J3LLAS PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
Thursday Morning, February 14, 1861.
(Original fbdru.
[Written for the Bradford Reporter.]
THE SUNSET BY THE SEA.
BY SYBIL rXUK.
n beauUfal, so beautiful,
That sunset by tbe sea,
Ths red light pouring richly d&wa
O'er rock, aud flower, aud
Bali acting all the brilliancy.
So grandly at our feet, —
The glowing waves cauio breaking up
1b music wild and sweot.
Oh, reverently I seemed to stand
Within a minster dim ;
And gloriously the ocean-chant,—
A grand cathedral hymn,
Swept o'er my heart-strings boarli® all
Ju vague nurest away,
And leaving sunshine whore the pall
Of gloomy shadows lay.
The epleudor of that autumn ak/
The glory and the light,
Att mirrored on my sonl this day
In beauty warm and bright.
Again I see the islands fair.
And o'er the orimson SOB,
The white sails drifting proudly out
I.lke sea birds strong and free.
But rediuutly the glory died
Proni out the brilliant west,
Aud then the deep in< twi ght brought
A J ream of home and rest;
fci.il lingering!/ ho tarried limit
fcosiue the restlea* dtvp,
U'uti! the night had folded c'..e
litr purple wings of sleep.
Tiwa homeward underneath the start,
And through the dusk we came,
Tl dark waves chanting solemnly
Their jubilant retrain ;
And faithfully ha* memory kept
That sunset .by the sea,
The crimson sweeping richly dowu
O'er rock, and flower, and tiee.
&MKEV,ULU, L'B.
[Written for the Bradford Reporter.]
BESONE FROM MY STIRIT THOU WEIOST OF
YEARS.
Hegsne from my spirit, thu drear weight of years I
Unburden mine eyelids, thou shadow of tears !
Unfetter my heart, thou cold cankering chain 1
Sweet sunshine, steal Into its chambers again !
Tor 1 meet with the joyous and happy to-night,
Ami lain woukl I gather a gJinifwu of the light
WLich has vanished away from uiv cloud-curtained sky
ai Tosih, and its fairy-land scenes have gouo by.
I Bit. how shall the spirit, earth-burdened aud sad
I Brest sway from its thralidora, and learn to be glad ?
■ ?-. hwrt which distrust, and dark sorrow has chilled
I v-g-.he sunlight of faith, and of comfort, bo tilled?
J Lai .nd, sweetest music, enchantment and power
I To Hi! up the moments, and gladden the hour,
■ Vita ao mingling tone trom the far away nbore
lif taw dream land where music and revel are o'er
■ jrs, with red lips, the fond love-lighted srailo
D 'Y.me Innocent sweetueaa might well nigh beguiia
I '< seraphs of light, from the region of bliss
I dwell iu the rapturous love-smiles of this.
Ist no Munching come over their rose-tinted bloom
Till tliey mock in their paleness the hue of the tomb,
AI in watching some lip for au answering smile
le nurk in its wrealhiug. but falsehood and guiie.
*"*'B t.-derly, trustingly, hope lighted eyos,
* •. radiance seemingly caught from the skies,
Iflirre each glittering star in the blue azure sea
hsoms a loving guardian of destiny.
Kevp steadfast your gaie on the Heavenly sphere*
TW weary and heavy with darkening tears,
At each prrs.ige of promise foreshadowed there
| Snail vanish away in the depths of despair.
I '"ad ye gaily, yet softly, witli light airy feet,
[ * pathway with fragrance of roses is sweet,
Iv the i -heries of pleasure the spirit entrance,
bfegsmlsil along in the frolic aud dance.
F'ta-r, U"t away, gristed, dejected, forlorn,
I v? torn and bleeding, from thistle and thorn,
I se< n 'mid the res that bloomed in tho way
■pi r ved ; like earth-phautoaw, which lure W> bc
[ trwy.
poison t* mixed in the banqueting cup
-2 "h. -!i in iu fulness this evening we sup,
'' lie hid in the festival bowera
driak in the fragrance, and gather the flowers.
f vfenst of the soul, in rich bounty be spread,
•' chtof enjoyment its radiance shed
•r the heart, that the mourning, life-weary, and sad,
•' !MT f, m , rrow , !IC I ] eßrTl ( 0 (, e glftd.
m my spirit, thou drear weight of yeara!
1 ' sr. m.rie eye-lids, thou shadow of tears I
I ray heart, thou cold, cankering chain 1
I ***• '"rash:ne, u-al iuto its chambers again !
Px. Him* Lorisg.
1 1 *KXTLK ANNIE—Some one Rays he loves
" j!l ? called "Geutle Anuie." There is
P'M.ng outside the pale of human affections
p" f .ove. L\"e would fear the mau who did
r We too, love the song, and con
weakness—but yon wont say anything
P ' Yin ?—for the gentle girl herself
; l ' le sou* entirely out of the question,
e song jg indeed sweat, and while list-
Iv d °- ltS wortls > w hen snug by some sweet, j
to.ee, we have often pictured in our j
- "gentle heroine—gentle and sweet as i
u-(. a ' f ~re. e t s ' st cr, long since gone home but
ler ■ ' n onr memor J. as w remember
ltv morn of our existence, when laying
mi,', °L ' ier l ''' n white hand, in a low sweet
f,.,' >! 0 ta <ight us to repeat after her, "Our
T art in Heaven,"— YreU Journal.
lot g - be his fate who makes
1 1 100(1 hfPPJ ;itis so easy. It does
1 hUt i ° r P 08 ' 1 ' 0 " or fame; only
5,t , „i", ' " SS ' ft "d the tact which it inspires.
reUe hi. ! a ia,,ce t0 love ' 10 to ex
rrii , ""agnation and affections, and he
*!th , G i Ve hm the cond 'tios Of
|T lI fo<jd ' e *rcise, and a little va
•toand 0 -' :c ?l iatlons T-* nd lie will be happy
"a bappbe*. .
i #* A A J 0 ' ' ■ a'"-':.-' ";W : *
The Progress of my Zouave Practice.
A fellow with a red bag having sleeves to
it for acoat;with twored bags without sleeves
to them for trovvsers ; with an embroidered
and braided bag for a vest; with a cap like a
red woolen saucepan ; with yellow boots like
the fourth robber in a stage play; with a
moustache like two half pound paiu't brushes,
aud with a sort of sword gun or gun-sword for
a weapon, that looks like the result of a love
affair between an amorous broadsword aud a
lonely musket, indiscreet aud tender—that is
a Zouave.
A fellow who can "put up" a hundred-and-teu
pound dumb bell ; who cau climb up au eighty
foot rope, hand over Laud, with a barrel of
flour haugiug to his heels ; who can do the
" giaut swiug "ou a horizontal bar with a
fifty-six tied to each ankle ; who can walk up
four flights of stairs, holding a heavy man in
each hand at arms' length; and who can climb
a greused pole feet first, carrying a barrel of
pork in his teeth—that is a Zouave.
A follow who cau jump seveuteeu feet four
inches high without a spring-board ; who can
tie his legs iu a double bow knot around his
ueck without previously softening his shiu
boues in a steam bath ; who can walk Blon
diu's outdoor tight rope witu his stomach out
side of uiue braudy cocktails, a suit of chain
armor outside his stomach, and a stiff north
east gale outside of that; who can set a forty
foot ladder on end, balance himself on top of
it, aud 6hoot wild pigeons on the wing, one at
a tiuio, just behind the eye, with a single bar
reled Minie rifle, three hundred yards distance
and never miss a shot; who cau take a five
shooting revolver iu each hand and knock the
spots out of the ten of diamonds at eighty
paces, tumiucr somersaults all the time and
firing every shot iu the air—that is a Zouave.
I am a Zouave.
My musket education progresses—l am get
ting on finely—l can tell the muzzle from the
stock at first sight, aud shall soon he able to
say which end of the ramrod to put down aud
which side up the cartridge goes.
But I am paying more attention to my gym
nastics just at present thau to my musket, for
everybody knows that in a battle arms are not
of nearly so much importance as legs—it is a
very good thing to kuow the use of your legs
—iu case of war.
I've got a practicing room, where I gymnas
tic every day. I've taken up the carpet —a
performance which my landlady eutireiy ap
proves—Fve piled the chairs ou top of the
table in a corner, and have sold my bed at auc
tion—Zounvos sleep on the floor.
Besides, it is a good thing to know how to
sleep without a bed—iu caso of war.
Spinkey and his brother came to see my
room after I had got it arranged for practice—
they did things—they Zouuved a little,by way
of setting me an example.
I found out by the actions of the Spinkey
brothers the exact dimensions of my room ; it
is three fl.p-flups long, aud a handspring aud
two back somersault? wide.
By means of a flip-flap you disconcert your
enemy's aim and draw bis fire, tbeu you kill
him. A flip flap is a good thing to do—in case
of war.
By means of a handspring, you reverse your
position, and you bewildered enemy cuts off
your foot, instead of your head. Then you
kill them; then your screw ou a woodcu leg
! aud uo so again. When you've done it twice
i you've killed two enemies and only lost two
legs ; and, afie*' that, you can only lose wood
en legs, which are comparatively cneap, especi
ally if the war is ia a well timbered country.
A handspring is a spleudid thing to do—iu
case of war.
By means of a forward somersault, you leap
over your enemy, when he charges you; then,
by a back somersault, you fall on bis head from
n great height aud stun him ; then you kill
him.
A somersault ia an indispensable manoever
—in case of war.
Our company—Spinkey commanding—can
go through the manual of arms complete, and
only touch the ground three times; they do ail
the loading in a single somersault springing in
to the air at the word " Up 1" with their
muskets empty, and loading exactly together
at the word of commaud, given by Spinkey
with a speaking trumpet, and firing by tiles as
they come down.
When Spinkey left my room I began to
, practice; for I'm very anxious to progress.—
Our company has been all drafted into Kcrri
! gao's Contingent, and we must all be ready.
Tried a somersault first,as I thought it look
ied very easy. All you have to do is, to throw
i your heels up and your head down, and then
j bring your head up and heels down; it is the
| easiest thing in the world—apparently. When
| I came to try it, I thought the floor
unusually hard; so I put a pillow on the spot
where I thought my feet would come dowu, as
I didu't want to hurt my heels. Then I took
off my coat, tied my suspenders tightly around
my waist, took a short run from the corner of
the room, shut my eyes, and— * * * *
When I recovered, which I should judge
was about three quarters of an hour, I had a
bump on my forehead as if I'd been hit there
by a baseball, which had struck. It took me
fifteen minntes to get up on my feet, for I felt
as if my legs aud arms had been distributed
over the neighboring country by a gunpowder
explosion, aud it was some time before my
mind was disabused of that impression.
I judge that something interfered to pre
vent the artistic execution of my contemplat
ed somersault, for my head evidently struck
the ground as soon as my heels weut np ; my
nose had received a severe coutusion, and the
results were, a map of some uuknown country
done in red on my shirt frout,two vest pockets
full of blood, and my hair so stuck together
with the same fluid that 1 had to get my head
cropped like a prize fighter. Whether I broke
the window with my head when it went down,
or with my heels when they came up, is com
paratively immaterial—certain it is that there
was a hole in the sash big enough to throw a
bushel basket through without touching the
ttlgns.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY R. W. STURROCK.
As to the pillow, it didn't seem to case my
feet after all; perhaps it is beoause neither of
them came within a rod of it, for I discovered
that while I broke my only water pitcher with
ouc heel, 1 had put the other through my pic
ture of John C. Heeuan, in his favorite chara
cter of champion of the word.
I mustered up courage in three days to try
a hand spring, but the results were not satis
factory, being merely a new and extensive as
sortment of bumps and bruises.
Then I sent for Spinkey—Spinkey taught
me the art—l cau do it now—l do it
all the time—l keep doing it; in fact, I don't
do anything else. When 1 come down to
breakfast, I generally walk on my hands
| around the table, and give each one of the
boarders a patronizing shake of my slipper;
theft i turu a haudspring over the table, and
come down easily in my chair, and read a col
umn of the Tribune while the people are look
j ing in the air for me to come down. 1 never
sleep on a bed, now a-days; sometimes I hang
myself by the toes to the gas fixtures; some
times I suspend myself by ray little finger to a
staple in the wall; sometimes I balance myself
on my trusty sword, or take a short nap on
the point of my bayonet. I've practiced thrus
ting with my bayonet and swcrd till there isn't
a picture in my whole collection that has its
regular number of features; Dolly Davenport
has only one eye, and a fraction of a nose;
Edwin Forrest is playiog llumlet without any
top to his head, aud John C. Ileenau with oue
arm aud a big hole iu his ribs, is fighting Tom
Sayers, who has no legs, aud nary au eye in
his head. I've put up a target on the brick
partition that separates me from the uext house
and have fired so mauy balls iuto it, that the
bricks are uot now more than an inch and a
half thick, and I expect every day to kill a
baby or two in there. When I do, I suppose
I will huve to apologize. I havn't killed any
body for a good while, and I really ought to
get my hand iu aguiu. If you shouldn't hear
from me next week, vou may conclude that I'm
going through the farcical formality of an ex
amination for manslaughter, aud that I'll write
as soon as I cau get out on bail.
Confidently, DOESTICKS. I\ 13.
An Old Tinia Schoolmaster.
There are many persons now residing iu the
city of Philadelphia who, remembering back
some thirty years, cau recall the houest face
of a sturdy pedagogue from the North of Ire
land, by the name of W., a stern disciplinarian
of the old school who believed that learning as
often went in with a "thwack," as an inclina
tion. Among the pupils of honest old W ,
was oue who-has siuce arisen to soma distinc
tion, but who, during his school boy days, was
generally regarded as a thick-headed, lazy fel
low, and was sure to get old W.'s attention iu
the " warming way " every semi-occasionally.
Oue;day wbeu Johuuy had forgotteu to study
his lesson, as usual, the old douiinie blandly
requested him to Lake his place on the floor,
as he had a few words which he wished to say
to him. Johnny of course, stepped out with j
fear and treuibiiutr, and was greatly astonish
ed to hear his stem teacher address him in a
very kind and geutle tone.
"Johnny, my son," said W., " ye're of a
good family, so you are."
Johnny, who expected a pretty scvero pun
ishment, and had already begun to whine and
dig his kuhckles iuto his eyes, looked up in the
greatest imaginable surprise.
" I say Johnny," pursued the dominie, "ye're
of a good family—d'ye understand ?"
"Ah thank you, sir !'' replied the lad, with
au air of some confidence.
" Yes, Johnny, I repeat, ye're of a good
family, as good a family as me own. I kuew
your father, Johnny, in the oulvl country and
this—as a lad and a man—and a better and
honcster lad and mau, Johnny, I never knew
ayther side of the big deep "
" Thank you, sir !" said JolinDy, with a
pleasant smile, and a furtive glance of triumph
at some of his playmates.
" And I knew your mother, too Johuny;
and a dear swate little girl she was afore she
grew up and married your father, Johnny; aud ,
after that she was a blessed bride, and as kind
hearted and lovely a mother and mistress of a
family, Johnny as iver left the blessed shores I
of onld Ireland.
" Ves, sir—oh, thauk yon, sir ?" responded
the delighted Johnny.
" Ah, Jhonny, your father and mother and
myself have seen some happy days across the
great seas !" sighed the sentimental schoolmas
ter; " days that I'm knowing now will never
return to me again. And then your sisters,
Johnny—you've got fine sisters, too, that I
have known since they were toddlings, and
which same now are ornaments to iuny society
Johnny."
" Oh, sir, I am much obliged to you ?" re
sponded the happy pupil, scarce knowing how
to express the joy he felt at finding himself
such a great favorito with his heretofore stern
master.
"And then there's yourself, Johnny, that
I've known since your birth—the son of my
ould friends and companious of my youth."
" Oh, thauk you, sir."
Ah, yes, Johnny," weut on the domine,
with something between a groan and a sigh,
and some slight indication of tears, " it's the
whole blissed family that I have known so
long, so well, and 60 favorably, Johuuy : and
now that 1 look back with pride ou these same
by-gone reminiscences, I think I would uot be
doing justice to your noble father, your kind
mother, and your lovely sisters, nor to jour
self and the rest of mankind, if I were to let
such a lazy, good for nothing rascal go with
out a good ' thwacking.' Hould out yer hand,
Johnny—hould yer had, yer young rascal!"
And before poor Johnny had time to recov
er from his astonishment, he found himself in
the process of a good "thwacking" that he
never forgot to the end of his life.
Tiie darkest scene we ever saw was a dar
key in a darkccliar, with a dark lantern, look
ing for a black oat that wusu t there.
" RE3ARDLESS OR DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
Womea and Marriaga.
I have speculated a great deal upon matri
mony. I have seen young and beautiful wo
men, the pride of the gay circles, married—as
the world goes—well ! Some have moved into
costly houses, and their friends have all come
and looked at their fiue furniture and splendid
arrangements for happiuess, and they have
gone away aud committed them to their sunny
hopes cheerfully and without fear. It is natu
ral to be sanguine fof the young, and at such
times I am carried away by similar feelings.—
I love to get, unobserved, into a corner and
watch the brido in her white attire, and with
her smiliDg face aud soft eyes moving before
me iu the prido of her life, weave a waking
dream of her future happiness, and persuade
invself that it will be true.
I think bow they will sit upon the luxu
riant sofa as the twilight falls, and build gay
hopes, and murmur in low tones the now un
forbidden tenderness, aud how thrilling the
allowed kisses aud beautiful endearments of
wedded life will make even their parting joy
ous, and how gladly they will come back from
the crowd and empty mirth, and of the gay, to
each other's quiet company. I picture to my
self that youug creature, who blushes even
now at his hesitating caresses, listing eagerly
for his footsteps as tho night steals on, and
wishing that ho would come; aud when he
enters at last, and with an affection as undy
ing as his pulse, folds her to his bosom, 1 can
feel the very tide that goes flowing through
his heart, and gaze with him on her graceful
form as she moves about him for the kind offi
ces of affection, soothing all his unquiet cares
and making him forget even himoelf iu her
young and uushadowed beauty.
I go forward for years and see her luxurious
hair put soberly away from her brow, and her
girlish graces ripening into dignity, and bright
loveliness chastened iuto affection, ller hus
band looks ou her with a proud eye, aud shows
her the same fervent love aud delicate atten
tions that first won her; and fair children have
grown up about them, aud they go ou full of
honor and untroubled years, and are re
membered when they die. 1 say I love to
dream thus when I go to give the youug bride
joy. It is the natural tendency and feeling
touched by loveliness that fears uothing for
itself; and it I ever yield to darker feelings it
is because tho light of the picture is changed.
I am uot fond of dwelling upon such changes,
aud I will uot minutely now. I allude to it
oulv because I trust that my simple page will
be read by some of the youug and beautiful
beings who move daily across my path; aud
I would whisper to them as they glide by joy
ously and confidently tho secrot of au uueloud
ed future.
The picture I have drawn above is not
peculiar. It is colored, like the fancies of the
bride; aud many, oh ! many an hoar will she
sit, with her rich jewels lying loose in her
fiugers, and dream such dreams as these. She
believes them, too—aud she goes ou for awhile
undeceived. The evenings arc not too long
when they talk of plans of happiness, and the
quiet meal is still pleasant, with delightful
novelty of mutual reliance and atteutiou.—
There comes soon, however, a time when per
sonal topics become bare and wearisome, aud
slight attentions will not alone keep up the
social excitement. There are intervals of
silence and detected symptoms of weariness,
and the htisbaud first, in his manhood, breaks
in upon the hours they were to spend togeth
er. I cannot follow it circumstantially. There
come long hours of restlessness, and terrible
misgivings of each other's worth and affection,
until, by aud by,they cau couceal their uueasi
uess no longer, aud go out separately to seek
relief, anil lean upou a hollow world for sup
port, which one, who was their lover and friend
could not give them !
Ileed this, yc who are winning, by your in
noceut beauty, tho affections of high-minded
and thinking beings 1 llcmember that he will
give up tbe brother of his heart, with whom
he has had ever a fellowship of mind; the soci
ety ofj his cotemporary runners in the race of
fame, who have held with him a stern com
panionship, aud frequently in his passionate
love he will break away from the arena of his
burning ambition, to coma and listen to the
"voice of the charmer." It will bewilder him
at first, but it will not long ; and then, think
you, that an idle blandishment will claim the
mind that has been nsed for years to au equal
communion ? Think you that he will give up
for a weak dalliance the animating themes of
men and the search into the mysteries of know
ledge? Oh, no, lady ! believe me—no! Trust
not your iuflueuce to snch light fetters !
Credit not the old-fashioned absurdity that
woman's is a secondary lot—ministering to the
necessities of her lord and master. It is a
higher destiny I would award yon. If your
immortality is as complete and your gift of
mind i 3 as capable as ours, 1 would charge
you to water the undying bud, aud give your
self a healthy culture, and open its beauty to
the sun, and then yon may hope that when
your life is bound with another, you may go
on equally aud with a fellowship that shall
pervade every earthly interest.— Washington
Irving.
LOGICAL PEPCCTIOX. —At a protracted meet
ing held some time ago, a hymn was given out
which contained the words—
"There is no more sorrow there."'
At the close of the hymn, a brother stood
up and shouted in a voice of thunder,
"Yes, brethren, thar's no sorrow in Heav
en 1 Aud why not ? Because in the words
of this beautiful hymn, thar's no sorrer tbar."
This brilliant deduction brought out a by
stander, who observed :
"That's what I call coming out of the same
hole you went in at, friend !''
FIRST IN AI.I. THlNGS. —Pennsylvania made
the first turnpike road in the L'nited States,
laid the first railroad, established first water
works, ran the first locomotive, established the
first hospital, the first law school, the first hall
of music, aud the first library in the world
opened to all.
A TAKE OFF.—The following is an admir
able " take off " of tho startling inllamatory
despatches which nppear daily in newspapers
of tho sensation class :
Late, Later, Latest and Highly Important from
Charleston—Our Special Despatches by the
Underground Line.
" CHARLESTON, Supper time, Jan. 15th, —
All the babies in the South are in arms.
" Tico and one half Minutes Later.—Hun
dreds of the noblest women of South Caroli
na are behind the breast works, and they bold
ly express their determination to remain there.'
" Later Still —Three-quarters of a minute.
A number of young ladies were in arms dur
ing the greater part of last evening, and many
more are extremely anxious to follow the self
sacrificiug example of their sisters. Shame
ou the young men."
" One Quarter of a Minute Later. —We
have learned, from a reliable source, that the
study of military tactics will be introduced
into the female schools of this State immedi
ately, us the spirited girls declare a willingness
to take charge of the South Carolina " iufau
try,"' which is yet to be raised."
" A report from The interior says the ne
groes " wear" drilling, but it needs confir
mation. Everybody is in a blaze of enthu
siasm, and the gas company has suspended iu
consequence.''
DIARY OF A " MEDIKCL" MAN.—A pocket
diary was picked up in the street in Mobile
a few days siuce. From the following extracts
it appears that the loser was a " mcdikul "
man :
" Kase.l74, Mary An Perkius, bisnes wash
woman ; sickness iu her bed. Fisick, suin
pills, a soperifik, aged 32. Fade me one dol
lar, I quarter bogus. Mind get good quarter
aud make her take moro fisik. Kasc 115.
Mikil Tubbs, Bisnis, Nirishman. Lives with
Dekun Pheley, what keeps a dray. Sikness,
dig in the ribs, and tow bad ise. Fisik to
drink my mixter twice a day of sasiperrily and
jollop, and fish ile, to rnaik it taist fisiky put
in sum asidifv—rubbed his fuis with kart
grease liniment, aged 23 yeres of aig. Drinkt
the mixtur and wuddent pa me kase it taisted
nasty, but the raixtur'll wutk his innards I
reckin. Kase 116. Old Misses Boggs.—
Aint got no bisnis but plenty of money. Sik
ness aul a humbug. Gave her sum of my scl
ebrated Dipseboikin, whitch she scd drunk
like kold tee —which it was too. Must put
santhin in to make her fele eik and bad. The
old woman has got the rocks.,'
A MAN WHO COULDN'T STAND JERSEY.—
Oue terrible stormy night in the bleak Decem
ber, a Uuited States vessel was wrecked off
the coast of Jersey, aud every soul, save one
weut down with that doomed craft. This one
survivor seized a floating spar, and was wash
ed toward the shore while innumerable kind
hearted tools of the Camden aud Amboy
llailroad clustered on the beach with ropes
aud boat. Slowly the uuhappy mariner drift
ed to land, and as he exhaustedly caught at
the rope thrown to him, the kindly natives ut
tered au encuraging cheer " You are saved!"
they shouted. "You aro saved—and must
show the conductor your ticket!" With the
sea still boiling about him the drowning stran
ger resisted the efforts to haul him a>hore.—
Stop!" said he iu faint tones.—Tell me where
I am! What country is this ?" They answered
"New-Jersey." Scarcely had the name been ut
tered, when the wretched strauger let go the
rope, ejaculating as he did so—"I guess I'll
float a little fartherl" Ho was never seen
again.
MARRIAGE.—PeopIe have different opinions
of the value of marriage, according as tliey
are more or less habituated to the operation—
as witness the following, from one of the Indi
ana papers—all about the "discount" ou
second marriage.
A lady apparently about thirty, entered a
justice's office and asked for the eqnire. I
called, squire,' she said, ' to engage your ser
vices this evening. I am about to be married.'
The squire bowed, and smiled encouraging
ly. ' Might I ask,' continued the lady, ' what
your fee is ou such occasions ?' ' Oue dollar,
madam, iu the office.' ' And how much if
you go to the house V 'Five dollars.' Too
much—entirely too much said the lady, quick
ly—'l have been married before. The first
time I would not have hesitated at twenty dol
lars, but I think two dollars quite enough.'—
The squire consented to tie the knot for two
dollars, and the lady handed him her card,
and requested him to be prompt, and swept
out of the office as if it was an affair of every
day.
A FEMALE SLAVE'S IDEA OF THE ELECTION
OF LINCOLN.—A Mississippi correspondent of
the St. Louis Democrat relates the following
anecdote :
" A negro man from a neighboring planta
tion has been courting onr cook for a long
time : he came in the other evening, and sit
ting down beside her began :
" What, Lincolu is 'lcetcd, and now you'll
see : you'll see."
" Well, what'H I see ?" said she.
" Never mind, you'H see."
" Well, what'll I see ?"
" You'll see ; you'il see."
" Yes," said the cook, exasperated beyoud
all patieuce, " I'll see more Diggers licked than
ever ; that's what I'll see."
HEAVEN.—"Where are yon going P' said a
young gentleman to an elderly oue in a white
cravat, whom he overtook a few miles from
Little Rock. "I am going to Heaven, my
son ; I have been on the way eighteeu years."
"Well, good-bye, old fellow, if you have been
traveling toward Heaven eighteeu years and
got no nearer to it thau Arkausas, I'll take
another route."
FRESH ROLLS EVERY MORNING—RoIIing
to the other side of the bed for a fresh
snooze.
VOL. XXI. —iXO. 37
educational Department.
SPEAK GENTLY.
Speak gently ; it i* better far
To rule by love than fear :
Speak gently let no har.h worJs mar
The good we might do here.
Speik gently—love doth whisper low
The vows that true hearts bind.
And gently friendship's accents flow -
Affection's voice is kind.
Speuk gently to the little child.
Its iove be sure to gain—
Teach it in accents soft and mfld ;
It may not long remain. •
Bpeak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear ;
Pass through this life as best they may,
: Tis full of anxious care.
Bpeak gently to the aged one ;
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run-
Let such in peace depart.
Bpeak gently, kindly to the ponc-
I-d no harsh tone lie heard ;
They have enough they must endure
Without an unkind word.
Bpc-uk gently to the erring—know
They must have toiled in vain ;
l'erehance unkiuduess made them s—
Oh! win them back again,
bpeak gently! He who gave his life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were tierce with strife.
Said tojthc-iD, " Peace ! be still."-
bpeak gently—'tis a little thing
Dropped in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy which it may bring
Eternity shall tell!
Etudy a Child's Capacities,
If some arc naturally dull, aud yet strive to
do well, notice the effort, and do not censure
the dullness. A teacher might as well scold
a child for being near-sighted, as for being
I naturully dull. Some children have a great
! verbal memory, others are qnite the reverse.
! Some minds develop early, others late. Soma
: have great powers of acquiring, others of
: originating. Some may appear stupid, because
their true spring character has never been
touched. The dunce of the school may turn
out in the end, tho living, progressive, won
der-working genius of the age.
la order to exert the best spiritual influence
we must understand the spirit upon which
we wish to exert that influence. For with
the human mind we must work with nature,
and not against it. Like the leaf of the net
tle, if touched one way, it stings like a wasp ;
if the other, it is softer than satin. If wa
would do justiee to the human mind, we must
: find out its peculiar characteristics, and adapt
ourselves to its individual wants. In conver
j satiou on this point with a friend, who is now
the principal in ono of our best grammar
schools, and to whose instruction I look back
with delight—" your remarks," said he, " aro
quite true ; let me tell you a little incident
which bears upon the point:
" Last summer, I had a girl who was ex
ceedingly behind in all her studies. She wa
at the foot of the class, and seemed to care
but little for her books. It so happened, that
as a relaxation, I let them at times during
school hours unite in singing. I noticed that
this girl had a remarkably clear sweet voice,
and I said to her, " Jane, you have a good
voice, and you may lead in the singing." She
brightened up ; and from that time her mind
appeared to be more active. Her lessons wero
attended to, and she soon gained a high rank.
" One day, as I was going home, I ovortook
her with a school companion. " Well, Jane,*
said I, "you are getting along very well, how
happens it you do so much better than at the
beginning of the quarter ?" "I do not know
why it is," she replied. "I know what she
told me the other day," said her companion.
" And what was that ?" I asked.
" Why she said s/ie was encouraged."
Yes, heje we have it—she was encouraged.
| She felt she was not dull in everything. She
had learned self respect, and thus she was eiv
| couraged.
j Some twelve or thirteen years ago, there
was in Franklin school an exceedingly dull
• boy. One day the teacher wishing to look
out a word, took up the lad's dictionary, ami
on opening it, found the blank leaves covered
with drawings. He called the boy to him :
" Hid you draw these ?" said the teacher.
" Yes, sir," said the boy, with a downcast
look.
" I do not think it is well for boys to draw
in their books, and I would rub these out If T
were you ; but they are well done ; did
ever take lessons ?"
"Xo, sir," said the boy, his eyes sparkling.
"Well, I think you have a talent for thli
thing. I should like to see you draw me
something when you arc at leisure, at hern®,
and bring it to me. In the mean time SM
how well you can recite your lessons."
The next morning the boy brought a pie*
turc, and when he had committed his lesson-,
the teacher permitted him to draw a map.—
The true spirit was touched. The boy felt he
was understood, lie began to love his teach
er. He became animated and fond of hii
books. He took delight iu gratifying hia
teacher by his faithfulness to his studies, while
the teacher took every opportunity to encour
age him iu his natural desires. The boy be
came one of the first scholars, and gained the
medal before he left the school. After this
he became an engraver, laid up money enough
to go to Europe, studied the works of old
masters, sent home productions from his own
pencil, which found a place iu some of tho
best collections of paintings, and is now ono
of the most promising artists of his years iu the
country. After the boy gained the medal, he
sent the teacher a beautiful picture as a to
ken of respect ; and while he was an engraver,
the teacher received frequent tokens of con
tinued regard ; and 1 doubt not to this day,
he feels that that teacher, by the judicious
encouragement lie gave to the natural turn of
the mind, has had a great moral aud spiritual
effect ou his character.