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