)t JJILAS ?£R AN UM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA: gljarsban fUormnn. 23, 1857. Sflrctfb Poctrrr. THE SNOWDROP. Sweet harbinger of lovely spring 1 We hail thv advent with delight, For Lack to memory thou dost bring Full many a balmy night, When underneath the waving trees Did sottly sigh the evening breeze. Dear wintry hud ! there is a charm Attends thy coming, calls the flowers, A d spreads alar the sweet alarm. That summer wakes amid the bowers ; It tells us that the zephyr sighs beneath the hlue and arching skies. M st beautiful amid the sn.det hud attracts the eye. F T V hariuingly they let us know The wish'd for summer now is nigh. When Flora smiles upon the plain. And bids awake the shepherd's strain. And when at length the summer's come. Thy lovely mission is n>t o'er : Thy gentle voice is mute aud dumb T :1 summer comes again as yore. A: r " EM'N'SII.SJINICIITS"— that's the word, I < it my HANDS, than tin* wor |s i:I which :HE it, those of course being the most for witli which I CJW give this episode in life the requsitc emphasis. MV mania, if I have one, is that of ram'>- WTH some it is a failing. Miueis of a % *ig order ; being on one occasion speud . - days with a hospitable friend in the ■ • • .VII of Neath. Glamorganshire, Wales. :. ! opportunity of pursuing my fancy to ' of my bent. 1 fine moaning, while taking A long walk side of the lovely valley of the Neath, . A A ing. by SOME queer procedure or oth- V -ridges, flood-gates, AMI the like, across rvtr and the canal, until I was in the ro aud noisy village of A'erdylais, 1 was . :I- iby the sight of £ noble waterfall in • ' "REUS action, and after a lengthened 1 -cgau to turn homeward, the sound T RUSHING cataract still souuding iu nay sight of the broad flowing river in the witii the canal on one side and the . I >ll the other, tiie fresh pungent smell I.irth, the towering mountains on cither —grey, brown, ami green — the verdure mardies, the accessories of industrial : -M. and the pretty farms aud cottages. . T' iitervals around. couspin-d with the •: tin- day t" put me on the best pos r .I W .tn my-eif and tiie world gener •• BY tlic-roids.dc tavern, into which ier-.D to r -fresh my -elf w ith a g!A-- -LIT ale. I saw, a little further on, the iresqoe old church, that of St CaJ- Cadoxton. as it is generally called. — -I'-. being open I entered the chureh- C . it was with a sensation of real hor ' .at I saw. on the first object which met —A tail grave-stone, towering far e re-t, living some seven or eight feet gi.T —the following dreadful legend. " TO KF.COKD ML RPF.K !" - apossible to describe the slnx-k of -1 awe and astonishment with which I ■ : I? wor ls eigriv-1 beneath this siiii*- 'RO-hiction. There stoxl the memento • -OUS domestic tragedy, which had once it peaceful vale thrill with HORN* ■I to END I could not GET it out of 1 T:E few particulars which I gleati --IE pul'lic iion-c. given with a shddering I •.-•*. only served to w bet my curiosity •*>* more. fo 'K- at Glamorgan, and indeed of • GENERAL!V. not without SOME show- of " DE TFICIN^EIVES tin* very -nidi ' -' cr NIE — csjiectallv that of A darker among th'-m It i> . cred.t --t iat s. SJON nf *-r SESSION. the judge - ' I with white gloves, emblem of tiie nature of the calender, which makes ■■"* a mere sinecure It speaks well for ' - • etui and WELL conducted IJFE winch the : and roysterers of the country BEYOND iamor offence* ot assault and ,■ OVASIOIIED Fy the nanuih of Weiah ( • ITO an EXPLOS'VE ieiap lament. out .'Cl>T life and projwriy are, as a gene : KNOWN Still there are exceptions, *<■ are so rare, that when they do oc -y CAUSE an electric tlirill to run through [ •* ft of the community. "N of thirty YAR* ago \<>ath • 'halt a -NI-I,'! iiaiii'et. I|* I of -ill • :n*nT> a!i ill (.an iiuw • ho y T •• rami! w:< IRN-HF, and the ."T Int of J'l*T in ?H- vlT:ty of • LET.III chn-JH THERE APCEAD a WLE g AMI IU R-TI land, interst cied by ! w IT.-r ? story :S -• to the iunne • NCH lse* LE-s MAN luidway IR>- - I cliurcli and tlm igarali in que** *• * ope of thia luarshdaiiti, leading to • X-R Neath — lteautiful in the NEB • >U.'ll!iirr, luxuriant wa. the NACAD* • - • PROLIFIC the utorons gardens, with - and noktmg willows bending •r-xiks. and the fair fringing wooil- I '• T G ULL—IN LB* very heart of this B *ry there stood, at the period I - IOW-roofed, raoibiiitg old edifice, half dwrliing-hotcie. H*RE one THE BRADFORD REPORTER. Shon (John) and his wife Nancy Richards, dwelt, together with a son, some two or three and twenty yenre of ape. Shon Richards was half farmer and half miner ; that is to say, that while his wife tended the dairy and overlooked the produce of a few acres rented, Shon, like his forefathers, was working awav, deep in one of the pits. At that time wages were good, and the old man steady and frugal, so that the old couple were looked upon as be ing very comfortably off in the world. Roth were well spoken of, and liked by their neighbors : but of the son, Llewellyn Rich ards, there were many conflicting opinions held, the majority contending that he was one of those rural touts, who are the pest of tlie place in which they dwell ; while others hehl that it was only the period of that conven tional sowing-time of his " wild-oats," which would soon he over, when he would settle down like Itis father into the quiet of dowestic life. The former shftok their heads, and prophesied very little good to he expeete-J who exhibited every talent belonging to a thorough scamp ami scapegrace. His riotous conduct, at last, result" d in ranch domestic contention, and his quarrels with his father became loud and hitter, until the young fellow obviated this by rarely coining across him when at home. To make amends, he only I visited the house in Slions absence, and by dint of coaxing or bullying his mother by turns, who loved him with that strong exhaust less affection which is so often lavished ujvon the prodigal, supplied hi in witli money, ami whether for his necessities or his excesses mat tered little. Idle ami desultory in his best mood, his earnings were far from sufficing him. .\l utters had i>cen going on thus for some time, wlicit another |>erson appeared on the scene, and very soon the aspect of affairs was chan- i ged To assist Nancy R chards. whose industry ■ was of an indefatigable order, in the heavier ! out-door work of the farm, was a stout bodied loutish servant man. who lodged with a cottar i a mile or so away, coming in the morning and j departing at sundown. Living in tiie house j with the old couple, however, and assisting' her mistress in the dairy, about this time was i a young comely servant girl, a native of I'aer marthen, Margaret Williams by name, and the heroine of this story. She soon proved herself to be invaluable to the old woman, on whom age and hard labor. added to the con tinued fret caused by her son's wild courses, j were beginning to tell alarmingly. Prostra ted at last, upon a lied of sickness, the integ rity and industry of Margaret were proved to the satisfaction of even her captious mistress, who liegan to grow greatly attached to her. Margaret was reputed as lieing the very perfection of Welsh lieauty. Dark eyed, with black waving hair, a brunette coiuph-xioii, with a tine mouth and dazzling teeth, a figure at once tall, light and active—young, beauti- j ful and tiie bede of the district—no wonder that she drew the attention of the impression able Liewvellyn to her charms. Had she j been an astute and desiguiug gitl, her work was done to her hands. Rut modesty and uatire goodness made her shrink from his advances. Resides that, in j verity, she had an accepted suitor, one David Morgan, otherwise David Dhu, or Rlack Da vid, a pseudo-name common etwugh, and so, bestowed because of the unusual ?warth of his complexion. David had followed his sweet heart from Caermarthen ; for, with the jeal ousy of an Othello, ins love was as deep as cetth. He soon found employment in a neighboring stone quarry, where his remarka ble strength, and stalwart limbs were render ed conspicuous, and where his quiet obliging demeanor soon placed him on friendly terras with Ids rough companions. Accustomed to vi>it the farm of John Richards of an evening, to converse with Mar garet when his work was done, ois quick eye soon discovered that Lieweiivn was paying his sweetheart those extravagant attentions which, while they moved his siieut aug.r, oulv provo ked the giri's light-hearted inirth. With his usual phlegm. David manifested iittle or no outward recognition of tiie arrogant youth's growing advances. They were wasted on Margaret, who soon grew tired of his impert inences : tiut Llewellyn was far too self-conceit ed to take her marked antipathy as real. As he was a handsome fellew enough. j rh q>s this consciousness hi nded liiin. P< rhaj>s lie trusted in the jgovrl.iu! fickleness of women and M) hated ir tune O ic t yen ug, LI- wellyii, encouraged by Di vid' 'ieaioaimr, though the dusky hhxi was i-o.i'iig tt.tii.it a.m win! IU intliug .a Ins h eli. paying lu> filswu. complement-, and car rying them to tiie length o! seizing Margaret around the wa,t to k.ss iter, when Dav.d rose, and with a single blow set ins rival rolling to the ground : raiding that the next tune he presumed so far. his punishment would be re membered for many a day. T.ie servant-man, who was by at the time, remarked that when Llewellyn rose, his stain ed and pallid face wore a .-mile of such fiend ish hatred as startled even hi- stolidity, and he hurried from the sjxvt with clenched hands and vaguely muttered threats. David,on the con thiry, resumed his usual placidity and after a wide quietly departed. R t |,uor Margaret was not destined to be it ft it: peace 11-T in.stress had so far recov ei l a-, to l>e able to hobble al>out the house ; und learning that David and her son had been qua reding, felt all the irate blood ablaze in I.H-r warm. Wel-b. motherly heart, when she lu-ard ho Llewellyn had been chastised ; and Iwedtess of his offence, visited Margaret with a scolding as unmeasured as it war unmerited. Unfortunately the two rivals met again that evening near the town. It was a " Noswaitb Ida wen," or night of merry making, when numifens of both sexes meet together, and the night is mirthfully spe t ; and though intoxi cation is by no means uncommon, these assem blages are seldom marked by drunken out rages, while iu no inslauce do they ever degen erate into license, the married elder folks keep ing the youuger iu subjection, and by their presence reudened the whole otherwise harm t less. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA. BRADFORD COUNTY. PA., BY E. O'MEARA (iOODRICII. " RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." It so chanced that Llewellyn, smarting uu der the pain and shame of his recent defeat, had been drinking freely, and in the midst of his younger companions, carried away his usu ; al braggadocio, was shaking in a slighting ! and boastful tone of Margaret, when the door j opened, and the form of David Dhu filled the I opening. " Thoa art a liar, Lieweiivn" said he, in his leep voice, his eyes emitting the fire of his fully aroused nature. " Thou'rt slandering a ! young lass who scorns thee, aud thou knowest i it." It was an unlucky spot for both the asser tion and the contradiction No one believed Llewellyn, hut lie could not take the lie thus. Armed in ale" lie with an oath repeated a portion of his slander, and a moment after the I two men were in the street fighting. Five minutes settled the whole, Llewellyn, dread fully beaten, was hel|ied awav ; this filled up the mother's cup of fury against Margaret.— The next day, eveu against her secret will, Nancy Richards paid Margaret's wages and dismissed her The weeping gill went to Neath, and was domiciled with an old widow er whom David knew, and for whom she kept house, more frani the home and shelter found there than from an especial choice in the mat ter. Here she remained for the space of ten weeks. In the meantime Llewellyn disappeared, and was stated to he working at Ilirvvain, a large i coal and iron di.-tric some miles away in the v ile. This, with recent occurrences,contribu ted to break the heart of the jioor old mother, whose hitherto indomitable courage was at last fairly destroyed, She again took to her bed, sickened and died, all within the limits . of a tew weeks ; and tiie home of tSliou Rich ards was now very louelv and desolate. In this extremity, being by no means well acquainted with the reasons of Margaret's dis missal, or his son's absence, while tilings were* going into sad coufusiou about him, lie prevail ed upon tlie girl to return—a matter as it turned out, of little difficulty. This was to the displeasure of black David, who, for the first time, had words with his mistress upon the subject—words meaningless enough, hut which were afterwards remembered. His vis its, now >till fewer, ai.d his silent and sombre manner, really began to throw a shadow over Margaret's usually cheerful and happy ilisjvosi tion tilie in tune became taciturn and absent in manner—so much so that it began to be commented upon. It was in the month of June—that midsum mer season of life aud nature, when the nights vie with the day for beauty, and the glories of the moonlit and starry eves are even more love ly than those of any hour of the sunuv dav. Oue night David was returning to his home, past the end of the narrow cart-lane, branch ing from the main road to Shou's house, when the bright moonshine fell upon the forms and faces of two jiersons, male and female, walk ing up the embowered lane. David stood pe trified. for the female uttered a suppressed cry of alarm, aud hastily made for the house, while the other—in whose debauched counte nance he recognized the features of Llewellyn —passed on the road with a light laugh, and went in the direction of Neath. What David's feelings were ou that uight we may very easi ly imagine. What now elapsed within the few days ere the ghastlv crime was perpetrated, becomes more complicated, nor is it likely that the ex act truth will ever he known. It affears that Dav.d seldom saw Margaret, whose depression ami lowness of spirits were, and were only the ominous forebodings of the dismal tragedv to follow. 111 the meantime, it seeins Lieweiivn had returned, and was staying at home a sec ond time, on better terms with his father, aud that his suit for the hand of Margaret— whatever it was before—was now sanctioned by the old man, Rob Parry, the serving man, averred that, of late, the vounecome more silent and mournful than ever. Tiie mute sad ness with which he was supposed to view the alleged defection of Margaret, accounted for this, and nilr gained the general sympathy in his tiehalf. He was known to love her so truly tlmt a feeling of pity for him was entertained by all who knew liiin. . Early one Saturday evening he called at lionse of Shon Richards. He saw as Rob Parry, who had the curiosity of a magpie, sta ted > Margaret atone. His voice at first low and per.oiiasjvß, Itecame stormy, and the poor girl cried bitterly. He left her muttering ex ecrations. and encountered Llewellyn in the lane. Again they had some fierce words together, again they parted with mutual men ace. On the following morning (Sunday. 14th of June, Margeret Williams was found— murdered ! Seine of the people dwelling at hand assert ed that, far in the depths of night, a great, wailing, shrieki g cry was heard—one of those awful outbreaks UI*>II the almost solemn si lence of the night, such as makes the flesh of the listener creep, and goes far, many a time, to confirm the creed of the suja-niaturalist. The once blithe, beautiful girl was found lying dead io one of the wide and deeply trench ed brooklets running to the river, which even at that season, had one-and-twenty inches of water running through it Bob Parry (by all accounts, am! especially his own i was the first to discover the laxly ; aud when the corpse of the nuhappy girl was lifted out, and borne away to await au inquest, the question every one uttered was, " Who was the murderer V Iu no part of the kingdom, as any who have visited Wales can testify, is the serene still ness of the Sabbath more profound, or its sanctity more expressive, and in the remoter valley aud mountain district especially so.— j The georgeoos richness of a midsummer morn ing, with its rippling streams, odoroos rosea, 'orchard? ia bloeeotn, slumbering wood, aud ! dewy repose ; while men, who come forth co inhale the balmy air, seem to step softer, to speak lower—all uniting with nature herself in that mute adoration of the Most High— and to hare that holy peace broken in such an appalling manner ! • Judge, therefore, the terror and consterna : fion which this barbarous rnuruer produced, for it is quite impossible to describe it. The hapless girl was proved to have been dead for hours. There were the trampled foot-prints of a ghastly struggle upon the bank of the ditch. On her throat were the marks of strangulation, and the body was completely covered with water. "It was a sorry sight." In the course of the day, Llewellyn Rich ards, one of the two men on whom suspicion fell, was taken into custody at a little tavern not far from Resolven, a plnce now familiar to all tourists who visit the Vale of Neath. He exhibited the greatest astonishment at his sei zure, mingled with horror at the crime ; but his entire innocence, he said, could he proved. In effect, at the inquest, held before the coroner or magistrate of the district, though admitting he had been with Margaret at his father's and had even met David Morgan the previous night, he proved an alibi otherwise so complete in its particulars, as thoroughly ex onerated him in the general sense, j " Why had he, on that particular night, not slept at his father's, as he had of late ?" The answer to this was somewhat indirect, if not vague. He accounted for it as a for bearance on his part towards David Morgan, as his (Llewellyn's) presence seemed to exas perate the other, and he feared personal vio lence. Bob Parry deposed to having seen a figure hovering about the house and lane in the later twilight ; and that his motions, though suspi cious, were not of a kind to create any parti cular watchfulness. Rut he, too, had heard the great thrilling cry, and with the earliest dawn went forth into the marshes and discov ered the body. Meanwhile, by a strict examination of the marshes, a bundle of old garments and of strong s half-boots, easily recognisable as Black David's working costaiue, wt-re found tied up, and sunk with a stone beneath a clump of alders. ; This was dreadfully circumstantial ; hut where was David ? At present nowhere to be found, and, oil inquiry, it was elicited that lie had left his lodging early on the same morning, with a bundle and a stick, intending to go to Swansea, aud there put in effect a project for emigrating he bad been known to entertaiu. At Swansea, therefore, a constable found him. He did not seem to lie hiding himself ; 1 and when he was told upon w hat plea he was ! wanted, his countenance became ashy pale, his j lips trembled, his strong frame shook as in ague, and his sobs, when tears did flow, were frightful to behold. The burden of his moun, was to exclaim, with wringing hands, " My poor darling ! My heart—my heart ! lathe water—in the water ! Murdered !—dead I Oh ! white God !—My darling Margaret !" So at intervals, a< they hastened to Neath in a car, he mourned, and wept, ami murmur ed. His anguish seemed to be unseating his reason. j But he also, on examination, proved, on credible testimony, an alibi even more convinc ing than that of Llewellyn ; and the cleverest detective—unfortunately, no skilled hand iu this department was employed—could not have made anything of either. On both sides, eve ry hour of tiie seemed to be completely accounted for, and fully justified the magistrate in giving the accused the benefit of the doubt that arose. Siqqxising that the poor girl had been won by the artifices of the seducer, (which, how ever, was not proved in any particular.) it might have been said that remorse and shame had induced her to commit suicide ; but there were the marks of struggling feet, and the li vid finger pressures on the throat to deny that. The bundle of David's working clothes found in the marsh required to be explained. Blaek David, with an impressive but sim ple solemnity, denied the horrid deed. He loved her too well—lie would have given his heart's blood for her ; and it was only iu his dreary despair, aud amidst the wreck of all his lioj>es, which he said were breaking his heart that he had parted from her, resolved never to see her more, and to put the Atlantic be tween them ; and now a gulf still greater than tiie whole hoik of tne world stood between— the ghastly grave of murder ! But he. too. seemed astounded—at first it was taken as the shock of conscious guilt— when his old clothes, and the boots, identified with the foot-marks on the bauk, were shown Ijefore Lira iu court. There was a still, dead pause. The man seemed to be overwhelmed by this damning testimony ; or else to be searching his memo ry for some clae or other that he had lost. Fi nally, he denied that they were Ids ! A smile of derision and contempt succeeded that ; but it wore away as Le made his state ment. He wore his working clothes and strong boots on then, (his best being in his bnndle,) and a glance sufficed to show that such wa* the eme ; that they were of the same make, style and material, only newer, though soiled with his late employment. He made this pur chase, his old ones being taken in part ex change at a clothier's in the town which was corroborated by the clothier himself ; who ad ded that he had sold the old garments, then iu court, to a young, dark-faced tramper some two or three weeks ago ; bur that he did not know the man, and doabted whether he could identify him again even if he saw him. It wa> not LJewellyu, be could swear, aud David he knew io jierson too well to make any mistake upon the matter ; and thus both men were re leased under the nominal recognizances to ap pear when required. The body of poor Margaret was borne to the grave a Cadoxtou church, followed by hun dreds ot the town follks and coantry-people— David, with an air of awful sorrow and brood ing absence, constituting himself in a manner laa chie: mourner. Llewellyn Richards, how ' ever, was cot among them. When the sessions came there was no trial. There was no prosecutor, no prisoner ; and the matter dropped. Instead of David beiug the emigrant, it was now Llewellyn, who ere this departed for Liverpool, and sailed thence to America ; and it was believed that all trace of him was lost. For a length of time David also disappeared, though he was heard of in Caermarthen ; and thus this appalling crime was shrouded in impenetrable mystery. One or the other of these two men must have done it, arid yet the strong proofs of the alibi each produced were not to he contested. That ' murder will out," is a creed that men hold to with an intensity proportioned to the delay. Even the spirit of the doomed girl seemed to be speaking with a terrible cmplia , sis of menace, through the words cut deeply into the stone at the head of her grave. " Al though," the significant memorial goes, "the savage murderer escaped for a season the de tection of man, yet God hath set his mark up on him, either for time or for eternity, and will assuredly pursue him to a certain aud ter rible, but righteous judgment !" And what subsequently happened seems to prove this. Some years had elapsed, when there returned a native of the district, from the bleak Canadian wilds, who had there es tablished himself as a farmer. In the course of conversation he stated that he was present at the death bed of a man of bad and dissipat ed character—no other than Llewellyn Rich ards, whom he had known as a boy. He ap peared to be tailoring under some strange ter ror at his last moments, and spoke, though in coherently, of purchasing a suit of old clothes through the agency of some stranger or other —of a dreadful struggle on the marshes—of an appalliinr mnrder-cry—of a dying woman— of fleeing from a pursuing Nemesis ; and in the midst of this recital falling back dead with a fearful groan, pointing fingers, and the sweat of unutterable agony upon his brow. There remained little difficulty then of putting the ' tangled meshes together. The murderer had been pursued, and " God had set his mark up on him, pursuing him to a certain and terrible punishment." Poor David wandered about the country— especially haunting the marshes—a cowering, gibbering idiot—harmless, hut moaning ever more the burden of his great sorrow—" My poor darling ! In the water ! Murdered— dead !" I was out on my accustomed ramble one un inviting day, having a desire to make a stretch, if possible, as far as Swansea, across a bleak and lonely tract skirting the sea, and known as " Crynilyn Burrows." On my way I pass ed the beautiful old abbey ruins, then by the iron works, anon by the shore of the canal, the river turning sharply off into an estuary on my left. The bleak, bare tract, with Swansea bay gloomily opening out, an l the wild mountain heights on inv right—the grey frowning sky —the utter solitude—the lonely chapel of St Margaret, and the brown, bare, blackening desolation still ahead, made me lose heart.— The long evening setting in decided me to go back, ere I had gone much more than half wav. I turned, at last, fearful of lieing benighted if I went too far. Shortly I beheld in the distan e the dark figure of a man. looming and coming towards me with hurried steps, tossing his arms aloft, and gesticulating wild ly. I confess to a slight touch of dread as he came nearer and nearer. A more pitiable anu shocking sigiit never crossed my vision. His once tall figure was bent, and so hag- Mprd and "peetral was his form and aspect, that a shudder ran through tne. His eys seemed burning in tlieir sockets, his cheeks sun ken. his hair aud bward were long and matted, his frame was flesliless as that of a skeleton, and his ragged garments fluttered in the wind. Glaring rather than looking i>efore him, mut tering, clenching his hands, and borne onward and supported by energies beyond that of his hunger-wasted form—like a wretch pursued by an evil spirit that left him no " rest for thp sole of his foot " —he approached, passed, and was gone. I looked after him in vagne fear and deep pity, as he glided onwards into the darkness of that sjM-ctra! region—the fitting place for so troubled a spirit to wander iu. "My little girl, mv loved one ! In the wa ter ! Oft. white God ! Lost—drowned— murdered !" So he moaned and mattered. I th<-n knew that I had seen the wreck of poor Black David, who for more than twenty years had survived the dreadful shock ; bnt the de privation of his reason ha 1 brought the unhap py man no oblivion of the dreadful past. He is since dead—his wasted body being found on the stark Crymlyn Bog on a morn ing as desolate as his own life had been. That Comet. Considerable excitement has lately beeu created in l*ariit a patient some eight miles distant. W hat was his surprise wbeu about five miles distant from the village, to see Old Joe iu front of a farmer's house, splitting wood. \\ iiv Joe," said the Doctor, riding up to the fence, " I thought you were dead and bu ried !>efore this." " Why.what made you think that, Doctor ?' said Joe, leaning on his axe handle. " Didu't you drink that dose I left on Old Wiggin's bar, a few days since?" \ es," replied Joe, half ashamed to own it. " Do you know what it was?" asked the Doctor. " No," returned Joe. " Why, it was aquafortis —enough to kill a dozen men." " Well, now Doctor, do you know I tho't there wa something queer about that darned stuff, for after I drank it. every time I bb-teed my wot I burned a holt in my pocket-JLndker* chut M To You so MEN. —Young man! save that penny—pick up that pin—let that account be correct to a farthing—find out what t! at bit of ribt>on costs, Indore you say you will take it—pay that half dime your friend handed you to make change with—in a word, be economi cal, lie accurate, know what you are doiug— l>e hone-t, and then be generous, for ail vou have or acquire thus belongs to you by every rule of right, and you may put it to auy good use you j lease. It is not parsimony to be economical. It is not miserly to save a pin from loss. It is not selfi-h to be correct iu your dealings. It is not small to know the price of articles you are a!out to purchase, or to remember the little debt you owe. What if you do meet Bill Pride decked out iu a much better suit than yours, the price of which he has not yet learned from his tailor, and who laughs at your faded dress and old-fashioned notions of honesty and right, your day will come. Franklin, who from a penny-saving l>oy. walkuig the street* with a loaf of bread under his arm, became the conqiauion of kings. ANSWERED— The late Prince Bishop of Wurzburg, in one of his hunting expeditions, met a poor boy attending some swine. The Prince, among other qnetions, asked him what his wages were for a swineherd. "A new suit and two pair of shoes every year," was the reply. "No more !" said the Prince. " Look at me, I am a shepherd, too, but I wear better clothes a- d look better." That raav be, sir," said the boy in his sim plicity. "but I dare say you have more swine to keep than I have. gaf A disease called scarlet rash is pre vailing through several townships iu the lower part of Luzerne Conuty. It carries its victims | off. with a warning of only a day or two, gen eraly attacking the head. Kf Johnson used to gay that perfect litera ry style w&g like the atmosphere—the medium f?r ®eirg exactly. but tteelf icrisible.