E 33LLA R PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE: TOW ANDA : Thursday morning, November 6, 1862. JJtltdcli Jfjaetrj. INDIAN SUMMER. JJY CII.VUI.ES KEN NO HOFFMAN. I iL'lit as love's smiles, the silvery mist at mora float- in loose flakes along the limpid river ; the blue bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne, 4s high in air he carols, faintly quiver ; The weeping birch, like banner idly waving, Uends to the stream its spray branches laving ; Beaded with dew, the witch elm'.- tassels shiver ; The timid rabbit from the furz is peeping. And Iront the springy spray the squirrel's gaily leaping. I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere The blasts .■[ winter chase the varied dyes That richly deck the slow declining year ; I love the splendor of thy sunset skies. The gorgeous hues that tinge each falling leaf, h .vclv as beauty's check, as woman's love, tou brief: I love the note of each wild bird that flies, As on tiie wind he pours his parting lay. \uu wings his loitering flight to summer climes away. 0, Nature ! still I fondly turn to thee, With idling- fresh as e'er my childhood's were ; Th 'imh wild an i passioa-toss'd my youth may be, Tr.wa'-d thee 1 -tili the same devotion bear ; Ta tlice to thee—though health and hope no ru re Life's wa-ted verdure may to me restore— I -till can, childlike, come as when in prayer 1 rowed my head upon a mother's knee. And deem'd th • world, lik - h -. all tru'li and purity. fit i s 11! laßc o us. " EUGENE HARTLEY AND I. BY LEON ORE GLENN. IT wis just at the sucset hour of a calm au tumn Jay that. Eugene Hartley waved mc ailue from the little steamer mooted but a few rods trom our cottage. I can remember so w.-ll how the the setting sun s rays glistened on the glass of the boat that evening, and liow suf'iv tiiey rested on the little ripples of the broad river. The bell ran< and the boat pushed out from shore, every moment widening tin* gulf between my heart and that of Eugene Hartley, lie turned his handsome face earnestly toward me as I stood iu the doorway,nervously pulling to pieces the leaves of the rose bushes that clustered around tin door, and, smiling sadly, waved his hand once more, then turned around and walked away. [ watched the lioal 'ill it was a mere speck far down the river, and its waves had reused to wa-li !lie pcbl-led shores, and tin u I felt for '! •■ iif-t time that it must be mouths—ages it seemed to me—before I saw that face again. That was the saddest twilight 1 had ever sn ut I .-at by my window, watching the moonbeams phiying over the wafer, and listen imr to the wild screams of the night birds in the neighboring grove till the night was tar gone M\ heart wept, over ita loncli-tros and would not lie comforted Eugene llur;b-y H ml 1 were to be married in just one vear ; yet oh ! what a long time if sccui' dto live without seeing him even •once, lie ha(J started down the river severa: inn.dred miles, to enter into business for iiim -elf, tin- pro.-pect ot which was very ti .tiering, i kn- w it was best for bun to go, and 1 tried i.aid to reconcile myself to it, hut. 1 was very young vet, and we had never ii-.-cu apart in ire. T was we'd my mind was m aviy wholly taker, up by mv household cures, or f should haw been utterly wretched. As it was, I in; i Lin little time of nry own, except in the evening:-, and part of these I usually ■spent 'dawn by the water's edge looking f.s far as 1 cuilii -ce, down the Ever., and watching the relhetiou ot the glimmering Mars as they danced over the water, wfide from above they looked down on me sweetly, almost -oailv, ! thought, and :i ■listening to the tnurmcr of the tU' I felt i:ei r-T to him while standing ti. re thou ft) air place else, because it was there I ia.-t saw liim. !n just a week his first letter came. It was written on the boat, and filled with glowing dt'scriptions of the beautiful scenery along the aiver ; if the amusements and enjoyments iu the evenings ; of the pleasant company on hoard, ami fin ally wound up telling me of his g-od health, and especially good spirits, and that 1 must try to enjoy myself while he was sway, to make the lime tiy faster. It was a N'try cheerful letter, and 1 felt inoic light hearted after 1 received it. llie days roiled on, I suppose the same as they always hud done, but to me they seem ed much longer. 1 heard regularly from Eu gene every two wc>-ks. He seemed much pleas I'd will) his business,!he place and people, and always wrote encouragingly. Oli ! I shall never forget those bright, qui ct autumn days. It was well that I enjoyed beru so much, for the dark hours came soou PUoiiah. I remember I used to wander away sometimes to the grand old woods to think. — -My soul drank deep it*. tle hr.slied and solemn ttiHsic there, and the wild, temptestous throb kings and yearnings were calmed into a peaceful quiet. 1 always felt bettlr after a 'amble there, and even now 1 cherished the Memory of those hours as among the sweetest °f my existence. But the chilling winds and %'it snow Hakes at length ended that pleasure FT tue, and as I had more time then than duri.,ir the summer for 1 amusement,l comment*- t''i taking drawing lessons. 1 loved it and •J n tarew my whole soul into my work, 'oust quei t *}' improved rapidly—so my teacher told me, lust. He was one of the most splendid louk men 1 had ever met, and he had a pieas ai, h winning way in speaking that made liim Ury agieeable. I liked him very much, and a " 1 had never hud a brother he seemed to mi tlnn place exactly. I remember one after tota he wa ß unusually sad and thoughtful,and *|'er vainly endeavoring to lix his mind on 'he iesson, said l'ut it all away, Edith ; it is no use to lr J—l cau't work todav." " Does anythmg trouble you, Mr. Allison?" I ventuied to a.-k. I will tell you all about it," be replied ; and taking a miniature from his pocket be gazed at italuiost mournfully for a few seconds, and passing it to me said— " Is there not soul there ?" I never saw a sweeter, lovelier face. With out waiting lor me to reply, he continued It is two years today since Annie Gray died. She was the day star of my existence, and since her death my footsteps have been with a guide. I pray God you may never suffer as I have done, through these two long dreary years. It has beeu oue unchanging round ot misery." He left soon after, but I could not interest myself in my drawing any longer that day.— My sympathies were awakened, and 1 almost iurgot my own loneliness in pitying his. 1 he next day a letter came from Eugene.— It was a Week after the usual time, hut the miniature it contained made amends for the long day ;of waiting. 1 v\ onld scarcely have known it, his heard was heavier, and for the first time since I had known him he wore a mustache. I was a little disappointed. It would have been much pleasautor if he had looked just as lie did the evening he went away ; but .-till it was better than none at all. The winter wore on, and I lived almost alone with my pencil. If I did not receive letters as long, or .-o often, from Eugene as when lie first left, I attributed it to his press of business, as that was his apology nearly every lime, though "sometimes I could not help feeling somewhat unhappy, I scarcely knew about what. It was on the lu.-t day of spring that I was to take mv last lesson of Mr. Allison, for he coul i i.ot content himself in any place long at a lime ; and he had beco e weary of our qui et place, although lit- had quite a iimnbc: of pupils It was a sad day to me, for I 1 a i learned to look upon him as a valued friend ; then he had always had so kind and patient away in pointing out my delects 1 knew I should miss his ever ready hand many times when commencing a new picture. " Persevere with the inst,actions I have civeii you, Edith, and in a year or two, per haps, 1 will call and see what progress you have ni uie Good bye." Ti.is was about ail he said during the entire lesson. He was sadder than usual, and I knew his thoughts were not with the prv-ct t or living. I continued my i fforts during my .-pare time, and finished—us I thought—some pretty pictures ; ami so the hours passed by. One day in July, I recviv d a short Utter from Eugene, saying it would beau impossibil ity for him to return at, the stated time, as some one had forged his name to a check, and that he must spend every nrinute to clear it up. Tiiis was a sad disappointment to tnc, and it was several days before I could recon cile myself to the thought at all. I went down to the river shore one evening to listen to the waves, ll seemed such a long, long time since he had g lie away, yet 1 could rec ollect exactly how lie looked as he stood on the boat. Suddenly a new idea entered my mind I would sketch it. Sol commenced the verv next day. 1 was a long time at tlie picture but it served to ceeupv my attention. Hurried letters came irregularly fium Eu gene, but liv almost censed to spie.k of li s business. Ho told me to try to have the pic ture of the la),it departing completed by the Mm'' lie came back.w i.ic'ii would be— be smirce iy knew win n— j robably some time during the winter. So I worked with renewed vigor. Getob came, and the sketch v.as lmi.-a.-d am. framed. I was very proud of it. for it was the first one I had ever made without a copy 1 hung it up ju.-t exactly a year from tin- day Eugene had Icit lie was to have returned that very day. i took a ioug waki through the woods, and coining back discour aged ami Im 1 sick, I wi*r to him a long 1 Iter into which I poured ray very soul. ii;> un s.vei came—vi.v cool -and distant, I thought , in comparison to the outpourings ol my heart and then he closed by saying •' Don't write to me again, Edith, dear ehihl, till von reci-iv; another letter from me, for i .-hall be away for some time—how long I can't say. lam sorry to deprive you of the pleasure, if it is oue, but I cannot avoid it this time." 1 thought this was rather singular, for wh - ewr he had been ai sent bt fore, he hud always urged me to write, so that my letter would be waiting his return. Then I thought, eh, I have it now—he intends to come back and surprise me ; so 1 was very happy about my work, daily expecting to see hiui. But when weeks ended in months, I grew sii kin soul and body. 1 was tuo proud to write, and so the matter rested. One day a in wspuper came to me,addressed in a strange hand writing, it proved to he from the city in which Eugene lived. While looking over the lir.-t page I noticed there were heavy ink marks on the inside of the paper. Turning to it, I read, with stilled heart, the marriage notice of Eugene Hartley and Miss Pauline Phelps. I did not faint, not* cry out, but from that moment 1 hated Eugene Hartley All the pride and lire of my nature were called up, and they sustained me well. With a feeling of contempt I gathered to gether his letters and picture, with a few oth er little gifts, and writing the following words sent them back to him at:d his bride. " So you are too much ot a coward to tell me in so many words that you wished our cor respondence to cease ? I pity your weakness, (lod judge between your heart and mine, Eu gene Hartley." lie soon returned mine, with their wedding card. Alt ! he thought he would mock me. I threw the whole package into the lire. I did not look to see whether there was any letter or not ; 1 did not care. Well, months passed on, till they numbered two years. I spent my time with my pencil and my own thoughts. 1 was contented, if not happy, and my picture showed that my PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TO WANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA,, BY E. 0. GOODRICH. time had not been spent iu vain, for my heart was iu uiv work. One day I read in a paper of one Pauline Hartley leaving her husband and eloping with a circus player, it seemed that her and her husband had never lived agreeably together from the first, she haviug read some old let ters of his, written to a lady he had known before lie knew her. Ah 1 Eugene Hartley, 1 was avenged. You wrecked your own hap piness on the very letter you wrote to wreck mine. I felt that he was indeed having his dark hours now. Not many days after, Mr. Allison came.— I was as much pleased as I was surprised,and I took great pleasure iu showing him my work, some of which he praised, and some he found fault with. 1 took up my old routine of study under his instruction, and the days glid ed pleasantly by. He once asked me how I came to sketch that boat scene. I told him aii about my acquaintance with Eugene Hart ley in evt ry particular, lie did not say much but several times I felt embarrassed by meet ing his gaz fixed steadily on me when I look ed up suddenly from my work. And so an other year passed. I was very much surprised and pained, one evening, to meet Eugene Hartley fuce to face during one of my walks Enough the woods. He was very much changed, but I knew him in an instant. I turned quickly away, but he implored me to stop just one minute. I can not remember all he said, but the substance of it was about his domestic troubles ; how his wife had left, and since died ; how much misery and remorse be hud suit red from his conduct to me ; how he could not rtst till lie saw me once more ; and finally asked forgive ness, and begged to be permitted to take his O'd place in my affections 1 was so surpris ed and bewildered I scarcely knew what to d ). " i forgive you freely," I at length replied; ' but conic to the cottuge tomoirow evening, and I will answer your iast question and then I left him. I told Mr. Allison every word of the con versation that night ; lie only quietly smiled, without saying a word. The next evening Mr. Hartley came, and was shown into the room wheie the family was sitting with a neighbor—the minister of our place. It was ti.o first time he had daikened the doorway since that quiet hour he left me with ju many promises on his lips, four years ago. A tew minutes after, Mr. Aih.-on and I en tered the room, and Eugene Hartley was the only goist at our marriage. That was my answer ; and as soon as the ceremony was < u isd he sile itly pressed my hand and left the ljwuse,, i have never seen him since, though, for the sake Oi other hours, i hope he may be happy. Fatal DisoasG among Cattle. Dr. 11. F. STEVENS, of St. Albans, Vermont, publishes a letter in the lUessevger of that town, warning the public against the danger of a fatal disease which has heretofore appear ed among the milch kiue in the State, and has recently broken out in the herd of Mr. SOLO MON BLISS, who died last week froiu the ef fects u! absorbing poison irom the dead car cass ot one ui eight of his Cows that eiicd ot the disease while he was skinning it. His son was also att.eud similarly, but will recover. !)■. Siv.v'ENS says the disorder principally a'- tuck- milch cattle, who, on being affected by it, become listless, refuse to eat, and die in a tew hours. The object A his communication is to warn people ol the exceeding danger in curred, and of the most seiious and iutui con sequences result! ig to those who remove the hides of animals so diseased. lie says : " Three years since, in Burlington, five cows in one pasture were taken with this disease, aiid died in a few hours. The man who skin ned the animals was seized in a si.oit time with swelling of the lingers, and evidences of absorption of the poi.-on iu the system, and in a few days lie died. The tanner who dressed the hides suffered severely with swelling and eruptions of the bauds and arms, but finally recovered. Dr. Thayer attended those cases, and at the time notified the public tlnough the press of the presence and danger of the disease. I would repeat that in no case where an animal lias died from this disease should an attempt be made to remove the hide, lor the contact of the diseased tis.-ues with the lingers, or even inhaling the poisonous dliuvia iu the lungs, may and probably will develop most dangerous and even fatai disease to all iu any way concerned." SWINDLING THE SOLDIERS — The Northamp ton Gazelle says it has good authority for the following statement : —" A soldier was taken sick and scut to the hospital. When lie be gan to recover, he craved some little delicacy to soothe his nauseated palate, and asked for some currant jelly. He was told that he could have the jelly, but lie must pay for it. He could have a pot of jelly lor $2. lie had but two dollars in his pocket, and with that lie was in hopes of reaching his home, as soon as he was able to travel. He told his attendant that he had but two dollars, and that lie did not need the whole jar of jelly, a small part would be sufficient. No, lie must take the whole or none, and he must pay £2 for it. Fi nally the invalid bought the jelly, and on re moving the covering he discovered, to his great astonishment, within the wrapper, a note di rected to himself, and that this very jar of jelly had beeu sent by his own family to him. This is but one among the many outrages per petrated by the unprincipled men who are found in our army." fl.-.gr A Philosopher on being asked from whence he received his first lensoti is wisdom ; he replied : " From lite blind, who never take a step until they have felt the grouud before them." " REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." (From the New York Ledger.) Mary Thome's Cousin. " Mary, I am astonished !" Of coarse, the grave elder sister was aston ished. In truth, and in fact, she lived in a j chronic state of amazement ; for Mary Thorne | was always doing something to astonish her ; friends and relatives. Miss Ruth could hard ! lv credit the evidence of her own senses, in ; the hazy glow of the August morning, when ; she came out of she clematis shadows of tlie j little south porch, and discovered that yonder ; moving object, half way up among theumbra ! geous branches of the huge old pear tree, was i not a spray of leaves, nor yet a russet-plumed ! robin, nor a cluster of sun-cheeked pears swing ; ing in the blue empyrean, but—Miss Mary j Thome, comfortably perched in the crook of the gnarled tree, her curls all flecked with the sifted rain of sunshine that came down through | the shifting canopy of leaves, and a book in ; her lap. I " I don't care !''suid the little damsel, laugh ing saucy defiance. " It's the nicest place in the world up here ; I feel just like a bird, with the leaves fluttering against my face and the wind blowing so softly—and I intend to stay here. Wouldn't you like to come up here, Ruth)? it's easily done ; just put your foot ou that knot, and " Rath, who was th'rtv, and weighed a hun dred and sixty pounds, bristled i p with amaze ment. " Mary Thorne, arc you crazy ? Come down tliic im-tant !" " i shan't," said naughty Mary, tossing the silky shower of cutis away from her forehead, and glancing down with eyes that shone ui.u sparkled like two blue jewels. " But we are going " " Yes, 1 under.-tand. You are all going in triumphal profession to the depot, to render an ovation to the great Professor e.a Place, the wisest, sagest and grandest of mankind, to whom the Thome iiuniiy have tin* unuttera ble honor of being second cousins, and to es cort him solemnly to a month's sojourn at Thorne 11.11. O, dear!" ejaculated alary, " I wi>h I couhl run away somewhere and hide. I hate this paragon of prim precision ! I shan't marry him if he asks, and I mean to behave so badly that he won't dream of it !" No, lam nut going with you. I liatetlieclose barouche, and it's too warm to ride ou home back. J >hall stay at home !" i And Miss Mary settled lier.-rlf so snugly with one tiny slippered foot swinging down, and her pretty head close to a nest of blue spicklui bird's ego, that Ruth gave it up with a sigh of despair. " \Y( 11, then, have it. your own way, you in corrigible romp ? I wit.li you weren't too big to be shut up in a dark closet, or have your ears well boxed !" j "Itis a pity, Lu't it,"said Mary, demurely. " Of course it is, Mary ; if Coufin Tom Bradley comes this morning, be sure and ex plain to him why we are absent, and behave like a young lady, mind !"' " All right," said Mary danntlessly. " J always liked Tom ! we used to have grand rotnps together when we were children." Shu sal title in the old pear tree, prettier than any Hamadryad that ever might have haunted the mossy old veteran of the garden, liet check touched with sunshine and carmine, her dimpled lips apart, now reading a hue or two from the 1 ook in her lap, now looking up, rapt in girlish reverie, into the blue sky as it sparkled through ever moving loaves, and now breaking into a soft littles warble of song t! a' made the very robins themselves put their heads to one .--ide to listen. The carriage had | driven away long since—she had watched it ! beyond the curve of the winding road ; the i dm k mantle of shadow was slowly following the creeping sun glow acri ss the velvet lawn ■ below, and the old church spire among the • far-off woods had chimed out eleven. And j still Mary Thome sat there in the foikcd I branches o! the giant pear tree ! Suddenly there floated up into the 'eafy | sanctuary, a pungent, aromatic odor, which j made her lean curiously forward, shading her eves with one hand, tiie heller to peuetrate the green foliage below. Not the late month ly roses, not the amethyst, borders of helio trope, nor the spicy geraniums, none of these blossoms distilled that peculiar smell ! " My patience !' said little Mary, " it's a cigar." A cigar it was, and the owlier thereof— | she could just see a white linen coat and a tall j head covered with black, wavy curls—stood i on the porch steps, quietly smoking, and in dulging in a lengthened view of the garden . slopes. " That's Tom Bradley," said Mary to her ! self. j Now, if he thinks I'm coming down out ; of this delicious cool place to sit up straight l in the hot parlors he's mistaken ! Tom !" she ' calh d out in a silver accent of imperative sum mons, and then burst into merry laughter at | the evident amazement with which the strau ■ ger gazed round him, vainly trying to conjec ture wheuee the call had proceeded. " You dear, stupid Cousin Tom," she ejacu lated, " dou't slure off towards the cabbage beds ! Look straight up here ! t/ow- may come up if you please. There's plenty of room for j both. You rtreOousin Tom, aren't you ?" she continued, as a sudden misgiving crossed her mind. " Of course I am ; and you arc Mary, I sun pose ?" " Mary herself ! Up with you, Torn—catch hold of this branch—there. Now shake hands —you saucy fellow, I didn't say you. might kiss me !" " Well, I couldn't help it—and, besides, aren't we cousins ?" said Mr. Tom, swinging himself comfortably into a branch just above- Mary. " Why, Tom, how you have changed !" ejac ulated the young lady, pushing back the curls with one hand, that she might the better view her playmate of childhood's days. " Your hair never curled so before ; and what a nice moustache you've got. 1 shouldn't have known ycu, Tom." " No," said Tom roguishly. " And you've grown so tall ! I declare, Tom, you're splendid." Tiie gentleman laughed. " I could return the compliment if I dared. But where are all the rest of my relations ? The house below is as empty as a haunted hall. " All gone to welcome that horrid, poky old Prof. La Place, who has graciously indi cated his willingness to pass a few weeks with us. Tom, Ido hate that man 1" " Hate him ? what lor ?" " O, I dou't know ; I'm sure he is a snuff dried, conceited old wretch, and I'll wager a box of gloves he wears spectacles I" " Nonsense, Mary ! why, he's only twenty six !" " r don't care—l know he's rlienm itic r.nd wears spectacles for all that. And Tom, now il you'll never breathe a word of this—" " I won't, upon my In,nor," said Tout. " Well, then, papa has actually g<>t the idea into his dear o!u head that I should make a nice wife for the professor, and—and " Mary turned away with crimson iudiguatiou flashing in her cheeks. "It is too had of you to laugh, Tom. I never, nee r will marry the man !" " I wouldn't it" 1 were you," consoled Tom. " 1 Jut, Cousin Mary, wait and see the man before you decide. lie may he quite a decent fellow/' " No !" said Marv, shaking her head and biting her cherry iius firmly ; " I Late him be forehand !" " What a spiteful little pussy you are,'' said her companion, laughing. " No, indeed, Tom, I'm not!" and the blue eyes became misty. " I love papa and llu'h dearly—and 1 love almost everypody ! I like VHXL Tom, but I hate Prof La Place ! And J want you to promise, Tom, that you'll stand mv friend, and not aliow him to tease me into walks or rides, or itic a ides of any kind ! Will you ? Would he ! If she had u-ked him to pre cipitate himself out of the pear tree upon the stone steps below, with those blue eyes fixed on his, he'd have done it ! Any man of taste would. " I promise," he said ; aud they shook hand.- on it. What a cosy place for a chat that gnarled old tree was! And when they had laikeii over everything they could think of, it was the most natural thing in the world that Tom should recover the book which had slipped down iuto a network of tiny boughs, and read poetry to his pretty coudu in the deep nm>i cal voice that maidens love to listen to ! And Mary sat there, watching the jetty curls blow ing to and fio on his broad white brow, ami the long, black laHus almost touching his ol ivo cheek. And she thought how very, very handsome Cousin Turn was, and how much In had changed in the ten years that had elapsed since she had seen him ; and she wondered whether Tom was eugaged to any pretty girl —somehow she hoped not ! Now, why couldn't Tom have been rich like that Prof. La Piuce, instead of a poor young medical student and And when the large black eyes were sud denly lifted to hers, Mary felt as though lie hud read every thought of her mind, and blush ed scarlet : " Come, Tom," she chattered, to hide her confusion, " we've been up here long enough. Help me down, and I'd show you the oid sun dial that we used to heap up with buttercups when ive were children." What a tiny, insignificant, little Mary she felt, leaning on the arm of that tali cousin.— And how nice it was to have the stately head bent down so courteously to catch her soft ac cents — lor somehow Mary had forgotten her sauciness, and grown wouderously shy ! A rumble of wheels—it was tiie returning carriage, and Mat y clung to Tom's arm. " The awful professor !" she whispered.— " Now, Cousin Tom, be sure you stand by me through everything." " To my life's end !" was the whispered an swer : and Mai v felt herself crimsoning much as she strove to repress the tell-tale blood. But. there was no oue in the barouche, save Mr. Thorne and Ruth, as it dixw up on the grand sweep, beside the two cousins. " Where is the Professor ? ' questioned Miss Mary. " He was not at the depot," said Ruth, " and " But Mr. Thorne had sprang from the car riage, and clasped both the stranger's hands in his. "La Place 1 is it possible? Why, we have just been looking for you at Mill fetation " I am sorry I have inconvenienced you, sir," was the reply ; " but I came by the way of Wharton, and walked over this morning."' " Never mind, now, so you are safely here," exclaimed the old gentleman. " Rath, my dear —Mary—let rue introduce you to your cousin, Prof. La Place !" Mary had dropped hts arm and stood dis mayed. " You toid me you were Cousin Tom !" " feo I am Cousin Tom ! that is my name and relationship. Now, Mary," and the black eyes sparkled brimful of deprecating archness, " don't be angry because 1 dou't snuff, nor wear spectacles I I beg the other Cousin Tom's pardon, whoever he is ; but I am very glad he isn't here. Mary, be just end don't hate Cousin Tom, because his oilier name hap pens to be La Place 1" He need not have been so apprehensive, for, in their twilight walk beside the sundial that very evening she confessed that she did not find Prof. La Place such a terrible ogre, alter all ; quite the contrary, in fact. And he suc ceeded in convincing her that he liked his im pulsive little Cousin Mary all the better for those pear tree confidences. But, no doubt, it was a very perplexing thing to have tico Cousin Toms ; and so, about six months subsequently, Miss Mary contrived to obviate that iucouvetiieueo by allowing on* of them to assume a nearer relationship, and in spite of all her asseverat ous to the ooutra ry, she is Mrs Prof. La Place. 1 l'or it's a solemn fuct iu this world, that, VOL. XXIII. —XO. 28. | whenever a girl says she " never, never " will do a tiling, she is pretty sure to go and do it ; the first chance she gets, and Mary is uo ex i cepiiou to the geueral rule ! In every good prose writer there will I be found a certain harmouy of sentence, which : cannot be displaced without injury tohismean -1 ing. His own ear has accustomed itself to regular measurements of time, to which his | thoughts learn mechanically to regulate their march. And in prose, as in verse, it is the pause, be it long or short, which the mind is compelled to make, in order to accommodate its utterance to the ear, that serves to the completer torruation of the ideas conveyed ; for words, like wuters, wouid run off ro their own waste were i ( not for the checks that compress them Water pipes can only convey their steam so long as they resist its pressure, and every tkiiled workman knows that he can not expect them to lust unless he smooth, with care, the material with which they are com pos: d. For reasons of its own, prose has th refore a rhythm of its own. Cut by rhythm i do not necessarily mean the monotonous rise and fall of balanced periods, uor thu amplifi cation of needless epithets, in order to close the cadence with a Johnsonian chime. Every style has its appropriate music ; hut without a music of some kind it is not stylo—it isscrib -1 bliug. BgU Bill Ross is a great temperance-lectur er, and at Rushviile, Illinois, was preaching to the young on his favorite theme. He said : " .Now, boys, when I ask you a question you mustn't be afraid to .speak right out and an swer me. When you look around aud see all these line houses, farms, and cuttie, do YOU ever think who owns them all now ? Your fathers own then), do they net V Yes sir 1" shouted a hundred voice s. " Well, where will your fathers be in twenty years from now?" "Dead I" shouted the boys. "That's right. And who will own ail this property then ?" "Us boys 1" shouted the urchins. "Right. Now, tell me—did you ever, in going aloug j the street, notice the drunkards lounging iround the saloon-doors,waiting for somebody ;to treat them ?" " Yes, sir ! lots of them 1" ' " Well, where will they be in twenty years ' from iiow ?" " Dead 1" exclaimed the boys, i " Aud who will be diunkards then ?" " lis ! hoys." .Billy was thunderstruck for a moment; j out recovering himself, tried to tell the boys , now to escape such a fate. Sir A country newspaper thus " sets up" ; the editor of a rival journal : " The editor of lie Hooking Stnli.iei seems to be much exer | :isid about the tone of our paper. Did auv j ff our readers ever see this man of the Senti nel ? Take a six-bushel sack about as loug one way as the other ; fili it with bran, hit ; >oth ends heavily with a club, so as to swell t out largely in the centre. Scent it well j throughout with bad whisky and onions, and j you have him physically, saieli and all. Take i half-witted, well-fed Hottentot, eject into ; him the largest possible amount of couceit ; : xtract from him three-fourths of his brains, j onu ail bL morai principle ; beat him over the head until he forgets what little he did know, and you have him intellectually." £■aT Old Parson Rives, down in Tennessee, was sent out by conference to preach to the : negroes in a distant part of the Btate. Ho | was a man of very dark complexion, but wu'd ! never have been mistaken for a negro. Meet- I ing one of the saucy overseers, the Parson j -aid to him : " Perhaps you do not know me, jI am Mr. Rives, the negro preacher " " O ! yes," said the fellow, " I knowed you was a I nigger, but I didn't know you was a preach j ei\" fishy In one of our towns the postmaster I has, by a skillful muriceuvering, managed to j letaiu his office from the time of Harrison and i Tyler, down to the present day. Being asked ; how ho managed to keep his office through so many changes of Administration, lie replied, i that " it vrouul take a mighty smart Adminis tration to chuuge quicker than ho could." figy The hymn we heard in meeting the lust time : " O, take a pill, O, take a pill, O, take a pilgrim home." The hymn we heard —I rebel and soprano by the fairer portiou of creation—" O, for a man, O, for a man, O, j for a man sion in the skies." The one Plunk j ins heard the bass singer at : " O, send down Sal, O, send dowu JSai, 0, send down Sul-va ! lion." IUS" Official returns from all hut three coun ties in Ohio, show as follows: For Secretary of State, lvenuon, Union, 17 2,075 ; Arm strong, D-moerat, 178,070. Armstrong's ma jority, 8,995. Hancock, Sandusky, and Put nam Counties, which are yet to come in, ar I expected to rai.su this majority to about 7, j 460. Boß> Returns from all but nine eouuties in Indiana show for the Republican Union Sec retary of State, 108,830 ; for the Democratic candidate 116,084 ; Democratic majority, 7,824. The counties to come in will not ma terially vary this proportion. Ifoy The pompous epitaph of a close fisted citizen closed with the following passage of scripture: " lie that giveth to the poor lend . eth to the Lord." " Dat may be so," solilo quized Saaibo, " but when dat ruuu died, do Lord didn't owe 'im a red cent." Among the awards in tnffi Golden Book of the royal commissioners at the re cent " exhibition" in London, is this, under the head of prize liquors : M Rum very Que, clear and fu{' ; character." fitly When Mr Whiteside finished his five j hours' oration on Kars. Lord Palmerston re i plied that the honorable gentleman's speech 1 was highly creditable to his physical powers.