidated bouse near by with water. In passing by this spot an ill wind drifted Jake’s ‘ tile from his head, aod maliciously wafted it to the edge of the well, and in it tumbled. Now Jake had always practiced tho virtue of economy, and ho immediately set about recovering the lost hat. He ran to tho well, and finding it was dry at tho bottom, ho un coiled thouope which he had brought for the purpose of capturing tho truant cow; and af ter several attempts to catch the hat with a noose, he concluded to save time hygoing.in to tho well himself.. To accomplish this, he made fast tho one end of tho rope to a stump hard by, and was soon on his way down the well. _ It is a fact, of which Jake was no less ob livious than tlio reader hereof, that Ned Wools was in the dilapidated building afore said, and that an odd blind horse with aboil on his neck, who had been turned out to die, was lazily grazing within a short distance of the well. The devil himself, or some other wicked spirit, put it into Ned’s cranium to have a little fun; so he quietly slipped up to the horse, unbuckled the strap, and approached with slow and measured “ ting-n-ling” to the edge of the wall. Dang the old blind horse 1” said Jake “ he’s cumin’ this way, sure, and ain’t gut no more more sense nor to fall in here.— Whoa, Ball 1" But the continued approach of the ting a ling” said just as plainly as words’ that old Ball wouldn’t “ whoa.” Besides, Jake was at tho bottom, resting before trying to “shin” it up tho rope. “ Great Jerusalem 1” said he, “ the old cuss will bo a top o’mo 'fore I can say Jack Rob inson. Whoa 1 dang you wheal” Just then Ned drew up the edge of the well, and with his foot kicked a little dirt intuit. “ Oh ? Lord 1” exclaimed Jake, falling on bis knees at tho bottom of tho well; —“ I’m gone now I—Whoa I—Now 1 lay me down to sloop—Whoa 1- Ball—l pr.y the Lord my soul to—Whoa I now—Oh, Lord have mercy on me 1” \ .Ned”could hold in no longer, and fearful that Jake might suffer from his fright, he re vealed himself. . Probably Ned didn’t make tracks with his heels toward that well. May bo Jake wasn’t up to the top in short order. May bo not, I don’t know, but I do know that if Jake finds out who sent you this, it will be the last squib you’l got from me. O'" A correspondent sends us the follow" ing amusing incident-concerning—“ hard tack,” for theruth of which he pledges his word of honor s “Hard-tack,” or army biscuit, has risen, in ordinary American parlance, to the digni ty of an institution—that is to say, it is talk ed. about, and has been joked over to a de gree which would fill many a volume like this, were all the Hard tackiana collected.— Perhaps the <bost spoken pun—one devise! by no human brain,' but strangely modeled by nature or chance, once presented itself to me under this popular name far military bread.' On breaking open a specimen of the article, 1 found a large iron tack which had been baked iu it by accident, and was, I need not say, several degrees harder oven than the tack in which it was imbedded. “ The tack in question" is always packed in square wooden boxes,’ generally bearing date as well as tho brand of the maker or ba ker, about which the following is told ; One day a lot if boxes of, peculiarly hard crackers arrived in iho camp on the James. Several of the boys were wondering at the moaning of the brand upon the boxes, which was as follows: “B. C. CO3-” “Various interpretations were given, but all were rejected uutil one individual declar ed it was all plain enough—oould not bo misunderstood. “ Why, how so ?” was thg query. ‘ “Oh l”.he replied, “ that is the date when the crackers were made—six hundred and three years B. C.” A Bor’s Lawsuit.— Under a great tree, close to tho village, two boys found a wal nut. "It belongs to me.” said Ignatius, I was the first to see it.” “No, it belongs to mo,” cried Bernard, “ for I was the first to pick it up,” and so they began to quarrel in earnest. “ I will settle the dispute,” said an older boy, who had just oomo up. Ho planed him self between tho two boys, broke the nut in two, and said: “ The one piece of shell belongs to him who first saw the nut; the other piece of shell belongs to him who first pickod.it up ; but tho kernel I keep for judging the case. And this,” he said, as he sat down_ and laughed, “ is tho common end of lowsuits.” Prevalent Mistakes.— We desire to call the attention of our readers to the following prevalent mistakes! . It is a mistake to suppose that the sub scription pries of a newspaper is clear gain to the publisher.. It is a mistake to. suppose that he gets bis white paper for nothing. It is a mistake to suppose it is printed withoutoost. It is a mistake to suppose that he ciin live bodily by faith. It is a mistake to suppose thatit is an easy thing to please every body. It is a mistake to suppose that a paper, is not worth-buying which contains Only what we know and believe already.. -It is a’mistake to suppose that money due for a paper would, be as. goad to us a year hence as it. is now. It is a mistake to believe that we would not bo thankful for what. is due us and for novy subscribers. (C7* “ You say, Mr. Snooks/ that , you saw the plaintiff leatk the bouse. Was it in hasto ?” ■ * “ Yes, sir.” , “ Do you know what Paused the haste.” “I’m not sartin, but I think it was the boot of bis landlord.’* :■ / . “ That will do.” Clerk; call the next wit ness. - ■ —JKT’ Tbe'Penneylvnnia llajlroad Company hayo reduced the wages of their employees/ .Girls, Help Father. “ My hands are so stiff I can' hardly hold a pen,” said farmer Wilber as ho sat down “ to figure ont” some accounts that were get ting behindhand. Could I help yon, father, said Luoy, lay ing down her bright crotchet work. “ I should be glad to know if I only knew what you wished written." “Well, I shouldn’t wonder if you could, Luoy," he said reflectively. “ Pretty good at figures ore yon ?” “ It would be a fine story if 1 did not know something of them, nfter going twice through the arithmetic,” said Lucy, laughing. “ Well, I can show you in five minutes what I have to do, and it’ll bo a powerful help if yon can do it for mo. I never was a master hand at accounts in my best days, and it does not grow any easier os I can see, since I put on my specks.” Very patiently did the helpful daughter plod_ through tho long, dnll line of figures, leaving the gay worsted work to lie idle nil evening, though she was in such haste to fin ish her scarf. It was reward enough to see her tirod fathor, who had been toiling ail day for herself and the other loved ones, sitting cosily in his easy chair, enjoying his weekly paper, as it can bo enjoyed in a country home, where nows from the great world be yond comes seldom, and is eagerly sought for. The clock struck nine before her task was over, but the hearty “ thank you, daughter, a thousand times,” took away all senso of weariness. “ It’s rather looking up, when a man oan have an amanuensis,” said the father. “It is not every farmer that can afford.it.” “ Nor every farmer’s daughter that is ca pable of making one,” said mothe£, with a little pardonable pride. “ Nor every one that would bo willing if they were able,” said Mr. Wilber-—which Isst was a sad truth. How many daughters might boo( use to their fathers in this and many other ways, who never think of light ening a care or labor. If asked to perform some little service, it is done at best with re luctant step, and an unwillingair which robs it of all sunshine or claim to gratitude. . • Girl, help your father; give him a cheer ful home to rest in .when evening comes, and do not worry bis life away by fretting be cause ho cannot afford you the luxuries you covet, or consent to your desires when in his mature judgement they are neither wise nor 'peudent, and that of your own best interests and that of your family. Such a home atmosphere tends more than anything else to produce a bard morose char acter, which must ever make old age unlove ly and uncomfortable. Children exert as great an influence on their parents as parents do on their children. Short Stray Thoughts Cauanr and Pen ned. —Wanted —An Honest Industrious Boy. Wo lately saw an advertisement headed as above. It conveys to every boy an impres sive moral lesson. “An honest, industrious hoy” is always wanted. He will be sought for; his services -will-bo-in-demandi-Jhe-will-be-respeoted-and loved; he will be spoken of in terms of high condemnation ; ho will always have a homo ; will grow up to be a man of known worth character. He will bo wanted. The merchant will want him for a salesman or clerk ; the mas ter mechanic will want him for an appren tice or journeyman; those with a job to let will want him for a contractor; clients will want him for a lawyer j patients for a phy sician ; religious congregations for a pastor j parents fur a teacher of their children; and the people , for an officer. . Ho will be wanted. Townsmen'will want him ns a citizen ; acquaintances as a neigh bor: neighbors ns a friend; families as a visitor; the world as an acquaintance ; nay, girls want him as a beau, aud finally' l a hus band. An honest, industrious boy I Just think of it boys; will you answer this description ? Can you applydor this situation ? Are you sure that you. will be wanted ? You may be smart and active, but that does, not fill the requisition—are you honest ? You may be capable—are you industrious ? You may bo well dressed; and create a favorable impres sion at first sight—are you , both “ honest and industrious ?” You may apply for a good situation—are you sure that your . friends, teachers and acquaintances, can recommend you for these qualities ? Oh, how would you feel, your character not being thus establish-’ ed, on hearing the words, “ can’t employ you.’ Noting else will make up for a lack of those qualities. No readiness or aptness for busi ness will do itS You must bo honest and in dustrious —must work and labor; then will your “ calling and election” for a place of profit and trust be made sure. “ for Friends in Prosperitv. —One of the har dest trials of those'who fall from affluence and honor to poverty and obscurity is to find that the attachment of so many in whom they confided was a mask, to gain their own ends, or was a miserable shallowness. Some times, doubtless, it is with regret that these frivolous followers of the world desert those upon whom they baye fawned, but they soon foiget them. Flies leave the kitchen when the dishes are empty. The parasites that •cluster around the favorite of fortune to ga ther his gift and climb by his aid, Unger in the sunshine, but scatter at the approach of a storm as the leaves cling to a tree in sum mer weather, but drop off at the breath of Winter, and leave u naked to the stinging blast. Like ravens settled down for a ban quet, suddenly soared by a noise, how quick ly, at the first sound of calamity, these super ficial earthings are mere specks on the hori zon. But a trh'e friend sits in the centre, and is for all times, burl need only reveals him more fully, and binds him more closely to us. Prosperity and,adversity ate both fevealer j the difference being that in the former our friends know us, in the latter we know them. But notwithstanding the insincerity and greediness prevalent hmong men, there is a vast deal more esteem and fellow-yearning than is ever outwardly shown. There are more examples of unadulterated affection, more deeds of silent love and mag nanimity than is usually supposed; Our mis fortunes bring to our side real friends before unknown. Benevolent impulses, where we could least expect them, in modest privacy enact many scones of beautiful r wondor amidst plaudits of angi Is. ■ . jrtgy The finest idea of a thunder storm was when Wiggins came home tight. Now Wig gins is a teacher, and had drank top much lemonade, or something. He dome ihto .th'er room among his wife and daughters, and just then he stumbled over the cradle and fell whop on tba floor. After awhilp he rpse find said: " Wife; are you'hurt!’’“'• Terrible; dap, Wasn’t it!” eaid he, ■ Odk Mistakes About Each Other. Not one man in tea thousand sees those with whom ho associates as they really are. If tbb prayer of Burns wore granted, and we could see ourselves as others see us, our self esti mates would in ell probability be much mure erroneous than they are now. The truth is, that we regard each other through a variety o f lenses, no one of which is correct. Pas sion and prejudice, love and hate, benevo lence and envy, spectacle our eyes and ut terly prevent us from observing accurately. Many-whom we deem the’ porcelain of hu man clay aro.mero dirt; and a still greater number of those wo put down in Our black books’' are no further off from heaven, and perchance a little nearer, than the censors who, condemn them. We habitually under value or.overvalue each other, Undid bstimnv ting character the shrewdest of us, oiily now. and then makes true appraisal of the virtues and defects of even bur closest intimates.— It is not j ust or fair to look at character from a stand-point of one’s own scltetion. A man’s profile may he unprepossessing, and yet his full face agreeable. We once saw a young man, whoso timidity was.a standing joke with his companions, leap into a river and save a boy from drowning, while bis tor mentors stood panic-struck bn the bank.— The merchant who gives curt answers in his counting-house may be a tender husband and father, and a,kina helper of the desolate and oppresed. On the other hand,- your good humored person, who is all smiles ind Sun .shine in public, may carry something as hard as the nether millstone in the place whore his heart ought to bo. Such anomal ies are common. There it Ibis comfort, however, for those whoso misjudgements of their fellow-mortals, lean to the kindly sidi —such mlstakesgo to ttioiif- credit in the groat account Ho wbo thinks better of his neigh bors than they deserve cannot be a bad.maai for the standard'by-which his judgement 1* guided is the goodness of his own heart— It is only the base Who believe oil man basd —or, in other words, like themselves. Eowi however, Pro all evil. Even Nero did a good turn to somebody, for when Borne was re joicing over his death some loviug'hand cov ered his grave with flowers. Public men are seldom or never fairly judged—at least, while living. However pure, they oaunuc escape .calumny. However corrupt, they ara sure to find eulogists. History may do them justice j but they rarely get it while allyet either from friends or foes. ' 1 A TYorp to mother is a historian. Sho writes not the history of em* piresorof nations on paper, bdfc she tfritei her history on the imperishable mind df her child. That tablet and that history ill re main indelible whou ’time shall ho no more. That history each mothOrwill meet again and read with eternal joy or unutterable grief id the fathoming ages of .eternity. This thought should weigh on the mind'of every mother, and render her deeply and prayerful and faithful in her solemn work of training her children for heaven and immortality. The minds of her Children Ore yety Bust ceptible and -easily impressed.’ A word, a -100k r 4V-frown r may-engrave-aa-impfessxon-oir the mind of a child which, no lapse of time can efface or ftash out. You walk along the sea shore when the tide to out,- and you form characters, pr write words, or names, in thd smooth, white sand, which is spread out so clear and beautiful at your feet, according aa. yp up may dictate; but the returning tide shall in a few hours wash out and efface forever all that you have written. Not so the line? and.characters of truth and error, which' your conduct imprints oh .jfehtf riimd of your child.. There you write impressions,:tor the everlasting good or ill of your child, which neither the floods nor the storms of the earth can wash out, nor Death’s cold fingers erase, nor the slow moving ages of eternity obliter* ate. How careful, thed, should eaoji mother be of hep treatment of her child. How pray erful, and how serious and how earnest to write on the ipiml those truths whioJk shall be his guide and tdacber wheri her voice shall be silent in death, and her lips no long er move in bis behalf, in commending her dear child to her covenant God. Domestic Life. —No man'ever prospered in the world without.the consent and co-op eration of his wife. If she united in mutual endeavors or reward his labors with an en dearing smite, with what. spirit and perse* verence does he apply, to his vocation ;.with what confidence will he resort either to his merchandize or farm fly over land, sail over sens, meet difficulty .and encounter danger— if ho knows ho is not spending bis strength in vain, but that -his labors will be rewarded by the sweets of home 1 How delightful it is to have one to cheer, and a companion to soothe the solitary hodrs of grief and pain! Solitude and dlsappoin'nieut enter into' the history of every man’s life ; and ho has but half provided for his Voyage who finds.but an associate, for hdppy hours. While for bid months of darkness and distress no sympa thizing partner is prepared I Farm Work in Virginia. —The Richmond Republic says that,ln all parts of Virginia the returned soldiers are busy in cultivating the ground. Jinny of tho ladies on fet-tpa oil the eastern petition of the State; from which all tho slaves have gone during the war, pnd whore other labor ooiild not he procured; have engaged with alacrity in the lighter du ties of agriculture. Three ,yoilng ladies of one of the most refined arid fif^merly.weal thiest families in Hanover, have planted on their father’s farm a larger crop of corn thari has been grown there during the war. Let* tors from the fertile Shenandoah Talley and Piedmont region, boweVer, State that the far* mera are entirely destitute of seed and ani* nials, With which to cultivate their lands, and great suffering is likely to follow. IC7* The new handkerchief style of bonnet is thus noticed in an exchange : “ A sort of Clip to catch' the hair,’ I Leaving the head to gPit bare, A striking example of 11 nothing to' wear,’* Is this bonnet abomination." A HarP Case.— “ Mother can’t. Igo and get my daguerrotype taken f” No L gnesd it isen’t Worth while." Well, then you might let me go to have a tooth pulled; 1 never go anywhere.” So Tom, the old liarj Dick Fibbins.- is daM." “ Yes his yarns flro Wound up j bo’ll lid no more—the, old rascal." “In deed, it’s my opinion, Tom, that he ha’ll lid Mil. . 03" A boozy fellow was observed the’ other day drlving a pig, holding on <j if« tail, and Whoh asked what ha was doing, replied that fid Was studying geography. , •' o , : Thirty-three young men dnd bayawerfi arrested lind fined two dollars and coats , for loaflog about ohhiohdooiß ini Allegheny City^ , NO. St
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers