ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA : Thursday Morning, February 27, 1862 ©rigiual (For the Reporter.) UNDER THE LEAF. A word of sympathy, how sweet, , Yet oft 'twill cause a tear ; Tbe heart may bleed at every beat, When sympathy is near. Why not? a load of grief is there. True cause of uiauy a sigh A coil twines round that heart to tear, Which grief cannot untie. The aching breast heaves but in vain, To free it of its weight ; Earth's brightest pleasures seem but pain, The sorrow is so great. But now true sympathy is found—• A Iriecd—true friend iudeed ; That heart which was by sorrow bound, Huw soon Irom pain is freed. Though tear by tear may gush und fall, While sympathy is given— In truth, yet alter all, 'Tis like a balm of Heaven. And they who sympathy can give, Long may they bless, long may they live. HI is reliant a us. Our Old Grandmother. I find the marks of my shortest steps beside tliuse of my beloved mother, which were meas ured by my own, says Alexander Dumas, und 10 conjures up one of the sweetest images in tbe world. lie was revisiting the home of his infancy ; he WHS retracing the little paths around it in which he hud onee walked ; and strange flowers could not efface, and rank grass could not conceal, and cruel ploughs could not obliterate, his " shortest footsteps,'' and his mother's beside them, measured by his own. And who needs to be told whose footsteps they were that thus kept time with the feeble pattering of childhood's little feet ! It was no mother behind whom Ascanius walked " with equal steps'" in Virgil's line, but a strong, stern man, who could have borne him and not been burdened ; folded him in his arms from a'l iknn many temples of flame have been builded, spires and turrets of crimson. There is w broad worn hearth, worn by feet that have ken torn and bleeding by the way, or been Bade •• beautiful," and walked upon floors of lated gold. There are tongs in the corner, * er ewith we grasped a coal, and "blowing ' " a little life," lighted our first candle ; there * & shovel, w herewith* were drawn forth the Powing embers in which we saw our first fan and dreamed our first dreams—the slovel *"* which we stirred the sleepy logs till the -parks rashed up the chimney as if a forge ,er e in blast below, and wished we had so °any iambs, so many marbles, or so many aethings that we coveted ; and so it was wished our first wishes. There is a chair—a low,rush-bottomed chair; " re is a little wheel iu the corner, a big i in the garret, a loom in the chamber.— 're are chests full of linen aud yarn, aud I l ' s of rare pattern, aud samplers in frames. * ; K ' ever y w bere and always the dear old a" 0 ,, face of ber whose firm, elastic step (j p t ' Je ee ble saunter of her children's chil /-a—the old fashioned grandmother of twen : &f?o ' Ter J Providence of °'i homestead— s he who loved us all, aud said she wished there were more of as to love, and took all the school in the Hollow for grandchildren beside. A great expansive heart was hers, beneath that woolen gown, or that more stately bombazine, or that sole bairloom of silken texture. We can see her to day, those mild blue eyes, with more of beauty in them than time could touch or death do more than hide—those eyes that held both smiles and tears within the faintest call of every one of us, and soft re proof, that seemed no passion but regret. A white tress has escaped from beneath her snowy cap ; she has just restored a wandering lamb to its mother ; she lengthened the tether of a vine that was straying over the window, as she came : i, and plucked a four-leaved clover for Ellen. She sits down by the little wheel —a tress is running through her fingers from the distaff's dishreveipd head, when a small voice "Grandma" from the old red cradle, and " Grandma !" Tommy shouts from the top of the stairs Gently she lets go the thread, for her patience is aimost as beautiful as her char ity, and she touches the little red bark in a moment, till the young voyager is in a dream again, and then directs Tommy's unavailing attempts to harness the cat. The tick of the clock runs faint and low, and she opens the mysterious door, and proceeds to wind it up. We are all on tip toe, and we beg in a breath to be lifted up one bv one, and look in the bundreth time upon the tin cases of the weights, and the poor lonely pendulum, which goes to and fro by its little dim window, and never comes out in the world, and our petitions are all granted, and we are lifted up, and we all touch with a finger the wonderful weights, and the music of the little wheel is resumed. was M ary to be married, or Jane to be wrapped in a shroud ? So meekly did she fold the white hands of the one upon her still bos om, that thire seemed to be a prayer in them there ; and so sweetly did she wreathe the white rose in the hair of the other, that one would not have wondered had more roses bud ded for company. llow she stood between us aud an appre hended harm ; how the rudest of us sof.ened beneath the gentle pressure of her faded and trern lons hand ! From her capacious pocket that hand wus ever withdrawn closed, only to be opened in our own, with the nuts she bad gathered, the cherries she had plucked, the little egg she had found, the " turn over"' she had baked, the trinket she had purchased for ns as the product of her spinning, the blessing she had stored for us—the offspring of her heart. What treasure of story fell from those old lips ; of good faries and evil, of the old time when she was a girl ; and we wondered if ever —but then she couldn't be handsomer or dear er— but that she ever was "little." Aud then, when we begged her to sing ! "Sing us one uf the old songs you used to sing mother, grandma." " Children, I can't sing," she always said ; and mother used to lay her knitting softly down, and the kitten stopped playing with the yarn upon the floor, and clock ticked lower in the corner, and the tire died down to a glow, like au old heart that is neither chilled nor dead, and grandmother. To be sure it wouldn't do for the parlor and the concert room nowa days ; but theu it was the old kitchen and the old fnshioned grandmother, and the old ballad, in the dear old times, and we cau hardly see to write for the memory of them, though it is a hand's breadth to the sunset. Well, she sang. Her voice was feeble and wavering, like a fountain just ready to fall, but then how sweet-loned it was ; and it became deeper and stronger ; but it couldn't grow sweeter. What "joy of grief" it was to sit there around the fire, all of us,except Jane, that clasped a prayer to her bosom, and her thoughts we saw, when the hall-door opened a moment by tho wind ; but then we were not afraid, for wasn't it her old smile she wore?— to sit there around the fire, and weep over the woes of the " Babes in the Wood," who lay down side by side in the great solemn shadows; and how strangely glad we felt when the robin re Ibreast covered them with leaves, and last of all when the angels took them out of the night into day everlasting. We may think what we will of it new, but the song and the story heard around the kitch en fire have colored the thoughts and lives of most of us ; have given us the germs of what ever memory blooms in onr yesterdays At tribute whatever we may to the school and the schoolmaster, the rays which make that little day we call life, radiate from the God swept circle of the hearthstone. Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to mother— htr mother song to her ; bnt she does not sing it through, and falters ere 'tis done. She rests her head upon her hands, and it is silent in the old kitchen. Something glitters down between her fingers and the fire light, and it looks like rain in the soft sun shine. The old grandmother is thinking when she first heard the song, and of the voice that sang it ; when a light haired and light-hearted girl she hung around that mother's chair, nor saw ihe shadows of the years that were to come. O ! the days that are no more ! What spell can we weave to hring them back again ? What words can we unsay, what deeds undo, to set back, just this once, the ancient clock of time ? So all our little hands were forever clioging to her garments, and stayiug here as if from dying, for long ago she had done living for herself, and lived alone in us. But the old kitchen wants a presence to-day, and the rush bottomed chair is tonautle6S. How she used to welcome us when we were grown, and came back on colore to the home stead. We thought we were men and women, but were children there. The old-fashioned grand mother was blind in the eyes, but she saw with her heart, as she always did. We threw our long shadows throngh the open door, and she felt them as they fell over her form, and she looked dimly up and saw tall shapes iu the door-w ay, aud she says, " Kdward I know, and Lucy's voice I can hear, but whose is that other. It must be Jane's "—for she has almost PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. GOODRICH. forgotten the folded bands. " Oh, no, not Jane, for she—let me see— she is waiting for me isn't she ?" aDd the old graudmother won dered and weDt. " It is another daughter, grandmother, that Edward has brought," says some one, " for your blessiug " " Has she blue eyes, my son ? Put her hand in mine, for she is my latest bom, the child of my old age. Shall I sing you a song, chil dren ?" Her hand i 3 in her pocket as of old; sire is idly fumbling for a toy, a welcomejgift to the children that have come aguin. One of us, men a3 we thought we were, is weeping ; she hears the half suppressed sob ; she says, as she extends her feeble hand, " Here, my poor child, rest upon grandmoth er's shoulder ; she will protect you from all harm. Come, children, sit around the fire again. Shall I sing you a song or tell you a story ? Stir the fire, for it is cold ; the uights are crowing colder." The clock in the corner struck nine, the bed time of those old days. The song of life was iudeed sung, the story told, it was bedtime at last. Good night to thee, grandmother. The old-fashioned grandmother was no more, and we miss her forever. But we will set to a tablet in the midst of the memory, in the midst of the heart, and write on it ouly this, SACRED TO TriE MEMORY of the OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER. GOD BLESS HER FOREVER. Here are some facts about tobacco, j which those who nse it will read aud forget : I Rees' Cyclopedia says a drop or two of the oil, placed on the tongue of a cat, produces couvulsions aud death iu the space of a min ute. A college of physicians has said that not less than twenty thousand in oar laud, annual ly die by the use of this poison. I)r. Shaw names some eighty diseases, and says they may be attributed to tobacco. Gov. Sullivan says :" My broth-r, Gener al Sullivan, used snuff, and bis snuff lodged him prematurely iu the grave." lioearme, of lieigium, was murdered in two minutes and a half by a little uicotine, or al kiii of tobacco. Dr. Twitchell believed that sudden deaths and tobacco, among men, were usually found together, and he sustained this opinion by an array of facts al ogether conclusive. Three young men formed a smoking club, they all died within two years of the time they formed it. The doctor was asked what they died of. He said they were smoked to death. A youth of sixteen fell dead with a cigar in his mouth, in a dram shop. What caused his death ? Tbo coroner's inquest said : " It was mysterious act of GOD " The minister at the funeral consoled the friends by saying much the same thing. Physicians said it was ' heart disease.' A sensible woman, knowing the boy's habits, said, "Tobacco killed him" It de ranged the action of the heart ; it ceaed to beat, and the victim fell ! As* INCIDENT.—A released prisoner, who gives his experiences in Secessia to the Roch ester Express, relates this anecdote : Of the six or seven cars which started for Manassas, there were but two remaining when we reached the rebel Capitol (Richmond.) We arrived there about 9 o'clock in the even ing. After the cars had halted, I head a low voice at my window, which was partly rais ed. It was quite d >rk, and I could not dis tinguish the speaker, who was an Irish woman. " Whisht, whisht J" said she, " are ye huu gry ?" I replied that I was not, but that some of the boys probably were. " Wait till I go to the house," she contin ued ; and a moment afterward I head her again at the window. She handed me a loaf of bread, some meat' and about a dozen ba ker's cakes, saying, " that was all I had in the honse, but I had a shillin', and I bought the cakes wid it ; and if I had more yon should have it and welcome ! Take it, and GOB bless ye 1" I thanked her, and said, " you are very kind to enemies " " Whisht," said she, " and ain't. I from New-York meself ?" This was the first " Union demonstration" that I wituessedjo Old Virginia. I thanked GOD for the consolation which the reflection afforded me, as lor the third night Ilayslcep lessly in the cars, my clothing still saturated and my body thoroughly chilled from the ef fects of the deluge at Manassas. I could have desired no sweeter morsel than the good wo man's homely loaf ; and proud of the loyal giver, I rejoiced that " I was from New York myself 1" THE HEALTHY MAN*. —Of all the know noth things it) the world, commend us to the man who has never known a day's illness. He is a moral dunce, ODe who has lost the greates les sons in life, who has skipped the finest lecture in that great school of human nature —the sick chamber. Let him be versed in metaphysics, a doctor of divinity, yet he is one of those gentlemen whose education has been neglect ed. For all this college acquirements, how in ferior in knowledge to a mortal who has but a quarter's or a half year's ague, how infinite ly below the fellow creature who has been soundly taught his tic douloureux, thorouzbly grounded in the rheumatics, and deeply red in sea rlet fever. And yet what is more common than to hear a big hulking, florid fellow, bragging of an ignorance, that he shares in common with the pig and bullock, the gener ality of whom die, probably,without ever hav ing experienced a days indisposition.— Hood, BSif* " Henrietta," said a landlord to his new girl, " when there's bad news from Wash ington, or any bad news, particularly private afflictions, always let the boarders know it before dinner. It may seem strange, Heoriette v but sncb little things make a great difference in eatiDg in the course of a year " " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER." 1776—The Altar of Liberty. Hick sprang and had the table oat in a trice with an abundant clatter, and put up the leaves with quite an air. His mother, with the sileut and gliding motion characteristic of her, quietly took out the tablecloth and spread it, and began to set the cups and saucers iu order and to put on the plates and kuivc?, while Aunt Hitty bustled the tea. ' I'll be glad when the war is over for one reason,' she said. ' I'm pretty much tired of drinking sage tea.' ' Well, Aunt Hitty, who yoa scolded that peddler last week that brought the real tea.' 'To be sure 1 did. Suppose I'd take any of his old tea bought of the British. Fling every tea-cup iu his face first.' ' Well, mother,' said Dick, 1 I never exactly nnderstooa what it was about the tea and why the Boston folks threw it overboard.' ' Because there was an unlawful tax laid upon it that the Government had no right to lay. It wasn't much iu itself, but it was a part of a whole system of oppressive measures de signed to take away our rights and make us slaves of a foreign power.' ' Slaves,' said Dick, straightening himself proudly. ' Father a slave.' ' But they would not be slaves. They saw clearly where it would all eud, and they would uot begiu to submit to it in ever so little,' said the mother. ' Aud I wouldu't either if I was they,' said Dick. ' Besides,' said his mother drawing him to wards her, 'it wasn't for themselves alone they did it. This is a great country, and it will bo greater and greater, and its very important that it should have free and equal laws, be cause it will by and by become so great. This country, if it is a free one, will be a light of the world—a city set on a hill that cannot be hid, aud all the oppressed and distressed from other countries shall come here and enjoy their rights aud freedom. This, dear boy, is why your father aud uncle have gone to fight, thought God knows what they suffer,' and the large blue eyes of the mother were full of tears yet a strong, bright beam of exultation shone through those tears. ' Well, well, Roxy, you can always talk, ev erybody knows,' said Aunt Hitty, who had not been the least attentive listener of this little harangue, ' but you see the tea is getting cold, aud yonder 1 see the sleigh is at the door and John has some, so let us set up the chairs for supper.' The chairs were soon set up, when John, the eldest son, a lad of about fifteen, entered with a letter. There was oue geueral excla mation and stretching out of hands towards it. John threw it into his mother's lap ; the tea table was forgotten and the tea-kettle sang unnoticed by the fire as all hands crowded about the mother's chair to hear the news.— It was from Captain Ward, then iu the Amer ican Array at Valley Forge. Mrs. Ward ran it over hastily and then read it aloud. A few words we may extract: 4 There is stiil much suffering. I have given away every pair of stockings you sent me, re serving to myself only one ; for I will not be one whit better thau the poorest soldier who fights for his conutry. Poor fellows !it makes my heartache tometimes to go round among them and see them with worn clothes and torn shoes and ofteu bleeding feet, and yet eheeiful and hopeful and every one willing to do his best. Often the spirit of discouragement comes over them, particularly at night, when wearv, cold and hungry, they turn in their comfortless huts on the snowy grouud. Then sometimes there is a thought of home and warm fires, and some speak of giving up. Put next morning out comes Washington's genera! orders—little short uote, but it's wonderful the good it does —and they all resolve to hold on come what may. There are commissioners goiDg all through the country to pick up supplies. If they come to you I need not tell you what to do. I know all that will be in your hearts.' ' There, children, see what your father suf fers and what it costs these poor soldiers to gain our liberty,' said the mother. 1 Ephraim Scrautou told me that the com missioners had cocje as far as the Three Miles Tavern, and he rather expected they'd be along here to night,' said John, as he was helpiDg round the baked beans to the silent company at the tea-table. 'To night ? Do tell now !' said Annt Hitty i ' Then it's time we were awake aud stirring. Let's see what can be got.' ' I'll send my new overcoat for one,' said John. ' That old one isu't cut up yet, is it Aunt Hitty ?' •No,' said Aunt Hitty; 'I was laying it out !to cut over next Wednesday when Desire Smith could be here to do the tailoring.' 4 There's the south room,' said Aunt Hitty, musing ; ' that bed has the two old Aunt Ward blankets on it and the great bine quilt and two comforters. Then mother's and my room, two pair—four comforters—two quilts—the best chamber has got——' ' Oh, Aunt Hitty, send all that's in the best chamber ! If any company comes we can make it up from off our beds,' said John. 4 I can send a blanket or two from off my bed, I know ; can't but just turn over in it, there is so rnauy clothes on now.' ' Aunt Hitty, take a blanket off from our bed,' said Grace and Dick at oncc. ' Well, well, we'll see,' said Annt nitty bustling np. Up rose grandmamma with great earnest ness uow, and, going to the next room, opened a large cedar wood chest, returned bearing in her arms two large, snow white blankets,which she deposited flat on the table jnst as Aunt Hitty was whisking off the table cloth. 4 Mortal 1 Mother, what are yon going to do ?' said Aunt Ilitty, 4 There,' she said, 4 I spun them—every thread of 'em, when ray name was Mary Evans. Those were my wedding blankets— made of real nice wool, and worked with roses in all the corners. I've got them to give,' and the old lady stroked and smoothed the blank ets and patted tbe down with great pride and tenderness, < It was evident she was giving something Umt lay very near her heart, but she never faltered. 1 La ! Mother, there's no need of that,' said Aunt Hitty. ' Use them on your bed, and send the blankets off from that ; thev are just as good for soldiers.' ' No, I shan't,' said the old lady, waxing | warm ; "tisn't a bit too good for 'em. I'll send the very best I've got before they shall [ suffer. Send 'em the bast !' aud the old lady | gestured oratorically. They were interrupted by a rap at the door and two men entered and announced themselves as being commissioned by Congress to search out supplies for the army. The plot thickens —Aunt Hitty flew in every direction—through entry passage, meal-room, milk-room, down cellar, up chamber—her cap border on with patriotic zeal—and followed by John, Dick, and Grace, who eagerly bore to the kitchen the supplies she turned out, while Mrs. Ward busied herself in quietly sorting and arrangiug in the best traveling order the various contri butions that were precipitately launched on the kitcbeu floor. | Auut Hitty soon appeared in the kitchen with an armful of stockings, which kneeling on I the floor, she began counting aud laying i out. " There," said she,laying down a large bun dle on some blankets, " that leaves just two pair a piece all around." I " La," said John, " what's the use of sav -1 ing two pair for me ? I can do with one pair I as well as father." " Sure enough," said his mother ; "Besides I can knit you a pair in a day." " And I can do with one pair," said Dick. " Yours will be too small, young master, I gue93," said one of the commissioners. ' No,' said Dick, ' I have got a pretty good foot of my own, and Auut Ililty will al ways knit my stockings an inch too long,'cause she says I grow so. See here—these will do,' and the boy shook his head triumphantly. ' And mine, too,' said Grace,nothing doubt ing, having been busy all the time ia pulling off her little stockings. ' Here,' she said to the man who was pack ing the things into a wide mouthed sack, — ' here's mine !' and her large blue eyes looked earnestly through her tears. Aunt Hitty flew at her. ' Good gracious ! The child's crazy. Don't think the men could wear your stockings— take 'em right away.' Grace looked around with an air of utter desolation and began to cry. ' I waDt to give something,' said she. I'd rather go barefooted on the snow all day than not send them anything.' ' Give ine thy stocking, ray child,' said the old soldier. ' There I'll tak 'em and show 'em to the soldiers and tell 'cm what the little girl said that sent them. And it will do them as much good as if they could wear them. They have got little girls at home, too. Grace fell on her mother's bosom complete ly happy, and Aunt Hitty only muttered : ' Everybody does spile that child, and no wonder neither.' Soou the old sleigh drove off from the brown house, tightly packed aud Ijeavily loaded.— Aud Grace and Dick were creeping up to their little beds. * There's been something put upon the Al tar of Liberty to-night, hasu't there, Dick ?* ' Yes, indeed,' said Dick ; and, looking up i lohi3 mother, he said, ' Cut, mother, what did 1 you give ?' ' I ?' said the mother, musingly. 4 Yes, you. mother : what did you give to the country ?' 4 All that I have dears,' she said, layiug her hands gently on their heads—' my husband and children.' RUSSIAN DISCIPLINE.— Having found a Ger man friend in the head physician of the mili tary Hospital at Rign, I accompanied Jbim one morning on bis visit thither. On the way he ! told me how difficult it was to elicit from the meij the real seat of their complaints, as every ailing in the upper part of the body, whether : in the head, back or, stumach, they call pain in the heart ; and those in the lower part of the body, pain in the leg. Having arrived at the hospital, all the pa tients that were able to do so, arranged them selves in a row, dumb and stiff, as if on mili tary parade. " How do 'you feel to-day, old man ?" asked the doGtor of the first. "My heart pains," was the expected timid reply.— " Tongue out," said the doctor, aud out it was. Turning to the next, the same question, same answer, and same tongno operation.— More thau thirty in a row underwent the same, medical inquiries and process. I was about leaving, when my friend told me to look around. To my ntter astonish ment I saw the whole lot still standing in mil itary attitude, with their tongues, wide out.— We looked on for a while, when the doctor loudly gave the woid, " tongues in," and all the articulating organs vanished in an in stant. My risible facnlties were so excited by the ludicrous scene that it was 60rae moments af ter we were in the open street, ere I could, rather reproachfully, ask my friends how be conld play such a trick on the poor fellows.— " You must not judge," said he, " by excep tions. I merely wanted to show jon to what extent the bliud spirit of dicipline prevails among the Russian troops. Nor are the fel lows," added he. " the worse for the joke ; on the contrary, they believe that the cure is greatly promoted by keeping the tongue out in the presence of the doctor the longer the better."— Once a Wuk. ftST What is the association between a ladder and a father ? Yotr get up on one— the other brings you np. A general of high command says that the provisions wasted by the army of the IV tomac would subsist a Treuuh army of equal number, VOL. XXII. —ICO. 39. The Insane Soldier. A SAD STORT. The following toucliiog revelation i extraei ed from a private letter of Lieutenant Co lonel Joseph R. Hawley,7th Connecticot, dat ed Tybee Island, December 20th : Poor Dolph! Do you know the Dolph's that live near yon ? Well, their eon, who belongs to Co D, got news that his wife, two children and sister has all died of diptheria. How be cried. Poor fellow 1 We comforted him all we could. I spoke pleasautly to him when we met and hoped he was getting along well, I believe he heard the other day that his moth er was sick, too. Somebody came to the sup per table last night and called for the doctor to sec a crazy man, and soou after a man said that Dolph wanted to see me. I went to his tent. Tbere was a half a dozen of his com rades there. One dim caudle, stack in a bot tle, showed me the rifles stacked around the ceutre pole, the cartridge boxes, bayouets and knapsacks. The ground was covered with the splendid long moss they had pulled from the live oaks. Dolph sat squat up*" u the ground, his face and hands very dirty, his Augers con stantly picking something, his body moving, his head turning wildly from one side to an other, his eyes dreadfully swelled with weap ing. " Hallo, Dolpb, how are you ?" And ho peered up toward my face. " Colonel Haw ley," said somebody. " Yes," said he, " that is Colonel Hawley," and he took my hand with a tight grip. " Colonel Hawley, look at my baby, my poor, sick baby." He had a a iittie pile of moss, and on it lay his cartridge t box, dferefully covered, all but one edge, with ' his blanket. That wan his baby ! And he turned the blanket down as tenderly as if the cartridge box was a delicate little baby. He j s'poke brokenly and at intervals, and with a quick and mournful voice—" poor baby—very ! sick. Give baby some water," and he leaned on one elbow and affectionately held a leaf up to the catridge box, as if baby would drink. — lie seemed to consider himself in his own home, and the family sick but living, but then he would say : "Won't let me go home—no —no —ao—(wailing a few seconds) no—no— won't fet me g© home his hands constant ly fidgeting over something. Then he con sidered them all dead and he by their graves. " Sister," and he laid his hand down on ono side. " Baby," hands down again to mark each grave ; " baby—wife— molhtr. Oh, ye 9 mother is dead—won't let me go home. I kept his hand ten miDutes and sat dowu by him, and put my hand on his shoulder, and tried to compel liim to listen. I told him his babies were happy and his mother not dead, —(is she ?)and if he would be a good boy and sleep, and get well, he should go home.— " Mother's here and she says she didn't get the money." You didn't send it to her. "0, yes, I did Dolph ; here's the receipt of the Express compauy —She's got it uow, You told me to send it to your wife light there at Col F , you know. She has got it be fore this time." " Well—poor baby,"—and he put " trees" over their graves, etc. 1 had to work some time to gel him to take some medicine—an opiate—but it had little effect. " I've built six forts," said he, " and mount ed six cannou. I'm going to take that fort down to morrow—that oue over there—Pulas ki, I meuu." Four men were going to watch with him—(the tears came into all our eyes, sometimes, I think,) and I told tbem to move out the rifles and bayonets, lie caught tbem at it, and shouted, " Let my rifles alone ? Give me my rifle?" And 1 let him take it, I seeing it was not loaded, and he went furious ly to wo:k cleaning it. Finally he passed it to me to/' inspect" it, and I slipped it away. I think it the most affecting case of insani ty I ever saw. I couldn't make him believe that we should send him home, but we shall. I don't know whether to have yoa tell his folks or not. The men take es good care r bosotn, the softest pillow of his carts ; and her prayers, the ablest ad vocates of Heaven's blessing on his head.— Jermy Taylor. Au old bachelor is a traveler npou life's railroad who has entirely failed to make the proper connections. W&" Modesty promotes worth, but conceals it, just as leaves aid the growth of fruit, and hide it from view. Imitation is the homage that dulness pays to genius. Such homage is paid con stantly at the throne of the great. Crimes sometimes shock os too much ; vices almost always too little. W Hi who breaks his last loaf with you, but never bis faith, is a trae fricud.