ONE DOLLAR PLR AM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. 'j'OWAMIA : Oalotbaj fllorniitn, fllnn!) 31. 1833. <?cletteb |}ottnr. LITTLE CHARLEY. i. Little Charley slumbers sweetly, In his narrow lonely bed ; IV'ting storms, and howling tempest, Cannot rem h his little head. Sweet affection drops a tear, O'er the spot where Charley lie-*—• Angels whisper, " took up yonder,' Pointing upward to the skies. it. On our mem'ries deeply graven. Stands liis little image fair ; Sparkling eyes, and shining temples, Rosy cheeks and golden hair— Ruby lips, so full of. smiting, Neck and amis of spotless white, l.ittle feet, BO full of running. Little Charley was so bright 1 tit. Put away bis little play-things. Vender lies his little whip ; On the table lie- hi- whistle. Oft he pre.-sed it on his lip. On the window lies his primer— I the chair on which he sat, He the nail, in yonder corner, Hangs alone his little hat. IV. O I remove tho-e sad memorials, Lay them carefully away ; Christ! l:e thou our consolation, In the dirk nrd gloomy day— O ! forgive the thought within us, And 0 ! keep his - pint here : In 1 :;.-sful regions Cii irh-y dwells, Forgive thou us this mournful tear. v. Little Charley slumbers sweetly. In his hmely narrow bed; Pelting -tonus and h wling tempest, Ch.nnot retch hi- little head. On that bright and glorious morning, Christ will whisper from above. '* Rise my child, and Ic-t me dress thee In robes of white and spotless love!" Illi s c 111 it in ou s. The Lost Sister cf Wyoming; OH. THE CAPTIVITY* OF FRANCES SLOCUM. Among the inhabitants of the beautiful val ]t v of Wyoming, at the period of it - invasion In* that blood-thirsty band of torles and savages who, with a barbarity seldom equalled, laid waste and destroyed every vest ige of that love ly settlement, murdering the inhabitants ami driving off their cattle, was a Quaker by the name of .lonathau Slocum, whoso peaceful dis position and many acts of kindness to the In dians, saved his dwelling from the torch, and his family from annoyance, while his neighbor.-* were butchered, their homes burnt, and their children taken captive. This impunity, how ever, was of short duration. Mr. Slocum had a son, Giles, who was in the battle, and it is supposed that the Indians, becoming aware of the fact, determined on a bloody revenge. In the family of Mr. S. was the wife of a neigh bor. who had been taken captive by tho In dians. and her two sons, one fifteen, the other twelve years of ago. One morning in Novem ber, some four months after the bloody massa cre which made the valley a desolation, a par ty of red-skin warriors was seen prowling around the vicinity of Wilkes-barre Fort. The two boys had gone to the grindstone to sharp en a knife, and the women were engaged in their domestic duties, when Airs. Slocum was startled by a shot, and a shriek from one of the boys. Stepping to the door she beheld a swarthy warrior, in the act of scalping the old est boy with the knife he had been grinding. Horror-stricken at the sight, she staggered hack*, and was followed by the Indian, with the still warm and reeking scalp in his hands. — i Looking about him for plunder, he discovered nothing to tempt his cupidity, worth the risk of carrying off. but a little son of Mrs. Slocum. who stood in his way as he turned to the door. Seizing him in his arms, in was about to depart, ! when Mrs.S., with all a mother's feeling, caught j liiia by ihe arm aud besought him, in tones of | earnest entreaty, not to deprive her of her boy. ' " Sec 1" said'she, ** he can do thee no good, he i- lame." Dropping the boy, he took up a lit tle daughter of five years, who had crouched in fear behind a high-backed chair, and was making Lis way out, when the mother again 'tapped iiim and plead for her child. lu the m >-t pathetic tones, she implored him to leave hr bright-eyed darling; the light of her home am! the joy of her household. As well might die have wasted her words upon the stern rocks or the idle wind: the rugged nature of thesav- a.-re was not to he moved by Iho earnest ap- I 1 •:!* of the pale-faced squaw. Grasping with if hand the mantle which enwraj>ped him, and Vi ith the other the dress of her child, she clung to both with a tenacity which had well nigh ["'fomplished her purpose. Finding himself iuijmm Uml in his exit, and fearful of approaching the savage drew his tomahawk, and rUii, '<l it to linish, at a blow, her importuuity and her life. Heading in his eves his stern de- J'nnination, and wrought to a pitch of agony, Wond which her system refused to go, she yielded lier grasp, and sank in a swoon at his " r The Indian, relieved of her annoyance, fw took his departure, with little Frances in ■; urius, and as he passed through the yard, " ■*' l upon the other sou of Mrs. Kingsley, ' ■"in lie also bore oil' as a prisoner. All this Was "ut the scene of a few moments, yet how oi terror, and heart-breaking agony was ''ii jraeed within that short jwriod of time.— 1 ! v tn iiiy years of terrible suspense and deep had their birth in those f*w brief mo r' Mrs. Kingsley, who had stood, a tcr '"'l beholder of the scene, when she saw her %d m !( j on q. ]i v i n g ( .{jj| ( i j orn f rom hf, r an( j "" ,4 o nndf r the affliction and gave herself up to stolid apathy, little short of despair. One of Mrs. Slocum's children, had, with a sagacity beyond her years, at the first appearance of the savages, snatched up the youngest child and fled to the Fort, where she gave the alarm, and a party started at once for the house, but the Indians were already beyond the reach of successful pursuit. In a short time after the above melancholy bereavement, Mrs. Slocum was called upon to part with her husband and father, who were both shot and scalped by a party of Indians, while foddering cattle near the house. Thus in the short space of six weeks, was that hap py household broken up and destroyed, and its surviving members wrapped in misery as with a mantle. Her religion Sustained Mrs. Slocum in her day of trial, and she threw herself and her remaining children upon the me rev of her Heavenly father, and bowed her head, without a murmur, to His decrees. For the dead she did not mourn; they were at rest, and 110 sor row or useless repinings could restore them to her again. But her lost daughter, herdarling Frances, was ever present in her tJTThights.— Like Rachel weeping for her children, she re fused to be comforted, and eutcrtaiued a live ly hope that she would one day be restored to her arms again. Her spirits seemed buoyed up with this hope, and she lived in the antici pation of again seeing her and pressing her to ! her bosom. Days, mouths, and years rolled on, and the lump of hope still burned as bright ly as ever. No tidings had ever reached her of her child, and all gave her up but her poor ; heart-stricken mother. When peace was de | dared, and many captives returned to their homos and families, she sent two of her sons to Canada in search of their long lost sister.—- They sought her wherever there was the slight est chance of her presence ; they offered re war Is for her recovery, but all in vain, and they re turned to their mother with the cheerless tidings, convinced of her death. Not so with her.— .She felt satisfied that her Frances still lived, and would not listen to any other supposition. At length her long-cherished hope seemed about lo be realized ; a woman was found among the Indians, who had been carried away when a child from the Susquehanna, and she was sent for by Mrs. Slocum, who cherished her and endeavored to feel that her child was restored. But the invisible link which binds a mother to her offspring was wanting, and the bereaved mother was bereaved still. The found ling, too, felt that she was not the long lost and looked for daughter, and ultimat* ly return ed to her Indian friends. Years rolled on.— Time had whitened the locks of the confiding mother with age; her sons had passed the me ridian of life, and their children had grown to i manhood, and yet she still entertained the bc i lief that her Frances lived. At length she was I called away to join her husband in another j world, and she went "down into the grave | mourning"' that she was not permitted, this side j the grave, to embrace her darlrfejr. ! Some years after her death, when her bro thers were grey-haired men, and wlc n all had ! eca-ed to entertain a thought of the lost si-tor, | their feeiiugs were aroused by an announcement which placed beyond question the fact that she still lived, and remembered Imr former home and friends. An Indian agent in Ohio wrote to the editor of one of the new-papers in Penn sylvania, informing him that he had seen and | talked with a white woman among the Indians, j who told him that her name was Slocum. that j her father was a Quaker, and wore a broad j brimmed hat. That he lived at a place on the : Susquehanna river, which was near a town where there was a fort, and that she was taken from thence while a child, by the Indians.— This letter the editor—who deemed the matter a hoax—threw among his waste papers, where it laid for a year or more, until his wife, one day in looking them over, came across it. Her sympathetic feelings were aroused, aud she sent it to the Inteltigenrcr, in which it was publish ed. It happened that, on account of a tem perance address it contained, an extra number was printed, one of which found its* way to Wyoming, and two brothers and a sister im mediately started for the West to find the long lost Frances. They found her, but 011, how changed !' She was now an aged woman, with grand-children about her, and fast approaching the grave. The interview which took place between the long separated brothers and sister was affecting in the extreme. She informed them, through an interpreter, (she had lost her native language,) that after her capture she was treated in the most tender manner by the Indians, who took her to their town, when she soon became attached to their roving, nomadic life, and cauie to dread being discovered by her friends. When she grew up, and her foster parents died, she married a young chief of the I tola wares, (the tribe to which her cuptorsbelonged,) and after his death she joined the Miainis with her people, and married again. She had been a widow now for many years, children and grand-children were growing up around her, and her life was passing pleasantly away She was comparatively wealthy, having a large stock, and all the rude comforts of Indian life in abundance, besides one thousand dollars in specie, which she had saved from the annuity which, as an Indian, she had drawn from Government. After spending several days with her, her friends bade her a final farewell. She died a few years since, and was buried with considerable pomp, as she was regarded as a queen among her people. ££fcT* YOUNG LADIES, now-a-days, when they are preparing for a walk, ought not to keep their lovers waiting us long as they do, for now they have only to put their bonnets half on. SfefY** Airs. Partington advises all young people afflicted with the preparation of tiie. heart, to apply the cataract of mustard to draw out the information ; she says she lias never known a failure where this devise was followed. trip- He who thinks he can f.ad wbhin him self the means of doing without others, is aim b mistaken ; but he who thinks that others can not do him i. rt'lf ro,-e mi fsken. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOW AX DA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA, BY E. O'IIEARA GOODRICH. " REGARDLESS OK DENUNCIATION TROM ANY QUARTER." THE EMIGRANT AND THE CHILD. 11Y NYLGHAU. There was a small, rusty-looking man, with sleek, cropped hair, sitting in a back seat on one of our Western railroads. He wore a din gy sort of straight brimmed cap and a red waist coat, buttoned opto the chin, which, with a quick, uneasy glance, ami a shrinking air of perplexity, very different from the free-and easy, at-hoiue-like manner of the uumistakeable Americans around him, suliicieutly bespoke for eign birth. In fact, lie seemed rather dubious of the way in which lie was going, and was con stantly protruding his head from the small win dow next him, and making desperate efforts to get it back again, raising the somewhat pain tul doubt, as to whether it might be acciden tally taken off, picked up on the road, and ad vertised "to be called for." It was a hot afternoon, and the gray masses of dust whirled around inside the <ar to the motiou of tiie train. Gentlemen, with their places of destination on little yellow tickets stuck in their hat-bands, read newspapers,with lugubrious countenances perfectly impervious to dust or heat. Ladies veiled out ihe dust, rocked to and fro, jolted along in grim silence. Children covered with perspiration slept on their plush seats, or cou>oled themselves with sweetmeats. And the blackened and inexora ble engine in front sped fiercely on, dragging along its burden of life, separating friends and lovers, breaking long tics of relationship and association, or perchance carrying some tired wanderer to his longed-for home, with the same relentless rush, whooping 1 and fuming in the ex ultation of its iron strength. Stations were gained and left far behind, j>eo ple got out and went no one knows where, and others came and presented new faces in their place. The sun which had gathered in bright ness from the whole expanse of the pale blue sky, and burst in a water spout of light, glisten ing on the heated rails, and concentrating on the foreigner's rusty coat, now sank glaring in sullen red mist, and cast a flush on hi> counte nance as it found him still rushing gloomilv on with the train. Involuntary lie turned from the uncongenial faces near him, and gazed upon the landscape, as if he hoped to find in it some traces of the land he had left. But endless fields of Indian corn, and meadows thick with tree stumps, sel dom gave him any trace of resemblance to his fatherland. A monotonous forest, always shutting out the distance, sometimes closed around the track, and sometimes opened upon little white pert-lookintr houses, that seemed to squint at iiim through their half-closed green blinds, but too glaringly reminding him that he wax thousands of miles away from happiness and home. Everything was terribly American. There was America in the zig-zag* fence bv the road side, that wriggled past in interminable contor tions. Titer® was America in the tall girdled forest trees*, that stood scath d, and bare, and blackened with fire, in scattered groups, enclos ing a peculiarly Attn rieii log-cabin, or stand ing solitary and alone, sun-dials to mark the progress of civilization. lie turned away again from the uncongenial sight, almost sick at heart. Kverything.sugges ted utter isolation, and brought it home to him, that he w as as utterly uneared for and unnotic ed, as the blue fly that buzzed past him in the sunshine. As he drew back his head, his astonished gaze fell upon the most delicate miniature of a little hand in the world, lying softly in his own toil worn palm. What a contrast ! The amazed foreigner looked up, and met a pair of lustrums black eyes, looking compassionately into his own. The hand and eyes were parts of the most fairy-like little form the foreigner had ever seen. For a moment, the mystic poetry of the German's character overcame his reason, and he met the little thing's gaze with the awo-struck expression of one who sees a vision. The dread realities of steam and America were banished by the child's pre sence. "\V hydoyou look so sorry ' said she. "Are you sick or hungry ?" So grave and serious were the little child's tones, that the German inadvertently an swered her us he would have done an older per son. "My little lady," said lie, in his broken En glish, " L live avay over der great ocean. jSiy home ish dare. Here old Hans Hi a pour lonely German, amongder proud A'merieaus. Dis ish dor reason der sorrow ish so heavy on tue." " No old Haas, take Linic up in your lap, as ma does w hen .she is thinking of dear dead pa pa, and it will make von glad again, like it does her." And Hans did take tho child into his lap, and blessed. (od for the sight of her little face. " Acre ish your ma ?" asked Hans. " Why, Uncle Ben, and her are way to t'other end of the rail-ear, talking,"said Lime, " and I saw you up there in the looking-glass, looking so sorry, that I pulled away from Un cle Ben, and came to sit with you." llans glanced up at the narrow horizontal mirror above his head, but the glass smiled on hint now. The old German loved children, and had a hundred little ways of gaining their af fections. lie J allied out his huge, motherly looking silver watch, and held it to Lime's ear, telling her at the same time an old German le gend of the little fairy blacksmith inside of it. He told her, too, of his old home, and the little children with rosy cheeks and flaxen hair who played before the floor. He told her, as if she could understand him, of the quiet old German university where lie had held a professorship, and the golden dream of ambition that had ex tended even to him, and tempted him into cold, practical, modern America. The littlegirl, too, prattled innocently of their homes on the banks of the far-off Hudson, of her mother, uncle, and playmates, untill she hud talked herself into a doze; and then, laying her curls on the Ger man's threadbare coat, she fell fast asleep.— Whv old Hatw chuckled so to himself *0 ] why he held her so carefully and brushed away the tormenting flies, and why he did not again re lapse into that despondency which had been caused by his complete isolation, are queries for children-haters to muse upon. Tiie huge red moon, rising slowly from the horizon, dashed swiftly along with the car-*, now beaming through the tree-tops, now hid behind some bam or natural eminence', and at length, soaring smaller and brighter than be fore, iuto the evening skv. And the little stars came out, oue by one, in their marshalled order, until the whole sky was broken out into con stellations. Still the child -lcpt on. A tall trentleinanlv looking personage, with huge whiskers and a good-natured expression, now approached, and, accosting Huns, w as at <>;,t to take aw ay Linic, w hen he perceived she was asleep. • " Well, this is unlucky, certainly," said the gentleman, sitting down on the vacant seat next Hans. "I am afraid she has troubled you, lay friend." "Oh no," interrupt *d Thins, eagerly ; "she ish a very quiet child, 1 assure you." " You ought to see her when she is provok ed, ' said the geulleinuu, laughing, '"and you would probably alter your opiuioii. However, if she is the least trouble to vou " " Not in der least," cried ilans, " I villhold her safe, very safe." " As I w as about to say," continued thegen tlem in, smiling, perhaps the remnant of his laugh,at the German's anxious expression, "if such is not the case, I shall have to trouble you to keep the child until she wakes, for the Doc tor recommends that she should not be abrupt ly aroused from sleep." "Oh yes ! I will hold her very safe," repeat ed nans. " I am much obliged to you, to be sure," replied the gentleman, sauntering curelesslv away. Hans regarded him with a jealous look, as one who was about to deprive him of the only friend he possessed in all America. For it was as if Hans—alone on a vast, col.l and dreary sea —had suddenly found a buoy which everv succeeding wave threatened to sweep from his grasp, and leave him again weltering in the ungcuiul element. A cry sweet looked Li tiie, as she slept on, dreaming of aught but the dark fate that was dragging them on to such a terrible destination. But although he knew not why, yet a gloomy presentiment, that something which betokens to the soul of man a coming disaster, as a cloud in the sky tells of a storm, that peculiar feeling now cast a shadow over the face of poor Han. A vehement shriek from the locomotive aroused him from Lis dreamy lethargv. " Aly God !" exclaimed a voice near him, a collision !" It was but the echo of his inmost heart. It was the buVslitig of the storm upon them. An electric shock of wild fear ran like lightning through the car, and the paleness of death was -liudowod on lhe horror-frozen countenance ol th<* passengers. A heavy shock, followed by* a desperate yc*ll of frantic terror, awoke the child. Hans clasped her, and clung convul sively .to ins seat. A moment they were hurl ing and bumping along the road, aud then, top pling for an instant, with an awful shriik of women, they ail went crushing aud rolling down—down into the deep ravine. Still, in deadly fear, Hans heroically clings to the child and to his seat. A huge tree comes banging and splintering through the shattered cur, right upon the German and his charge. A moment more, and their fate is inevitable—when quick, quick as thought, the noble fellow shields her with his body, and the hard, inexorable death doe- not touch li*r. Hans is struck—but the child is saved. * * * The moon hung clear and vivid in the centre of the blue vault, and the gay landscape lay cold and faded beneath, as lay the mangled bo dy of poor Hans. A silent group stood around, and, while gazing upon him, inwardly thanked God that their lives and llie lives of their friends were not the sacrifice required. For the bulk of tin* car hung arrested by the opposing tree, and all save one wore thus providentially rescued from the fate of that poor emigrant.—- Xational lira. llow *ro K; IN A S'N.— I. Set him the example in the use of intoxicating drinks. 2. Let him have his own way—-the " largest liberty," so fascinating to the imagination of " A'oung Amerira." l>. Allow him the free use of money, without any -restrainingsense of responsibility to parent or guardian. 4. Suffer him to wander where lie pleas. s on the Sabbath, and to spend Ills evenings from home. 5. Give him the freest access to wicked companions, whomik -a mock of all that is good, and condemn all authority. 0. Furnish him with no high ainiin life, and no steady* employment. It might hinder the development of his genius. Pursue ail or any of these ways, and you will experience a most marvellous deliverance, if you have not to mourn over a debased aud ruined child. Thousands of parents have practically adopt ed these rules in the raanagmcut of their children, and the results have been exactly what one might anticipate—"Theirgray hairs have been brought down with sorrow to the grave." How TO SECURE A LONG LlFE.— Tlabhi Sera was asked by his disciples how he obtained such a long life. " Never," he answered," was 1 easily excited in my house ; never did 1 pre cede him w hen I thought greater in honor ami station ; never did 1 think of the law in an unclean.place ; never did I walk fonr" yards without studying ou some part of it, never; did i sleep or slumber in house where thev taught the Word of God ; never did I rejoice at, an evil which happened to niv neighbor ; and never did I call any man by a nick name given to him in derision or sport." When is a man thinner than a shingle ? When he if a sl ; avjp rr . VALEDICTORY ADDRESS, READ BV MI.--S CAROLINE CO BURN, AT THE C! OSINO <>r THE SECOND TERM 01 Til!: SVSYCEB AXVA COLLEGIATE IN STITUTE, MVNSR-AY EVENING, MARCH 22, RItsrECTKU TKAIUEKS, FKIENDS, AND FLL- I.OW STLDUNJ'S : Time, whose onward flow ceases not : whore rapid current bears-all to the boundless ocean of Eternity, has brought n to the close of tin's, the second term of the Collegiate lustitutc. But. a few short months have pass'nl since we met as strangers— to those of us who came from homes far distant, all was strange and new. Xow, while we stand in this temple of justice,* for a few moments let u a cast the mind's eye back upon ages past, and contemplate the nations that were. .Man was at fir-1 but just elevated above the beasts that p< risked, and for many ages his progress is scarcely perceptible. So it was with Greece, Home, uud proud England—from simple shep herds, rude and uncultivated, barely raiding one thought above the turf on which lie trod aspired to naught but to gather the wild fruit which hung witlun his reach, or to dig the root from the earth when hunger pressed upon him. sprung the noble and polished Orator, the wise Lawgiver, the world-renowned Patriot, the sage Philosopher, and the stout hearted warrior of those ancient nations. From such progeni tors did Solon, Lvcurgus, and Leouitlas, and Demosthenes, and Cicero, and Ciesar, and Oin cinatus arise. The inert who elevated unci- at Greece to so high a position among the nations of antiquity, were the descendants of barbarous tribes, but little removed from the beasts that roamed over their uncultivated plains. Greece, though long since lost to fame, is still remem bered and sung as the land of learning, wealth 1 and relinement. For nearly two thousand vears, | she was bound to the earth by unjust lawy and unreasonable severity—but fell not when the mighty were upon her. but-by her own fic tions. Yes, she fell bv the hand of her own people—though lovely and not forgotten, her arts are no more. From classic Greece, let us turn to the sun ny clime of Italy, where rose and flourished the art-; and sciences, ller fallen temple?-, her ruined palaces, her deserted and buried cities, are still the wonder and admiration of the world. By the valor of her warriors, she con quered the world, and bv the wickedness and venality of her rulers, she conquered herself. While virtue was her guiding star, her path was upward, and her course onward. While integrity governed her councils, and a love cf justice presided in her senate, she went on con quering and to conquer---but when wild pas sion dpthrom d reason, and tyrannv stalked thro' her senate i handier unrebuked, the hordes'of tie north came down upon her like one dread ava lanche, and sealed her eternal doom. Tn Greece and Rome, the masses were ig norant. and all were superstitious. The genial influence of the religion of Jesus was not felt. The lights of science did not dispel the dark ness of ignorance, and call forth the mind to the contemplation of things above itself—while the few were learned, the many were in deplor able ignorance. Far back in the past, England, proud oris toerntic England, the home of Bavou, of Mil ton, of Locke, of Xewton, of Chesterfield, was but a nation of barbarians, whose religion was one of bloody rites and d"ep degradation. Hu man sacrifices smoked upon the alters of hea then deities. Xow. how changed the country, how altered ; the people. What has wrought this change The religion of Christ, and the ameliorating in fluences of education. Where once the savage : had his hut, see now great cities- where the | wild beasts roamed, see beautiful hamlets, and j highly cultivated fields. Many pleasant associations are connected ! with her geuth' rivers, as they meander thro' forest ami meadow. We feel that there our fathers lived tbfli there they looked on those same smooth Mowing streams there thev suf ! fered for their faith—there they noblv fought iin its defense. Thence they came to this, th. :1 wilderness land, bearing that unvielding spirit, which gave birth to those institutions which shall bless our land forever. \\ e owe much to England—she is our moth er land, and we are bound to respect and regard her as such. Her noble yeomanry, nr.- tho-e from whom our fathers received their brave spirt. t*>ur father--! with what emotion do those words til! is? How are our thoughts carried back to the time when persecuted for righteousness sike, they forsook all but a pure conscience and a faithful God, to seek an asv lum in this wilderness land, where unfettered and free, thrv might worship that Being i s i conscience dictated. In the winter of IfidO, when the stormy sur ges of the briny deep were clashing with mad dened fury against the rock-bound coast of New England,--when rocks, and trees and pebbles w ere sparkling with congealed icy spray —when every thing on land and on sea was dreary and forbidding, one hundred per on c with iron hearts and sinews of st e', and wills that never yielded when duty must be done, l anded on Plymouth rock. The ocean was upon one side, the wilderness filled with savages up on the other. The rocky, frozen earth below, and a dark stormy sky above. Thev toiled, and suffered, and endured, but did not become disheartened. Thev built el urehes, established veh-Mils, and as their number* increased, they increased their religions and educational facilities. Wherever new colonies were planted, there were seen ris ing the church and school-house. 11l is element has kept pace with the growing nation, and it is thh that has made America what she is. It. is neither her armies nor her naves, her ii eh mstihle mines, delightful cli mate. nor her fertile soil, his not to this we owe our greatness. Other nations, over which tyrants rule with ab. olutc despotism, enjoy all these blessings, stiil they compare not with us. No, not to tkes", but to our churches, col leges, academies and common schools—we point with pride and exclaim " these have made us übat we aiu ; these institutions are the pillars i of the state —the honor of the nation !" | Our own Keystone -bute, although long in I "This A■. i:*v t;s r--n<t ir. tM Court ffome VOL. XV.- —NO. the buckgrotiud, Ls beginning to take a aoblo stand nmoug her sisters'. The land of IYuu, of Franklin, of Jlitteiiliou.se, will not long be behind the other states of the union, in enduca tioii. A better day is dawning, brighter j ro-.- peets art opening—wo hope ere long to hear it announced that no child in this state, which is li.e Key to their glorious arch, will ever be per mitted to grow up to manhood or womanhood, without at least the rudiments of education. Allow us iiow to say a few words in relation to the Susquehanna Collegiate Institute. This ■ noble building, whose corner done was laid July 4th, 1853. Loug had such uu institution been contemplated, and much the opposition, and many the obstacles to he surmounted Cre it could be erected. Hut energy joined to per severance at length over, rune the difficulties, and on September filli, 1854, a goodly number, most of whom are now before me, were assem bled within its walls', for the first time, avow edly for the purpose of pursuing those studies which are to prepare n> for future usefulness. Trustees, we cannot injustice to our own feel ings, leave this institution without expressing our heartfelt gratitude to you, for the interest you have taken in our welfare. But for your energy and perseverance,, we should not liav : enjoyed the precious privileges which have juA e!o-ed with u.s forever. Long may the noble edifice which you have so e IT--dually aided in erecting, remain to bit- successive generations. When, for the first time we m-t as pupil-* within the walls of the Institute, the Autumn sun shone warm and brightly. Then earth's fruits were being gathered—all was (feasant and fair. Since then months have lied—Au tumn has been chilled into Winter, Wint- r brightened into Spring. Within these months much of pleasure and little of pain lias been experienced by us. The ghosts of many a mur dered hour, cali to us from their depths ; many a neglected duty forces itsa If upon our mind to night. The unheeded admonitions of our teach ers reproach us - the ill-learned lessons upbraid us in m?morv—neglected talent and misspent hours haunt us like spectres from the shadow v land. But oar beloved teachers! what shall wo sty to you ? Deeply are we sensible of your assi duous, yea. unremitting toil for our interest and as a feeble inadequate return, we bring you the oil- ring of our gratdude, our love ! "With the wearisome perplexing labors of the long day, y \ were not satisfied with tea iiing from tunc till four, you did not sea.-.- vonr labors iu our J chalf. Baf night's fa!! u; .shadows, and morn's first br .- A ug light, have found you dill at yourself impos d, health destroying task, struggling for our benefit. But tie term has dosed! The thrilling hour of separation, look; d forward to for weeks, has come at last ! II re, on the cvo of our departure for our distant homes, we sur vey the pa-t, and with swelling hearts look for ward to the future, —a mournful sadness oyer sltadows us with its wings. V\ c know that within the 1 rkk wall of the Institute, we.shall never ail be gathered again at the solemn hour of pray :. lire these well known tones fail on our car again, some loved one from the buoy aut group may be r •posing in " Everlast ing rest," d af to the subs of unguksh, to the voice of pray* r. The sunbeams creeping in through the College windows, will never again rest on an unbrokeu group. Some go out from among us to be themselves teach< is. Little- do you know, my fellow stu dents, the p Tplex'ties and toils that aw at you but bo encouraged, you hare an honorable profession in view. Although your faithful ness, and self denying labors may not be appre ciate 1 and rewarded at the time, rest assured that your unrequited efforts will not always be forgotten. Your pupils will ere long rise up and call you blessed. You are laboring for the future -sowing seed to germinate and pro d ice fruit, long after you shall repose beneath the mid clods of earth— forming characters for time, making Imprc. sious for eternity -go on then, be faithful to your high tru.-t. li ven the t t a 'herbs circle will be invaded. But our dear j leathers, may you who depart, and you who | linger, ever have the guardianship of blight ; angels around your pathway. May the faith j which sustains you now, whisper peace in life's 1 darkest, most trying hour. Future gem rations may perpetuate your memory—not alone on the eld white shaft, the marble cenotaph, but with deep strong cherished love, as the benefac tors of <heir country- —more fragrant than the garlands of flowing Tvys which the grateful Athenians hung around the tomb of Lycurgus. But not on earth may you receive your giv.nl reward, be that in ITeavon. "When the hn-t waves of time shall have rolled over your throbbing hearts, when they shall be nil still and pulseless- -beneath the church-yard mould, undisturbed by the tumult of the bu-y world ; the spirits which have lived aud loved will have been called homo to rest. Then those lips that have joined in our morning hymn, will tremble with the far richer bur-fs of music, that roll and reverberate through the corridors of that mansion our Savior has gone to prepare for yog. But why linger here?—the most endearing associations on ear lit are formed but to be brok en up—so it is with us. We have met, learn ed to love each other, and now we part to meet no more until the archangels last trump shall summon us around the bar of God. in that solemn hour may we a!! be found with the Great Teacher for our friend and advocate. Thou lovely landscape ! Thou foaming ami roaring and tuiou smoothly-gliding river ! Thou classic hails of the Fusquehamm Collegiate In stitute- and yoTt kind ami affrctionate friends —faithful ami paternal instructors, and belov ed fellow-students— Fakewele. f >i?* A woman has suggested that w hen men bie k tl.eir hearts, it is till the same as wheu a lobster breaks one of his claws—another sprouting immediately, and trowing in its place Rv-y- A pretty woman is like a great truth or a grat happiness, and has no more right to Lr. wile herself under a greui veil or any'similar abomination, than rite ;ur. ha~ to put on green epectfleles
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers