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ONE DDLIAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
Thursday Morning, June 19, 1862.
(From The Louisville Journal.)
0 Keepers of the Sabred Key,
And the Great Seal of Destiny,
Whoe eye is the blue canopy,
Look down upon the warring world and tell us what
the end will be.
" Lo, through the wintry atmosphere,
On the white bosom of the sphere,
A cluster of five lakes appear ;
And all the land looks like a touch, or warrior's shield
or sheeted bier.
" And on that vast and hollow field,
With both lips closed and both eyes sealed,''
A mighty figure is revealed—
Stretched at lull length and stiff and stark as in the
hollow of a shield.
" The winds have tied the drifted snow
Around the face and chin, and 10,
The sceptred Giants come and go,
And shake their shadowy crowns and say : " We always
feared it would be so.''
" She came of an heroic race ;
A giant's strength, a maiden's grace,
Like two in one seem to embrace,
And match, and blend, and thorough-blend, in her colos
sal form and face.
" Where can her dazzling falchion be ?
One hand is fallen iu the sea ;
The gulf stream drifts it far and free,
And in that hand her shining brand gleame from the
" And by the other in it res f ,
The Starry Banner of the West
Is clasped forever to her brest ;
And of her silver helmet, 10, a soring eagle is the
" And on her brow a softened light,
As of a star concealed from sight
By some thin vail of fleecy white.
Or of the rising moon behind the rainy vapors of the
" The sisterhood that was so sweet—
The Starry System sphered complete,
Which the mazed Orient used to greet—
The Four and Thirty fallen stars glimmer and glitter at
"And, 10, the children which she bred,
And more than all else cherished,
To make them strong in heart and deed,
Stand face to face as mortal foes with their swords cross
ed above the Dead i
" Each hath a mighty stroke and stride,
And onejs Mother true and tried,
The other dark ank evil-eyed ;
And by the hand of one of them his own dear mother
surely died 1
" A stealthy step—a gleam of hell
It U the simple truth to tell—
The S°n stabbed, and the Mother fell :
And ioshe lies—all mute, and pale, and pure, and irre
" And then the battle trumpet blew :
And the true brother sprang and drew
His blade to smite the traitor through ;
And so they clashed above the bier, and the night sweat
ed bloody dew!
" Now, whichsoever stand or fall,
As GOD is Great and man is small,
The truth shall triumph over all—
forsver and forever more the Truth shall triumph
Thus sath the Keeper of the Key,
And the Great Seal of Destiny,
Whose eye is the blue canopy ;
And leaves His firmament of Peace and Silence over
bond and free.
Selected © ah,
The Mystery of the Library.
No searching eye can pierce the veil
That o'er my -ecret life is thrown ;
No outward sign its tale.
But to my bosom known,
Thus like toe spark whose livid light
In the dark flint is hid from sight,
It dwells wilhiu, alone.
" What have you concealed there?" I said,
taking hold of the heavy silk drapery attached
to a rose wood-cornice, and falling in graceful
folds to the floor.
" Lillian ! Lillian, don't raise it !" exclaim
ed Mrs. Thornton, springing from the esy chair
in which she had been reclining with the list
lessuess of a dreaming child, and darting to my
side she pressed so heavily against the veil that
I could discern the outline ola picture frame
" A picture!" I exclaimed. " Oh, I must see
It, for I can never rest where there is anything
" But this yon cannot—must not see."
I did not reply,for having been an inmate of
the house only a week, and this being my first
▼ifit to the library. I did not give utterence to
the thoughts which rushed through my mind.
Perhaps Mrs. Thornton divined my thoughts,
as after a moment's silence she said :
" You are to have access to this library at
all times, even, to rummage the drawers and
pigeon holes of the de.-k, if your curiosity de
mauds it ; but you must not look beneath the
veil that hides this picture?" and her pale lips
trembled, her dark, expressive eyes were fixed
"Just one glance," I said pleadingly; but
she moved her head negatively, and I went
on ; " How can I stody with that mystery ever
beiore nse, and then I shall never sleep sound
ly again, btit dream the livelong night of this
tnystical veil, and that it hides some strange,
weird image ; or worse,become a somnambulist
•nd Irighten every servant (who happens to
fear shots) from the house by my midnight ex
plorations and wanderings "
" No eye but mine ever looks upon this veil
*d picture. It is sacred, for it is the ouly relic
I have preseived of my past life ; ail that I
have to remind me of happy days too bright
to last —of a brief period when life's pathway
was strewn with flows, and I dreamed uot that
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
beneath those fair, perfumed flowers, petals,
sharp, piercing thorns were hidden." Her face
was pale as deatn, and those deep, dark eyes
moist with pearly tears.
I saw that her heart was deeply pained ;
that swelling from memory's fouut came pain
lul remembrance, and truly penitent I said,
" Furgive my thoughtless words, aud I promise
never to raise the veil from this picture, nor
pain you by my questions."
An intense smile stole over her pale fea
tures, aud kissing my cheek, she murmured,
" Dear child, pe~haps some day I may lift the
veil aud tell you all." •
Then turning away to hide her tears, left
me standing before the veiled picture.
It was rather curious how 1 came to be a
dweder in the house of Mrs. Thornton. Two
years before, when but fourteeu years old, I
came to New Haven to attend school,and soon
after my father leaving home for Europe,where
he expected to remain three years, intrusted
me to llie guardianship of Mr. Howe, an old
friend of his college days. It was at the house
of Mr. Howe, that I first met Mrs. Thorutou.
She went but little into society, and my guar
dian's was one of the few families she visited
Her pale, expressive face attracted tne, and
then, too, there was an indefinable something
in her dark, liquij eye®, now so sad, aud glow
ing with an intense smile, that awoke an
answering echo in my young heart. She always
called me to her side to ask me about my
studies ; and when a new book was announced
which she thought would be suitable for me to
read, she placed it in my hand with my name
engraven cu the fly leaf in her own hand writ
ing. Was it struuge that my heart wanned
toward her; that her coming was looked for
ward to wiih pleasure, cr that I vlteu begged
for the privilege of visiting tier, in her quiet,
pleasant home. My visits there were not V( ry
frequent; and when there we sat in her boudoir,
which was fitted up with artistic taste, and
having never been admitted to the library 1
hud never seen the veiled picture.
I nad a pleusaut home with Mr. Howe's
family, yet it was a glad surprise when he said
that 1 could board with Mis. Thornton, if 1
wished, and thought I could b: happy there.
Mrs. Ti 0 i ton had propose I i', as Mr. Howe's
family anticipated being abseut from the city
most of the summer, and the following Satur
day 1 removed to her house.
it was my first holiday in my new home,
and I had gone to the Iturary with Mrs. Thorn
ton to select a book when on passing around,
my eyes fell upon the silk drapery shading the
walls in the furthest corner, and was about to
draw it aside, when her exclamation prevent
ed me. I had pri raised nt to look beneath
the mysterious lolds o: Vat sukeii veil, yet 1
was not satisfied; curiosity proniytcd me to try
to catch a hasty glimpse when Mrs. Thornton
was occupied, but honor farbude.
Summer and autumn passed, and the long
winter evenings were spent in the cosy, cheer
ful library; and though I cast many a furtive
glance toward the veiled picture I dared not
question Mrs. Thornton, and began to despair
of the da wing of that day when she would re
late the history of the picture. It was a mild
evening in spring, and we were sitting before
the grate in the library; I watched the fast
dimming coals that had burned low, while
Mrs. Thornton with closed eyes, sat near in
the easy chair. My reverie was broken by
the tremulous tones of her voice, saying:
" Lillian, do you remember your mother?''
Then I answered that, though I turned
leaf after leaf of memory's book, yet I could
find no record of a mother's love 6he died
when I was about two years old, yet my fath
er had been kind, and, as far us possible,filled
the place of both father and mother. Mv
childhood had passed happily; my father was
both friend and instructor, and my first great
grief had been when I was seul to school und
my father sailed for Europe.
" Was your mother's name Lillian ?" and
tliore was something iu the tone of her voice
that startled me.
" Iler name was Flora—Flora May. Was
it not a sweet name ?"
" Very pretty," and the glowing intensity
of her eye, as I met its gaze, made my heart
throb with a struuge sensation.
" I can't tell where she was buried. Once
when I a>ked my father, he said it was fur
away, and we would go to the place of my
birth when I was older. My father was lonely
after mother's death that lie sold his home in
New York and removed to Ohio. I have no
recollection of my first home, but shall ask my
fathrr to take me there before we return to
" And your father loved his wife?"
" What a strange question," I said. Yet
she appeared to have spoken without thought.
" If he had not loved her, do you think he
would have remained true to her memory fif
" 1 have a headache, and shall retire," Mrs.
Thornton said, rising; and coming to my side,
she kissed me tenderly, and with a flushed
cheek left the library.
For a long time I sat gazing into the dying
coals. Weie her questions the magic key
that had u: locked the casket where the mem
ories of ray childhood were stored ! I could
not tell. Yet there came a dim remembrance
of a time when I was playing alone in the
garden, and a strange face peered into mine,
as some one clasping me in her arms kissed
me again aud again, while my face was wet
w.th tears. I n ver knew whence s! e<ane or
whither she went, and it seemrd strange that
dim memory should come back then. It pass
ed, and a bright dream flitted before my wak
ing vision, my father would return iu a few
months ; he would meet Mrs. Thorton ; she
was so gentle and winning he would not fail
to be pleased with her, and I might be per
mitted to call her mother.
My hand was on the knob to open the door,
but i hesitated. It was late, and the house
was still. How easy it would be to solve the
mystery, and Mrs. Thornton never know it.—
For months that veiled picture had Daunted
my waking aud sleeping visions, why should I
longer preplex my tniud with vain conjecture ;
aDd crossing the library, I placed the lamp so
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. GOODRICH.
I its light would fall directly upon the picture.
Was it the rustling of the silk or the faint echo
of geutle footsteps that startled me ; but list
j ning intently, I found all silent within and
without. Ah ! it was the wispering of the
j still small voice, and should I heed its prompt-
I iugs ? She would not know it, curiosity whis
! pered ; so I raised the veil ; but as my eye
I caught, a glimpse of the gilded frame the dra
pery fell from my hand 1 I remembered my
promise never to raise that veil, and I turned
away wondering why so costly a frame was
hidden beneath those dark folds.
From that night the mystery of the library
deepened. 1 hud a nervous dread of being
left alone with that veiled picture, and my im
aginative miud pictured a scene of horror that
would thrill every nerve aud freeze my heart's
My futher returned, and when I told him
how kind Mrs. Thornton had been, he called
to thank fifer in person, but she was ill aud
could not leave her room. Wondering what
could agitate her so, I returned to my father,
saying she would be better iu a day or two,
and he must not leave the city until he had
seen her. But he was firm in his decision to
leave the next day, and I must accompany
him.. Then I expressed a wish to visit my
mother's grave. He drew me to his side, and
with his arm encircling me, and head resting
upon his bosom, told me of my mother. To
him the memory of the past was painful, and
I mingled my tears with those of my father's
while ugaiu I seemed to hear that strange
face peering into mine.
In two hours I would leave my kiud friend,
and I was going without the mystery of the li
brary being solved ; so I_ ventured to hint
that, when I come to visit her liie next year,
I hepe 1 to see the veiled picture unveiled. She
did not reply, but taking my baud led me to
the library. She would tell me all, she said,
.or perhaps we might never meet again.
Mrs. Thornton told her siory briefly. She
was the only child ot wealthy parents, und
married at the age of nineteen. For three
years she was happy in the pleasant home to
which her husband took ber ; then a cloud of
midnight darkness overshadowed that home.
Some one envying her, circulated reports in
jurious to her reputation, and these coming to
her husband's ears, he, being naturally of a
jealous disposition, believed them. The wife
loved her husband devotedly, and being inno
cent, hnv could she bear patiently his taunts
and uncalled for surveilanee ? So she propos
ed returning to her paternal home, und the
husband said go, only she must leave her child.
She did go, uud three years after, her parents
being dead, she went to Europe, where she
remained eight years. Returning to America
she came to New Haven, where under the as
sumed aauie of Mrs. Thornton, she had since
resided. Once she had visited the home ol
her husband during his absence, and bribing
the housekeeper by the present of a well filled
purse, procured his portrait ; and in all her
wanderings it had been her companion, though
closely veiled, lest some one should recognize
it, and thus her early history become food for
idle gossip. Then, too, she had seen her child,
and for a brief moment pressed it to her bo
som, but words could not express the agony
of her breaking heart as she turned away from
" Your bus' and's name," I said, sinking at
her feet and gazing wonderingly into her pale
face and the dark liquid eyes, bent so lovingly
upon me, for a strange hope made my heart
i throb wildly.
" I cannot repeat his name, lint you may
: look upon his counterpart," she said, rising.
Slowly, almost reverently, she put hack the
folds of that silken veil, while 1 stood half
j breathless beside her. Was it a dream, or
I was it reality? There was no mistaking that
I likeness ; and involuntarily the words " My
! Father !" burst from inv lips. Then, like a
j swift moving panorama, it ail passed before
my mind, and throwing ray arixs around her
r.eck, I called her :
"My mother, my long lost mother ! My
father told tne ail yesterday," I said, when I
had become more calm. "He learned the re
ports were without foundation,and hearing you
had gone to Europe, for three years he lias
sought you there, and now his heart is sad be
cause he can find no trace of you. Will you
see him ?"
She did not reply, but I read her answer in
the beaming eye, and hastily donning bonnet
and mantle, ran to the hotel, and surprised ray
father by rushing breathless into his room.
"Come with me; Mrs. Thornton will see
yon now," I said, nervously clutching his arm,
and pulling him toward the door ; but he, re
sisting. asked what had occurred to excite me
so. It is not there that I would explain, so
lie followed my rapid footsteps along the street
and tip the shaded walk ; but then I threw
open the door leading to the library She had
risen ; how lovingly she looked then—her pale
brow, her bright eye, and a crimson spot burn
ing on either cheek. One moment my father
stood as though chained to the spot, then ad
vancing, he exclaimed :
" Flora, my wife !"
" Herbert," was the soft reply, and she was
clasped in his arms.
" Forgive und forget the past," I heard a
manly voice murmur ; and then my name was
repeated in soft accents. I went to my moth
er's side, and the happy husband and father
pressed his wife and child to Lis heart as in
reverent tones he implored God to bless our
The veiled picture was unveiled, the mystery
of the library solved ; and returning to our
Western home, once more a happy family
group dwelt beneath its roof. A gentle, loving
Wifc&molher was the guiding star of that home.
£§?■* Brown was speaking of Joe II to
a friend one day and said to him ; " Joe is
a first rate fellow, but it must be confessed he
has bis failings. lam sorry it is so, but I can
not tell a lie for any man. I love Joe, but I
love the truth more." "My dear Brown,"
said Joe, who overheard the remark," I never
thought you would prefer a perfect stranger
to an old acouaintance "
"REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
How Sut Lovegood's Daddy Acted Hoss.
" Hold that ere hoss to the yearth !"
" He's spreadiu' his tail to fly now !"
" Keep him wharhe is 1"
" Woa, shavetail !"
These aud like expressions were addressed
to a queer-looking, long legged, short-bodied,
small beaded, white haired, hog-eyed, funny
sort of a genius, fresh from some second
hand clothing store, and mouuted on "Tar
poke," a nick tailed, long poor hoss, half
brandy, half devil, and enveloped all over in
a perfect net-work of bridle, reins, cruppers,
martingales, straps, surcingles, red ferretiu',
who reined up in front of Pat Neck's gro
cery among a crowd of wild mountaineers,
full of light and bad whiskey.
" I say, you darned ash-carts, jist keep
your shirts on, will ye. You never seed a
raal hoss till I road up. Tarpoke is jist
next to the best hoss that ever shelled nub
bins, and lie's dead as a still-worm, poor old
Tioky tail 1"
"What killed him, Sut," said an anxious
" Why, nutbin,' you tarnal fool ! He jist
died—died a standin' up at that. Waru't
that good pluck? Froze stiff—no, not that
adzacly, but starved fust, and then froze af
terwards so still", that when dad an' me push
ed him over, he jist stuck out so, (spreaking
his arms aud leg-;,) like a carpenter's bench,
and so we waited seventeen days for him to
thaw afore we could skin him. Well, tliar we
was—dad an' me—(counting on his lingers.)
Dad an' tne, Sal, an' Jake, (Fool Jake, we
used to call him for short,) an' Pbinens, au'
Simeon, an' lonas, an' Cliarloteann, an'Calline
Jane, au' Cashtts Henry Ciay, an' Noah Dan
Webster, an' me, and the twin gals, au' Catli
rine Second, an' Cleopatry Antomy. an' Jane
Lind, an' Tom Bullion, an' the baby, an' marrn
herself, all left without a hoss to crap with.—
Taat was a nice mess for a 'spectable family to
be slasliin' about in, warn't it ? I be darned
it I didn't fesl like stealin' a hoss sometimes !
Well, we waited an' rested, an' waited until
well into strawberry time, hopin' that some
stray boss moot come along, but dog my cats,
ef eny such luck as that comes whar old dad
is, lie's so dratted mean, an lazy, au' ugly, an'
savage, an' trifliu' !
" Well, one nite.dad he lay awake nil nite
a snortin' an rotlin' an' whisperiu' at mam,
an' next mornin', sez he :
"Snt, I'll tell you what we'll do; I'll be hoss
myself, and pull the plow, while you drive me,
and we'll break up corn ground, and then the
old quilt (that's niarm) and the brals kin plaut
it or let it alone, jist they please."
"So out we goes to the Paw-paw thicket,
and peeled a right smart chance of bark, and
mam and t'aem made gears for dad, and they
become him mightily ; then he would have a
bridle, so I gits an old umbrella what I found
—it's a little forked piece of iron, sorter like
onto a pitchfork, ye know—and we bent and
twisted it sorter nntua bridle-bit, small shape,
(dad wanted it kurb, as he said he hadn't
worked for some time, and he might sort feel
his oats and go to cavortin'.) WeD, when we
got the bridle all fixed on dad he chomped the
bit j st like a hoss, (he alwasamost complicat
ed darned old old fool, eny how, and mam
always said so, when he warn't about,) then
[ put on the gear*, and out dad and me goes
to the field, I a leading dad by the bridle, and
tot in' the gropher plough on my back. When
we came to the fence, I let down a gap end
made dad mad—he wanted to jump the fence
on all fours, hoss way. I hitched him to the
gopher, and awav we went,dad forward
to his puliin. right peart, and we made sharp
plowin', dad goin' rite over the bushes and
sprouts, same as rale hoss, the ouly difference
is he went on two legs.
" Presently we cutn to a sassafac patch,
and dad to keep up karacter as a hoss, bulged
square into it, and tore down a hornet's nest
nigh onto as big as a hoss' head, and all the
tribe kivered him right strate He rarrd and
kicked once or twice,.and fotchcd a squal wus
nor ary boss in the district, and sot into runn
iu'away just as natural as ever you seed. I
let go the lines, and hollered, 'woa, dad, woa!'
but you might as well have said woa to a lo
coraotive. Ge whillikins ! how he run; when
he cum to a bush, he'd clear the top of it,goph
er and all; p'raps he thought there must be
another settlement ov bald hornets in it, and
that it was safer to go over than thrue, quick
er done; every now and then he'd paw one side
of his head with his fust one tore leg and then
t'other, then he'd gin himself au open-handed
slap, that sounded like a wagon-whip, and
running all the time, an' carrien that gopher
just about as fast and high from the yearth as
ever a groplur was karried, 1 swar !
"When he cum to the fence he busted
right thrue it, tearing down nigh onto seven
pannels, scatterin' and brcakin' the rales
mightily, and here he left the gopher, gears,
single-tree, and klevis, and ali mixed up, not
worth a durti. Most ov his shert struct on
to the splintered end ova broken rale, and
nigh onto a pint of hornets staid with the shert
a stinging it all over, the balance ov 'em,
about a gallon and a half, kept on with dad.
He seemed to run adz icly as fast as a hornet
could fly, for it war the tighest race I ever
did see. Down thrue the grass they went, the
hornets making it look sorter like a smoke all
around dad's bald head, and he with nut li in'
on but the bride! and nigh onto a yard ov
plough line a sailin' behind him.
" I seed now that he was aimin' for a swim
tr.in' hole in the creek, wbar the bluff is over
twenty five feet perpendicular to the water,
and it's nigh onto ten feet deep. To keep np
his karacter as a hoss, w hen he got to the
bluff be jjist leaped off, or rather kept on run
ning. Keresplurge into the kreek he went ; I
saw the water fly plum above the bluff from
whar I was. Now, rite thar, boys, be over
did the thing, if that was what he was arter,
tor there's Hary a hoss ever folded dtirnded
fool enough to leap over sich a place; a cussed
mule might have done it, but dad warn't act
ing mule. I krept. up to the edge and looked
over; there was old dad's bald bead, for all the
world like a peeled onion, a bobbin' np aud
down, and the honets a sailin' and a circlin'
round, turkey-buzzard fashion, and every once
iu a while, one, aud sometimes ten, would make
a dip at dad's head. He kept up a rite peart
dogging under, sometimes they'd hit him, and
sometimes hit the water, and the water was
kivered with drownded hornets.
" What on earth are you doin' thar, dad ?"
" Don't (dip) yon see those infernal var
mints (dip) alter me ?"
" What,' sez I, 'them are hoss flies thar; ye
uin't really afraid of them, are ye ?''
" Hoss fl es !" sez dad; "they're rale (dip)
genuine bald hornets, you (dip) infernal cussl"
" Well, dad, you'll have to stay till nite;
and arter they go to roost, you cum home and
I'll feed you !"
" And knowing dad's unmodified natur, I
broke from 'em parts and sorter cum to the
copper-mines. 1 staid out uutil the next ar
ternoon, when I seed a feller travellin," aud
sez I :
" What was going on at the cabin this side
of the creek when you passed it ?"
" Why, nnthiu' much only a man was sit
ting in the door, with nary shirt on, and a
woman was greasing his back aud arms, and
his head was about as big as a ten gallon keg,
and be hadu't the first sign of un eye, ail
"That man is my dad," sez I.
" Been much fitiu' in this neighborhood late
ly ?" sez the traveler, rather dryly.
" Nuu wuth speakiug of personally or par
ticularly," sez I.
"Now, boys, I hain't seen dad since, and
would be afraid to meet him in the next ten
years. Let's drink."
And the last we saw of Sat, he was stoop
ing to get in f o the doggery door, with a
mighty mixed crowd at his heels.
Waking Fun of Them.
The Nashville Union has been " having its
little" joke at the expense of discomfitted se
! cesh of that city. The Union purports to
review the " Rev. D. McFerriu's Confederate
Primer," and gives some choice extracts from
its pages. The Primer, after giving the alpha
bet in due form, offers some little rhymes for
young Confederates, from which we select a
few as samples :
At Nashville's fall
We aiuued all.
At Number Ten
We sinned again.
Thy purse to mend
Old Floyd attend.
Abe Lincoln bold
Our ports doth hold.
Jeff. Davis tells a lie
And so must you and I.
Brave Pillow's flight
Is out of sight.
Buell cloth play
And alter slay.
Yon oak will be the gallows tree
Of Richmond's fallen majesty.
The following are taken from the " Bio
graphical Questions aud Answers for little
Q —Who was the first man ?
A. —General Pillow—because he was the
first to run from Fort Donelson.
Q —Who is the strongest man ?
A. —Geueral Price—for you can smell-him
Q. —Who is the wisest man?
A. —General Wise—for he has that discre
tion which is the better part of valor.
Here is a reuding lesson from the same ad
mirable work :
The Swart Dixie Boy.
Once there was a lit-tle boy, on Iy four years
old. llis name was DIX Y. His father's name
was 1 SHAM, and his moth er's name was AI.L
SHAM DIX Y was ver-y smart. lie conld drink
whisky, fight chick ens, play pok-er, and cuss
his mother When he was only two years old,
he could steal su gar, hook pre serves, drown
kit-tens, and tell lies like a man. DIX-Y died
and went to the bad place. But the Devil
would not let Dix r stay there, for be said,
" When you get big, DIX-Y, you would be
head Devil yourself." All lit tle Reb els ought
to he like DIXY, and so they will, if they will
stud y the Con-fed er ate Prim er.
YE SHALL REAP.— Think of this, you that
are well-nigh weary of well doing, you that
stand alone in a godless household, and who
sometimes grow dish arteued amidst the cold
ness, and ihe opposition, and the jeering ; you
that have enlisted under Christ's banner, but
who. if you have not actually forsaken house
and lands for His sake, have at least felt con
strained to let pass many a golden opportuni
ty ; you who have been for years watching for
a soul, if happily ye might win it, and who
still tee it as far from the kingdom as ever ;
you have bug been contending with a wicked
temper or an unholy passion, and who dare
not say that you have gained any sensible ad
vantage over it—o, be not weary ! Think of
the day when yon shall rest from your labors,
and these works shall follow you. Thiuk of
the day—the humbling, affecting, overwhelm
ing day—when the cup of cold water reappear
as an ingredient in the everlasting glory. Be
not weary in well doing, for in due season you
shall reap, if you faint uot.
A NICF. MAN FOR A SMALL PARTY. —A conn
try magistrate, noted for his love of the pleas
ures of the table, speaking one day to a friend,
said, " We have jnst been eating a superb tur
key ; it was excellent, stuffed with truffles to
the neck, tender, high flavor ; we left only
the bones." " How many of you were there
said his friend. " Two," replied the magis
trate. "Two!" " Yes, the torkey and my
The crow is a brave bird ; he never
shows tbe white feather
VOL. XXIII. —XO. 3.
The Goddess of Poverty.
Faths aanded with gold, verdant heath*,
ravens loved by the wild goats, great moun
tains crowned with stars, wandering torreuts,
impenetrable forests, let the good Goddess pass
through—the Goddess of Poverty ! Since the
world existed, since men have been, she trav
els singing, and she 6ings working—the God
dess, good corse her. They found her too beau
tiful, too gay, too nimble, and too 6trong.—
" Pluck out her wings," said they ; " cbaiu
her 1 bruise her with blows, that she may suf
fer, that she may perish—the Goddess of Pov
erty ! They have chained the good Goddess ;
they have beaten and persecuted her; but they
cannot disgrace her. She has taken refuge iu
the soul of poets, in the soul of peasants, in
the soul of saints —the good Goddess, the God
dess of Poverty." She has walked more thau
the Wandering Jew ; she has traveled more
than the swallow; she is older thau the Cathe
dral of Prague ; she is younger than the egg
of the wreu ; she multiplied more upon the
earth than strawberries in Bohemian forests—
the Goddess, the good Goddess of Poverty !
She always makes the grandest and most beau
tiful things that we see upon earth; it she who
has cultivated the fields, and pruned the trees;
it is she who tends the fields, s' jging the most
beautiful airs ; it is she who sees the first peep
of dawn, and receives the last smile of evening
—the good Goddess of Poverty. It is she
who carries the sabre and the gun; who makes
war and conquests ; it is she who collects the
dead, tends wounded, and bides the conquered
—the Goddess, the good Goddess of Poverty 1
Tby children will cease, one day, to carry the
world upon their shoulders ; they will be rec
ompensed for their labor and toil. The time
approaches when there will be neither rich nor
poor ; when all men shall consume the fruits
of the earth, and equally enjoy the gifts of
God. But tbou wilt not be torgotten iu their
hymns—oh, good Goddess of Poverty!—
George S and.
A Keen Picket Encounter of Wits.
AT times, as I said before, the rebels arc
quite communicative,as the following dialogue,
which occurred at Yorktown betweeu Joseph
D., of Leeds, Wis., and one of them, when
within ten rods of each other will show :
The parties were separated by a low, deep
swale, covered with water and thick brush,and
were unable to discover each others person.—
Joe hearing a noise ou the other side, yelcd
out in a loud voice :
Hallo, Mike ! Have you got any tobacco?
Secesh (with a strong Hibernian accent)
Yes bejabers, and whiskey, too.
Joe—Come over, we'll have a quiet smoke!
Secesh—l'll meet you half-way.
Joe agreed to do so, and advanced soma
distance through brush and water, and then
Secesh —where the devil are you ? Are ye
Joe—l'm half-way now. Can't go any fur
ther without swimming.
Secesh —Haven't ye a boat ?
Joe—No I have not.
Secesh—Where's yer gun boat.
Joe—Down taking care of the Merritnac.
Secesh —Then come over iu that big bal
[Much laughter a'ong the rebel lines.]
Joe—Have you a boat ?
Secesh—l have sure, and I'm coming
Joe then inquiring the news of the day, and
if his companion had a Norfolk Day Book.
Secesh —J. have. Have you got a Tribune?
Joe answered that he had uot.
Secesh—Where is Gen. Buell ?
Joe—Buell's all right, and surrounds Beau
Secesh—Where's Gen. Prentiss ?
Joe—How about Island No. 10 ?
Secesh —That's evacuated.
Joe—How is it that you left 100 guus and
6,000 prisoners ?
Secesh —Sure, they (the prisoners,) were
not much account.
Joe—How about Fort Pulaski ?
Secesh—That be olowed ! It was only a
rebel sand bank. But tell me what made ye
leave Bull Run 1
Dick B. (Union)— We had inarching or
This caused great laughter among the reb
els, some exclaiming, " Bully Boy J'
Dick B.—Where's Zollicoffer ?
Secesh —Gone up the spout.
Joe —Why don't yon come over ?
Secesh—CanT get through the brush.
At this moment a rebel bullet come whiz
zing over by our meu, and Joe angrily inquir
ed who fired.
Secesh—Some fool over this way.
An order was then issued to stop firing.
Joe —Ain't you coming ? What regiment
do you belong to ?
Secesh —Lighteeuth Florida. What regi
ment do you ?
Joe—Berdeu's First regiment Sharpshoot
Some of his comrades here warned him to
Secesh—Wo ild yuo shoot a feilow ?
Joe —No; but I will stack arme and smoke
with yuo, if you will come over.
Here a rebel officer ordered him back, and
the Secessionist refused to communicate fur
ther.— Cor. Milwavka Sentinel.
customers of a certain cooper in a
town ont West, caused him a vast deal of vex
ation bv their saving habits and | existence in
getting all their tubs ana casks repaired and
buying little work.
" I stood it long enough, however," said he,
" until one day old Sam Crabtrce brought iu
on old bunghole, to which he said he wanted
a new barrel made. Then I quit the business
tSf Wrinkles are the ruts made by the
wheels of time.
A woman's pride and a sailor's guide