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 :
Xbf<e bfrw- bold, with travel sore,
ll'ii,.: on their way through Reltimore.
fr-'B every stifling den and street,
lurv riisheil the gallant band to meet
Frrg'it the canse tliey rame to save—
Foryt that tho-.e they struck were brave
lorg"l the dearest ties of blood
That bound them in one brotherhood—
Forgot that flag that floated o'er
Their countrymen in Baltimore.
And the groat song their ion hid penned,
To rally freemen to uefenl
The banner of the stripes and stars.
That makes victorious c.I our wars.
Wav laughed to scorn, and madly then
They greeted all the ga l r-t men
Who came from Massachusetts shots
To Washington, through Fait.more.
And when, with wildc-t griiat !a c t.
They saw their c uiradi's mil • g fast, •
Fuli on the hell hounds in their track
They .v di d. and drove the cowards back
T..eii,ivl'.'i the ; hearts o'cw h.-lrued with woe,
Measured their progress, stern audslutr,
T:.c r wounded on their -Uouldera Lure
To Wash a toa. through Baltiuioie.
i >t 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 <i day. I have
alters been ashamed of that are barn for ye,
whenever I have come by, it looked o bad."
" Ashamed! better Icok to hum, John Nu
gent, and see yer own barn with the boards
dangling in the a;r, and tlie doors down. It
is nothing but a standiu miracle,that has kept
it up this year."
! " Guess ye haint ben tip our way lately,
: Squire; got a new bant myself, with a cellar
and sheds tu it, and lots of fixiu's."
; " You don't say it ! Wal neow what ye
gwine tu dti with a cellar under a larir, pray
tell, ef ye know ?"
" Goiu' tu make manure, s'pese, ai. least the
' old woman sez so, aud ef I don't du it, she and
the young ones will. Says she aint going to
1 live at this poor dying rate ennv longer."
"So ye had to cave in on the cellar, had
ve? Wal vc see I clidu't. Wife advised me tu,
and Col. Smith sed I was a foul ef I didn't
But I carried my pint strale threw, and built a
barn in the good old way. I dottT see what
has got into the folks lately, all crazy about
building cellars, aud making manure. Hardly
a barn put up in this town this five years
back but it's histed up ou a cellar wall, jest
like stilts. Neow ye see, it stands to reason,
that it's a great deal harder to get things into
it, and it makes the barn colder to have the
wind playiu' under it, and I never could see
the use of making such a fuss about manure
It makes the laud produce more to be sure,but
it aliet s looked to tne like folks drinking brandy.
It makes 'cm smart for aleetle while, and then
, they feel a little worse for it. I guess its a
good deal so with litis highly manured land."
" Wal, it may be so; but my woman hasgot
to takiu' the papers, and has been up to the
fair, w here sire see so many tilings it liked to
turn her lied, site sed they had the stnashiucs,
punkins up there she ever did see, and beets
that beat, all, und such handsome potatoes as
they u?ed to have in old times, belore the rot
struck 'cm aud that they were a!! grown by
making compost out of muck and and stable
manure in a barn cellar. Site haint talked
of nothing else settee she got back. She be
gun as soon as she got hum, and she has kept
jit up day and uight. I haint hardly had a
chance to sleep—blamed ef I have. " Neow,'
sez she, 'John, you ken have a barn and a cel
lar just as well as others, ef youre only a mind
to think so. The gitting yer courage up is
allers half the battle in anything. There's a
place out back of the old barn made a purpose
1 for a cellar ecua' most. With jest a little dig
ging a barn with a cellar would fit in there,
just like a duck's foot iu the mud. You have
got timber enough in the woods, und the saw
, mill is handy, aud then there is no eend to
the stuus in the mowing lots, that ought to
| be cleared out. Then you've got muck enough
down there-in the swamp,and you might wheel I
i it in with si wheel barrow ef you can't get it any
other way. At any rate I and the youug ones j
can get it in ef you can't.
" Now what upon airtli could a feller do
when his woman talked to hitn iu that sort o'
style? I had to go to earring saw-logs right
off, and haint hud a chance to go a sqiwrel
limiting t-ll today. The barn's done, cellar
and all, and a shed to put the old waggin' un
der, and the hull yards kivcrcd with muck a
foot or more."
" Wall, neow, that's jest like yew, John Nu
gent, allers nosed round by a woman ! Ye see
Miss Bogart knows her place—knows that she
can't nose me rouud, euny how. I expect to
dig my grave about the time I dig a barn cel
lar.
This conversation between Jeremiah Bogart
and John Nugent shows quite a change since
we drew the sketches of these old style fur
mers not quite two years ago. We had occa
sion to pass their houses lately, and were about
as much astonished at the change as they
seemed to be at each other's improvements
There 6tood Jeirv, leaning against the side of
his new barn, enjoying the October sun and a
fresh quid, in a very contemplative mood.—
The new barn was manifestly a great event in
bis history, and we fear wa# noi pa!d for
i- There was no muck iu the yard, and if tin
y owner has his way there probably never wil
n be.
n The broken-down corn crib is yet standing
n though in a more dilapidated condition that
y ever. More boards are missing from the rear
and more shingles from the roof. Yet. even i:
3 this receptacle of all the run down tools upon
- tiie farm, we saw a new plow, cultivator anc
e • harrow, showing that Jerry is getting new
e ! ideas into his head in spite of himself.
r When we reached John Nugent'? we though)
we had lost the way, but the old one-horse
- wagon with the white oak thills tinpeeled, wa?
• a landmark rot to be mistaken. There was a
! new bam, with the inevitable cellar,and a good
2 ! nnturcd-lookicg woman, with both hands on
• I her hips, looking on with as much satisfaction
1 ! as if she were monarch of all she surveyed. A
. j ditch had been dug strigbt through the old
swamp, and heaps of muck were tipped np by
• the roadside, good evidence that a new leaf had
been turned over. True, the ditch was not
; very deep, and no sufficient outlet had been
provided for the water, hut a beginuing to
drain had been made, and this always hns a
logical consequence. That swamp will bear
better grass next year, and more of it, end
John's wife will see it,if he does not. She will
suggest that if water could only run off nil it
wanted to. [the grass would be much higher
and sweeter still.and there would be more but
ter to sell, she has John under her thumb
' though he does not know it and there w ill be
i more ditching there next fall, done by hrrsell
Jin the way she built the barn. It is a blessed
■ thing that some of our farmers have good
wives. It takes a woman to read the papers,
and than follows reform.
Step-lilctliers
BY ONt: OF TOEM.
The difference between good and bad step
mothers ; (Jor, let who will deny it, there are
I good step mothers) is that the latter give
I way to to nature, and tiie former don't. For
the truth of the matter is, that, seen without
tiie clamour of mother love, children are more
or less trying, and one who is not a blood re
lation to them has but to let nature work
in order to bccomu a perfect hater of, and tv
i rant over them.
I Ilis ca-y enough for any woman, not of
their near kindred, to see in a Cock of little
ones so many ugly and hateful, or at least, so
many careless, stupid, blundering, noisy arttu',
or mischievous aud meddlesome tricks aud
characteristics, that to lovo them is a hard
i j ol> 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 <ee:ns that hundreds ore scream
if ing in every direction. One jells like a lev
e whooping through the village, another howls
0 like a moaning dog, another yelps like a fox,
twenty other scream in a chorus, and finally
J all join in an uproar like a thousand cats fight
j ing and screeching with a hundred boys look-
I ing on and screaming with del ght. At this
* ' point the uproar becomes hideous beyond de-
T scription. This lasts for tw-o or three minutes,
. when all becomes quiet again, till SOAIA ANA
gives the signal for a ircsh howl.
1 VALCE or AN EXPLANATION.—A certain king
* it is said, sent to another king, saying, " SCDD
: me a blue pig with a black tail, or else "
■ J The other, in high dudgeon at the presumed
insult, replied, " I have net ose, and if I
; had "
' 1 ON which weighty causa they went to war
I for many years. After a satiety of glorfes and
miseries, they bethought themselves that, AS
* their armies and resources wereexhausted and
their kingdoms mutually laid waste, it might
' be well enough to consult about the prelimin
aries cf peace; but before this could be con
eluded, a diplomatic expiation was first needed
1 ; of the insulting language which had formed
I ;he ground of the quarrel.
* " What could you mean," asked the second
1 king of the firs', "by saying, ' send ME A bine
T ; pig with'A black tail, or else "
" Why, 1 ' said the other, " I meant a blue pig
i j with a biack tnii, or else srrmt olhcr crier."
" But," retorted he, '" WHAT could you mean
bv sajinor, '1 have not G'RT one, and if I
L I had —"
" Why, of coarse, if I had I thnultl hart
rent it; un explanation w hich urns entirely sat-
I isfactorv, and peace v. as concluded aeeerwine
;!*• '
TUF. I CE7.;.RN IRISHMAN. — During our last
conflict with Great Britain, a number of our
troop.-% were engaged in repairing the fortifica
tions of Niagara, and whilst so engaged the
enemy commenced a pretty sharp fire, so that
it occupied nearly t lie whole of the time of our
forces to keep on the look out for the -shots of
the enemy.
Finding that they DID not make much
headway, they stationed a son of the Emerald
Isle to give warning when a shot or shell was
coming.
This the sentinel faithfully performed, alter
nately singing ont, "shot," "shell," "shot,"
"shell," until finally the enemy started a fen
greve rocket, which Pat had never seen before.
He hesitated, and seeing it elevated, ho
shouted—
"Shot, and bejabers the gun with it 1"
EVERY MAN'S HOFSF. lIIS CASTI.H —'The fol
lowing is Lord Chatham's brilliant illustration
of the celebrated maxim in English law, tlmfc
; "every man's house-in his castle:"
i The poorest many tnay, in his eottaue, bid
defiance to all the farces of the crown. If.
may be frail; its rool may shake; the wind may
blow through it ; the storm may enter; toe
rain may enter—but the King of England
cannot enter ! all iiis forces dare not cross the
threshold of the runined tenement.
Model wives formerly took a " stich in
time," but now with the aid of a sewing ma
chine, they take one in no time.
CgA,Prentice says a contemporary nsk* if we
| can throw any light upon kissing ? We don't
want to ; the thing is done just as well iu the
dark.
B0 A printer has tlii in common with a
postman ; he picks up letters and distributes
them.
"To-morrow" is the day on which larr
folks work and fools reform