THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCEL Thrrawagon irrnEtY WIT HT 11. G. SMITE de CO. 11. G. SMITH. A. J. STEMIA.N. TERMS—Two Dollars par annum. payablo to all ease' atlyanee. LANOASTPI6 DAILY IffTIMLIGIIatfpeRII is i,, perllili nn sh an edey m or i y . • e a v d e y n o t a. Sun day °coo , ng z at OFFlCE—FioirruirEsT Conynn ar CR - YrRIS SQUARE. Vorttv. TILE FCTIIDE AND TIM PAST Ti,,, heart to like a river, Wherein two cumuli's now— One to the Future leading, One to the Long Ago. On hoth the banks are roses, Oil both the sun is cast, But the current which Is smoothest Flows ever to the past. Upon this ebbing river Our thoughts like VOSSICIR gn— Sonic LO the Future 1.111111 , 4; SOIIIO to the Long Ago, Bringing at their returning. Relies vre dearly prize, Brought from 'those distant islandA Bound by youth's sunny skies, Shut In tho heart ror dye— Klrange we are never willing To ,:ty In the past goell-I,y, The I lituro is n. shadow— A cloud whose golden Sheen Ataltes every cloud look golden That's in the distant seen. The Past so full of pleasure, A rainbow whotto how innitc:s the pr.•vent nanattnts h tint, of Long Ago— A bridge WM of IF are trussing, Passing the friends of old, Will; faces fair and pint brill, And hal r as bright as gold. r:triv,e that the gold mast 11111 of the stiuny hair, Strange that the ,Ilver npinm Nels for the old 1.. wvar, ldlranve Thal I Ili• Nrrlnliles trample yrritzw Im•e's 1111111111 1.11.• sitadw., Iliac, In eVeniil:4, bri::ltl picl Ilrrx coin, Mu:: Nom; Simil it Be? Whal shali What will nao,y.atr lit,' I to All.l 1:1111 , 1s Illnve..l Ir, Ilo.:11 . ! S11:111II :v t y Itria.lll tla• %la, 111 lni t.l tia.la•.lltat, ,11, 1,11111, 14'W1 pal:1! I Int.ll I lu knys and ,vnit, Watr•lling 1 hn , e Ire I'l,l Ilwir InnnglllN, Aro hid In lati.,l Nn In. tivr 11,11 betrays; I , 1011-tali• MC 111 , 11, to try And road your svnl,lng tir,nln. ti ty, 1114. ,, 11ng he rill 4. \Vith , u 1111111•1, WIIII rt,y ider,solllS Shed With ? ti11:111 , 1,•111, a/111 .1111111,. I hat wor 111 1,11 :I.IIIL :11 , 11,111, it VI/1/g, A • ld •.1111, I/ 11,1 in All! dreamy .y., Ihnt A \V.131 1,10 11,1 V,lllll I..it 111 will I, .v.• 11 1,.,v.• it kvlll .•,.•1 Itliwllancous Thr Lezend of the Sane real :\mong the most striking attractions of the last exhibition of the Royal Academy, Count It. Kalckretith's pic ture, "'lase Castle of the Holy (ired," was willadapted to challenge the clos est study, and to satisfy the most culti vated'histe. In dealing with a subject 'in -eminently calculated to arrest the attention of genius, whether in the do main of poetry or' . of art, Count Kalek reuth seena to have succeeded in real izing to a great extent, through the medium of sensible representation, the various elementmi which have entered into the of the ancient ro mance, the spirit of which lie mayclaim to have recreate(' in a new form of beau ty. This wonderful piece of I,llHk:cape painting is in ;ill the details perfectly in harmony with the traditional char aeter it,,,oodeet. The solitary castle standing out in mid-air in a strange weird kind of relielagainst fretted mass es or illumined (•10;ols; the gray mist rising up from the far-off valley and ti midly stealing about the castle's base; the giant cliffs of the Pyrenees envel oped in sombre shadow—all combine to constitute a remarkably faithful illus tration of the poetic unreality, the vague mysticism and the superstitious solemnity which are so strongly devel ms.l in the legend of the Sancgreal. Nor has the sister art of poetry failed 'to lend itspowerful assistance toward enhancing tin , interest which naturally ,Machos to this important relic of the scanty records of English mythology. 1)1 the works of Tennyson, those, pro bably, which have been most frequent ly reperuseil, and have most• largely con( rihuted to the poet's reputation, treat ot the national era to which the legend of the Holy irsal belongs This era, we have, though somewhat inaecu rately, perhaps, as far as the Sancgreal is (sincerned, characterized as mytho higieal ; hecause, while the basis of the story is founded on the acknowledged trutl i and fa c ts or christinu theology, is wrought or mate ri,d, conveyed from the impalpable re gion ttr pm, myth. 'nil. , overlaid with a mass of legend ary superstition has been, in greater or less degrees ,if extent, the fate of all the religious systems which have ever nourished in the history of mankind. few among the religious systems of the world have been founded upon, or. ;it least closely allied with philosoph ical systems of being and of morals, characterized by a high standard cif sim plicity and purity respeetively ; yet even Ihis ground of vantage has failed to se care them entirely against the eon summation in question. The myths or legends which have thus in all ages fastened, parasitelike, upon the body of though in soon' cases they (dearly declare themselves of purely romign extraction, have yet been more fr,mently of home growth, begotten of national imagination, ant stamped with the impress of national character. The universal existence of much myths --to which even the Christian religion, in the earlier stages of its development :it our rate, did not succeed in estali lishing an exception -ailmitsof perfect ly phihisoph heal V:(111:11111ii011, upon ori:cor, \l'i• are precluded from entering by ill, ,:,,pc' of this essay, which istimited hy an illustration of the . faei lerireil trim the history of ChristianiLt. ,r or Itoly •.c.atatt. , l a., a—,th the spirit religiii:k niy,di,ron and allegory, k Xt•al Up with the marveliiii , adventure- of Isniglit errrintry :toil wild :diit , ensti:rn whieli are im pa•rliurut ii vi to the nialtor iii i 1311,1, 10 tieing merely to tile igir,t , of the narraiire. 'Fire word -graal," "great, or graile," all inoilitied form., of the same word, is said to have been dcri \ - e d, et y m o l og i_ eally, from the Latin "crater," and sig nified iii the Roman language a drinking-vessel, or tureen. The legend of the Sanogreal, or Holy tined, is contained in the romances of - British chivalry which have handed down to posterity the famous doings of King Ar hurand the k n igh ts of t he Round Table. _elf these the romances of "Le S. (treat.'' "Lancelot du Lac," "Perce-forest," and the "Norte Arth u r,'' which will he found somewhat extensively referred to and collated in Southey's edition of 77, Dyri/i, Lllf, and Act', Kling At (low, iec., constitute the mithorities on he present subject. Aceording to these authorities, the Holy (trait, was the ~olden dish in which the paschal lamb had hemp served up at the last supper of our Lord with Iris disciples. Joseph of Arimathea, whom the old chroniclers of chivalry quaintly describe as "that gentle knight who took down our Lord on' the holy cross," repaired on the fol lowing day to the house wherein that mystic skipper had been partaken of, and took away with him the consecrated dish, destined to become thereafter awful in the adoration , pf Christendom. Th, title or this to the epithet "holy"was rendered eomplete forever by the farther excess of religious veneration with wide!' it was invested, in conse quence of the melaneholy part it played at the SCPIIU attic Crucifixion. Whemthe sacrilegious spear of the Roman soldier hail pierced the side of the Redeemer, Joseph of Arimathea, we are told, re ceived in the Holy Graal the blood which gushed from his Divine Master's wound. The legend goes on to relate how our Lord, after his resurrection, upon the occasion of assigning to his disciples their several spheres of future mission ary labor, finding that he had omitted to appoint an apostle to England;sent Jo seph of Armatliea thither to disseminate tire doctrinei of Christianity among the people of the land Accordi ugly, Joseph, thus divinely ordained, came over to England, bringing with him the Holy Grail, containing a portion of the sa cred blood and the spear with which that blood was shed. The Great, which, by reason of the wondrous miracles wrought through its means, proved a powerful instrument for the conversion of the heathen inhabitants of the island, was carefully guarded in a strong tower, built expressly for the purpose, at Cor benicy, or Carbonek. For a space of nine generations the Castl - e of Carbonek, together with the sacred treasure enshrined within it, ro- 'gait?Otet ijittelligiett?tr. VOLUME 71 mained in the possession of the descen dants of Joseph of Arimathea, and at the period with which the romance of Le B. Greal opens, was in the hands of King Pelles, eighth of the line, who is somewhat vaguely described as reign ing over the foreign country. But the Great, although domiciled, as it were, in the castle of the king, does not appear to have been in any way under the con trol of himself or his family. From the course of the legend, and from an an cient prophecy, we gather that the sacred vessel. was destined to remain on the earth until the 457th anniversary of the last feast of Pentecost celebrated by our Lord. Up to the commencement of the third Year from the close of this period, it continued in the Castle of Carbonek, but was never visible to the inmates ex cept when, on rare and special occasions, it condescended to appear to human vis ion, for the purpose of exerting its mir aculous powers in feeding the hungry or healing the sick. Nay, even on such occasions it was but dimly and indis tinetly discerned, for none but they whose souls were free from the slightest stain of sin might behold in clear and perfect light the divine splendor of the Holy Graal. These manifestations of the sacred vessel were always surrounded with solemn and imposing circumstance. The occasion of a visit by Sir Lance lot du Lae, the most famous of the Knights of the Round Table, to the Cas tle of Carbonek, introduces the render of the romances to the Sancgreal in a most attractive mode of mystery. As the knight stood with his host, King Penes, in the hall of the castle a dove flew in at the window, bearing in its Mita small golden censer, from which rose thick clouds of incense and spicery, diffusing themselves around, and tilling all the places with odors . of richest perfume. Thereupon, in the twinkling of an eye, the tables were covered by unseen hands with the rarests viaMls and choicest wines. Scarcely had these wonders been wrought before the knight's astonished gaze, when a maiden of exquisite and youthful beauty entered the ball, carry ing in her hands a golden vessel, to which the king and all those present with him devoutly knelt in prayer. 'Phis tribute of adoration having been duly paid, the dove tlew away through the window, and the maiden vanished from sight in the same strange fashion as she had come, leaving the highly favored worshippers to enjoy the feast so mysteriously provided for them. The nextappearanee of the Holy Graal occurs in harsher scenes. Two knights of prowess, having mortal combat wounded each other to the death, prayed earnestly to the second Person of the Trinity, as they lay bleeding on the ground, that their lives might be pro- Ilanged until such time as somepriest or hermit should chance to conic by, who would bestow upon thorn the last rites of r''ligion. In answer to their peti tions, a maiden draped all in white stood suddenly beside the expiring war riors in a cloud of incense, bearing in her arms the potent Grand, which, bv its mere presence, instantaneously heal ed them of their grievous wounds. The mysterious maiden varnished as sudden ly as she hard appeared, nor had the knights been able to discern aught be yond the shimmer of her wld te drapery, and the faint flash of the golden vessel which she bore. To the same mystic virtue, 111111 Wider somewhat similar eir emnstanees, Sir Lancelot was also in debted fur recovery from insanity of Milld and disease of body at one and the same moment of time. Immediately after the miraculous healing of Sir Lancelot, the Sancgreal abandoned the Castle of Carbonek, in which it had taken up its abode for up ward of -1.10 years ; and during the three following years wandered at random through the world. This event, in ful tihnent of an ancient prophecy to which allusion iIILS already been made, led to tie breaking-up of the Round Table, and in great measure 'l7nsold4‘red nil The gmslllost fellowshi of famous knights \\*beret)! this world holds record.' The adventures, or, to employ the phrase of the romances, the quest of the Sanegreal commenced at Camelot, the seat of King Arthur's court, upon the 454th anniversary of the Crucifixion.— Upon that day a new knight was, through the age try of a marvelous por tent, elected to fill the most conspicuous seat, "the siege peril rus," as it was call ed aiming the chivalry of the Round Table. About noon d sword rising out of a stone, in which it was lirgtly rooted, was beheld floating down the river to Camelot. As the king and his court wondered what this strange sight might betoken, a holy man, far advanced in yearsannounced to them that the knight who should succeed in pulling the sword out of the stone was he who of old had been destined to sit in the perilous seat and to aehive the Holy Grind. After all 'the king's knights had failed to satisfy this test, a comely - youth of noble aspect presented himself to the assemblage, and having with ease possessed himself of the sword was forthwith installed as of right in the perilous seat, which had till then remained vacant for lack of a man sufficiently worthy to fill it. This knight was Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and Elaine daughter of King Penes.— Sir( lalahad consequently was the ninth, and, as it turned out, last descendant of Joseph of Arimathea. The adventures of that day were not vet complete; for while the king and his knights sat at supper at the Round Table, they were suddenly startled by a loud and terrible peal of thunder, which had no sooner died away than a sun licam,seven times brighterthan the light of the brightest day, filled the hall where tiny sat with supernatural radi ance and transfigured their countenan ces intoasemblance of unearthly beauty. As they gazed on each other, trembling and stricken dumb with awe, the Holy Graal covered with samite entered the hall; and forthwith the whole place became fragrant with rich odors, and each man found placed before him such meats and drinks as his soul loved best. So, slowly traversing the hall, the Sancgreal vanished away. Then the spell of silence was broken, and all with 1 one accord thanked Jesus fur his grace. But forasmuch as the sacred vessel had boon concealed from view, and none bad been able to discern it or the hands which had borne it, the assembled knights, to the number of 154, rose up and solemnly vowed to roam through the world for a year and a day, if Imply . heaven might vouchsafe to them a more perfect view of the mystic relic. Four only of the 154 seem to have met with success in their quest. These four were Sir Lancelot, Sir Galahad, Sir Percivale, and Sir Bors. On two °cm shins, Sir Lancelot was favored with a imir approach to the object of his toils and vow. But although, under the guidance of an ancient hermit, he un derwent a rigorous purification of six Months' duration, in constant fastings, mortification. and prayer; although during all that time he ate no fish and drank no wine; although he tortured himself by the wearing of hair-cloth, and gave daily attendance at tile cere mony of the mass,—still the sin of impurity adhered to his soul, for his heart clung to the memory of a guilty passion for Guinevere, King Arthur's queen. In consequence of his imper fection in this one respect, the knight, even though admitted to the mysterious presence of the precious vessel, was not suffered to raise tile covering of red samite which concealed it front his view; and once, when he would rashly have attempted to do so, he was struck sud denly down to the earth by a subtle breath as of fire, in punishment of his presump-. tion. To Sir Galahad alone, in company with his friends, Sir Percivate and Sir Bors, was it granted to achieve com pletely the object of his pious wander ings. The three were men of blameless lives; more especially Sir Galahad, the "maiden knight," was distinguished by purity of spirit and life as stainless and impregnable as his valor in arms was dauntless• and irresistible. The religious fervor and purity' of this Youthful knight, so highly favored by heaven, are depicted with equal occuracy and beauty iu the language which has been put into his mouth by the great poet of our own day : "But all my heart Is drawn above, My knees are bowed In crypt and shrine I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand In mine. "More bounteous aspects on me beam, Me mightier transports move and thrill So keep 10.1 r through faith and prayer, A virgin 'heart in work and will." Such was the chapter of the knigh whose career was devoted to the quest o the Sancgreal, which, after he had en countered many dangers in the pursui of it, revealed itself to him for the firs time in his, grandsire's castle of Car bonek. It befell on a certain day that as Sir Galahad sat with his two friends in the castle-hall, there entered to them from a chamber which opened into the hall four angels, who carried in a chair an old man clad in episcopal vetsments,and bearing a large cross in his hands. This old man was Joseph ,the first Bishop of Christendom, who had then beeia, dead for more than 300 years. Having set down the venerable saint before a silver table on which stood the Holy Graal, the angels again retired into the chamber. Upon opening the door of this apartment, the knights perceived that two of the angels were supporting great candles of wax, while a third held a towel, and the fourth grasped in one hand a spear marvellously d7lling blood, three drops of which fell nto a box which he held in his othe hand. The candles having been placed on the table and the towel over the Graal, in which the spear had been set upright, the bishop Joseph pro ceeded to celebrate the mass. As he held the sacramental bread in his hands, a being, wearing the blooming figure and roseate face of a child-boy, sudden ly appeared, and " smote himself" (to use the language of the romance) "into the bread," which, thus miraculously transmuted into " fleshly" or corporeal man, the bishop placed in the Sancgreal and immediately vanished out of sight. After the bishop had withdrawn from the scene, the awful figure of Christ, bleeding and crownnd with thorns, emerged from the holy vessel and dis tributed the eucharist to the three knights as they knelt at his feet. Hav ing given them directions to proceed to the city of Sarras, in Bablyon, carrying with them Sancgrael and a portion of the sacred blood distilled by the spear, the Saviour blessed them and disap 'eared. In obedience to the divine command, the three knights rode night and day for the space of three days, at the end of which they arrived at a certain river, where a ship awaited them. Embark ing forthwith, they beheld on the deck the spear, the silver table, and Sancgreal covered over with the red samite. Ar rived at Sarras, they placed the holy things on the silver table, and so put them on shore. Among the crowd which thronged round the strangers was a dwarf who had been for ten years a cripple, but now found himself sudden ly restored to prestine activity and vigor by the virtue of the Holy Graal. The King of Sarras, into whose presence Sir Galahad was conducted by the people of the city, proved to be an infidel tyrant; for, on being informed by the knight of the history and wonderful potency of the Sancgreal, he ordered him to be shut up with his two companions in a deep hole within the city prison, to the in tent that they might perish of hunger. From this fate they were rescued only by the intervention of the Sancgreal, which penetrated to the place of their captivity, and fur an entire year minis tered to their necessities. At the expi ration of that period they were set at liberty by command of the repentant monarch, to whose death-bed they were summoned in order Chet he might crave their forgiveness for the injuries which they had sustained at his hands. Upon the King's death die people, warned by a voice from heaven, chose Sir Galahad as his successor. The first act of the new King after he had ascended the throne was to inclose the Holy Graal, together with the silver table on which it generally stood, within a chest of gold, which lie caused to be made for the purpose, and which was adorned with precious stones. At this chest, for the space of a year, the three knights offered up their daily orisons. On the last day of that year Sir Galahad rose up early in the morning, and roused Sir Per civale and Sir Bors, and the three came together to the place, where an awful spectacle psesented itself t i their view. The chest which had been wrought with so much care and skill lay Open before them ; the silver table, with the Gran! upon it as of old, had been set on the palace-floor, and beside it stood an old man (in the likeness of a bishop. The first and last of a sainted line were face to face with each other ; for that old man was Joseph of Arimathea, and Sir Galahad was his latest descendant. Sur rounded by a company of angels, Joseph of Arhusithea proceeded to say a mass of the Virgin ; and when he had duly fin ished, lie called upon Sir Galahad to draw near unto the mysteries lie had yearned to behold. The young knight feared exceedingly and trembled, when his mortal flesh began to look upon spirit ual things, but as he gazed upon them his spirit saw clearly,and comprehended the awful mystery of the sacrament. Then was he tilled with a sense of ineffable ' joy ' so that lie prayed to heaven that his soul might in that moment depart from earth. A supernatural voice whispered in his ear that his petition was granted; lie arose, and bade adieu to Sir Pereivale and Sir Bors. Then he knelt down again at the table and prayed ; and while he prayed, a host of angels came down, and in the sight of his two friends bore away the soul of Sir Galahad to heaven. Nor did the Holy Graal remain long behind, for it too V;1.9 carried up to !heaven before their eves ; though the hand and body which bore it they were unable to discern. Such is the legend of the Holy Graal. Sir Percivale became a hermit, and so continued to the day of his death, which took place within a year from the events which have been just narrated. Sir Bors returned to Camelot, and detailed the adventures of the Sancgreal to Kino . Arthur, who caused them to be commit ted' to writing by the great clerks of his kingdom. That the legend of the Holy Graal was long accepted as historical, even by the more learned classes of the people, is rendered evident by a bold as sertion of one Robert de Berron, who is said to have translated the last volume of the history of the Sancgreal from Latin into French by command of Holy Church. This gentleman, whose ideas on the subject of chronology would seem to be slightly confused, inveighs in strong language against the utter fool hardiness of any one who would dare to call in question the authenticity or truth " of that sacred history, which the true Crucifix wrote with the proper hand after his ascension, when he had laid .aside his mortal life and reclothed him self with celestial majesty." It may, perhaps, be doubted, authority so weighty notwithstanding, whether the entire legend be not an interpola tion of a xlate posterior to the general narrative of the romances. In the first place, it lacks the air of spontaneity al most universally characteristic of that class of myths, which seem to have formed from all time a personal part, as it were, of the people among whom they are found. In the next place, the complexion of the legend is purely ec clesiastical. The Persons of the Trinity, the Virgin Mary, the saints, angels, holy relics monasticism ' and the disci of the Church, constitute the warp and woof of which the web is spun. The merely military adventures, if we may use the term, found in connection with it,:are adventitious additions to the legend.proper, except so far as they go to illustrate the general maxim respect ing the difficulties which wait on all lofty enterprises. The legend of the Holy Graal was probably the pious invention of an indi vidual mind, put forward with the two fold object of impressing upon human intelligence, through the medium of a lively, though decidedly material pic ture, the truth of the doctrine of tran substantiation, and of enforcing the universal principle, alike of revealed religion as of natural ethics, that the favor of heaven is to be won, or a high degree of moral perfection to be attain ed only by a constant course of self denial and striving after purity.— That the legend was well calculated to achieve the former of these objects in an age when the human mind was poorly fitted for grappling with abstract ideas need scarcely be doubted. Again, from the ethical point of view, the story of the Holy Graal is marked by a certain force of truth anfl by an exquisite beauty which belong Mike to all time, and will be felt and appreciated in every age and under all conditions of civiliza tion.—Selectedfrom Tinsley's Magazine the Transatlantic. Dr. Washington L. Atlee, of Phila delphia, formerly of Lancaster, in an operation recently performed by him at Richmond, Va., extracted successfully a tumor weighing one hundred and twenty-five pounds. It is known that a note was addressed to Dr. Atlee as to the truth of this, and, also, to know how many of these operations he had per formed. In reply thereto, the Doctor stated that the case referred to at Rich mond was as represented ; that he had taken as large a tumor as that from a patient before, and repeatedly tumors weighing from sixty to ninety pounds, and that ho had operated two hundred and nineteen times. LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY - MORNING, MARCH 30 1870 Betty's Night With a Bear A True Story What a dark wood, and what a brown little house, right under the shadow of the tall Minnesota pines ! Coming upon it, though, after long miles of silent for ests, it seemed quite gay and lively, and if you went in, and saw the bright-faced mother and the three wild children, and, after a while, the tall, sunburnt father, you made up your mind this was almost a village. Then a few rods on, and the wood opened out to the clear ing, where day after day the father worked in his great field of corn and potatoes, which scarcely needed scare crows because the blackened stumps still standing, each seemed to be one.— Then the lake, and the brook which emptied into it, and, on the other side, the maple wood, where sugar was made in the spring, when the Indians came down from the upper lakes. In the winter, the woods were filled with lumbermen, who camped only a mile or two from them, and through the summer they amused themselves in ways you would never dream of. And so the years went on, and little Betty, the youngest, came to be four years old. It was August, a hot, bright day, and the very height of the huckleberry sea son. "Now, children, I want you to do your prettiest today," Mrs. Brower said early in the morning. "If you want your till of huckleberry-pie this winter you've got to get me a bushel more afore they're gone." " I found a place yesterday," said Jack. " I bet there's half a bushel any how. Put Betty down in the middle, an' she might till a two-quart pail with out getting up." " Well, bring home all you can," said the mother; "and here's your dinners in this little pail. Look out for Betty." "She'll look out for herself; cute as a TRIM this minute." And Jack picked up his basket and started on, followed by Sarah and Betty in Indian file. Five or six miles to the best huckle berry-field would seem a long way to you, but the children's brown, hare feet never tired. Before long, they passed a little lake, stopped there a moment to drink, and soon reached the opening where the berries grew thickest. What with finding better and better places, and stopping sometimes to watch the scolding squirrels, and then to eat dinner, the day went swiftly by, and it was almost sunset when they turned toward home with heavy pails and basket. Betty lagged behind, for she ached with long stooping, and Jack and Sarah grew more and more impatient. " Now, Betty, we'll just leave you if you don't hurry. You've got the lit tlest pail. Come along quick !" said Jack. " I can't. I won't go quick if I don't want to," and Betty half cried. " Conic along, Sal," said Jack, hurry ing on ; and Betty, indignant, sat down on a log, and waited till they were al most out of sight. " I know the way just as well as they do," she thought, and walked on leisure ly. Jack turned once or twice, and seeing her following slowly, concluded she would soon overtake them, and went on. Now and then, Betty stopped, the last time till they were entirely out of sight, determined to show she did not depend upon them at all. The shadows lengthened; the wood had never seemed so dark ; and at laat, a little frightened, Betty called loudly : "Jack! 0 Jack!" No answer save the echo, and now Betty ran on, hoping every moment to seethe two before her. She did not notice that she had taken a trail leading oil from the one they had gone over in the morning, and only stopped on coming to a swampy spot she did not remember. "0 Jack!" she sobbed, turning once inure, but now darkness was closing in upon her. The forest was thick and close, and try as she would there was no finding the other trail. Overhead an owl hooted. She stumbled on, startled at the sudden sound, then tripped over a root in the way, spilling the berries all about; picked herself up only to fall again ; caught at the air as she felt her self ping;g rolled down a steep incline, and lay at the bottom in a little heap. It was nearly eight o'clock when Jack and Sarah walked into the little house and set their pails on the table. " Where's Betty ."' said the mother. " Just behind ; she wouldn't come along with us." And MN. Brower, satisfied, told them to sit down and eat their suppers. " Where's Betty ?" said the father, presently coming in. "She's coming; she wouldn't keep up with us," said Jack, privately a lit tle uneasy in his mind at the lung de lay Then go out now and help her along in," said Mr. Brower. "It's a poor way fur a buy to do, to leave a little gal alone in the woods, even it she does know the way." Jack, with a slieeof bread in his hand, went out a little sulkily, and Mr. Brow er stood in the door looking down the trail. Half an hour went by. " I don't see what's the matter," said Mrs. Brower, "I'm sort of worried, John. A'nt you a mind to gu out ?" For answer, Mr. Brower took down his gun and started. For an hour or more Mrs. Brower waited, growing more and more anxious. Then she walked down the trail, calling now and then, coming suddenly at last upon her husband and Jack. "Here's Jack, done beat out," lie said. "Take him home, wife. I'm going for old Pierre Beauchamp. He knows every turn and crook o' the woods. Keep the fire going for it's a raw night, and the child'il be cold when we bring her in, and don't fret; " and Mr. Brower turned down the old trail to Pierre's cabin. I can hardly tell you how the night went by to the poor mother, waiting and watching, or to the father, who, with old Pierre, scoured every foot of the woods on each side the trail, and by the light of their pine-knot torches searched each hollow tree, thinking the the child might possibly have crawled into one for shelter. They shouted and called ; but morning dawned at last with no sign of Betty, and the father, exhausted and almost despairing, sank down muter one of the tall pines, and hid his face in his hands. Suddenly he lifted his head. " Dat vay," old Pierre said, as his quick ear caught a slight sound, and Mr. Brower darted off to the left, but stopped short, and stood with such a ghastly face that old Pierre, too, paused a moment. Not a stone's: throw from them flowed a wide, deep creek, one of the tributaries of Gull Lake, and crossed here by an old log thrown over it long ago by the Indians. A white birch grew by its side, and under it laid Betty , resting partly against a huge brown bear, apparently asleep. At the slight crackling in the brush it raised its head, and growling low, put one paw on the child's dress; then, as if scenting danger turned about, saw the two faces looking toward it, and with a fierce, loud growl, caught Betty in its mouth and started toward the log. " Vat you do? Vat you do?" said old Pierre as Mr. Brower levelled his gun. " You shoots not now and mads de bear, den de chile all gone ; vait a one minute. Hold you still—not cry •, keep you mooch quiet !" he called to Betty. Not be feared if you falls in de rater." As lie spoke the bear had reached the middle of the log, and turned now tosee if he were followed. The small fierce eyes rested a second on the pair, and in that second, old Pierre ' the best shot in Minnesota, fired. Without struggle or sound, the bear reeled from the log to the dark water below, and in one mo ment Mr. Bower had dashed, in and seized the screaming child. "De prettiest shot dis * bon gun did ever fire," old Pierre shouted, hugging his gun and dancing wildly about,while Mr. Brower hugged Pierre and the gun and Betty all at once, and then ran on toward home, forgetting all weariness in this great joy. They were a happy family that day, as, sitting about the bed where Betty lay in state, they tried to make her tell when the bear came to her, and how she felt. " I rolled way down somewhere," said Betty, "and sort of went to sleep, and then I cried when I woke up because I was all scratched an' smarty. Then I heard somefin comin', an' didn't cry• any more, an' it came an' snuffed all round me. I thought maybe it would eat me up, but I couldn't cry, only I sort of whispered, `Now I lay me,' an' it kep' smellin' me. Theis it lay down an' licked me. Its tongue was all rough an' scratchy ;it hurt me. But when I tried to get away it growled. Then I kept still, an' I was so tired, an' we went to sleep, an' I didn't remember till it pick me up an' made me cry, coz the teeth pinched me, an' ,then I heard Pierre holler and you got me out of the water." • Do you think this can't be true, boys and girls? I know it is, for Betty her self told me the story. She is living still, and if you are very anxious to find out her real name, write to me and I will tell you.—Hearth and Home. A SERMON Foellyered in St John's Pree rpiscopal Church. on Sunday 31ornIng,• March 20th,1870, by Rev. T. E. Barker, Pas tor. "Those that seek me early shall find me.— Pr.pverbs 8: 17. Here is a most blessed promise made to all those whose days are crowned with the morning sunbeams of life. And the vital importance of the subject pre sented in these words, should be con sidered with the most serious and pray erful attention, by all those who are still living amidst the bright scenes of their youthful days. There is everything to favor and encourage the early consecra tion of the heart and life to the blessed Saviour. Repentance may be postponed, and solemn vows may be made, that at some future day—a most indefinite time —the subject of religion shall receive proper and attentive consideration.— And thus, vast multitudes of young peo ple defer the whole subject of repen tance and religion, losing sight of the fact, that procrastination has no license in the word of God. How many do we find in this community, to-day, who have permitted the bright, sunny days of youth, and the golden years of man hood to pass away unimproved ? You now see them traveling down the hill of life; some of them are almost to the foot of it—the grave is just before them, and yet they manifest no con cern for the welfare of their souls. They live as though they were free from all religious obligation. It always makes me feel sad when I see an old man who is destitute of religion ; who is a stran ger to that peace and hope, which the Holy Spirit implants in the heart of the true believer. When I look upon his gray hairs—when I think of his broken vows, and see the amazing in difference with which he treats the highest interests of his deathless soul— I feel as though he would soon be called to utter the fearful lamentation:—The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved. The young man may forsake the living Fountain of all true happiness; ho may be lured and daz zled by the false glitter of the vanities of the world ; he may pursue earth's fleeting pleasures, until the ardor and fire of youth are gone; until the vigor and strength of manhood have decayed ; until the infirmities of old age press him to the grave. And when, with palsied limbs and snowy locks, he lies down upon his bed to die, the inscrip tion written upon the brightest glories of the world, will then flash out upon his fading eye,—vanity of vanities, all is vanity . The glory of the world is nothing but a bubble, which bursts at the hour of death and disappears for ever. Solomon, the royal preacher and inspired penman, exhorts all young persons to remember their Creator in the days of their youth. He saw that it was not in the power of the world to impart solid comfort and substantial bliss to man's immortal nature. He was well qualified by his own personal experience to speak upon this subject ; for till his wisdom, and riches, and honors, had failed to make him a happy man. And now in his old age, as his eyes grow dim and earth's glories are fadir , away, he looks forward to the awful solemnities of the final judg ment. And as the overwhelming view of thegreat white throne bursts upon his inspired vision, he exclaims, Let us hear the conclusion of the whole mat : ter ; Fear God and keep His corn . 'muniments; for this is the whole duty of man. He was roost deeply im pressed with tire brevity of life ; he felt the importance of being ready for the solemn scenes of the judgment. There fore, he says to all who are in the bright and happy morning of life, Remern ber nose thy Creator in the days of thy youth. And how beautiful, how in spiring is the divine promise, Those that seek Me early shall find Me.— ISeek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon Him while he is near. All are invited and command ed to seek the blessed Saviour. It is the duty of all to give their hearts to the divine Redeemer. We are riot our own. We have been bought with a price, even , the precious blood of Calvary. And, to-day, Jesus is saying, Come unto Me ; now is the aecepted time ; those that seek Mc early shall find Me. He desires to crown you with the rich est blessings of His grace and love.— As your Creator and Redeemer, He has the highest claims upon your immortal being. Your deathless spirit, with its almost infinite powers and ca pacities, was made to be filled with the transporting bliss of heaven ; created to be tilled with all the fullness of God.— Man was not created and placed upon the earth that Ire might be an unhappy and miserable creature. Nature and Revelation both clearly show that God's purpose in forming man was to make him a creature capable of the highest Happiness. The law of God's love is written in our very being. And that love has been manifested in every way to make man happy. Before the-trans gression of Adam, the garden of Eden was all radiant with that love. The very sunbeams, as they came darting down from the great orb of day, were messengers of love sent to brighten the sinless abode of our first parents. And how is it since the dark shadows of a broken law have fallen upon the pristine beauty of that happy home? How is It since the curse of sin has clouded the very heavens, and filled the world with sorrow, tears and death ? Huth God for gotten to be gracious? Has the Creator of the world ceased to manifest His love to the creatures of His hand? Turn the eye and look upon the cross all stained and crimsoned with the precious blood of Jesus. Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world ! The Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world. Here is love, that can transform the whole earth into a paradise, and make it all radiant and beautiful with the sunshine of heaven. This is the character of that Being whom you arc invited to seek. The golden sceptre of mercy is now extended to all •, for the Son of man is corns to seek and to save that which was lost. And Jesus says, Him that cometh to me I will in no wise east out. And the promise is, Those that seek Me early shall find Me. But sonic who desire to love Jesus, may now ask, What is it to seek the Saviour? How shall I be made a recipient of His renewing, saving grace? Well this, my young friend, is a question of vital importance. If you make a mistake, here at the beginning, it may prove fatal to all the interests of your soul. There must be a fixed and determined purpose of heart to forsake I every human and worldly trust, and to rely entirely upon the glorious atone ment made by the Son of God. The divine command is, My son, give Me thine heart. Would you become a child of grace; Would you be made an heir of God?—then give your heart to Jesus, and consecrate your life and your all to His service and glory. Do not seek to find the Saviour in .outward forms and lifeless ceremonies. It is to be feared that many deluded persons rest in a profession of religion, while their hearts have never been given to the Saviour. All your seeking will be in vain, until vou present to Jesus the sacrifice of a broken, contrite heart. Like the poor prodigal, you must arise and go to your Father, and say unto Him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before Thee,and am no more worthy to be called Thy son. You shall not seek in vain.— Your heavenly Father will catch the first accents breathed from your trem bling heart. And in His tender com passion and infinite love, He will come to meet' you and receive you. The blessed Redeemer manifests His royal presence to the hearts of all those, who seek Him in sincerity and truth. But when are we to seek the Saviour? In what part of life is this great work to be done? Hear the inspired promise : Those that seek Me early shall find Me. And the command is, Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth. It is Tory clear from all the pre cepts and promises of the word of God, that it is in accordance with the divine arrangement, that all should seek the Lord in the morning of life. When our blessed Saviour was on earth, he took the little children in his arms and blessed them. Thus giving the highest sanction to their early con secration to His service. Youth is the most favorable season for the heart to become rooted and grounded in the love of God. The mind is then free from the perplexing cares and distracting anxieties of life.— The seed of divine truth is not choked by the thorns, which infest the ground of the heart in later life. Neither does it lie upon the hard, beaten soil of a heart, that has been Satan's thorough fare for many long years. Youth is the spring-time of life. Then, the heart is fresh, and the mind is free. The soul is then in a proper condition to receive the incorruptible seed of the word of God. And when thatkeed is once implanted in the young and tender heart; when it is watered with the refreshing dews of heavenly grace ; when it is warmed and quickened by the Sun of righteousness, then will you see the beautiful man ifestations of the living truth, in the life of the young disciple of Jesus. And that life becomes more beautiful every . day. Let him follow the divinelaw and order of the Christian life, and he will advance from the opening beauty of the early spring -time, to the full glory of midsummer; and at last, the golden Autumn shall crown his life; and as a ripe Christian, he shall be numbered with the saints in glory everlasting. Here we see the tender bud, the bloom ing flower, the mellow fruit. Is there not a vital connection , between Spring and Autumn ; between seed time and harvest? Does the husbandman look for abundant crops—does he expect to have his barns filled with plenty, if lie neglect to plant and sow in the spring time? Such expectations would be con trary to the plainest law of nature. And it is as preposterous for those in the morning of life to postpone the subject of religion, until they reach the years of manhood, or old age, as it would be for the farmer to wait till midsummer, or late in Autumn, before he plows his fields and sows his grain. Young men, if you would be happy—if you would he a blessing to society, seek the Lord, new, while the dew of youth is yet fresh upon your brow. And if your days should be lengthened out—if you should be spared to a good old age, remember the inspired declaration of SolOmon : The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.— There is a heavenly beauty about that life that has been refined and sanctified by the grace of God, even from early childhood to the hour, when the aged servant closes his eyes in death, and the angels bear his triumphant spirit to the world of eternal joy. Yes, my young friends, that life is all radiant with the love of Jesus. It is like the beautiful, cloudless sky, that is filled from morning till evening, with all the splendor and glory of the sun. And as the western sky glows like a sea of molten gold, lung after the great orb of day has departed; so, after the ripe Christian has descend ed into his grave, his pious, godly life shines with a pure and heavenly lustre, long after his departure out of this world. Oh . it is a blessed thing to he a Christian in early life. Happy, indeed are they, in whose minds the fadeless flowers of truth and virtue are planted in early Spring, ere the sun of meridian life has parched the soil, or the frosts and short ening days of Autumn have rendered it unfruitful. My young friends, listen to the sweet promise in the text: Those that seek Me early shall find Me. And what is it to find the Saviour ? It is to be made a partaker of the divine nature; it is to become a child of God, and an heir of eternal glory; it is to find the pearl of great price; it is to receive Christ and welcome Him to the throne of the heart. And the soul that finds the Saviour, reeeives.from Him a new and heavenly life. The heart is inspired with new hopes, and filled with pure, celestial joys. And with the heart in living union with the Son of God, the eye of faith can look forward and calmly rest upon the bright and glorious scenes, where there is fullness of joy, and where there are pleasures for evermore. Let me exhort you once more ; do not wait until you are called to lie down upon the bed of death; do not wait, until with feeble, trembling limbs you stand upon the crumbling verge of the grave. Be gin to-day. Give your heart to the blessed Redeemer. And you have the promise of the life that now is, and of that whiell is to come. Jane Austen More than fifty years ago there died in College street, Winchester, a woman whose life was wholly uneventful :uid retired, whose name was scarcely known -beyond a limited circle of dear friends, who won more love than reputation, and who had thought so Little of her great gifts that she declared herself to I be "the most unlearned and uninform ed women who ever dared be an antho ' rest'." No one surely ever dwelt more completely iu the sequestered vale of life than Jane Austen. Like Charlotte Pronto and George Eliot, she was the daughter of a country clergyman, but few clergymen's daughters now-a-days keep so closely to the home circle as the "dear Aunt Jane," of whom her neph himself a clergyman, writes so beau tifully in his old age. Genius, like a mountain stream, forces its way through hIl obstacles; and Miss Austen, although happily lifted above poverty, Pursued her quiet path, and won, as we believe, a lasting place in English literature, without any encouragement beyond that derived from her own heart. "I do but sing because I must," says the poet laureate, and Jane Austen wrote because she could not help it. Half her brief life—she was born in 1775, and died in ISl7—was spent at the parsonage of Steventon, a rural village upon the chalk hills of North Hants, and there before she was twenty-one years old, she wrote "Pride and Prejudice." Jane was an attractive girl, slight, elegant and handsome, but it seems she never had a love AIM - nor did any event occur in the family calculated to arouse strong feeling. Hers was a calm, peaceful course, and its serenity—some readers may call it monotony—is reflected in her novels. Only four of her tales were printed during her lifetime ; the pecu niary recompense she received for them was so trifling that a living novelist of moderate reputation would expect as much for a single story. She was not known in the literary world, and had probably, sa3 s her biographer, never met with any one whose ability was equal to her own.—London Daily Sews. Keep a Journal of Farm Work The first of January is the usual time furl" turning over a new leaf," and these hints concerning the value of a diary of farm operations, from the American Farmer. are just in season now ".So doubt there are many farmer; who commence business with a deter mination to keep a daily record of their operations on the farm, and the results of them. This resolve is carried into execution for a time, but after a while intermissions in these jottings occur, and finally they cease altogether. This delinquency does not prove that the practice is not a good one, and, as an in centive to perseverance, we would cite a case of a man who commenced farm life barehanded, but eventually attained great wealth ; a result he attributed in great measure to a practice keep up for forty-five years, and not then discon tinued. These daily memoranda were made in books of convenient size, each containing the records of a single year, and-when full, properly labeled and filed away for future reference when de sirable. They contained the number of fields farmed each year, the character of the crop, the estimated or actual yield, the names Of the parties employed each day, the amount of labor bestowed, the rate of compensation, the daily receipts for stock and farm produce sold, money paid out, and for what purpose, the char acter of the weather, together with such reflections as the current news of the day supplied. This journal was uniformly written up each night just before retir ing to rest ; but when the party was absent, as was occasionally the case, it was the duty of the person in charge to make the necessary memoarnda each evening. These records were often ap pealed to, to decide disputed points iu regard to the weather and crops of par ticular seasons, and not unfrequdntly taken before the courts for the purpose of determining the dates of particular local transactions. At first these nightly records may prove rather irksome ; but if the practice is kept up perseveringly for two or three years, it becomes a hab it, pleasurable rather than otherwise, and profitable to him who steadily pur sues it. The reason Beecher declined to receive $20,000 instead of $12,000 salary per an num from Plymouth Church, was that his congregation, in the event of accept ing would put a stop to his lectures, newspaper and novel writing. I Talk With Californians " Come out to our coast, boy," said a big child of San Francisco, the other day ; " and we'll give you something to write about." "For instance?" "We'll tell you the story of Paul Beaks." " Who was Paul Beaks." Paul Beaks was a bank cashier at or near Williamsport, Penn'a., about the year '49. In those days there were no express companies, and once a month, or once a quarter, Paul Beaks, like all the bank cashiers of interior Pennsyl vania, had to go to Philadelphia to ad just his balances with the bank which corresponded with his own. Paul start ed one day from Williamsport with .. , 30,000, which he was to take in person to the Farmers' and Mechanics' Bank and he arrived in Philadelphia next day noon. He was a temperate, virtu ous, respected married man, popular with everybody and well-to-do. But on this occasion Paul Beales was possessed with the devil of postpone ment, and being tired of travel he did not go promptly to the batik, but lounged about the hotel till evening.— Then he felt the other demon of reck lessness, that never came before, come to him and suggest that he make a night of it. In a few minutes he was in a gambling saloon, and had shortened his account some thousands of dollars. The next morning the bank received three-fourths of the money from Wil liamsport, by an anon) mous hand, and Paul Beales was missing. They search ed for him, high and low, in vain. It was believed that lie had been murder ed, aiid his widow put on mourning while all the community grieved for About that time there arrived in Cal ifornia one Daniel Clarkson, a fine looking, affable man, with little money but big will, and he plunged at once into the mining business. He was honest and popular, and every man, W0111:111 and child soon learned to love him. He was married after some years to a Pacific woman, one who was a dead shut with a pistol, and had all the vir tues that bloom beyond the Sierre Ne vadas, and in course of time we had nominated Daniel Clarkson for Anini yamenta or Mayor of the city of San Francisco. While he was walking home one day on Montgomery street, a man from Pennsylvania stepped up to him sud denly and putting out his hand said: " Paul, how do yo do ? " " Right well, I thank you, sir," ex elainaqi Daniel Clarkson; hut"-after a pause—" you have mistaken me for some one else;" " Exeuso me," said the man, " but 1 was sure I had found Paul Beales, of liamsport, Pen nsyk:an ia." Daniel Clarkson continued on down the street ; pretty soon he came to a daguerreotype saloon, before the door of which, conspicuous in a show-case, hung a portrait of himself, the most popular man in San Francisco. Bearded and grown older, and with that look of philo sophic thought which wise experience gives, he made the prompt resolve to buy a picture of Daniel Clarkson and send it to the Mayor of Williamsport, to inquire if he resembled in any manner the missing Paul Beale*. TMs, perhaps, was the madness which lets out murder; but, confident and self-possessed, the fugitive cashier did it. The Mayor and his friends mused over the picture, and saw a resemblance, but at last concluded to abide by the decision of the widow of Paul Beales. She had been waiting all those years, hopeful that the deeps of time would give up their secret some day ; and when she saw the picture of Daniel Clarkson she recognized her hus band, and fell fainting to the door. At that day a wretch subsisted in Cal ifornia who earned his ignominious bread by blackmailing the Citizens in tire columns of a vile print. He began by calling Daniel Clarson a bank-robber and a thief, and said he was a tine figure fur an A nunyarticata. He tilled his paper with the name of Paul Beales, and the whole city looked up astonished to see its most respectable merchant ma ligned in this way. If Clarkson had killed the blackmailer he would have been justified on every side. Not so. Ile protested that lie had always been Daniel Clarkson, and that he never heard of Paul Beales, and so solemnly did he aver this that not one of his friends wavered in his support. But the printing wretch grew more circumstan tial with every issue, and at last the friends of the merchant said : Clarkson, you must go lack to Wil liamsport and show yourself. You must face this thing,. We believe you, and will see you through." He said, with all cheerfulness, that he would take the first steamer, and so he did, accompanied by many support ers, and cheered as the ship left her dock by a great crowd. He left behind him in tian Francisco two hundred thousand gold dollars, worth of prop erty. As the ship's company was crossing the Isthmus of Panama, on mules, Daniel Clarkson was missing somewhere on the way, and for three years he dis appeared anew. At last they found him working in a candle factory in Cincin nati, dressed like a laborer, and poor and desperate. The California boys put him on his feet. They said : " Clarkson, there is only one way to do this thing. Begin at the beginning, and return to Williamsport and to your wife.'' He said that he would do all that they asked. They paid the money he had absconded with and lost. They per suaded the wife he had in California to give him up quietly. His own wife, who had lived alone those years, was glad to have bim back on any terms; and there he lives to this day, near Williamsport, a tolerably old man, and his story is one of the favorite reminis cences of our coast. "—lrit.qhington of Chicago Tribune. Carious Facts One of the great natural phenomena of the bee-hive is the massacreing of the drones. It was one time asserted that the worker-bees did not use their stings against the stingless males, but merely pushed them out to die. This idea, how ever, resulted from the massacre being always committed at the bottom of the hive, whither the poor drones retire in cluster in July and August, as if aware of the doom impending over them. As usual, by one of his ingenious expedi ents, Huber discovered the truth. Six swarms were put on glass tables, be neath which the watchers placed them selves. "Thiscontrivance," says Huber, "succeeded to admiration. On the 4th of July, we saw the workers actually mas,- macre the males,in the whole six swarms, at the same hour, and with the same peculiarities. Theglw table was covered with bees full of animation, which flew upon the drones as they came from the bottom of the hive, seized them by the antenme, the limbs, and the wings, and having dragged them about, so to speak, after quartering them, they killed them by repeated stings directed between the rings of the belly. The moment that this formidable weapon reached them, was the last of their existence— they stretched their wings and ex pired. At the same time, if the work ers did not consider them as dead, as they appeared to us, they still stuck the sting so deep that it could hardly be withdrawn ; and these bees were obliged to turn around upon themselves, with a screw-like motion, before the stings could be disengaged. Next day, we wit nessed new scenes of carnage. During three hours the bees furiously destroyed the males. They had massacred all their own on the preceding day, but now attacked those which, driven from the neighboring hives, had taken re fuge among therm The following days no drones remained in the hives." How to Take Life Take life just as though it was—as it is—an earnest, vital, essential affair. Take it just as though you personally were born to the task of performing a merry part in it—as though the world had waited for your coming. 'rake it as if it was a grand opportunity to do and achieve ; to carry forward great and good schemes; to help and cheer a suf fering, weary, it may be heartbroken brother. The fact is, life is undervalued by a great majority of mankind. It is not made half as much of as should be the case. Where is the man or woman who accomplishes one tithe of what might be done? Who:cannot look back upon opportunities lost, clans unachieved, though crushed, aspirations unfulfilled, and all caused by the lack of the neces sary and possible effort? If we knew better how to take and make the most of life, it would be far greater than it is. Now and then a man stands aside from the crowd, labors, earnestly, becomes NITIVIBER 13 famous for greatness of some sort. The world wonders, admires, idolizes ; yet it only illustrates what each may do if he takes hold of life with a purpose. If a man but says he Will, and follows it up, he may expect to accomplish anything reasonable. REMARKS 110 N. WILLIAM A. WALLACI IU the Senate. March 10, IS7O The bill exchanging the Bonds of the Pennsylvania Central and the Allegheny Valley Railroads, Mr Bonds of Jersey Shore, Pine Creek and Its lido Railway, and other companies, 1333.3 ng, under discus sion, Senator Wallace stated the obieets of the bill, which we have already published as passed. Proceeding to show the resour ces of the section through which the pro jected roads are to pass, he said: I do not think it necessary to attempt to portray hero to-night, the character of the country through which these lines of rail way penetrate. There is not within the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania a can n try so rich in minerals as is reached or by these great arteries; there is nowhere NI, large and valuable a coal field :is there ex ists; it only seeks the means of transtnis shod to a market in order to swell your riches and vastly increase your population in the Northwest and in the Southwest.— / mild last year, when a kindred subject was under consideration, that Upon the route I have described, and beddt , l in ti , hills which border the valleys of li33nnott's Branch and Sandy Lick, in the 33333111 Lies of ,Cleartiel3l and Jefferson, easily attainable and most desirable in its 301alities, exists the linest body of bituminous coal Within the State." On the Constitutionality of the contem plated transfer, he spoke as follows : I now turn to the question of our right to exchange these securities, fir if this Is. clearly prohibited by the Comititetion it is for me, as it should be hr all of us, end of the proposition. The Supreme Court in ((rat, vs. The Commonwealth, :all Wright, has distinctly recognized our right to transmute these Bonds and to clunge the securities for their protection. If we have the power to do this, it involves the admission of our dis cretion in the premises, and this once granted, it necessarily follows that we can exercise that discretion at our will, so bo as the securities or evidences of the debt are affected, always responsible the ap plication of the proceeds to the payment or the public debt. But it is said that the plain letter of the Constitution forbids it, 11.111 that this is a use and apt:heath different front that pro vided in that section of the Constitution which authorizes the creation of a Sinking Fund. I need not reply to this art, for J ridge Strong, in hilt Wright, h illy settled the question against th sition. Let us turn to the Ciinstitui anil see if the very words thereof do not penult this transinlitation. I assert it to be a settled principle, that unless the Constitu tion prohibits us from doing this, we have the right. This is a well settled rule of construction and is distinctly I emphatically ruled by Chief Justice Black, In Mayer vs. Sharp less, a Llarris, 1411. We lun•e all the power that the Constitu tion does not deny us. Let its turn to the Constitution itself, and see how it bears upon the question now before us: "The said sinking fund may ht • increased from time to time by assigning, it to any part of the taxes or other rover:lles Of the State not required by the ordinary :rod current expenses of the government, .00l unless in case of war, invasion, or insurrec tion, no part of the said sinking fund shall be used or applied otherwise than in the extinguishment of the pub] is debt. - Another part of the section pr., idol I that the Legislature at Its next session should create a sinking fund ; it orders that a sinking fund shall be created by the !text Legislature; it does not ere:v[o it; it did not itself create the sinking fund, but ordered the Legislature to create it, and then de scribed a part of the securities, the revenue, from which should go into the sinking fund. The proceeds of the sale of the puLiio works were named as IL part of these seeu rides, the revenues from which intro to go to payment of the public debt. This was the ultimate destination of tine ati,t6, it is our duty to send them thither, We seek to do nothing less. But, say Senators, these proceeds of the sale of the public works were put into the sinking fund; so, too, were the proceeds of bank charters and dividends ; they were put inn precisely as were the proceeds of the sale of the public works, but in sit( the money is rcalizal LlllOll the securities, thee are nut in the sinking fund, mid cannot be applied to the payment of the debt. The words sinking fund in their very terIIIS Meal], not IL security, but a sum of money. The plain interpretation is an aggregated sum of money ready for application, and until this money is in the sinking fund we have control over the evidences of debt ft, its protection and direction. We cannot divert the funds from their ultimate pur poses, but we have the control of the accu rities from which the moneys come. dare not destroy the security or detru•t from the amount of them ; we cannot Lakin them out ; but, we can make the security of the Commonwealth better. This was done in 1931, andthe Supreme Court passed upon it, and in their opinion they say thin fund cons lots of the money rcalizol, and riot of the evidences of debt therein. If the sinking fund be the money real al ized from the securities, until they are realized. I can find no prohibition upon the legislature to exercise its discretion for the benefit of the people in the management and control of these evidences a debt, provided the proceeds pe sent to pay the indebtedness of the Commonwealth. Mr. Billingfelt—l mould to know who has charge .if those bonds; arc they not lodged in the hands the commissioners as a part of the fund? Mr. Wallacii—Undoubtedly, but until the money is realized they are mit a part of that fund within the ineaningpf the law; a security is not money; a fund consists Of money. Whenever the money is realized, the proceeds of the securities become a part of the sinking fund, and must go to the payment of the debt. Mr. 13illingfel1—I differ in that respect from the Senator. Mr. Wallace—Any other argument then I make necessarily prevents us touching the securities, although they may become in danger. Although it may lie the plain est necessity to change them, if the argu ment of the Senator ho correct, then we cannot touch them in case of danger, for it We have no discretion in urn' case we have none in any. Concede the power co :tny purpose and it is plenary for all. The se curities are the tinge evidences of the in debtedness and are not the fund within the meaning of the Constitution. But, sir, beyond all this lies a higher question. Are we to construe the amend ment of 1557 in a narrow and illiberal spirit? No, sir; in construing that iltet ment a broad and statesmanlike, policy is t, be insulated. When the greatest in terests of a great Commonwealth are at stake, how narrow and illiberal is that view of her organic law whirl: inevitably tends to prevent her development ! 1:10,11 a question of this magnitude it is to beim:- strued broadly and in a statesmanlike Man ner, and not narrowly and teehnically.-- We are not denied the right to exercise this power. We must determine between a narrow and illiberal :tint a broad and imnprehensive view or our duty as Leg islators. Shall we be controlled by our prejudices against individuals or against corporation"? I am for the broadest and most enlarged policy upon this subject that We can attain. !labored carnestlysiast year in advocacy of this policy, and Ido b u t re peat my convictions now. I take thk re sponsibility, knowing precisely wlelt it is. I understand all the narrow pejudiees that surround this question ; but, sir, I am will ing to take the res p onsibility that may come to me for my share in mating frankly a question that looks to the 41evelopment of my native State, that looks to bringing towns and villages and cities, and a teem ing population, and a full treasury- in its wake. The mode of development indicated in this bill is the best and most economical that we mil adopt or ever have attempted to adopt. There is no money taken from the Commonwealth; the people are not taxed to make this development ; it enriches all, yet taxes none; it returns to the State Treasury with but a trilling change, all of these securities, and by their use we secure the development of three sections or the State which have yet been untouched: there is no mode that can be devised so wise :mil fair as this Drip, if we possess the power, which I have already argued we do posse.. A system of public works by the State inev itably brings in its train a crowd of hungry contractors, who, like the horse leech, con tinually cry give! give! In this mode we have no crowd of corrupt and dishonest officials ; no never-ending claims fur dam ages always paving never paid, but we have in their room the simple transmutation or our securities, the Commonwealth protect ed, and all these great interests of the peo ple subserved. In urging his point Mr. Wallace made the following statement of revenues deriv e ed from railroads: Your taxes on gross receipts of railways in 1860 were nothing; In 1869 they were 073,420. Tax on tonnage in 1860, $31,425; in 1869, $293,901. Tax on coal, a direct re sult of railways, in 1860 were nothing; in 1869 it was $159,577. Commutation of ton nage In 1860, nothing; in 1869, $160,000. Right of way in 1860, $10,000; in 1869, $lO,- 000. Tax on railway loans in 1860, nothing; in 1869, $160,474. Tax on railway corpora tion stocks in 1860 was $77,360, whilst in 1869 it was $527,251, saowlng an aggregate front these sourcesllll6N 0f5118,783, whilst BUSIMESS ADYERTISIEMENTS, .i 2 a year per squro of tan lines; $8 par year for each addi tional square. REAL ESTATE ADTERTTSINO, 10 cents a line for the tlrst, and 5 cents for each subsequent in- Insertion. G r,EItA 1. A DVERSLAIII44, oentli n hne for the fir,t, cud i acute for 'each subseghent !user _ tton. SPEciAVlslorlcus Inserted in Local Columns 15 cents per line, SPECIAL Notices preceding marriages an deaths, 10 cents per lino for arid insertion and 5 cents for every subsequent insertion. LECAL AND OTHER NoTICEs— Executors' notices 2 20 Acintiniutrntors' notice 2 TM Assignees' notices 2 50 Auditors' notices 2 00 1O her '• Notices," tell lines,' or less, three times I 4 in 1`139 it was $1,.1,.".:1, or more than six teen fold. Ile insmneed the liberal support to r uts by .N ow York-and thu Western State,, and claimed that Pennsylvania ought to pursue a similar policy. In re suming the consideration of the constitu tionality of the bill, Ito spoke as follows: Let toe turn briefly to the objections of the Senator from Columbia [Mr. Ituckalew], Ile affirms that this takes six millions from the sinking fund contrary to tlw Constitu tion. You cannot take anything out if it was flies put ill. The power to transmute these seourities has been recognized by the Supreme Court. We cannot divert the as sets when realized front the payment to the debt, but our discretion to tt, lhu OVi tlethpq of the debt is ample. Whilst it is true that the Pennsylvania Central is a wealthy corporation, the Comititita wealth has not a dollar of hen upon any portion of that road excopt from Columbia tn Phila delphia. 'rho security is unquestionably good, but that which this bill will give ua is,qually good for its :mound. It is argued that these mauls aro unfin ished and that there is no certainty that. the ultimate security will be good, and that it is an exchange of mod securities for a doubtful one. We have in all the past had people who doubted that, there \tut,' anything paal in telegraphs, canals and railroatls• or that healthful progress t.ultl ho 111.1 ,it., but I hart` shown by figures that cannot Ito gainsayea that in the past ten years railways have grown to ho worth 0 us it large Nlllll (4111 , )10V. Any 111011 lo,ks :It this questi,n nI Stato ilevel quilelit in the light (it' the past must eonio o the conclusion that. I havo eon. , toy, 11101. tu.se ro.lw:tys, when eolliplet.s 1 111(1 their hauls 111,1 will I s ' ample Ike lehts of the Slato. But it is said it the indebted nes,. It does whilst the row Is are doing built. I. this a terrible thing to the Com monwealth, in view of the liact that we are developing her territory ? But say, Senators, the State now gets ti i iliio,o o o annually, whilst by this bill she will got but tUu,OOO, and that thereby the State is seriously injured. If theargument of Senators upon the question the right, to touch these securities be worth anything whatever, this position is most inconsistent therewith, for the fact is patent that the act oft 7 , by which the terms of sale of the main line were fixed, is id most identical iu terms with the provisions of this bill. If we have 110 power under tau terms of the con - ,Litutiw,t,ithange the security given for the purchase of the main line, how enilicti it that 110 W We are receiving rl•-lti11,000 instead of lad the interest on line $6,000,000 yet un • paid at .5 per cent., ;Lod $lOO,OOO annually. If we have no power to change the time and manner of payment of tau 111011ey, arising Crust the sate of the public works, how happens it that wo do not hold these debtors by the very letter of their . . pttnls given n mler the :tot:4 1537 and now •ontaining in the trea,nry. Thu only an .wer to this ti. IS Ilutl the Legislature tfISOI changed the time and manner of tayinent by :in :trrangenient with its debt. :Lgrecd to re, eivo the money faster than the ternl9 lit the sale provided. If they could 11., that in fall, Is it not competent for this I..egi,laturt , to 11 . 111i1 the tielotee to tlltt terllls of his original contra,t, especially in view nt the filets that the previsions of the l'onstitution, of the act, for the malo of the 11111i11 Imo :Liltl of the ~ceurittes now hold us all ,i,nictir with the inode of payment ixed by this 11111, with the single excel, ion of postponement or the annual pay nents for lice year,? The act of !tall was Iq exercise of a leginlative discretion. The nit of INTO is no more. We Violate no con litutional right or provision in remitting he parties to their original contract. t;o h he treasury and read the bonds you hold mil you Will litid that the last matures n 1.5 . 14. So al:4011,0,4 the last payment tin ier this bill. Tini people or the section I have the hon er to represent, anti the people of the ',w hin:4 represented by tine Senators I min potter arid I ;reel.. have CIII.IIIIS 11114111 Grunt gt•lleratit , ll to generation these people have paid their taxes mill 1•11I1 np to aid youlin defending the Commonwealth and in inaklng your public iinprovernent3 and they have reecived nothing from the The enuntry in which I live has liver I.o,oiVed a duller front the Cuninwnwealth. \Ve have but a ~inglo st raggling lino nfrail- Way, entering nor 01.11111 y (JII its eastern •illl., yet nn that line ;ire found e.olleries In every direction, :mil rapid progress is be ing MAO. 111 the county at Jefferson there is 1111 untold capacity for development: there, too, you Will have vast quantities of material for transportation. liVlay not aid them? (live the means of transpolation, and Wealth comes to you in untold quanti ties, I mac lm 100111111.1.11 to say' that so car as the line of railway contemplated through tny district is eoneerneti, I own not ill' acre land hetsveen the point of junction :tin( he New York line, hilt I seek the interests )1 the people I represent, :tint I know I faithfully relleet their sentiment in sup purting this nica,uru. . An implied charge of corrupt legislation iv made in regard to this measure. 1 have taken my position and us forci lily :1-4 I Cahill have endeavored to maintain it. I fear none or the implications or insinuations that may bo or have been made, but upon this 111,.11, :Ls npon all others that have Situ 1,01111,1 US Skit, I have hail the honor of a seat here, I have enoicavoreil to perform my duty faithfully U. my constituents, and to the hest interests of the Commonwealth is it is given me to see those interests. 'the implication, too, does gross injustice to the far-seeing and sagacious inert who .ontrol and direct the policy of our great 01. I do not hesitate to affirm hat their peers in ability in their vocation eannot ho found within the nation. Nav, more, sir, their reputation and that of the great road they have made ;are eo-equal and world-wide, and as /.(41nsy vanians we can with honest pride point to those men, sons of our coil, as unexcelled and unequaled, for breadth of view, for sagacious foresight and Mr skillful management of enormous in terests. Now, Senators, I have done. We come to you and beg you to remember that our people have a claim upon the Stale we all love and serve. NVe bog you to remember that the soil and its products, and its min erals, are the true :Lod only sources of wealth, and that with you lies the power to bring them forth. We beg you to re member that to you and to the Common wealth we seek to bring no loss. In giving us what we seek you impoverish not your- selves Inn make us rich indeed. We are weak and unable to stand without your aid. We are isolated and embarrassed; aid us to stand erect and from being weak we, will bees trio strung, from being infants needing suit, we Will become giants, and will with the arms ofgiains throw back in the lap our State riches ten fold greater than those you now grant as a loan. Hanlon Contenmen that he Killed Little ]fury Mohrmaust. I'd .Nlarch IS.—Hanlon the man who outraged and murdered a little girl named Mary Mohrinann, In this city, iu 111 N, has Waite a confession that after he outraged her person he choked her todeatli and a , I g her body in a pinee of earpet :mil threw it into the pond. The first fine night, he omit', ilia sleep in eriliseqUenee of erile, hill When he Ibund that he was not sus pee l ed he went on regularly with his work. I la,, Inn's presence at the pond when the le.d„y was found first led to the detection of the criminal. The confession of this horrible crime, which in detail is unparalleled, erotica a great feeling of re lief in the pu Lhe Wind that the monster has been diseoveriql. llaulnn, :acs the gentleman, stated, in commencing his confession, that ho enticed fary into the yard, then detailed how he Ifioloql her, :m e l hose he placed tho body in tltb cellar retie .ved it. lie said he pushed the body out through the window, and after lookang around to see if :any one Was about, wrapped it in a pies, olari a t and stole silently out of the alley and walked sharply to the lot at Sixth said Diamond streets, to a SpOt.llo had pre viously elussen, and laid the body in a pond of water, so that in easi. it SllOlllll bo naillif it would appear that she had been drowned. After taking a survey of the surroundings, he walked up to Susquehanna avenue, and thence to Sixth street, down the latter high way to Diamond. and passed thence into the yard of his house. 'Chinking that he had covered up every track that would likely led to his heingsuspicioned. he went to lied. This was Isswetal a and 4 o'clock in the morning. Finding that he could not sleep, he got up and dressed himself. The greater part of that day he wandered about the city, thinking aS to what course he hail better pursue to avoid detection. The first intimation he bad that he Was suspected was when a couple of gentlemen entered his shop anal quizzed hint about the murder. the left home the next day, and remained away for smite time. lloaring no more of the ease, he returned, thinking that he was perfeetly safe, and that no further action would be, taken by the authorities. Heath °lnn Eminent 111mIkop I3ishop Thomson, of the Methodist Epis copal Church, died yesterday morning at Wheeling, \Vest Va. His illness seas short, though a severe type of typhoid pneumonia. Last week he presided at the West Virginia Conference, and was journeying to Jersey City to officiate at the conference to be hold there this week when prostrated by sick ness. Bishop Thomson was an English man by birth, but an American by educa tion. Ile canto to this country in 1819 in the tenth year of his age, and after acquir ing a classical education fitted himself for the medical profession, and entered upon its practice. In 18iii1 ho abandoned this profession entered t h e pupil, wherein ho ministered to the prominent congregations of his denomination in the West with great ability. The water has been let into the Schuylkill canal, and everything is ready for the resumption of navigation.
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