THE POTTER JOURNAL
j^isriy
HBTSTS ITEM.
Jno. S. Mann,
Proprietor.
VOLUME XXIV, NO. 30.
The POTTER JOURNAL
AND
IVFAVS ITEM.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY AT
C()UI)EIiSPORT, PA.
(Office in Olmsted Block.)
TERMS, R 1.75 IER YEAB-IS ADVANCE.
Jno. S. Mann, S. F. Hamilton,
Proprietor. Publisher.
C. J. CURTIS,
Attorney at Law ami District Attorney,
Office em \fA IS St., (over the Post Office,
COUDERSPORT, PA.,
Solicits all business pretaining to his profession, i
Special attention given to collections.
JoIIS S. MASS. ARTHUR B. MAX* I
JOHN S. MANN A SON,
Attorneys at Law ami Conveyancers,
COUDERSPORT. PA.,'
Collections promptly attended to.
Arthur B. Mann,
Gn.'ral Insurance Agent A Notary Public. !
S. S. GREENMAN,
ATTORNEY AT L.A.-W,
(OFFICE OVER FOKSTKK'I) STORK,)
COUDERSPORT, PA.
Ji. ti. Ot.USTKn n. C. I.ARKABKK •
OLMSTED A LARRABEE,
ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELORS AT LAW
(Office in Olmsted Block.)
COIT I ) KRSPO RT , PKN N ' A ..
SET'rl LEWIS,
Attorney at Law and Insurance A sent.
LEWISVILLE, PA.
A. M. REYNOLDS,
Dentist,
(OFPICB IS OLMSTED BLOCK,)
COL 1 >ERSP( )RT, PEXN'A.
Baker House,
BROWN & KKI.LET, Prop'rs.,
Comer of SECOND and EAST Streets,
COUDEfLSPORT, PF.NN' A.
Every attention paid to the convenience and 1
comfort of guests.
4 M-C nod Stabling attached.
Lewisvi !le Hotel,
Corner of MAIN and NORTH Streets,
LEWISVILLE, PA.
r,er < I nod Stabling at taclied.
PEARSALL & WEBSTER,
PAINTERS,
MAIN ST. ABOVE SECOND, (over French's store,)
COUDERSPORT, PA.
House Painting, filnzing. draining, Calcimlnlng, [
tiloss-iiulsiiing. Paper-hanging, etc., done j
with neatness, promptness and
dispatch iu all cases, and
satisfaction guar
a N 1 1 ed .
MIXED PAINTS for sale. 2488-1 j
M. S. THOMPSON J. S. MANN j
THOMPSON & MANN,
DEALERS IN
Drags. Medicines, Rooks, Stationery,
FANCY GOODS.PttXTS, OILS. W ILL PAPER, &C.'.
Cor. Main anil Third Sis.,
COUDERSPORT, PA.
S. F. HAMILTON,
BOOK AND JOB PRINTER,
(Corner Main and Third.)
< oUDKRSi'ORT. PA.
C. M. ALLEN,
Surgical and Mechanical Dentist,
LEWISVILLE, PA.
Ail work guaranteed to give satisfaction.
D. J. CROWELL,
Maa'f'r. D. H. Ball Jointer & B:ltin? Machine,
si NX EM A HONING, Cameron 00., Pa.
thr SIDE- CUTHIJTXOLP AfA CHINE to :
*UT 'r FII ]S T*.> 20 inches.
Repairing Machines and Generai Custom Work
oae TO „RDr. 2422-TF
John Grom,
H(>u sp, Si • n „
Ornamental, UccoratUT & fresco
, PAfISTTER,
COUDERSPORT, PA.
DRAINING and PALER HANGING done
with neatness and dispatch.
• 'Uisfaction guaranteed,
' htfetß left with ***
W . RAKER HOUSE
111 "<* promptly attended to.
1>- B. NEEFE,
Carriage FACTORY,
COUDERSPORT, PENX'A.
V^: >T>.^ , 'CLRHS., W U^' N " ,NAKIN? - Blacksmtthlng,
10 " 'Uer' wuh MWF,< r)m ""' lK ßepairing done
r<>4 *>aaMe s,s aud durability, charges
24 25 l y
c. BREUNLE,
WORKER,
COUDERSPORT, PA,
10 """
WIH WEU'TTOS U ' AL * N " EWS LRBM
| ARTHUR B, MANN,
General Insurance
■AO-ZEZEsTT,
*
RESPECTFULLY announces that he Is rue repr#* j
sentative for
and \ ICINITY of the following named INSCIIANCE '
COMPANIES.
INSURANCE COMPANY OF NOBICH AMK.t
I' A.— 1 his reliable old Cnni|iaiiv was in
corporated in I7S. and for more tliau |
seventy years past has done a safe
and remunerative business, and to-day :
ranks as one of the'*N. I" Companies of
America.—Assets, 8 3,212,17 .<>9
j FRANK T.I N FIRE INSURANCE C(>MI'ANY
—lncorporated in t*29.
ASSETS Jauuary 1,15T2, %3.'2V>.748.'tl
After paying Chicago, 8419."96.>;
PENNSYLVANIA I'IUK INSURANCE COM
PANY.—lnstituted L*2~-.
: Assets, 8 1,121,399.37
. YMLLIAMSPORT FIRE INSURANCE COM
PANY.—Cash Capital. ? 1 Hi.iKo.no.
! CONNECTICUT MUTUAL LIFE INS. CO.. and
the MERCHANTS' LIFE INS. Co. of New
York.
Policies issued in any of tlie above
named reliable Companies at
standard rates.
!
ARTHUR H. MANN.
lit Utisdi. Vi obi<|
I
Carpenters & joiners,
j Coiidcrspoi't, lVmi'a.
' CONTRACTS taken for all ONUS of RL'LLDINO— :
and materials furnished. •
; DOORS, BLINDS and SASH kept constantly on
hand or uiaunfabtured to order.
!
CASH paid for PINE LI"MISER.
I
J. GL.ISE A SON.
I
OYSTERS.
A. K . PEiRCE,
Wholesale and Reletil
OYSTER DEALER,
COUDERSPORT. PA.
I
j Oysters by the Can. Quart, Gallon, Hundred and
Thousand received daily.
1 Families, Parties and Festivals supplied on short
notice.
The Trade furnished at reasonable rates.
| Give me a trial aud I ean suit you.
21-221 A. H. PEIRCE.
John V. Brown,
PROPRIETOR OP
LINE OF STAGES
BETWEEN
Coudersport & Wellsville
{ Via OSWA TO, PA.)
Persons going to OSWAYO by stage, and desiring
to ret urn same day, will lie accommodated ,
at stag,- rates.
Passengers wishing to reach any of the neighbor
ing towns uill b conveyed by Livery at ;
reasonable rates. J
A good Livery rig kept constantly on hand for
passengers by the stage.
OSWAYO HOUSE,
(JOHN V. BROWN, Propr.,)
OSWAYO, PA.
114-tf
i
COUDERSPORT, PA., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 21,1873.
iVtnt.
For the JOURNAL & ITEM.
A Valentine.
We poor, self-conscious ones that count
Each sigh we breathe, each tear that falls,
j Touch nothing but from out the past
Some passion sweet recalls.
I rock my babe upon my breast
And kiss his hands, his brow of snow,
Yet see between his face and mine
The veil of Long Ago.
If I should tell you all my grief
You would reply: "The end is near,
J For sorrows fashioned into speech
Take wings and disappear."
If I reproach.not, you will tliiuk
"I did her love no bitter wrong,
For she weeps not enough to change
The cadence of one song."
I
—Yet, nay! 1 scarce ean reach your heart,
Though, leaning through the twilight drear,
1 breathe the prayer I used of old :
"God bless thee always, dear!" '
M. E. H. EVERETT.
F->r the JOURNAL & ITEM.
Shadows.
Down in the troubled waters
A quiet shadow lies;
A graceful fir tree pictured
Against the wintry skies.
There in the glare of noonday
And in the moon's pale gleam,
The wing-like branches shadow
The little restless stream.
Down in my troubled spirit
A restful shadow lies;
The shadow of a glory
Against tiie changeless skies;
What though my heart's deep fountain
lie Marah's bitter spring?
since in lis depth is folded
The "shadow of Ilis wing."
M. E. JI. EVERETT.
™ t™ I
Maimers upon the itoacl.
My dear Fred, —I saw the carriages
and the bridal favors at the door of
a church the other day, as I was
passing in tiie horse-ear. and straight
way my mind was full of the loveliest
pictures. Indeed, a marriage is like
spring. It is the most familiar of
facts. Yet how often a spring day
j is'theinost melancholy of disillusions!
But it is not the chill, dull days that
spring suggests. The word is fall of
i sunshine and softness, tire singing of
birds and the sweetness of blossoms
and the gurgling of brooks. To
speak of a spring day is to think of
happy hopes and eternal youth, of
of budding beauty and of love. And
I say that this vision does not 1a le
j although the spring seems often to
'elude us, and to go from March to
dune almost without justification.
May-day is a pretty name. But who
would promise that on tire next May
, day he will dance garlanded around
the pole and salute the queen? Con
sulting experience, we know the
chances of tiie easterly storm. But
while men often despair, yet in the :
heart of man experience never yet
conquered hope. Spring still stands
upon the horizon, jocund and tiptoe,
a smiling Hebe.
In the same way. who permits the
figure of old Blue-beard to spoil the
vision of matrimony? Suppose that
he did cut oti those poor dear heads;
suppose that at this very instant sis
ter Fatima is standing upon a hun
dred towers in this very city, look-
I .
ing eagerly for the fast-hastening
1 brothers, and spying only a llock of
sheep as she sees us placidly prom-
I enading in the street; do we look
with any less tender joy upon Lucy
emerging from the church yonder in
a white veil, and leaning upon the
• happy Harry's arm? That lovely
; pair, that shy hope and modest con
; fidence—these, and not Blue-beard's
disagreeable closet, make the vision
lof matrimony. As when we speak j
of spring we mean roses and honey
suckles and soft air, so when we
; speak of marriage we mean the union !
of youth and strength and beauty {
and devotion which I saw as the
bridal party emerged from the j
: church. Indeed, there is one word
which seems to me to express it all |
—we think of the honey-dew which
has fallen upon two lives.
What is honey-dew? It is a nat
ural question, but it is useless to go
, beyond its own suggestion. What
- should you suppose lioney-dew to be?
; Something infinitely pure and sweet. 1
Well, it is a kind of saccharine de
posit upon certain leaves. And
when the reverend hands are raised
j over the heads of the kneeling young
figures, and the traditional sacred!
j benediction is spoken, do you not
ask, AN hat is love but a deposit of
honey-dew upon life? I protest, as
,the old writers used to say, that'
, when I see the newly married pair I j
I
think of a surfeit of richness, of those
roses and honeysuckles of spring
steeped in honey-dew. I know that
I there are withered leaves and thorns;
j but what then? Here, i\t least, are
j bloom and freshness and sweetness.
' If tlie sun presently rises and burns
up the dew—very well, that belongs
| to a later hour.
j That is to say, that it usually
i does. But 1 am sorry, in a short
sermon upon so sweet a text, to be
obliged to say that sometimes the
sun exhales that dew at a very early
; hour. AVhen I saw Lucy in her j
, white veil coming from the church
land moving toward her carriage, 1
; pulled the string of the ear ami 1 j
j jumped out, and ran to the sidewalk.
; and just as the door of the carriage
j closed I went to it, and removing
my hat respectfully. I put my head
•in at the window and 1 said, "Mrs.
: Lucy, don't let the sun exhale the j
honey-dew of this moment!" And
j with that I bade her godspeed, and
j bowed and withdrew. She looked j
; at me over her flowers and smiled, j
I and 1 suppose she told Harry that it
I was onlv their harmless old friend 1
j Mr. Bachelor. And I ean fancy
Harry saving as tlie carriage drove
I away. ".Just fancy. Lucy—fancy to
day, of all days, the misery of be
longing to the Bachelor family!"
But I will add for the information
of those who are liable to be eon
fused upon the subject, that he knew
-•'■♦ L,. iimilr to !m> married.
When I see some of the tough
survivors, so to speak, Fred—some
| of the matrimonial campaigners, as
1 they would be called by you scoffing
youth; some who have settled down
into a kind of jog-trot life, a matri
; mony that creaks, as it Yvere, and
which must he in constant surprise
at itself; when 1 see. for instance,
old Darby and Joan, she scolding
; and painting her cheeks and wear
ing bonnets too youthful, he growl
-1 ing at iiis eotfee an 1 grumbling at
ilis beef, and laying a handkerchief
over liis head to sleep under after
! dinner, and glaring at Joan when
she wakes him from his nap by sny
: ing that she would thank him not to
snore so loudly—when 1 see these
1
tilings and think of all that they
imply, as when we see wide patches ,
of dry sand we are sure of a parched
soil, or in seeing ice and frozen
ground we know that there are JIO
flowers, then 1 wonder if it be pos- j
j si hie that there was once honey-dew
upon the lives and hearts of Darby'
and Joan.
When she wakes him out of that
nap do you suppose that he ever
. pictures to himself the snug fireside
of the unmarried man, where, after
(dinner, that potentate of his own
domain dozes undisturbed,and where
the neat-handed I'hillis respects his
; slumbers, and moves softly as if he
i were a king sleeping? Do you sup
pose that, as Darby glares at Joan.
1 and bears her dry insinuation about
snoring, he asks himself how it hap
pened that he ever married her?
how it chanced that lie did not see
her then as he sees her now? and
what fond and foolish spell bcYvitehed
him to surrender freedom and de
liberately submit himself to domes
tie gibing? If, in that waking mo
ment, across his drowsy imagination
flits the picture of the day when he
was the happy Harry and Joan the
hopeful Lucy, do you suppose that
;he recognizes himself? That was
spring, and this is icy, cheerless win
ter. But Darby, tiie mystery is clear,
the explanation is not far to seek.
The figures that you sec arc indeed
Joan and you. But they are steeped
: in honey-dew, and you have suffered
: it to dry up and disappear.
J How soon it may exhale! For it is
not time only, it is not necessarily
i age, that consumes it. It was but a '
; day or two after I had seen the wed
: ding-party issuing from the church
i that 1 was comfortably seated iu the
drawing-room ear, to roll somewhere
' out into the world. It was earl 3' in
' the morning, and a young man and
woman entered, whom I recognized
as another Ilarry and Lucy latelj'
mated. But how shall 1 describe to
Y OU the conduct of that young bride?
She YY'as pretily dressed, and when I
I saw her coming I was glad to think
{ that I should have all day so fair^ %
, fellow-traveler. But she stopped in
j the middle of the car, and looked
around with a tossing head,and then
with peevish impatience exclaimed,
" I won t sit here. AYliv did you get
into this car? The chairs are not
half so comfortable as they are in the
other car. And 1113* lady flounced
and bounced and pouted, and then
added, "A'ou are always so stupid!
A ou alwa3's get into the wrong ear!"
Poor Harry replied in a low tone,
feeling, I fear, very foolish, because
he knew that I heard, although I
looked abstractedly out of the win
dow. with antiirof wondering wheth
j er Dr. Livingstone was still at Mjuibz
jor had advanced to Gnxji. Indeed,
J I assumed the most Central African
j air possible, in order to relieve Har
ry of the awkwardness of my pres
ence. Harry. 1 say. mumbled some
thing deprecatory of the wrath of
Juno, and begged LUCY to he seated.
But she held her hands in her muff.
| and tossed her head again, and per
| formed the same flounciugs and boun
cings until Harry suggested that he
j was very sorry indeed, but that the
|other ear was not going through, and
| if she did not seat herself soon the
j chairs would all be. taken. Then the
1 bride Lucy flung herself sullenly iuto
one of the chairs, and Harry seated
himself in the one beside her. Sud
denly she rose, and said, angrily,
"Fin not going to ride backward!"
and Harry, rising, begged her to take
his chair, which was next to mine,
; while I continued to explore equator
ial Africa out of the window'.
Altet LG I furry made some
remark, which his life s partner snup
j ped at like a vicious bird at a finger.
: But nothing could rival his patience.
I thought at first that lie would glad
ly join Dr. Livingstone, if he were
j only sure that the doctor would nev
er come back; but I soon saw that
jbe was simply refusing to believe
what was not pleasant. Jle spoke
very low, and I could catch k the dep
recating, soothing tone; I nit I pitied
j him profoundly. Presently 1 returned
from Central Africa, aud gazed
around the car and looked carefulH'
at Lucy. She was a well-dressed
j young woman, with the face of a
, spoiled beauty. But her cross, irri
table temper was the hot sun that had
so soon dried the lionet-dew from
, her nuptial bower, ilarry would evi
dently try to believe it Aill there,
Patient, soothing, thoughtful, he
would evidently insist to himself
that these freaks were but vapors of
the morning. lam much older than
• Harry, and 1 turned to that sulky
little Lucy and said. "My dear, while
the de.w stay - upon roses and hone\-
suckles thev are fresh and fair. They
do not wither until thai dries. And
tiie sweetest of all dew is houcY'-dew.
(Jentlc hul3", beware! Don't let it dry
away."
She looked at me for a moment in
amazement, and then said, iu a half
hysterical tone, to Harry, "There!
I told you I didn't wish to sit here.
And here is a craz3' man!"
Poor Harry! By-and-by he will
lay a handkerchief over his head after
'dinner, and LUCY' will awaken hiin
to sa\" that she wishes he would not
snore. AN ill 3011 like that. Lucy?
NN ill von wish~ometimes for the old
lover of long ;pgo? And before it
comes to the hard, cold tone in which
3'ott disturb his snoring, will you
perhaps sometimes passionately say
"Once it was "fiftercnt. Once you
were devoted to me?" Then should
this letter chance to be seen by 3-011
—for Fred is veiy apt to drop his
correspondence!—will von not re
ject upon the words of the craz3*
man who sat next you in the car
going to Persepolis. and shield
the*hone3'-dew new-fallen upon your
: life from the withering glare of a
peevish temper?
Your friend, Fred,
AN OLD BACHELOR.
Self-improvement in City and
Country.
Education is not knowledge. The j
j most t hat we get at school is the
skeleton of learning. The flesh—
the living body—most men create for j
themselves after they leave school,
if thev ever get to know much at all.
. The very name education means lit
erally but the leading into, or dime-;
tion toward knowledge, and a fair ;
h start is all that the best education
will do for us.
Our rural friends are given to en-
I vying the of city people
in tliis matter of education; and very
often when the grosser allurements
of city life are not sufficiently tempt
ing to attract the better class of youth
from their country homes, a thirst
| for higher intelligence often supplies
! a motive for dissatisfaction with their
' quiet way of getting along. There
| is 110 doubt but that the r means of
1 education are more abundant in pop
-1 ulous centres; but it is 110 less a fact
I
| that true knowledge and wisdom, the
'tlie result of a good education, are
[seldom achieved by a thoroughbred
city boy. Learning, as we find it in
j cities, is very much of a sham. It is
j pursued merely as a means of making
; one's self agreeable in society. A
man who can "converse on any snb
' jeet" is the envy of his circle. Years
I are spent in picking up bits of this
! or pieces of that, till lie who pursues
this course shines as brass, and some
times passes for real gold; but the
: genuine metal is not there,
j It is a remarkable fact that almost
all the great men of science were not
[city born. Even in public life most
j of the distinguished either came di
rect from tlie farm, or in some way
rural life entered largely into their
j early years. In the city we can
' gather from books only. AVe get
' i knowledge, but at second-hand. In
the country we deal directly with
, | nature; and by the aid oi a good cd
.; ucation to put us in the right dircc
i rection for learning, there is no eoin
■ ■ parison with the city in the advanta
ges which a country life affords.
What a grand chance for study the
, j winter nights in most farm-houses
. ! afford! liven in the suburban dis
tricts. where it is neither city nor
. 1 farm, the long evenings are generally
free from frivolous visitors, and allow
. of time to the young to improve thein
;; selves. Hundreds of the young who
| now give themselves to light reading
[ l of a doubtful character, or who spend
| their time in lying on a sofa, or rook
ing in an easy chair, might become
as l'inious as Tynuall. Agazzis, or
(iray. by doing 110 more than improv
: ing the chances which the quiet of
farm life affords to study ;i 1 illl • ■ reg
i ularly in the leisure time as it comes.
Natural history especially oilers a
1 **ery inviting field. It is not now,
1 as it once was, a mere accomplish
ment. Ihe mere city boy. who can
• talk about what he has read in the
text books, is nothing in this line
now. lhit natural history has had
such a wonderful bearing on the
. world s progress—such amazing in
fiuence on the advancement of hu
manity—that the real scientist lms
become the pet of society, and re
ceives the homage of the princes of
the earth. And this real science is
so easy to gain. It comes not so
much of reading as of training the
j eyes to see, and the other senses to
hike note of the little things about
us. Elementary books we must
: have; these let us know what of that
we see is already known. A few
standard text books, a pocket lens —
; costing perhaps fifty cents—a good
common school education and toler
ably good powers of obs< rvation,are '
about all that is neeessarv to give
one :i fair scientific character.
Many a fannsr's boy looks out upon
: the heavens, wondering what sort of
; worlds are the bodies sailing through
the space above him; or thinks how
pleasant it would le to see the strange
• sights he reads of in foreign lands.
And yet about him, close under his.
eyes, are hosts of m w worlds waiting
especially for him to explore, and
which he will find much more won- !
derful than anything he can find
abroad. Let our country boys think
of these things. They may not have I
the glitter and show of a city life,
but they have the substantial ele
ments of an education which is fast
becoming popular; and they have'
| what city hoys have not—the time!
! to intelligentl}- pursue and make use !
of them.— Philadelphia Pre.*.*.
The Last of John Brown's Men.
; —Oshoru P. Anderson died at Wash- :
ington week ln-fore last in his forty- 1
fourth year. He was the son of Yin
cent Anderson, and was born in Sads
bury township, Chester county. After
wards his father moved to AA'est
Chester, where he still lives. A
! colored blacksmith named Shadd
emigrating with his family into Cans-
S. F. Hamilton,
Publish* r
51.75 A YEAR
da, where the distinctions of color
were not recognized, Osborn accom
panied them. He learned the print
ing business there and acquired quite
| a fair education. Here he met John
Brown, who induced him to join in
the crusade which was to liberate
the slates of the South. At the head
! of this little army of seven-teen white
and five colored men, John Brown
! marched into Virginia and
the United States Arsenal at Harper *
Ferry, on Sunday, October 1". 18511.
( On Monday morning, Anderson with
live others were sent out to stir up
the slaves of the neighborhood. By
evening the Virginian militia ba<
arrived at the town in large numbers,
completely investing the arsenal.
There had been fighting going on all
the afternoon, and only eight ot tt •-
seventeen men inside were left un
harmed.
Unable to rejoin their comrades,
; Albert Hazlett, a white man, am
i Anderson crossed the Potomac i=
the evening to the Maryland sido
I and, the Republican says, proceeded
to the Kennedy farm—their render
j vous before the fight. Finding none oi
| their companions there they marched
• on over the mountains until about
i | two o'clock, w hen they laid down
and slept until daylight. That dr.y
, thev were still in sight of the Ferry,
i but being separated from their con
. panions they concluded to make their
. way to Pennsylvania. For fortv
. eight hours without food, thev then
■
. gathered some corn from a field and
carrying it into the mountains—
■ their only place of safety—built lires
,; and roasted it.
In this manner, skulking about the
r mountains, they leached the vicinity
of Chambersburg. There Hazlett,
worn out and reduced, could go no
- further. He urged Anderson to leave
i him; that he would rest until morn
ing. tin n throw away liis gun and
I blanket and take the stage for Cham
- bersburg. There they separated, and
• Anderson reached Chambersburg
■ about two o'clock in the morning.
Here he took shelter at the house of
I' a friend, and while eating a hasty
meal, a 1 . S. Marshal knocked at the
. front door and Anderson stepped out
at the back one. He overheard the
. warrant for the arrest of his friend
on suspicion of harboring him, and
i waited no longer, and took to the
• fields again. Hazlett entered C'liaui
• bersburg the next morning, and was
soon after arrested and placed in cus
tody of the Virginia authorities, and
by them, after trial, executed. An
derson made his way from < ,'hambers
liurg to i ork, where a good Samar
; itan gave him oil. wine and raiment.
' From York he made his way to a
station on the Pennsylvania railroad
and then took the train at night for
Philadelphia, where he remained a
short time among friends and then
proceeded to Canada.
Canada afforded a secure asylum
and there he remained until the
slaveholder's rebellion commenced,
...
never visiting the United States but,
once, to assist in erecting a monu
ment to his brave commander, John
Brown. After the war broke out he
returned to the United States and
lectured at various points in the
country. For a year or two he has
held a position at Washington. He
was a large athletic man, but the
hardships and exposures suffered
J during his escape from Harper's
Ferry shattered his constitution, and
I. * .
he died at last a victim of consump
tion. His remains were deposited
in a vault at Washington, and w ill
be removed to West Chester for final
interment as soon as suitable arrange
| meats can be made. The deceased
was the last of the little band, who
took their lives in their hands, that
: they might give freedom to the
! bondsmen in the South,— Buffalo
' Repress.
THE editor of a Newark paper
I hoard, the other day, that a new pass
| had been found in the Andes. He
i immediately wrote to a man in South
| America that the pass was his, and
; he would be much obliged if the man
' would forward it at once. He said
i it had been stolen from liim while lie
was asleep. That New ark man goes
for every kind of a pass he ever hears
of. If he does not try to ride to the
fecmetery on a free ticket, when ho is
dead, we have misunderstood his
011 ara et o l. — f* icndny 1 h spatch.