ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE, Thursday Morning, May 16, 1861. j&lcrtci Daetrji. THE MEN WHO FELL AT BALTIMORE. V JOHN W. f OESST. Our country's call nwoke the land From m inntain beijrlit to ocean strand. The old Kovftonc, the Bay State, too, In all her direst dangers true, Res Bed t'> answer to her cry, For her to bleed, for her to die ; And so they marched, their flag before, For Washington, through Baltimore. 'Our men from Berks and Schuylkill came— Lehigh and Mifflin in their train : First In toe field they sought the v.17. Hearts heating high and spirits gay , Heard the wild yells of fiendish spite, Of armed mobs on left and rigb. , But on they marched, their tiag beforo. For Washington, through Baltimore. Next came the Massachusetts men, Gathered from city, giads and glen t N'o hate for South, hut love tor ail, They answered to their county's call. T e oath to them seemed broad and bright; 'flier sought no foeraan and no fight ; As on they marched, their ting before, Stw Euglaud's braves, through Baltimore. Rut when they showed their martial pride, \nd dosed their glittering columns wide. They fund their welcome in tiie firs (ifmaddoncd foes and demons dire, Wco,like the fiends from hell sent torth, Attacked these heroes of the North : Xbft while Mew England mourns l:cr dead, I he L:-> id bv Tie.ison foully shed, f i. ,co that which flowed at lasxington, •cita Freedom's earliest fight begun, ii make the il iy. the month, the yoar, I TJ en y patriot's memory dear. [ vim n f great fathers gone before. They fell for Right at Baltimore ! Airrr every honored grave. Where sleeps the" unretnrriing brave," A mother soiis, a young wife moan*, A father for his lost one groar.s, f'h! let the people ne'er forget. Our deep, enduring, lasting debt T. those who left their native shore An I died for us in Baltimore. ssisttlUntotts. (From Motley's History of the United Netherlands ] A Thrilling Sketch. It wns Ci o'clock of u citill autumn morning, October 2.15J8. it was time for day to break, 1 but tlie fog was so tliick tliut ft man at a dis tance of live yards was quite invisible. The ! creaking of wagon wln eis and the measured tramp of soldiers soon became faintly audible. ; bow ever, to Sir John Norris antl bis five bun itl as they sat there in the mist. Presently | came galloping forward in hot haste those no- i lies and gentlemen, with their esquires, fifty j ecu in ail—Sidney, Wtlougbby ani the rest I *liom Leicester had no longer been aide to re itrain from taking part in the adventure. A force of infantry, the amount of which cannot be satisfactorily ascertained, bad been ! : ordered by the Karl to cross the bridge at a 'iter moment. Sidney's cornet of hcrse was then in Denver, to which place it had been ' Mtit in order to as>ist in quelling an anticipn- 1 h'l revolt, so that lie came, like most of his 1 1 companions, as a private volunteer and knight errant. ° 1 Ibe arrival of the expected convoy was soon ' distinctly heard; but no scouts or outposts h%d , stationed to give timely notice of tlieenc s mov flnients. Suddenly the fog which had ! ' irooded the scene so closely, rolled awav like ! ' ® curtain, and in full light of nil October mor •,n? ti'e I'.nglislitnen found themselves face to 1 i with a compact hotly of more than three ' 'a-mud men. The Marquis del Vesto rode ! a - -lie head of the force, surrounded by a bund j mounted arquebus men. The cavnlrv, tin- ' fatuous Kpirate chief, George Crascia, { anibal Gonzaga, Beiitiroglin, Sesa, Conti and ®''" r distinguished commanders, followed; the ' O'U.niis of pike men and rnusquetetrs lined * •v hedge rowsou both sides of the causeway; c 111 between tliern the long train of wagons *nie slowly along under tlair protection. The , 1 •' e force had got in motion after having - it notice of their arrival to Verdugo, who, t "i one or two thousand men, was expected ! 5, " : ? forth almost immediately from the c "7 gate. Nv' f '; J was , but br ' e '" l ' mo f° r deliberation. ' '"''Hiding the tremendous odds, there 1 'd r '- lrent - Black Norris call- • be ', r '' li:un Stanley, with whom he had 1 1 variance so lately at Doeshurg. ' lal '' been ''l-hlood between as,*' he die via. k 1 U - S , be frieD(]s together this day, and r n* " 7 ,f Dce(l be - in Her M ®.icty's t i t "If you see me not serv my Prince with faithful courage now," replied Stanley, "ac count me forever a coward. Living or dying I will stand or lie by you in friendship." As they were speaking these words the young Earl of Essex,general of the horse,cried to his handful of troopers : " Follow me, good fellows, for the honor of i England and of England's Queen." As he lie spoke he dashed, lance in rest, up :on the enemy's cavalry, overthrew the fore i most man, horse and rider, shivering his own I spear to splinters, and then, swinging his ettr -1 lei axe, rode merrily forward. His whole lit | tie troop, compact us an arrow-head, flew with ' an irresistible shock against the opposing col j urnns, pierced clear through them, and scatter ied them in all directions. At the very first I charge one hundred Englishmen drove the I Spanish and Albanian cavalry back cpou the musketeers and pike men. Wheeling with rn ; piditv, tliey retired before a volley or musket shot, by which many horses were killed, and then formed again to renew the attack. Sir Phillip Sidney, on coining to the field, having j met Sir William Pelltam, the veteran Lord Marshal, lightly armed,had with chivalrous ex i travagance thrown off his own cuishes.and now rode to the battle witli no armor but his cui j rns-t. At the second charge his horse was | shot under him, but mounting another, he was seen everywhere in the thickest of the fight, I behaving himself with a gallantry which ex torted admiration even from the enemy. For the battle was a series of personal en I counters in which high officers were doing the work of private soldiers. Lord North, who had been lying " bed rid " with a musket shot in the leg, had got himself put on horseback, i and "with one boot on and one boot off," bore j himself "wo?t hc-tily" through the whole af * fair. " I desire that Her Majesty may know," |he said, " that I live but to save her. A bet ter barony than 1 have could not hire the Lord North to live on meaner terms." S r William Russell laid alont Itim with las cartel axe to : such purpose that the Spaniards pronounced hiiu n devil and not a man. " Wherever," said an eye witness," "he saw five or six of the enemy togother, thither would i;e, and with Ins hard knocks soon separate ' their friendship." Lord Willoughoy encountered George Cre , *cin, General of the famed Albaninu cavalry, i unhorsed him at the first shock and rolled him 1 into the ditch. " I yield me thy prisoner," called out the Kpirate in French, "for thou art a vrtux chrv j ulitr," while Willottgbby, trusting to his cap | lire's word galloped onward, and with Icm tin rest ol the little troup, till tliey seemed swai | lowed up by the superior numbers of the cue I :ny. IDs horse was shot under him, bis has 1 j sen were torn from ids legs, he was nearly ta i ; ken prisoner, hut fought It's way back with in j ' credible strength and good fortune. Sir Wil j lintn Stanley's horse had seven bullets in him, j but bote liis rider unhurt to the end of the j battle. Leicester declared Sir William and "old Read" to be worth their weight in pearl. Ilaniba' Gonzaga, leader of the Spanish ; cavalry, fell mortally wounded. The Marquis j d 1 Vesto, commander of the expedition near llv met the same Lte. An Englishman was I just cleaving hi? head with a battle-axe, when i a Spaniard transfixed the other soldier with i his pike. The most obstinate struggle took phi.e about the train of wagons. The team sters had fled in the beginning of the action, but the English and Spanish soldiers strug- | gied with the horses, and polling litem forward and backward, tried in vain to get exclusive possession of the convoy which was the cause of the action. The carts at last forced their way slowly nearer and nearer to the town, while lite coin- ! hat still wont on, warm as ever, between the hostile squadrons. The action lasted an hour and a half, and again and again the Spanish horsemen wavered and broke before the hand ful of English, and fell back upon their mu> j keteers. Sir Phillip Sidney, in tlie last charge, rode quite through the enemy's ranks till he j came back upon their entrenchments when a ; inn ket ball from the camp struck him upon the thigh, three incites above the knee. Al- 1 though desperately wounded : n n part that ; should have been protected by the cuishes j which he had thrown aside, he was not inclin- i ed to leave the field; but his own horse had j been shot under him at the beginning of the action, and the one upon whom he was now mounted became too restive for him, thus crip- . pled, to control. lie turned reluctantly away and rode a mile . and a half back to the entrenchments, suffer-1 ing extreme pain, for his leg was dreadfully j shuttered. As he passed along the edge of the battle-field his attendants brought him a hottle of water to quench his raging thirst. At that moment a wounded English soldier "looked wistfully in his face," when Sidney in, ; stantly handed him the flask, exclaiming," thy j necessity is even greater than mine." He then pledged his dying comrade in a draught, and was soon afterwards met by his j uncle. "0!t! Phillip," cried Leicester, in de spair, " I ain truly grieved to see thee in this J plight." Put Sidney confronted him with manful words, and assured Itim that death was ; sweet in the cause of his Queen and country. 1 Sir William Russel, too, all blood-stained from ; 1 the fight, threw his arms around his friend, wept like a child, and kissing his hand, ex claimed: " Oh! noble Sir Phillip, never did man at- 1 1 tain hurt so honorably, or serve so valiantly us j 1 yon." Sir William Pelham declared "that Sid ney's noble courage in the face of our enemies ; hud won him a name of continuing honor." j r j I If*. A man remarked that he experienced ; innelt joy the first year of his marriage, but the ; second year he found more juwy than he anti- " cipated. t Bfß- Hr. Franklin says that "every frag ment ot the day should be saved." Oh, yes, i the moment the day breaks, set yourself at ODce to save the pieces < PUBLISHED EVERY' THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY R. W. STURROI'K. 1 I Little Walter. i r " I knew a little lame boy once," said a lad * to some village children; "h was called Wa ; ter; lie had a hump on his back that you wotth I have felt quite sorry to see, and a very oali j face. f He could not walk about, or even sit up ii his chair; he was obliged to lie nearly always . ( and the only change he had was when he wa . | wheeled in the morning from the bedroon , : where he stayed ull day. Walter's father am . mother were dead, and the people he livec . with had not much time to notice or think , about him. They used to come into the roou . every morning, and then lie saw them nomori . until dinner time. He used to hear them run tiing tip and down stairs, going out and in.— Shall I tell you how he spent the loag hour: when he was left by himself'( A kind lady had given him a few story books, and a little horse and cart that made a tinkling when it moved its wheels. The first thing lie did evu y morning was to push this cart up and down the room with a long stick; he liked to hear the hells ringing as the cart moved, but as he had no one to taik to about it, he soon got tired of playing with it, and then shoved it into its place under the table, and took bis picture story books. He could not read; no one had ever taught him; but he liksd to look at the pictures, and fancy what they were all about. And lie liked to look down into the stieet, and watch the people passing his wiudow.and to learn to kuow their tae.-s. The first person who used to come every morning was the butcher's boy. When he came in sight he always setoff running.and he made an odd face as lie looked up at the little window, which at first frightened Walter, but ofterwards he thought that perhaps the butch •■r'f boy did it to him, and if .so it was kind ol hint to do so. The milk boy used *o l ick up at the window and touch his cup, and that pleased Walter. At four o'clock the linker's cart passed down the stieet; and at five, on winter evenings, came the lamp-light er. It was a treat to Walter to watch him. He could see five lamps from where he lay, and there was one just opposite his little win dow. H it there was something still better about the little -treet into which Waltes's window looked. There was a day school for bovs and girls at the end of it, and us Walter saw tiie scholars pass down the street four times every day, he learned to know their faces, and thought he made out a great deal besides. On bis very worst days, when lie was obliged to lie back and often shut his eyes, on account of the p .in in his head, lie u*-d to brighten up and feel better when the time came fur after j noon school break up. He used to long so to know who would go ' straight home, and who would stay to play in the streit, and what games they would choose. ! He. math: up names for boys from things he them do. There was lb-at his littlo- Lrottn-r; Walter could not like that boy, or feel glad when lie won a game, There was Aluways-ft lillle-too-late. He was a fat good natured looking boy. Walter longed every m< ruing to call out to him. and tell him to lie quick w hen fie saw him sauntering round the corner of the street, with his green hag trail ( ing in the dust, just as the school bell stopped j ringing. Then there was a nice boy whom he called Give-his-apple-away; and little J in time, whom always reached the little school room door the very minute before it was clos ' cd, but who had to run fort it, which made poor Walter very anxious on his account. Resides there was a little boy and girl who always walked to school hand-in-haml. Walter thought he fancy them to be Johunv and Naomi. They were not too full of their own business or their own play to think about Waller. The very first time tliey passed Naomi touched Johnny's shoulder, and they both looked op at the window and smiled and nodded; and ever after that, four tiic.es every day. they used to stop,and Walter nodded and smiled, and kissed li is pale thin hand to them. Even when ii rained they did not forget Wal ter, and so Walter liked seeing them pass bet ter than anything else that happened to him all through the day. Johnny arid Naomi did not often stay to piny with the other children in the street ;it was now and then on a sunny afternoon, that Walter could see Johnny win a race, and Naomi play at shuttlecock, and lie was always pleased when he thought they won, and some times used to clap his hands and shout,though he knew w ell that no one could ear iihim. A winter passed and a summer, and it was winter again, and Walter had seen Johnnnv and Naomi every day; when one cold, snowy morning, Johnny passed, and stopped to look tip and smile, but without Naome. Walter felt sorry. " I wish to-morrow was come," thought lie, ! "that I might sec tltcm both." To-morrow came; all the children passed the window on their way to school.except Johnny and Naomi. Day followed day, but poor Walter never saw them again. Three weeks passed away, and one morn ing Walter was looking down the street from liis window,when an old man came and knock ed at the door, and asked to see him. The old tnan took hold of Walter's thin hand and sat down in a chair beside him; then he took a parcel out of his pocket and began to unpack it. There was a doll in it,and a top, and an old story book. Walter knew the doll and the top well; they were Johnny's and Naomi's favorite playthings, which they had shown him at the gate. The old man then said to Walter, ''My lit tle grandchildren used often to tell me about you; tliev were afraid yon would be unhappy when yon did not see them come down the street. They begged me to give yon thtse playthings, that you might have something to ntuusc you, now that you will not see tlum again." "Not sec tliern again ?" said Walter; "why, will they never come again ?" " Look here," said the old man, and he opDed a book and showed Walter a picture " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." of a flock of white lambs feeding near a beau tiful river; and he told him a beautiful stor 7 of a good Shepherd who calls little childrei His lambs, and who sometimes sends for then '* to lire with Hitn in a happy place, where m u one is ever ill or iu pain,and where all is beaut; j and happiness. n When the old man saw that Walter liked tc '• i hear about this, lie told him that there is in s deed a Good Shepherd, that He would tk< u care of Johnny and Naomi,and that some tim< ' | iu that happy place he hoped that Wulte J would see litem again. c i After this time Walter grew paler and thin 1 ner, and though doctors came to see him they 2 1 could do him no good. " j One warm spring evening he asked his nurst " (o wheel his sofa once more to the iittie win * j dow. The sun was setting and all the schoo (children were playing iu the street. He watch : ] ed them through a long game at oranges and L lemons, and tried to clap his bauds when Just * i in time won the race. Then the sun set, and all the children stood l wishing each other good night by the gate. - With a great effort, Walter raised himself up, i and leaned over toward? the opon window. " Good uight, good night," said lit to the , children. It was the Grst time he had ever spoken to ! the children, and it was tiie last; for when the , nurse tamed round to look Le had fallen back on the sofa —he was dead. - [From the Homestead ] A Stir in a Poor Neighborhood. " Had to come to it," said Squire Bogart, a? lie leaned over the fence, and put a fresh quid in liis cheek. " Had to come to what?" asked John Nu gent, as lie stood in the road with his gun on his shoulder and a string cf gray squirrels trail ing upon the ground. " Why, liuint ye heern on't ? My old barn ! blew down iu the line storm, and i had to put up another." " Wal, it is ill wind that blows nobody any good. I guess it's about the la st thing that lias happened tu ye this many indeed. This is true c-ven among little girls, out when you come to boys ! ue will just intimate to any one r, ho contemplates tinder taking the charge cf a widower ar.d Ids Loys, that klie had better go into her chamber r. lit tle while," hang herslf considerably," and she'll fell better afterwards. But if she won't hang herself, it is Iter duty and her interest, the one as much as the other, to get along with the whole concern iu a pieasent loving manner. , And the only earthly way for her to do this is to force herself tn act by those boys as if they were actually her own. Feel like an own mother to them, of course she cannot. That is not required, and a woman is a foul to waste her much needed strength in attempting ira possibilities. But actions, words, manners, nr n subject to our control, and if the woman that I has taken possession of those boys' father j and put herself in the place of their own dead I mother, don't endeavor to view them from a I true mother's standpoint, arid to treat them witli the favor and consideration of a true mother, she ought to be deit with without judge or jury. Precisely here comes the split between good ; and bar! step dames. The bad one allows her j self to see in those troublesome boys, only troublesome boys. And she grows to feel tat tliey are sore annoyance, and that they de serve no part in home comforts or joy. Sh a begins to think everything spent on or for tiieni iis thrown away. Rut the good step dame views, in the great troublesome jitoys, the pre j ciotts .treasures of a dead mother's hesrt, T and with single purpose she strives to treat 1 them accordingly. If the second wife have children, she is the more strongly tempted to consider the faults | of the first lot as good renson for making a ' difference between them and her dears. Not : that she would be confessedly unjust—oh, no, | she hides from her own eyes, (hut from no oth ers) her selfishness ; but her children, are, she thinks, so pretty, so bright, so interesting, so well worth ail a mother's care and pains, that they really ought to have more indulgences and ; advantages than that other wild set.— They are so affectionate, too, (ah the poor children who>e mother is beneath the sod are not apt to appear affectionate—they dare not, j their little hearts are frozen) that it seems | natural and easy to pet them, and wink at their little peccadilloes. Well, now while I the natural woman gives full way to those selfish views and emotions, and allows herself every year to become moro interested in the welfare of her own, and less so in that of the first wife's children, measuring their relative deserts by her own feelings, and often hardly aware that there is a virtue in those unhappy first ones, the woman of sense nnd nobleness just says to her heart, when she finds herself starting off on the same track. " Ilere, stop, yon can't go one step in that path. Suppose there comes a third wife, as very likely there may, would she thing my children any more deserving of favor and love than the first ones are ? My rule mnst be, 'deal with the children of the dead mother as kindly, patiently, lov- | ingly ar.d justly as I would wish to have mine : dealt with by my successor. In short, I must make my yearning love for my own brood the j rule of action toward all that call my hush band father." And in this spirit does the good stp moth er act. She resolutely refuses to look on lite trying side of "those first children." All that there is in them of good sho diligently seeks for, and makes the most of, and so behaves to them that they fully confide in,' end sincerely honor aDd love ber. VOL. XXI. XO. SO Ie How THE JAPPNESE RES-TORE FADED FLOW -11 ERS. — After a bouquet is drooping beyond all remedies of fresh water, the Japanese can bring 7, It back to all its f: r ■ 1 glory by a simple and n seemingly most destructive operation. A tri r, ter f.t Nagasaki soys : I had received somo N days ago a delightful bunch of flowers from a n Japanese acquaintance. They continued to D I live in their beauty for nearly two weeks, when ,v at last they faded. Jut as I \yas about to have thein thrown away, the same geutlekjan, it 'Japanese gentleman,) CTI*IO to see ma. I E showed him the faded flowers, and told him, IS that though lasting a long time, they had NOW A become useless. " Ob, no," said he, "only pnt J the ends of the steins into the fire, and they N will be AS good os before." I was incredulous A — so he toolc them himself and held the6tetns' i. ! ends in the fire uulii they were completely char i red. This WAS in the morning ; at evening F j 'hey were ngnia looking vigorous, and have .1 1 continued so for another week. What may be T the true agent in this reviving process, lam A unable to determine fully ; whether it be heat O | driving once more the last juices into the very A leaflet and vein, or whether it be the bouuti r ful supply of carbon furnished by the charring. II I am inclined, however, to the iatter cause, as II | the full effect was not produced until some eight t hours afterwards, and AS it seems that, if the r ' heat was the principal agent, it must have laett - soouer followed by visible changes. !, —: * E , THE JACKALS OF INDIA. — Rev. J. M. TBO LF burn is itinerating in India with a native friend d whom be calls "Samuel." IU the last Pitts d burgh Adcocult he has a letter written FROM 5, ; " Huldwahee;" concluding thus : The jackals are very plenty arounds this J vi-iuge, and they make the night hideous with ; their howling. A jackal is a little larger than ; a red fox, and resembles a fox somewhat, but |is more clomsy and wolfish looking. They . feed on caiion or offal, and arc not only harm e less, but really useful iu this hot climate, where E sueh scavengers are greatly needed. Their R manner of howling is peculiar. They come T quietly around the village in all direction?, T . each running alone, looking for something t* . eat, and A!! keeping very quiet till SOME NE : gives a quick sharp yelp. 'I hen another takes •- up tiie cry, and then two or tivee more, and so on, till it