fIE D3LLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE. TOWANDA : Thursday Morning, October 9, 1862. Jhletteb jpactn). THE HEART'S GUESTS. feoft falls through the gathering twilight The rain from the dripping eaves, And stirs with a tremulous rustle The dead and the dying leaves ; While afar, in the midst of the shadows, t hear the sweet voices of bells Come borne on the winds of autumn, That litfully rises and swells. The call and they answer each other— They answer and mingle again— As the deep and the shrill iu au authcnl Make harmony still in their strain ; As the voices ot sentinels mingle In mountainous regions of snow, Till Irom hill top to hill top a chorus Floats down to the valleys below. The shadows, the tire-light of even, The sound of the rain's distant chime, Come bringing, with rain softly dropping, Sweet thoughts of a shadowy time ; The slumberous sense of seclusiou> From storm and intruders aloof. We I vol when we hear in the midnight The patter of rain on the roof. When tiie spirit goes forth iu it:s yearnings To take all it.s'Tr.tiiderers home, Or, alter iu the regions of faucy, Delights on swilt pi onions to roam> J quietly sit by tiie lire-light— This lire-light so bright and so warm For 1 know ti* those only who love me Will seek me through shadow aud storm. ii.it should they be a'o.-eut 11 is evening, Should even the hoii.-vh dd depart, Deserted, J should not be lonely— There .-till would be guests in my heart. The laces oi friends that 1 cherish, The smile, and the glance, and the tone, Will haunt me wherever 1 wander, And thus 1 aui never alone. While those who have left far behind them T e joys ami the sorrows ot time Who sing the sweet - mgs of the angels, lu a purer and holier clime. Then darkly, oil! evening of autumn, Your rain and your shadows may hill, My loved and my lost ones y >u bring we— My heart holds a least with them ail. HI iS 11 11 it It eOU 5, The Cry of the Human, BY SA 1.1.1 E BRIDGES. A young child sat lonely in a hot school room one sultry day in June. A difficult sum, which, over and over again, she had failed to bring right, had wearied her own and her leather's patience, until she was condemned, as a punishment, to remain in continued study while her companions enjoyed their recess in the garden btiovv. She was neither a stupid r.or obstinate child ; tiie task bad needed some necessary explanation to render it compara tively easy, which the heat of the day and an irritability produced by some outside causes made her instructress indisposed to bestow ; or, perhaps, she forced herself to believe that the pupil's advancement would be aided by the unassisted working out by her own efforts of the problems whose elucidation formed part of the educational plan. Be it as it uiay, she sut below, superintending the restricted play of her ether <. barges, while, in front of an open window above, the offending scholar sobbed herself iuto a headache. She dared not change her seat, and the summer sunshine glared in upon her desk, aud the long rows of blurred figures on the neglected slate ; opposite, end limiting the view, stood a high brick wall, be tween whose bu>e and the garden fence ran one of those small city streets reeking with filth and swarming with population. The gar den was too small to extend within the range of her vision, even as she leaned forward to catch one breath of a hoped for breez.*, and there only flo ,ted up to her fevered senses the odors of the alley mingling with the sickening and heavy scent of some blossoming plant. She crossed her bauds on tbe green ba : ze before her, and rested the throbbing temples on the palms. i'ain, the closeness of the air, u sense of injustice, rendered her mentally and physically as miserable as uiauy a sufferer of larger growth under more aggravated evils ; for our sorrows are proportioned to our strength —the trial of a child is as sharp to the child, as keen in endurance, as is the agony of a man to a man's susceptibility. Suddenly, as she sat there with her thoughts all in a whirl, there rose, through the sileuee of noonday, hitherto broken only by the tones of her school fellows, a solitary human voice : one of those sounds that float coutiuuully through the sum mer air ot large cities—a cry of the streets, die caii of some itinerant salesman, or the bar gains for the ofiscoui itigs of our homes —rags or old iron. There was in the deep and pro longed notes that element of mourufuluess and pathos that we frequently cannot fail to no tice in the outcast voices that assail our hear tug with such coarse and vulgar associations ; u something of crushing want mingling with uppeai ; an indefinable melancholy of expres sion, as if the hidden soul was struggling to send up through hunger, crime and degrada lion, a vailed pclitiou for brotherhood with the higher race, that also suffer and starve in their hearts, unconsciously echoing again to the Highest of all the prayer for h( lp, for wherewithal to sustain lite, spiritual and phys ical-.-the great, the universal " Cry of the •Human." The child listened ; slowly there penetrated through the tbrobbings of her weary brain the dim perception of meaning in those frag mentary tones—a dim meaning that her analyt "<d powers were too faint to define, but which, nevertheless, stirred ail answering sentiment 11 the tender, untarnished, and unworldly heart. There was some one more wretched thau herself • groping through ifae by-ways of life, acquainted with the guant shape of poverty ; wrestliug, day by day, amid sinks of perditioQ, for the mere food to maintain an existence that scarcely seemed worth having ; and ly ing down, night after night, kenueled, perhaps, with woTse than dogs. She knew something about it—this observing, loving little child 5 good people had read tracts in her presence, descriptive of the state of the poor ; she had more than once accompanied those who had her in charge to the meetings of a moral so ciety, where every festering sore of humanity was laid bare, and the great salve of money was industriously pleaded for ; and reports | were recorded of how the daintily-gloved hands : had administered the plaster, even though j curses had followed the bestowal of their tner- ! cy, aud hate, the characteristic of the caste, 1 had blasphemed their noblest philanthropy.— But this young girl, with all the first fresh ness ot feeling still pure and strong, put aside her own annoyance to think out the thoughts that rose Unbidden, awakened by an unknown voice uttering words ueither refined nor poeti cal. The divine fount of pity was stirred, and the waters of love ovetdooded the gentle eyes; a chord was struck ttiat echoed long after ; a seed was planted, that in the years lo come, bore, in the eyes of God, richer fruit thau Liie golden apj/h s of Hesperides. Such little things do mold oar fates ; such insignificant trifles sometimes open tiie pearly gates of Paradise, and shut the frowning doors of hell, bearing their glooming inscription, " Leave hope behind, who enters here !' : " I wish I was a woman !" welled up from the depths of yearning sympathy, with a vague comprehension that age is power : power, the will to work, " i wish I was a wotuau 1" It was the answer of the individual to the uni ver.-ai cry ; it was the promise of childhood to the future of its own anticipation ; it Was the woman in the child 1 -.tiling forward to the uu d vdoped womanhood of the soul. '■ i wish I was a woman 1" And what then ? Who r -iiicmli'. rs tiie promises of the past ? To be a woman ! " Oh, God !" prayed the Indian father, " let not my child be a girl, for very sorrow!ul is the lot of a woman !" * * * * * * !}; j Standing fronting the eternal hills, a young girl pushed aside her waves of hair, and with lips apart, drank in tiie glory f the scene ; ! the pinple mi-Is, the tinted clouds, tiie ripen i ing fields upon the mountain's side of various ly colored grain, all agitated by turns this watching soul, so succptible to beauty—so as- 1 pi ring with gratitude. Site thought—she, a deniz-'u of towns—that nothing tin* poets had written, nothing imagination might conceive, could equal in loveliness these choice places of the earth ; the air, the light, the leaves, were full ot messages from heaven, and in the pure rapture of enjoyment the wings of angels seem ed to wave about her, and every oreeze har monised like notes of celestial melody with the eotatic hymn of her spirit, welling upward to lief God. For she was young, aud the damask of happiness lingered still upon the rounded cheek : the dew was yet upon the blossoming flower of her life, and it is when we are young and happy that we worship 5 when we are old er and acquainted with sorrow we pray ! One eauie silently to her side, put his arms ; around her, aud looked into iicr face. iSlie turned her eyes to his, filled with an expres sion in which the fervor of exaltation melted into the tenderness of woman's trust and devo lion. No word was spoken between them ; love had made silence eloquent and language poor—each sou! reflected from the other emo tions so exquisite that the bliss of Paradise cannot rival them, aud yet so fleeting and rare, ; that after life recalls them only us glimpses of heaven given in a dream. Aud thus they j stood, in the meridian of human feeling, sur rounded by the glow of the setting sun, the ! i rich and gorgeous clouds floating above them, | the great book of nature open before them, j ! heart to heart, speechless yet responsive, and the thought of the woman soaring to her Ala j ker amid the glory of her hope : " We love, i O God, we love, and are part of Thee, since 1 Thou art love 1" ajc ;jc if: s|c In a high room fronting a'street in a large city, the shades of evening slowly gathered : 1 round a solitary woman buttling with bitter memories ; it was the anniversary of a great sorrow, and since the rising of the sun she had j wrestled with her heart as one struggles with an enemy, and the heart, which cannot be sti- , fled, strives hard for the mastery over reasou , —strives, and conquers, aud overwhelms. She j bad come away forever from the purple moun- \ tains of hope, soaring to heaven. In the val- j ley of despair she felt only the shadows of the i past ; saw, spreading above her, only heavy mists, untinted and unpierced What mat | ters it to know what cloud had darkened the i golden light of youth ? She herself shudder Ed wlieu the familiar angel of memory roliel away the stone of apathy, aud bade her dead dreams rise. She shared with no one living the sorrow of her life ; she had simply achieved the passing wish of her childhood—she was a woman ! Alas ! alas ! for one woman who walks crowned with the lilies of peace, multi tudes wear upon their breast the white rose of silence. For one woman who sings in the sun light of happiuess the song of joy and thanks giving, myriads stretch their aims in the night ot misery with a wail of woe, a shriek for mer cy, or the moan of au impotent anguish. And so iiiio tiiis existence, as into that of her sis ters ail over the earth, had entered the arrow of suffering, and rankled there, while the wound, the blood, the agony, were hidden by the mantle of pride. With uncertain steps she paced her narrow chamber, recalling, resisting the spectres of other days ; stopping every now aud then, with clenched hand, bloodless lip, to strangle some passionate recollection that would not lie still beneath the tread of time. Mo sound, save only a name broke through the stillness of that mighty emotion ; no sob, no groan, no jhrayer. For years, fcr slow and bitter years, through weary days" and sleepless nights, the entreaty of her soul had gone up to the Source ot Mercy and Power ; the heavens were deaf ; the blue sky seemed turned to stoue j her PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TO WAN DA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. GOODRICH. prayers fell back upon her heart, and she stood now, fronting the future, without faith, save in the workings of an immutable fate, hope less, loveless, alor.e. Suddenly pausing amid this inw.ard strife, she took from its receptacle an aotique silver goblet, curiously shaped and wouderfully carved, such as goldsmiths, loog beforo Ben venuto, might have fashioned for the tables of kings. It was the heir-loom of a long line of ancestors—had been the stirrup cup that had speeded parting guests from the castle gates of a haughty race ; and was linked with one dark tradition of a sovereign saved from ' treacherous draught by the generous act and j loyal death of his best's wife, who drained the ' cup to save her husband's honor and her mon : arch's life. Quietly, steadily, she poured once more into the storied beaker the sluggish and fatal drops. Through that long day of pain she had trembled at the seuse of health that might bear her through slow years of irre pressible anguish ; she saw herself living among men, yet set apart by grief. She well knew that all her days must wear sone likeness to this, and over and over again, in the keenness of her despair, the thought had darted through her brain : " What shall I do with my life ? What shall Ido with my life?" At last this one feeling grew stronger than all others— the dread of those innumerable hours, dark with recollections that would never sleep. She knew nothing of the next world ! She knew too much of this ! And death, annihilation, any hereafter, was preferable to the realiza tion of this fearful anticipation. She touk the cup in her hand and went to the open window ; a lingering anil indefinable sympathy with Nature, with the night that was about to close around her forever, caused her to look out once more into the blackness and space typical of all that she saw beyond the end ; perhaps > also, there stole almost un consciously into her heart a vague yearning for the soiace that stricken creatures some times find in the contemplation of creation.— Perhaps her last look at Goo's serene sky was to be a protest against the mi-cry that saw afar off everything loveiy and peaceful. The : blue aud cloudless heavens spaikled with the light of stars ; their cold and distant glory Would -hine the same the next night when she j O should <*e—ah ! no the same I The soft air floated over the fevered brow, and lifted the same wavy hair that a young girl had once before thrust away, that she i might look with eager eyes upon the beauty 01 the earth ; but. the air now bore 110 messa ges from the Highest, the eyes were hungry for death, and if angels camped round about her they bad folded their Wings in dismay and pity. A merry and laughing party passed in the street below ; mechanically she looked af ter them ; their silken robes, the glitter of jewels flashed tnrough the gloom, the sound of young and gay voices rose up from light spirits to the sense of that pale aud silent wo man who watched their forms recede in the darkness with a mournful gaze of prophetic | meaning. Careless hearts, would ye have wept instead of smiled amid the comedy of your pleasure, could ye have penetrated the tragedy | of that ruined life ? All the sky was bright, all the thorough fare was still, all her thoughts were one storm of defiance, memories, madness ! Suddenly out of the depths of the night there rang through the silence a single human cry ! a cry of the streets !—a cry concentrating the want, the wail, the pathos, of poverty, of deg radation, of hard and cheerless labor 1 It pierced the frenzy of that tortured brain. Out J of the valley of the shadow of' death, she look jed through the mi<t of time, and saw a child weepiug for childhood's trouble ; and heariug amid her tears that sound of appeal, and in j the innocence and freshness of an unspotted ! nature interpreting the tone into a call to duty. She remembered how the child had forgot ten her grief iu an overwhelming compassiou for the race that starved and suffered 5 and, ah 1 she remembered how the pure soul, brave in ignorance, long to relieve and exault the 1 poor and degraded. The unredeemed pledge | of childhood to the future shaped itself once more to her mind us she pictured the homes without love, the hearts without food, the crushed, the depraved, the struggling souls ; swarming in that great city around her. That one cry had lifted away the burden of self, and revealed the need of humauiiy : in j fatits to snatch from the cradles of crime ; men aud women to rescue from the slough ot despond : passion and pains to be conquered j and soothed, social sores to be healed, and ! craving minds to tie fed ! And she standing there, with the poison iu her hand, and tiie 1 bioud strong in her frame, had asked with S despariug lips, " What shall Ido with my ' life A thousand beseeching eyes seemed i to glow on her from the darkness ; innnmera : ble voices—echoes of the one from the abysses ; of the great town —seemed to strike upon her ; heart ; her own pain dwarfed into itisignifi j cance. before the misery of the multitude ; the j starry heavens stooped nearer to her : the j frantic prayers of her old agony were answered; ! the angels touched her eyes ; slowly the tears ' of remorse, of tenderness, of promise, tell into ! the cup of death, mingling with its sullen po i tion. She knelt flown sobbing ; she had | found her work ; she thanked the Supreme ; who rsigned over all, while the stars sang to ' get her at a soul's redemption. Ttieu she arose Uiid poured out upon the night the dark st ream of destruction ; it was the liberation of con quest offered to the eternal Goo of liuman ity. * * * * * * * Surrounded by the beings she had rescued— weeping women and sad-eyed men —a woman was about to die, aud iu the waiting silence, brokeu only by sobs, her thoughts traced back, link by link, the chain of her life. It was slipping away from her now. Soon she would be launched on the great sea of eternity, and her soul was agitated as it drew near to the darkness, solemn and impenetrable, that she must euter alone. Hut it had been a DOhle lite—simple, self-sacrificing, heroic. Its fruits were minds purified aud souls saved ; its min istrations were pure, tender, obscure ; its eeh- "REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." oes were blessings and songs of hope. She had gone feariessly yet delicately into the homes of the poor and degraded, and had lift ed the weak and wicked from the mire of des pair ; she had straightened the limbs of the dead, wept with the mourners, softened the defiant, and with her earnest voice and loving ways had led the reckless and grief-stricken to the gate of Paradise, showing them within their beloved ones radiant in white robes made clean from earth. Places of joy knew not her face. Iron barred doors of gloomy prisons closed upon her while she prayed with malefactors und wrestled with the guilt of criminals ; by the stricken with pestilence, by the sick-beds of hospitals and courts, her soft hands were busy her slight form sleepless. Among the con demned of her own sex she weut with reclaim ing words of love, and found in each some sun ny memory, some yearning hope, some vague unrest, some feeling of disgust or suffering, by which she led them back to parity, to respect, to heaven. Her own sorrow took her near, gave her divining power over the sorrows of others. The smitten with pain recognized a fellowship with one stricken like themselves ; and while the sad sought her sympathy, she raised from the dust the downtrodden and the crushed. Yet this iife, so full of holy offices, of ear ; ricst labor, of inspiring results, hud becu long, j and heavy, and weary to the possessor : fur , the great grief that had wrecked her in the ; years gone by, had never died, uever slept, never iessened in poignancy or freshness. In g ving her the key to other hearts, it turned j over and over again a knife in her own ; it conquered her in the night-watches, and Hood- j ed her pillow with the salt tears ot bitterness j ; it followed her into the realms of sleep, and! rose each morning shuddering at the dawu ol ; another day. Y'et the power o! GOD held her j misery in bonds. She had learned to pray i and to trust, and in learning to trust ho hid j a!:-o learned to wait for her appointed time, j and now bes'de her couch of death still linger ; ed this insatiate phantom of the Past. Siie ' had long ago looked it fully face to lace, and i had borne its wounds in silence ; but now, ! should she leave it behind her with the cHy j that was growing cold i Or would it go with | her into that other land, and clog her step li!l upon the golden pavements of the New Jerusalem ? She lay, with closed eyes, wait ing fur the sign her spirit sought. She heard around her sobs of those who wept to lose her, interrupted now and then by a stifled voice of ; prayer. Only mortal woe, mortal petition.— She could not penetrate the '* great Perhaps,' j but she believed—ah ! she did believe that there is One who knows ! She stretched up ward her dviug arms ; she looked to heaven with her glazing eyes, and from the very depths of her struggling being arose the voice of dependence, " My Got;, be merciful !" This, too, was the Cry of the Human. Her disembodied soul carried it to the Throne of Light. With its last toue she had " solved the great Perhaps." How THEY FIRE TN IIATTI.E. An army cor respondent says : " You wonder whether the regiments fire regular in volley or whether ftach man loads and fires as fast us he can. That depends on circumstances, but usually, except when the enemy is near at hand, the regiments fire only at the commaud of their officers.— You hear a drop, drop, drop, as a few ot the skirmishers fire, followed by a rattle and roll, which sounds like the failing of a building, just as some of you have heard the brick walls tumble at a great fire. Sometimes, when a body of the enemy's cavalry are sweeping down upon a regimen to cut it to pieces, the meu form into a square, with the officers, and musicians in the centre. The front rank stands with bayonets charged, while the second rauk fires as fast as it can. Sometimes they form in four ranks deep—the two front one kneel ing with bayonets charged, so that if the en emy should come upon them, they would run against a picket-fence of bayonets. When they form in this way,the other two rauks load an\l fire as fast as they can. Then the roar is ter rific, and many a horse and his rider goes down ; before the terrible stonn of bullets." A HAPI-Y WOMAN. —Is she not the very sparkle and sunshine of life ? A woman who is happy because she can't help it—whose smiles even the coldest sprinkle of misfortune cannot dampen. Men make a terrible mistake when they marry for beauty, for talent, or for style. The sweetest wives are thuse who pos sess the magic secret of being contented under any circumstances. Rich or poor, high or low, it makes no difference ; the bright little fountain of joy bubbles up just as musically in their hearts. Do they live in a log cabin the fire that leaps up on its humble heart becomes brighter than the gnflded chandeliers in Aila din palace. Were the stream of life so dark and unpropitious that the sunshine of a happy face falling on the turbid tide would not awak en an answering gleam ? Why, these joyous tempered people don't know half the good they do. It may be useful to study, at leisure, a variety of proper phrases for such occasions as are most frequent in life, as civilities to su periors, expressions of kindness to interiors ; congratulations, condolence, expressions oi' gratitude, acknowledgement of faults, asking or denying of favors, etc. I prescribe no par ticular phrases, because, our language con tinually fluctuating, they must soon become stiff and unfashiouable. The best method of acquiring the accomplishment of a graceful and easy manner of expresaion for the com mon occasions of life, is attention to and imi tation of well-bred people. Nothing makes a man appear more contemptible than barren ness, pedantry, or impropriety of expression. ftgy Says Talleyrand, our welcome of a stranger depends upon the name he bears — upon the coat he wears ; our farewell upon the spirit he has displayed in the interview. Tlie National Taxes. The following instructions are from Mr. Boatweli, the Commissioner of Revenue. They will be found of interest to our citizens, as au sweriug many queries that are being constant ly proponuded to the Assessor on the subject: 1. All mechanics, except those who merely do repairs, must be registered as manufactu rers, aud must take out a liceose as such as if their annual sales amount to §I,OOO, 2. But mechanics aud other manufacturers who sell their own manufactures at that place <vhere they are produced are not required to take out au additional liceuse as traders.— This does uot include rectifiers, who mast pay both licenses. 2 If manufacturers have an office, depot, store-room or agency at a place different from the place where the goods are made, or if they sell the manufactures of others in addition to their own, they must pay a traders* as well as a manufacturer's license. Thus a tobacconist who both makes cigars and keeps for sale goods in his line which ho has purchased must take ot;t both licenses. So must a druggist, who also makes patent articles, or medicines-, etc., for which he has a private formula or re ceipt. j. Persons keeping bar-rooms or saloons for the sale of liquors must takeout a retail liquor dealer's license. If they also furnish food they muit in addition take oat au eating house j license, and the sale of cigars, etc., requires a j tobacconist or retail dealer's license besides. ! Billiard tables require a special license, aud , bagatelle tables aie reckoned as billiards. o. Commission merchants who are also ship ! or commercial brokers are required to lake i out tv-o licenses. 0 Grocers selling Hour by the barrel, cr by i the sack, or any other article in the original package are reekoued as wholesale dealers. 7. fotumps must be attached to the papers > requiring them at the time of their execution, ; ami must be obliterated by the writing his iui- j tials upou them. Telegraphic despatches must j be stamped and effaced when delivered to be j transmitted. But railroad and telegraph com- ; panics are uot required to stamp their own despatches over their own lines. 8- Arrangements will be made with the Col lector of this District to supply stamps to par-1 ties desiring to purchase Sol) or over, at the rates of discount, established by the Treasury Depaitiuent. 9. Notes and bills ef exchange drawn for a ■certain sum with interest will be stamped ac cording to principal sum. Foreign currency will be estimated at the real par of exehauge; the pound sterling, for instance, at the rate tixed for sovereigns, uot at the nominal rate of §4 42 3 4, nor at the maiket rate of ex ehauge, which is new something above the real par. 10. On and after October Ist, the fellow-: ing instruments must he stamped : All agree ments, appraisements, checks, sight drafts, promissory notes, iula.\d and foreigu bills of exchange, bills of lading to foreigu ports, packages, etc., per express, bonds, certificates of stock, or profits of deposit in bank, of dam ages and all other certificates, charter-parties, brokers' memorandums, conveyances, mort gages, leases, telegraphic despatches, custom house entries and manifests, policies of insu rance—life, marine and fire—and renewals of same, passage-tickets to foreign ports, power of attorney, proxies, probate of wills, protests, warehouse receipts, aud writs or other origi nal process for commencing suits. Also, patent medicines, perfumeries aud playing cards. INCIDENT IN THE LIVE OV E. P. CHRISTY. — The following sketch of an incident in the life of Mr. Christy, we take from the New York Herald. Y'ears ago, Mr. Christy, a poor youug man, with not a dollar of his own after paying his passage money, was going to Buffalo on board aLake Erie steamboat. He proposed to com mence his negro miustielsv eutertaiments there, if he couid procure sufficient funds to hire a I room. " How much do you require !" akcd the captain of the boat. " About twenty dollars," said Christy. " Here it is," said Captain Folger; "you can pay me ouo of these days if you succeed ; if not, never mind." And thus they parted. Years passed ou. Christy went from place to place ; and finally established himself in New Y r ork, succeeding beyond the brightest dreams. In theso years wherein the chance t friends did not meet again, the steamboat cap i tain was unfortunate and lost everything he possessed At lust he left the lakes and went to New York to seek employment as a ship master. Without a friend in the city, he met, of course, with uo success, and was nearly de spairing, when lie cne day met Christy in the street, ne told him his business in the city, aud asked him it perhaps he might know some ship owner to whom he could speak u good word for him. " Why dun't you buy a ship yourself ?" said Christy. " Why, I Hold you I had no money," said the captain. " How much would a good vessel cost?" ask ed Christy, who had no idea of the value or management of such property. " About twenty thousand dollars," was tha reply. " Well, you go and buy a vessel then," said Mr. Christy; "you loaned me twenty dollars once when 1 wanted it ; I'll lend you twenty thousand, uow ; you go and buy a vessel —I'll pay for her. If she makes auytking beyond your wages and interest, I'll take half and you take half. If she loses, I lose the whole." Capture F. bought a ship for eighteen thou sand dollars, and Mr. Christy paid for her. I know it, for he paid me in hatfuls of shillings and sixpences and rolls of bank bills for the Yandalia. By forgetting injuries, wo show our selves superior to them ; be who broods over .hem is their slave. VOL. XXIII. —NO. 19. A TRUE WOMAN.—GeD. Sickles, in his speech at Brooklyn lately, narrated the follow ing touching incident: —While in the cars the other day, during my tour through Western New York, a lady approached me and made an inquiry about her son, whom she said was in my brigade. I cculd not help expressing try surprise to her that one so youthful in ap pearance had a son old euougb to be in the army. She said her boy was only sixteen when he enlisted, but, belug of large stature, uo questions about his age were asked. Af ter such inquiries as would suggest themselves to an affectionate mother, she gave a message to him. She bid me say to him that his fath er had just enlisted in the Ninth Cavalry, and that she was now quite alone. "Tell him, al so," said she. " that we are as poor as ever, but that all the pay he has sent me I have put in the bank in his name. Not a penny of it has been touched. I want him to kuow that if he comes home not as able to work as when lie went, something is laid by for him." Turn ing to a bright youth some ten years old, who stood near her, as she was leaving me, she said : " General, I wish this one was old enough, and you should have him too, for I think God will bless every mother who gives bur childrcu to the cause." SOWING SEED IN ROCKV Stir,.— A few days ago a missionary visited the camp of the Six teenth Connecticut Regiment in Hartford, for the purpose of giving the soldiers soma spiritual advice. He weut up to one tent, where stood a private, and said to him : " Mv friend, do you love the Lord " No." " Don't love the Lord ?" " No." Whereupon the missionary gave the young man some excellent and appropriate advice, and left with him a tract. Passing on to an other tent he came across another member of the regiment. " Do vou love the Lord?" " Yes!" " t have some tra:ts ; would you like some to distribute ?" " Yes, I would be very glad to receive them and pass them around among my companions.' " I am happy," said the missionery, " to find so true a Christian ge..tlemnn as yourself.— At a tent just below here I met a young man and asked him if he loved the Lord, and he said " No." " Said what ?" " He said " No !" "He did, did lie ? Why, I thought the d d fool knew better 1" Exit missionary.— JVew Haven Journal. THF. LARGEST CITY IN THE WORI,D.—A very erroneous idea is indulged in by many people iu relation to the largest city in the world, many confidently asserting that London, or, as it is frequently termed, the Great Metropolis, is far superior, both iu size aud the number of its inhabitants. But such is uot the case.—• Jeddo, the capital of Japan, is without excep tion, the largest and most popular city in the world. It contains the vast number of 1,500,* 000 dwellings and 5,060,000 of human souls. Mauy of the streets are 19 Japaneseries in length, which is equivalent to 22 English miles. The commerce of Jeddo far exceeds that of any other city in the world, and the sea along its coast is constantly white with the sails of ships. Their vessels sail to the southern por tion of the empire, where they are laden with rice, tea, sea coal, tobacco, silk, cotton and tropical froit3, all of which find a ready mar ket in the north $ and then returned freight ed with salt, oil, isinlass, and Various other productions of the north, which have a market in the south. One Sunday afternoon a Sunday school teacher observed two boys playing at marbles by the road-side. He stopped, told them how wicked it was, aud succeeded iu persuading the worst one to accompany him to school.— The lad was decidedly a fast youth of eight years. Iu the class, among other things, the teacher told him that " God made this beauti ful world, and all that is in it ; we must thank Him for all the good things we enjoy ; He gives us our food and our clothes." " Does He give me my clothes, too ?" broke in the lad. " Yes. lie gives you everything.'' " Now, that's where you've got yonr eye shut up ; for my mammy made these trowsera oiD of dad's old one's I" " THAT'S WHAT'S THE MATTER." —We have just found out tho origin of this popular phrase. A friend of ours who has been absent all win ter, returned a few days since, called upon an estimable lady frieud. He was surprised to find her couliued to a sick bed. After the first salutations were over, our friend remarked— " Why, Mrs. S , I am very sorry to find you ill—what is the matter 'I Quickly reach ing over to the back of the bed, the invalid turned dowu the coverlid disclosing a beauti | ful infant, wrapped in the embrace of the rosy god, and said triumphantly, " that's what's the matter." — La Crosse Democrat cr-s?" A leaf is toru from the tree by tho rude gale and borne far away to some desert spot to perish. \Y ho misses it from amongst its fellows ? Who is sad that It has gone Thus with human life. There are dear friends perhaps, who are stricken with grief when a loved one is taken 5 aud for mauy days the grave is watered with tears and anguish. But by and by tho crystal fountain Is drawn dry j the last drop oozes out ; tho stern gates of forgetful uess fold back upon the exhausted spring ; and time, the blessed healer of sor row, walks over the closed sepulcher without waking a single echo by his footsteps. jftsr It is said that " the pen is mightier than the sword." Neither are of much use without the holder. It is no misfortune for a nice young ladv to lose her good name, if a nice young man gives her a better
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