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(NE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
Thursday Morning, January 31, 1861.
Written toi the Bradford Keporter.
Tt,r Rummer's dream I* done : farewell, O Friend
\r„l cant'e Master ! If thy coming year-
Were mine to fashion, each should wear the grace
„fa far kindlier summer. Kach should come
Full handed with a wealth of golden gains
Y,.r home and heart ;~with health, and peace, and love,
The fireside's harvest—treasure* with fresh smilea
On the fair English brows I have not seen,
Kvcn when their roses wither ; —with the gush
,>f childhood's musical laughter, and the flow
Of twilight song, what time the rares or day
Druwse. pinion-folded, on the breast of Eve.
\av, each imperial Autumn, when she leads
Tiie captive hordes of travel toward these hills,
Should bring thee store of fair disciples.—young
With Albion's " golden youth,"—as soft of speech
As Shakspeare's daintiest dream whose mellow tones
Though smooth syllabic cadences should glide
Untouched with any Occident barbarisms
TJ. pain the fineness of your Gallic ear
From eldest wells of " English uudeliied !"
And thou, 0 liemitiful among the lands.
Favored among the valleys, tare-thee-well!
Thy very beauty grieves me : I have learned
To love these loreign fields, and find delight
In the blue gladness of these alien streams
Meeting, unsought, beneath whatever skies
Arch over human homes, from West to East,
The same sweet answers to the same sweet needs, —
.Smiles for the stranger, kisses for the young,
Soft reverence for the ag-d, and what touch
Of kindly nature taakes the whole world kin.
1 And thus,—O city, nurtured in the years
| (kt saw Rome's last freedom.—from beyond
I Hiters that lave your sunset > from the depths
f 'if Alpine valleys virgin to the tread
Of all things New,—with frequent, fond recoil,
Mj heart shall leap to thee! Remembrance-winged, j
(if't shall recurring fancy scale what steeps
Shut in your south, or track the mists that climb
Your northward slopes of Jura.
Guard ye well,
(t mountain sentinels, this -acred land.
Bulwark of ancient freedom ! Keep thou pure,
0 chosen city, underneath the gaze
Of these eternal watchers of the heights
Thy trust of age- ; let no shadow, fallen
From the black pinions of these Times,
Plain thy fair "scutcheon's whiteness.
Lo. the day s
Of terror d \wn again 1 The East is red
With freedom's camp-fires.—ail the starry West
1 Fades into Mank eclipse ; it yet may fall
I In thee. Key-Bearer of your mountain holds
I' 4 vowed to Freedom, there to guard
Lllaanity's last hope.
Our Eagle stoops
tO'r. vied from his heights; it may be thine,
tide of Jura ! in thy lightning beak
T ;;'i the White-fross standard of these c'ifTs
St."liberty's last sanctuary.
id keep the armor of thy safety bright,
Ity of Refuge! And when, thanks to all
■ powers that work for man, —the darkling night
■>' this ralamity be over-past,
I' tr of consolation ! sleep in peace,
toide this loveliest sea that mirrors heaven, —
eep. vision-haunted by the azure feet
lot this. Earth's fairest river !
I Gloved T.and ! And thou,a last good-night,
[ M.i-tcr and Friend ! My Alpine dream is done.
1 firsrvA. Switzerland. Oct. ISFIF).
Mr. Woodbridge's Investment.
BY HELEN FOREST BRAVES.
£ The fiery crimson of the stormy November
■unset wos staining all the hills with its lurid
■rltre—the wind, murmuring restlessly among
dead leaves that lav heaped over the wood
fctlis, seemed to mouru with an almo-t human
B** But the antnmnal melancholy without
®Verved to brighten the cheerfulness of the
wood fire, whose ruddy glow danced
over the rough rafters of Farmer
Blifcilbriilgr's spacious old kitchen sparkling j
Buiie polished surfaces of platters and glitn-
Berinff brasses sending a long stream of radi- .
■fite through the uncurtained windows out up
■ the darkened road.
I "Vtf, as 1 was saying afore," observed the
B'i farmer, rubbing his toil hardened hands
■ ffitber, and gazing, thoughtfully into the fire
B'tsbeen a capital harvest this year I wool- |
B-ta-k for no better. So wife you jist pick ;
B'Dorae of them yaller pippin apples and put |
B-era into Jessie's ba-ket again she calls after :
I on't the little red ones do as well? I
B-'CUctted to keep them pippins for market j
Biwr l'cn>on says they're worth "
B"'ldon't keer what they're worth," inter
the farmer, as his Ite'pmate, a square
■ 'T.tr woman, with a face plowed withinuu- j
little lines of care, fingered the yellow
apples dubiuody "I tell you what it is,
B f ;'irith, folks never yet lost anything by doing
■ s'id thing. I never could make you believe
B l ,unless the pay came right in, in hard
S?' 0w here's Jessie Morton, as likely a
B a ° evcr hreathed.teaehin* seliool day iu and
° !lt . and her marm sewiu'to home, earn
|i 1 'iving by the hardest toil—born ladies,
Br-"si em. Don't you 'spose these apples will 1
BF * rr h more to them,if yon give them with a
■l, * ort '- l-han they would be to that pesky !
Bf "" a gent np to Hardwiche Hall, if he '
a bnshel." i
arity l>epios to hum," said Keturah jerk
m £ l " e ( B, ipper table with an odd twist of I
ot hut that Jessie's weil enough
B' B/ 00 , better scratch your pennies to- 1
6-V t^iat mort ? H P e , if you don't i
" iardwiche agent foreclosing on yon 1
B. L lben l he pippins are just as good as so I
m; n rr- "' n,ere lhe J* be - anyhow, in I
B'On f ° De our '"Yestiments I guess " I
■ T* ol my investments, then, if you like i
H&d h,. 1 elurab .' said the farmer with a
' Ugre d laagh, hanishing the annoyed i
ovoni l ,r e*d his face when i
. v , ° "U'op 'long in
j . gat. hvi added cheerily, as a light
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
touch sounded on the door latch. Here is the
basket, all right, and some of those golden
pippins tucked into it. Mavbe they'll tempt
your mother's appetite."
Jessie Morton was a slender, graceful girl
about seventeen, with satin-smooth bauds of
hair, parted above a low,sunny forehead, large
liquid eyes, and cheees which Farmer Wood
i bridge always declared "sot him to thinking o'
! them velvet-lookin Jarsey peaches that grew
j on "the tree down in the south raeudow!" She
took up the basket with a grateful Mlw that
went even to the flinty heart of KeturA,
"Oh, Mr. Woodbritlge,how kind yon always
are to ns. If I were only rich—if 1 could
only make you some retnrn "
"Don't you say a word about that," said the
farmer, rubbing his nose very hard, "jist you
run home as fast as ever you can cut, for it's
getting most dark, and the November wind
ain't no ways healthy as I ever heard on. And
I say Jessie, if it rains to morrow so you can't
go to school handy jest you stop here, and
I'll give you a lift in a wngon "
"Dear old Mr. Woodbridge," soliloquized
Jessie Morton to herself as her light lootsteps
pattered along on the fallen leaves,"how many
times I have had cause to thank his generous
heart. And think he should be so distressed
about that mortgage by the agent at Hard
j She paused for a moment to look up to
where the stately roofs and gables of the hall
: rose darkly outlined against the crimson that
i still burned stormily in the sky. On a com
manding height and nearly hidden in trees
1 many of which still retained their autumal
foilage, it seemed almost like an old baronial
" There it stands," she mused, shut up and
silent, year after year, its magnificent rooms
untenated, the flowers ungathered in its con
servatories. Since Mrs. Hardwiche died—-
I twenty years since, mamma says—the family
have been abroad, and now the only surviving
I their is travelling, no one knows where, I
I wonder if he knows how grasping and cruel
I his agent is?" "Oh, dear," she added softly,
, "money does not always come where it i 9 most
needed. If I were the mistress of Hardwiche
She started with a slight scream, the next
i instant as a tall figure rose np from the mossv
boulder by the roadside directly in front of
"Pardon me," said a voice that instantly
, reassured her, for it was too gentle to come
from any hut a gentleman, ' but I am not cer
tain that I have lost my way. Is this the Eldon
road? I was waiting for some one to come
alontr and direct me."
" This is Eldon road," said Jessie, all un
conscious that the last gleam of the fading sun
set was lighting np her fair, innocent face with
an almost angelic beauty as she stood there
among the fallen leaves,
j "And tan you tell me the shortest footpath
to Hardwiche Hall? I have not been in this
neighborhood since I was a little boy, and now
1 am completely at fault."
Jessie hesitated a moment. "I could show
yon better than I could tell, for it is rather a
complicated road," she said, "and if you will
accept my services as a guide, it will not be
much out of my way."
"I shall very much honored," said the stran
ger, "Meanwhile let me carry your basket."
It was a wild and lovely walk, wiuding
among moss-garlanded trees and hollows sweet
with the aromatic incense of dying leaves.—
Jessie could not help admiring the cliivalric
manners and polished courtsey of her cornpan
| ion, and lie was more than pleased with the
blooming loveliness and girlish dignity of his
A few adroit questions about Hardwiche
Hall and its neighborhood suflised to draw from
Jessie a spirited alotrsct of the character of
' the Hardwiche agent, and the impositions he
I was wont to pratiee upon the tenants as well
las an arch description of the "characters"
thereabouts. Then he continued to learn all
about Jessie's little school, and her ailing moth
er, and lie ,-miled to himself, in the twilight,to
observe the pride oilier mien, when she allud
ed the high position from which unforeseen re
verse had caused her mother to descend.
"There," she said, suddenly pausing, with a
feeling as if she had been almost 100 communi
cative, "if wecouldonly cross yonder lawn,the
gates are close by, but we shall have to go a
quarter of a mile round."
"Why?" asked the stranger.
"Mr. Talcott will not allow strangers to
cross here; lie says its private properly."
"I fancy I shall dare Mr. Talcott's wrath,"
said the gentleman, laughing, as he pushed
open the wire gate that defended the forbidden
"It is perfectly absurd to make people go a
(piarter of a mile out of their way for a mere
They had scarcely entered the enclosure,
when an unlooked-for obstacle preseuted itself
in the shape of the redoubtable Talcott himself !
who was prowling over the grounds on the qui
vice for trespassers.
"Halloo,here!" growled he: "jnst turn back
if you please. This is'nt the public thorough
The stranger held Jessie's arm nuder bis a
little tighter, as if to repress her evident in
clination to beat his position.
"I don't see any reasonable cause why we
shouldu't go ahead," he said, pertinaciously.
"There is a path here and I suppose it was
made to walk in "
"Not for you," said the agent contemptuous
ly, "so go back as fast as you can."
"Is it possible that people are made to travel
a circuitous and unpleasant route, for BO other
reason than your caprices?" a*ked the gentle
man, locking down at the shriveled little man,
from the altitude of his six feet with a kind of
laughing scorn. "Did it ever occur to yon, my
friend, tiiat other had rights and conveniences
us well as yourself?"
"Can't help their right—nothing to me,"
snarled the agent, planting himself obstiuately
iu the path. "I forbid all passing here."
"But I suppose Kverard Hardwiche may
hare privilege of crossing his own laud?" jer-
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY R. W. STURROCK.
e sisted the stranger, still presenting the half
n contemptuous smile that had from the begino
t ing of the interview made the agent so uncom
1 Talcott grew not exactly pale, but yellow
f with consternation.
e "Mr. Hardwiche—sir, I did not know—we
- did not expect—"
>' "No—l know you didn't, my good man.—
v Be so kind as to step aside, and allow me to
g pass with the lady. Miss Jessie, don't forget
t that I need your services a few minutes yet.—
When we reach the house 1 will prolong my
s visit to the cottage. Nay, don't shrink away
j 1 from me—are we not to be very good friends?"
"The prettiest girl I ever saw in my life,"
e was his internal comment,as heat length nart-
II ed from her at the little gate, where "burning
s j bushes" and dark green ivy were trained to
-1 gether with ull a woman's taste.
J : The Christmas snow lay white and deep on
t the farmhouse eaves—the Christmas logs craek-
I led on the hearth, where Mr. Woodbridge still
gazed dreamingly into the glowing ciuders,
i and Mrs. Keturah's knitting needles clicked
s with electric speed.
f "That mortgage bothers me—it bothers me,"
i lie murmured, almost plaintively. "Well, I
) s'pose it ain't no use frettiu*; but I had always
- hoped to live and die on the old place where
my father died before tne. The Lord's will be
i done though. Somehow, things hain't prosp
| ered with me—l don't seem to get along."
t "Yon'd got along well enough, I guess," res
. | ponded Keturah, who belonged super-eminent
i ly lo that class cf people known as Job's cora
| forters, "if you'd only looked after your p's and
1 q's as I told yon. You always was too free
handed, and now you see what it has brought
s "Well, well, Keturah, we never did think
. alike on some things," returned the old man
- | Let us talk about a pleasanter subject. What
i ! do yon think about our school-mam's marrying
j yeur Mr. Hardwiche to-morrow? Didn't I al
[ ways tell you that Jessie Moreton was born to
I be a lady? I may be unlucky myself, hut, any
how, I'm glad to hear of little's Jessie's luek."
t " Yon'd a great deal better keep your sym
> pathy for yourself," growled Keturah. "Whats
other folks luck to you, I'd like to know?—
; There's some one knocking at the door—see
1 who 'tis!"
M It was n little note, brought by one of the
! school boys, late under Jessie's care.
• | "Where's my glasses? 1 cau't see as well as
• I could once. Shove the candle this way,
- will you, Keturah?" Aud fittiug his brass-bow
i cd spectacles upon his nose, the old man uu
i folded the note and read in Jessie's delicate
j chirograph :
"Do not let that mortgage disturb your
- Christmas day, to morrow, dear father Wood
i bridge. It will never hauot your bearth-stone
; again. Mr. Hardwiche will send you the pa
, pers soon to destroy. This is Jessie's Christ
i mat present; I have not forgotton those gold
en pippins, nor all the other kinduess."
• "Ah wife!" said the old man smiling and
trying to brush away the big tears that would
; come, "what do you think ot my investment
I Kctorah's reply was neither elegant, nor
j strictly speaking grammatical, but it was sig
nificant. She said simply:
"Well, I never ?"
PARSON BBOWM.OW ON SECESSION. —Parson
Brownlow of the Knoxville Whig, is evident
ly not in love with the secessionists, as the fol
lowing little clipping from his paper amply de- !
! " This machine of government, so delicate
: and complex in its structure, and which cost
its great architects so much labor and thought
so much of the spirit of concession, and com
promise, and our fathers so much of b'ood and
treasure, is to be broken in pieces to gratify a
set of corrupt, ambitious,anddisappoiuted dem
agogues, who find that they can never preside i
over these f'nitrd States, and hence they sefk |
to build up one or more contemptible South- j
mi Confederacies aud to place themselves at
the heat! of these. The fiddling aud darn
ing of Nero, while Rome was enveloped i
in flames, was not more brutal, hellish, stupid <
I and wicked than is the conduct of these coun-1
try destroying. God-defying, and hell-deserv- \
imr traitors to their country, who write and
talk thus flippantly of the most momentous
event that the human mind can conceive."
SHOEING HORSES FOR WINTER TRAVEI,.—N.
P. Willis, of the Ihnne Journal, in one of his
recent IJlewild letters, says: "You will
| have discovered, of course, that you cannot j
; have uninterrupted winter riding with a horse i
i shod in the ordinary way. The sharp points
! of frozen mud will wound the frog of the foot. .
i and with snow on the ground, the hollow hoof;
soon collects a hard ball, which makes the
footing very insecuic. But these evils are re- 1
l medied by a piece of sole leather nailed on j
under the shoe —a protection to the hoof i
which makes a surprising difference in the con
fidence and surbfootcduess of the animal's
A GHOST —One of our devils says he
saw a ghost—it was white, flew up over a
fence, looked like a white woman, a white dog,
or goose, or something else; thinks it might
probably have been something else, but is pos
tive it was u ghost, as he saw it himself—
though he don't believe in such trash. That
boy stays off the streets after dark just about
There is this difference between hap
piness and wisdom; he that thinks himself the
happiest man really is so; but be that thinks
himself the wisest is generally the greatest
A SMART fellow writes to the Madisoif Cour
ier that the Republicans got the name of
Black Republicans because they are in favor
of keeping the bigger black, in contradistinc
to those Democrats who are making biui yel
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
r The Dead.
The dead are the only people that never
grow old. There was something typical in the
r arrestment of time in the case of the youthful
miner, of whom we have already spoken. Your
little brother or sister that died long ago re
mains in death and in remembrance the same
youug thing forever. It is lourteeu years this
evening since the writer's sister left this world.
She was fifteen years old then—she is fifteen
years old yet. I have grown older since by
by fourteen years, but she has never changed
as they advanced; and if God spares me to
four-score, I never shall think of her as other
than the youthful creature she faded. The
other day I listened as a poor woman told of
the death of her first born child. He was two
years old. She had a small washing-green,
across which was stretched a rope that came
in the middle close to the grouud. The boy
was leaning on the rope, swinging backwards
i and forwards, and shouting with delight. The
j mother went into her cottage and lost sight of
him for a ruiuute; and when she returned the
j little man was lying across the rope, dead. It
1 had got under his chin; he had not sense to
1 push it away; and he was suffocated.
The mother told rne, and 1 believe truely
| that she had never been the same person since
! but the thing which mainly struck rae was,
1 that though it is eighteen years since then.she
thought of her child as an iufant of two years
yet; it is a little child she looks for to meet her
at the gate of the Golden City. Had her child
lived he would have been twenty years old
now; he died, aud he is only two; he is two
yet; he will never be more than two. The iit
tle rosy face of that morning, and the little
1 half articulate voice, would have been faintly
' remembered by the mother had they gradual
; ly died into boyhood and manhood; but that
day stereotyped them; tbev remaiucd uuchang
Have you sepn, my reader, the face that
, had grown old in life, grow young after death
—the expression of many years since, lost for
long come out startiugly iu the features, fixed
1 siid cold ? Every one has seen it; and it is
; sometimes strange how rapidly the change
takes place. Tiie marks of pain fade out, and
, , with them the marks of age. I once saw an
aged lady die. She hau borne sharp pain for
- 1 many days with the endurance of martyr; she
| had to bear sharp pain to the very last. The
features were tense and rigid with suffering;
they remained so while life remained. It was
a beautiful sight to sec the change that took
place in the very instant of dissolution.
The features, abaro for many days with
pain, in that instant recovered the old aspect
• of quietude which they had borne in health;
the tense, tight look wns gone. You saw the
! the tigns of pain go out. You felt that all suf
fering was over. It was no more of course
than the working of physical law; but in that
case it seemed as if there was a further mean
ing conveyed. And so it seems to me when
the young look comes hack on the departed
j Christian's face. Gone, it seems to say, where
1 the progress of time shall no longer bring age
or decay. Gone where there an- beings whose
life may be reckoned by centuries, but in whom
life is fresh and young, and always will lie so.
Close the aged eves! Fold the aged hands in
rest. Their owner is no longer old ! — From
ilecollcdions of a Country I'arson.
GROWING OLD. —It seems but a summer since
we looked forward with eager hopes to the
' coming years. And now we are looking sadly
back. Not that '.he dream has passed, but that
it has been of no worth to those around
us. As the glowing hopes and ambition of
early life pass away; as friends after frinds
departs the stronger ties which hold us here
are broken, oor life seems but a bubble, gfan
j cing for a moment in the light, and than bro
i ken. and not a ripple left on the stream.
Forty years once seemed a long and weary
| pilgrimage to tread. It now seems but a step. |
! And yet along the way are broken shrines 1
; where a thousand hopes have wasted into
, ashes ; footprints sacred under their drifting I
| dust ; green mouuds, whose grass is fresh with ,
I the watering of tears ; 'shadows, even, which
Jwe would forget. We will garner the sunshine ;
l of those years, and with chastened step j
and hopes push on towards the evening whose j
sigual lights will soon be seen swinging where ;
the waters are still, and the storms never i
beat.— T. TI r . Brown.
SLIGHTLY MISTAKEN. —The Springfield Re- '
publican relates the case of a polite young
■ man who, during a shower, took refuge under
I the portico of a dwelling house. A young |
i lady at the window espying him, sent out un j
umbrella for bis acceptance, lie bowed bis
i tßanks and departed. A few days afterwards
he called to express his thanks and present a !
new and elegant umbrella, which he purchased !
| to gracefully replace the somewhat battered I
one that htul been loaned him. The young
lady forthwith naively explained, that as he
stood in the way of an expected visit from her
intended, who wished to come and see her
unobserved, that she had sent him the uDibrel
la to get him off her front steps.
AN Irish clergyman once broke oil" the
thread of his discourse, aud thus addressed
the congregation. "My dear brethren, let me
tell you that uow I am just half through my
sermon, but as I perceive your impatience, I
will say that the remaining half is not more
than a quarter as long as that you have
AT a dinner at the President's given to the
Judges of the Supreme Court, Chief Justice
Taney remarked that he "should administer
the oath of office to Mr. Lincoln, if he was
obliged to goto Springfield to do it."
DEMOCRACY formerly meant that "the maj
ority should govern." Then it was altered that
"the two-thirds rule should govern " And now
it is gravely agued that the minority should
NOT ASHAMED or BUNDLES. —We have of
ten heard a half-grown boy say pettishly to
hi 3 mother, " I don't like to be seen carrying
a big buudle in the streets." But true pride
jis ashamed of such littleness of tuiqd. Mr.
1 Astor the wealthy millionaire of New York,
. once was reluctant to sell some goods to a
' young merchant except for cash. The mer
i chant paid for them, and then took them on
1 his own shoulder to carry to his own store.
, Mr. Astor looked on in surprise, but before
the merchant had gone many steps, he calleJ
him back, saying—Yon may buy on credit
ito any amount. I can trust you, sir. A man
who is not ashamed to do his own work is sure
■to succeed." Here is an another good lesson
j for false pride:
j Chief Justice Marshall was a great man: but
; great men are never proud. He was not too
i proud to wait ou himself. He was in the
j habit ol going to market himself and carrying
I home his purchases. Often would lie be
seen going home at suurise, with poultry iu
| one hand and vegetables in the other:
On oue of these occasions, a fashionable
! yonng man front the North, who had removed
to Richmond, swearing violently because he
could not find no one to carry home his tur
key. Judge Marshell stept up and asked
where he lived. When he heard, he said: j
" That is my way; I will take your turkey
home for you:"
When they came to the house the young
" What shall I pay you ?"
" Oh, nothing," said the Judge, " you are
welcome; it was all iu my way and it was
no trouble to me."
"Who is that polite old man who brought
home my turkey for me?" asked the young
man of a bystander.
"Oh," said he, " that was Judge Marshall,
Chief Justice of the United States"
"Why did he bring home mv turkey."
" I suppose he did it," said the bystander,
" to teach you not feel above attending to
j your own busiuess.' — Monthly Casket.
TOM CORWIN'S WlT. —While this capital jo
ker was a member of the general assembly of
: the Ohio State, he brought in a bill for the
abolition of public punishment at the whipping
post. He made a speech thereon, to which an
elderly member replied somewhat as follows:
"The gentleman is not as old as I am, arid
; lias not seen so much of the practical opera
| tion of the system of punishment which lie
desires to abolish. When I lived in Connecti
cut,, if a fellow stole a horse, or cut up any
other rustic, we used to tie him right up aud
give him a real good thrashin': and he always
cleared right out, and we never saw him
any more. It's the best way of getting rid of
rouegs that ever was tried, and without ex
pense to the State."
Corwin rose and replied:
j "Mr. Speaker, I have often been puzzled
to account for the vast emigration from Con
, necticut to the west; but the gentleman last
up has explained it to my entire satisfaction."
The bill was passed without further dis
A SENSIBLE LANDLORD. — Au exchange
I says: A little incident transpired some weeks
j ago, at one of the Frankford hotels, which is
. worthy of notice.
A little girl entered the bar-room, and in
pitiful tones told the keeper that her mother
had sent her there to get eight cents.
" Eight cents? ' said the keeper.
" Yes, sir."
i " What does your mother want with eight
cents? I don't owe her anything."
" Well," said the child, " father spends all
his mciiey here for rum, and we have had
nothing to eat to day. Mother wants to buy
a loaf of bread."
A loafer remarked to the keeper to kick
the brat out.
( " No," said the bar keeper, "I'll give her the
money, and if her father coines back again I'll
kick him out."
AN INGENIOUS EXCUSE BY A FOND MOTHER.—
A goodly parson complained to an elderly ladv
i of her congregation that her daughter appeared J
to be wholly taken up with trifles aud world- ,
j ly finery, instead of fixing her mind on things
! übove. "You are certainly mistaken, sir ;I '
know that the girl appears to an observer to
; be taken up with worldly things, but you can 1
! not judge correctly of the direction her ;
mind really takes, as she is a little cross eyed." j
SECESSION FOLLY. —The entire inadequacy
j of the secession leaders to guide the movement'
i they have undertaken to lead, is shown in the j
fact that while prompted to disunion by the
I hone of battering the condition of Charleston
, trade, they have obstructed the channels lead
. ing to the city, iu order to keep the United
Sautes vessels out; at the same time they have 1
destroyed the light houses and pulled up the
"WHAT do you call this ?" said Jones, tap
ping his breakfast very lightly with his fork. !
"Call it,"snailed the landlord, "What do you
call it ?" " Well, really," said Jones, "I don't
know. It hasn't quite hair enough in it for
plaster, but I think there is a little 'oo much
in it for hash !"
A GENTLEMAN writing from Europe, says he 1
Mas informed early last spriDg, that the South
would try to dissolve the American Union
this Fall and Winter. Thirty and forty years,
it has been the one idea of the tire eaters, who
have constantly sougt to delude the South, and
insult the North.
Two BLUNDERS —A Southern editor some (
years ago, in attempting to compliment Gen. j
Pillow as a " battle-scared veteran," was made
by the types to call hitn a " battle scared vet
eran " In the issue the mistake was so far i
corrected as to otvle him a" bcttUsi.j;ed vc-i
VOL. XXI. NO. 35
[ WE make several extracts this week from
the official department of the School Journal,
not particularly for the benefit of school offi
cers, for it is supposed that they see the Jour
nal monthly, if they do not they certainly
( i ought to. We really cannot see how auy
board of directors can get along without it.—
it they do not tuke it, and thus keep them
j selves posted as to the decisions and instruc
tions of the State department, they may, at
I some time find themselves in a " fix" that will
, j cost them more than oue dollar to get out of.
Hut these extracts are for the benefit of all,
and especially of teachers. We have almost
monthly urged upon teachers to subscribe for
' this valuable periodical ; but they have not, —
! perhaps we ought to let them get the iuforma
i tiou which they desire as they can, if they
will not take the paper that contains it ; but
still we shall give them, occasionally, a few of
the decisions to see if that will not stimulate
them to become subscribers. o.
ANSWERS TO DIRECTORS, &C.
QUESTION : Have Directors the power to
! prescribe the lines, within which alone the pu
! pils therein residing, shall attend the school
' of that sub-district? — Tuscarora District, Ju
ANSWER : " Sub-districts" as such, were
abolished by the school law of 1854 ; but it
is still, not only the right, but the duty of Di
rectors, to prescribe the limits of each school;
aud any puj.il attending any other school, than
the one thus designated by the Board, violates
the law. and should be expelled from the
school thus intruded into.
QUESTION' : In our district, there are schools
that, in the winter, average fifty, and others
that do not average twenty scholars. The di
rectors divide the school money amongst all
the districts equally—making no difference
either for the number of pupils or the grade
of certificate of the teacher. Is this right ?
Citizen of Craicford county.
ANSWER: This is really oue of the most
difficult 'points in the administration of the
school system, in the rural districts ; and, as
no general rule that will square with every
supposable case can be prescribed, the law
wisely leaves it to the discretiou of the local
directors; —the only limitation, that there
must be the same duration, aud as far as prac
ticable, the same efficiency of instruction, in
every school iu the district. Apparently, the
directors in question have effected both of
these objects, by giving equal terms aud equal
salaries to all the schools ; while, in reality,
great inequality of result may nevertheless ex
ist. For instance, a medium teacher may get
along tolerably well iu a school of 15 or 20,
but might break down in one with 50 or 60
pupils ; uis failure being almost certain, if re
quired to teach those higher branches more
likely to be needed in the larger school.
Absolute equality of funds to each district
does not, therefore, seem to effect the true
purpose of the system, —which js that of pro
portioning instruction to the needs of each
pupil, so that each shall have what it re
quires in kind, while all shall have the same
;in duration. On the contrary, the placing of
j the best and most efficient teachers at the
points where the highest degree of instruction,
j and the greatest amount of labor are demand
ed, does effect the object in view, and hence is,
beyond question, the rule to be adopted,
j It is exceedingly difficult to strike the just
I medium on this point, so as to give that meas
; ure of satisfaction, which ought to be arrived
at; hut it is equally certain, that the adoption
! of an arbitrary, unbending rule of equality in.
the expenditure of the funds of the district
| amongst the schools, will not effect it. Un
der the head of " Division of .School Funds,"
jiage ,T and No. 1 80, of S. C. School Law
aud Decisions, edition of 1857, there are some
; remarks whose appropriateness and sounducss
; merit for them the attention of directors.
Q; ESTTOV : My school house stands on the
' side of the public road, with little or no play
ground attached to it, and the scholars are i:i
I the habit of playing on the road A neighbor
I is constantly annoying them by abusive lan
; cringe and threats, to prevent them from play
ing there. Have they the right to play on tbo
j public road ?— Teacher in Huntingdon co.
ANSWER : They have not. The road is for
the free use aud passage of thepublic ; and
; though abusive is unjustifiable,
yet its obstruction by this or auy private or
different purpose, is illegal. Besides, ifin
! jury occur to any on" by tins means—say by
the frightening and running away of horse
—no doubt some one would be liable iu
damages,—whether Overseers, Directors, IV
, rents, or Teacher, it is now unnecessary to
A school-house without adequate play grouud
can hardly be culled a school house at all, —
wanting, as it does, one of the essentials ; and
the Directors of such an incomplete affair
; should supply the defeat at once,
j In this ca?e, the Teacher is advised to noti
fy his Board of the existing difficulty, and to
1 demand proper provision in this respect, for
the health and comfort of his pupils. He
| should also adopt, and as far as possible, en
force the rule, that ail sports be confined to
the proper play ground, limited though it be.
QUESTION : Can a Board of Directors com
pel teachers to close their schools on Satur-
I days, and yet exact 24 days for a mouth ?
i Teacher in 1! e.stmot eland.
ANSWER : if a provision to that effect is in
the contract between the Board and theteach
ersj they can ; not otherwise. 24 days, with
the Saturdays and Sundays added, would, at
the shortest, make a month of 32 days, and
in the month of December, IStK), would make
134 days ; which is simply absurd. If nothing
is said iu the article of agreement, about the
number of days in the teacher's mouth, aud if
| the question be left to this Department, 22
■ days will, for the present, be decided to be
j the teacher's month ; —that is, the Lunar
i mouth with all the Suutiay3 aud one half of
, the Saturdays omitted. The Lunar month is
I essentially aud practically the school mouth.