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