Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, February 16, 1865, Image 1
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They will be entitled to f column, confined exclusively to their business, with privilege of change. £59" Advertising in all cases exclusive of sub .seription to the paper. JOB PRINTING of every kind in Plain and Fan cy colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Hand bills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every va riety and style, printed at the shortest notice. The REPORTER OFFICE has just been re-fitted with Power Presses, and every thing in the Printing line can In- executed in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. TERMS INVARIABLY CASH. JfoUrted | Jocfrjj. TIIE VOICE OK THE ARM V. BY JAVRS O. CLARK. From the West, where the rivers in majesty run, And the bold highlands catch the last kiss of the sun ; From the East, where the Gentiles saw Bethlehem's morn. From the South, where the beautiful summer is born : From the North, where the lakes are like mirrors unrolled, And the Autumn woods frame them in purple aud gold. We come in the name of the nation and God. !'o crush the last viper from Liberty's sod. Stand out of our sunlight, beware of our wrath. Ye hounds that would rise 011 the fugitive's path. Who over your country's destruction would gloat, j And treasure the knife that is aimed to her throat, en. follow the chieftain, who, yoked with the knave, Renounces a life with the noble and brave, \ml leaving the eagles of freedom, can take I . the nest of the buzzard or den of the snake. No more shall the North, with a gag in her mouth. Bow down to the self-breeding lords of the South; 1 No more shall her children from mercy refrain . At tla- crack of their whip or the clank of their chain. ' (inr legions will face the red fires of death, And like icicles melt in the cannon's hot breath, lire they ask for repose that will tarnish their fame, , Or •-peace" that is black with dishonor and shame. J Tlivice blest be the hero who gallantly strives To shield what the patriots bought with their lives, ; But cursed be the vultures that feast on the slain, j Then croak that the mountain birds battle in vain ; j And woe to the leaders, and woe to their tools, Win 11 the land shall remember its traitors and i When serpents are writhing in dust and disgrace, ! And the children of liberty reign in their place. Let their deeds be recounted with hate and disdain. ; And their names only mentioned with Judas and j Cain, "Who would strike down the troth that a race may be slaves. Or sell it in secret to robbers and knaves : One raises his hand with a murderous rod, At the brother whose works were accepted of God ; j (>ne stands on the grave of his holier days, And kisses the master he basely betrays. By the martyrs whose lives are the beacons of time, 1 Whose death made the cross and the scaffold sub- j lime; By the graves of our brothers, who fell as they ! fought For the gift which the blood of our forefathers j bought; By th heavens, where the world of eternity rolls j O'er the armies of earth with its armies of souls, Wc swear that our homes shall behold us 110 more j Till the land is redeemed, or bedewed with our gore, i HE IS SO BASHFUL. I suppose there was 110 doubt but I was j bovn with bashful tendencies, and " what is bred in the bone stays long in the flesh," to | use the words of some wise individual,who, like many another great genius, shunned notoriety, and had for his nom de plume,; Anonymous. Mv mother tells me that when an infant I had the ridiculous habit of turning over n my face in the cradle when there was ! company ; and if the visitors happened t<> be ladies, I turned red in the cheeks and purple about the eyes, to such an alarming degree as could not fail of exciting wonder and awe in the heart of the most indiffer ent beholder. I remember that when a child of three or four years, I used to take refuge behind the great eiglit-day clock whenever my mother had callers ; and once I came near being frozen to death in the refrigerator, where I had ensconced myself on the appearance of a couple oflady visitors. Throughout my boyhood it was the same, only decidedly more so. My debut at school was like an entrance into the ancient halls of torture. The austere school-master,with his dread insignia of birchen rod, steel-bowed specta- 1 les and swallow tailed coat, was bad • •nough ; the grinning, mischief-loving, and at times belligerent boys were worse. But the girls ! Heavens ! I feared them more ! than any suspected criminal of old did the ! terrible Council of Ten ! All on earth they ; seemed to find to do was to giggle at me ! Of course I was the object of their sport ; i for they peeped at me over the tops of their '' 'ks, from behind their pocket handker-! chiefs, through the interstices of their curls 1 —and made me hopelessly wretched by ! dubbing me " Apron string." Hie third day of my attendance at school was stormy and 1113- home being at some | '•'■ stance, I was obliged to remain, with j Most of the others through the noon inter- j Mission The little girls got to pla3'ing at pawns. I retreated to a corner near the j door, and stood a silent and not unterrified . ■spectator. By and by a cherry lipped little girl had i pay a Jorfeit and one of her schoolmates j pronounced the sentence in a very loud i voice, Kiss Apron string, Sunderland !" 'hut meant me. There was a wildl - team oi laughter, in which all joined,and • 'A">k ingloriously to flight, with the C'her ops close at 1113- heels. 1 strained every j tve and sinew—it was a matter of life ; •iiiu death to inc—and I have no doubt but j l ' I should have won the race in fine ■'- ' L ',' Bud not unfortunately in 1113- blind Miste, run against Miss Patty Hanson, the g fiuinest and most ill-tempered spinster in E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher. VOLUME XXV. My momentum was such that I knocked Miss I'atty from terra firma, very much as the successful ball knocks down the nine pins ; and from the debris of the wreck— consisting of a fractured umbrella, a torn calico gown, and a fearfully dislocated bon net— Miss Hanson rose up—a Nemesis ! And such a thrashing as I received at her hands, would have made the blackest vil lian out of purgatory confess his sins with out prevarication ! I had heard my mother say that no one died till their time had come, and I felt sat isfied that my time had come. I vainly en deavored to repeat, "Now I lay me down to sleep." as both fitting and appropriate to the oc sion, but Miss Patty thumped the words out of rne at the tune of the Umbrella Quickstep, in staccato. Little Cherry lips came nobly to the res cue. " For shame ! Miss Hanson," she cried, "to beat a little boy at such a rate ! It won't mend your umbrella, or straighten your calash! And the perspiration is ! washing the paint all out of your cheeks !" My enemy left rne to fly at my defender, j whose name was Florence Hay. But Flor ' once was a little too agile for the old lady, whom she speedily distanced, while I made good my escape into the sheltering foliage j of an apple tree, where, securely perched 1 on a strong limb, I remained until school was out, and the girls had all gone to their homes. After a time, at my urgent entreaties, ; my parents removed me from the village ; school and placed me at an institute for boys. I had thought previously to the | change, that I should be perfectly happy when it was effected ; but I had somehow miscalculated. 1 missed the bewitching faces of the girls I had lied from, and, for the first time in my life, I realized that the world would be a terrible humdrum sort ! of a place if there were nothing but men 1 here. To confess the plain truth, I had dis -1 covered that in spite of my bashfuluess, I 1 loved every single girl I had ever seen— ' not even excepting good black Hess in my mother's kitchen, who concocted such ad mirable turn overs and seed cakes. But ! at that time, sooner than have acknowl edged such a weakness, 1 would have been broiled alive ! As I grew toward manhood, my bashful ! ness got no better. It was confirmed ; it j had become a chronic disease, as irreme- I : (liable as the rheumatism, and a thousand j times more distressing, j I was frequently invited to quiltings, ap ! pie parings, huskings, etc. ; but I never ! j dared to go least I should be expected to ! have something to say to some of the ferni ! nine portion of the company. If my mother sent me on any errand to a house where there are girls, I used to I stand a half hour on the door-steps waiting ; to rap ; and if one of the aforesaid girls, happened to answer the summons, it was with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain my self from taking refuge in flight. And after 1 had got in, and made known my business,l knew no more what was told in return than we know why the comet last summer had a curved train. At church, I habitually sat with averted face, and cut my finger nails ; in fact I had performed that operation for those digital ornaments'so often that there was very lit tle left of them to practice upon. I most devoutedly wished that it had been so that folks could have been created with knit ting work or something of the kind, in their hands—it would have been so nice when one don't know what to do with his upper extremities. As for my feet, though not remarkably large, they were constantly in the way. I have often seen the time when I would have given all the world, had it been mine to give, if I could have taken them off and consigned them to obscurity in my pock ets. One eventful day my mother took it into her head to have a quilting. Early in the afternoon I retired to the garret, as the most isolated spot I could think of, and ensconced myself in bed. All the girls in the neighborhood were invited, and 1 would sooner have faced a flaming line of armed batteries. Such a gay, joyous time as they had of it, judging from the sound of merriment that occasionally floated up to my retreat. 1 longed to be witness of the frolic I knew they were injoying but I could not summon resolution enough to venture from my con cealment ; and so I wound the sheets around my head to shut out the gay peals of laughter,and tried to think myself highly satisfied with my achievement. I was comfortable, and safe, so far as I knew ; but the hours were long ones, and I prayed Time to jog on his team a little faster, if convenient. By and by, the merriment grew louder ; there was pattering of eager feet on the garret stairs, considerable loud whispering in the passage, and an infinite amount of giggling-. Good heavens! What are they going to do ? I clutched the bed clothes with frantic bands, and drew them around my head, to the utter neglect of the rest of my body, probably believing, like the os trich, that so long as saw nobody, nobody could see me. Directly the door was thrown open, and evidently there was a consultation upon the threshold. "Go in, Flory !" said the gay voice cf Kate Merrick, the pride and tease of the village. " I say go in ! What on earth arc you afraid of? Roy Sunderland won't eat you, if lie is a bear !" " But what will he think ?" said Florence Hay, softly, "heis so bashful. Goodness, Kate, how can I ?" " Nonsense. You must pay the forfeit, or your thimble remains in 1113- possession. I won't be coaxed over this time," returned Kate, decisively. There was a slight scuffle, and then the eager hands of the coterie began to pull away my fortifications. I resisted with the strength of desperation, but I was 110 match for a dozen frolicsome girls. They unswathed me, and while four of them held my two arms, Florence Hay kissed me. Mahomet ! Such a thrill as went through my heart ! I devoutly wished that she would repeat the operation ! but in stead of doing so she scampered from the room followed by her boisterous compan ions. Completely overcome, 1 crept under the bed, where I remained until nightfall sent our merry visitors to their respective TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., FEBRUARY 1(5, 1865. homes. Well, as the year passed on, and brought my eighteenth birthday, T had lost nothing of iny besetting difficulty. My mother was thoroughly mortified by my conduct, and did not hesitate to lecture me soundly on my folly ; and my Aunt Alice emphatically declared I was the most consummate fool she had ever seen. I knew it was true,but --so perverse is man—l did not feel at all obliged to her for uttering it. One day it rained a little ; in fact, it of ten does so. Florence Hay was returning from the village just as the shower came tip, and partly out of regard for my mother, with whom she was a great favorite, and partly from the fear of ruining her new spring bonnet, she stepped into our house. My mother was delighted to see her, and made her quite at home directly. It was a new thing for the little maiden to visit my mother; but on such occasions I had al j ways hitherto taken flight to the field or | the hay mow. Now, however, it was rain ! ing hard, and I was holding silk for my ! mother to wind, so a retreat was next to impossible Though in exquisite torture every mo ment lest the fair visitor should address some question to me and oblige me to speak, yet I enjoyed being where 1 could look into her bewitching face, immensely. She had such blue eyes, and such cherry j lips ! And those cherry lips had kissed me!. I blushed red hot to think of it, and my I good mother anxiously commented on my j high color, saying she was afraid I was going to have the erysipelas. Erysipelas, indeed ! It rained all the forenoon. Florence stay ed to tea, and by the time the meal was over I had broken two plates,knocked down ; a saucer, upset the cream pitcher, and near ly cut the end of inv thumb off with my ; knife. Alss, the rain had not ceased, and it was dark. Florence declared she could not stop an -1 other moment. Her friends would be alarm -led about her ; she must go at once. My mother urged her to remain all night. Hut she could not thjnk of it ; and while she was arranging her wraps, my mother beck oned me into the entry. " Hoy," she said decisively, " Florence should not go home alone !" " 1 can't help it !" said 1 doggedly. "I guess nothing will devour her on her jour ney." " My son !" she exclaimed with just se verity, I cannot permit you to speak in that way of one whom I so highly respect ! It is ungentleinanly ! Your father is ab sent, the servant is busy, and Florence has a full half mile to walk. You will attend her home." My limbs trembled under me. I would have darted from the back door, and left my mother's favorite to shift for herself, i but my austere relative had kept a firm , hold of my arm, and without further par- . ley, drew me back to the parlor. "If you must go," she said to Florence,! " I will not urge you. Roy will walk with you." Florence opened wide her blue eyes in evident astonishment ; and, as for me, the whole creation was in a whirl ! The room went round and round like a top—l was obliged to grasp the back of a chair to keep , from falling—l was penetrated with speech less dismay. "Roy! Florence is waiting!" said my ; unrelenting mother. There was no appeal ! To use a vulgar j but expressive phrase, I was "in for it ;" ! and nerved by a sort of desperate courage, j which sometimes comes to the aid of the j weak in great extremities, I flung open the ' door, blundered down the steps, and out in- j to the street. Florence followed leisurely j behind, shut the gate after her and fasten-; ed the latch. How 1 env'ied her provoking . coolness. We went on—she on one side of the road, ! I on the other, and about three yards in ad- j vauce of her. By and by, when we had j proceeded in utter silence for a quarter of j mile, my companion said demurely : " Roy, you can get over the fence and go : in the field, and I'll keep the road." The little jade was quizzing me ! I could j not endure her ridicule, so forthwith I made , a sort of flying leap to her side of the street, ' spattering the mud in every direction as I landed beside her. I had just begun to j think how much better the footing was on j that sidewalk than on the one 1 had left. 1 when I heard somebody whistling,and look- j ing up I saw Will Richardson, a mutual ac- i quaintance, approaching. The cold pers-j peration started to my brow—how could 1 endure to be seen going home with a girl ? | I could not. No never ! The idea was out of the question. I flew to the wall, sprang j over, and threw myself down behind a pile j of stones. I heard Will and Florence laughing to- j getlicr in a vastly amused way —and then ' she took his arm and ofl'tliey went. 1 shook j my clenched hand after them— at that mo- j ment I could have cudgeled Will without ! compunction. The ridiculous story of my adventure got j wind; and no doubt Will spread it, and I j was the laughing stock of the village. My j mother gave me a sound berating, and my j staid, punctilious father administered the j severest rebuke of all—he said 1 was a dis- \ grace to my ancestors. 1 managed to live through it, though,and | a few months later I entered college. I j will not linger on the days spent with my j Alma Mater ; the history of the scrapes i which my mischief loving fellow students j got me into during those four years, would ■ fill three volumes of octavo. At the end of the prescribed time I grad uated with the highest honors, for I had al ways been a most determined bookworm, j and with my diploma in my pocket, 1 re-■ turned. My friends were rejoiced to see me, they ] said, and Aunt Alice informed me, that I had improved wonderfully in manners, as j well as looks ; she thought me decidedly j handsome, she said,whicu remark I private ly concluded, was about as sensible as any i 1 have ever heard her make. The day following my arrival home, my j mother spoke of Florence. I had been j longing to ask about her, but dared not j hazard the question My mother thought 1 had ought to call on the Ilay family. We had always been intimate, she said, and it would be no more than corteous for me to surprise them with my presence. I told her the truth. I should be extreme ly happy to do so, but I lacked the cour age. REGARDLESS OE DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER. „ Mother," said 1, frankly, " you know my cardinal failing. Be merciful unto me. 1 should only make a fool of myself" " I will maks an errand for 3-011," she re plied, quickly ; " Mrs. Hay is troubled with a cough, and she wanted some of my toma to preserves for it. You shall carry them over." Ah ! it takes a woman to manage things; i depend on that. 1 caught eagerly at the suggestion, for j the imaged face of Florence Ilay had ob | traded between my ey r es and endless Greek roots a great many times during the past | four years. 1 was glad of an excuse to see | once more the face itself. | Armed with a letter of introduction, a ■ glass jar of tomatoes, and arra3'cd in 1113- best suit, I rang the bell at the door of Mr. i Hay. A servant girl admitted me, and ; showed me directly into the room where I Florence was sitting. How beautiful she bad grown during my I absence ! I had never seen so fair a vision. ' She rose at my entrance, and, bowing with inimitable grace, extended her hand. " Am 1 right in believing that I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Sunderland !" she said, with gentle politeness. 1 bowed—the jar slipped from 1113' grasp ! and fell to the floor; 1 made a hasty move ment to take the hand she offered me, and j in so doing I put my foot on the jar; it was i crushed to atoms, and the seeds and syrup ; flew in every direction. The obstacle be -1 ueath my feet made me stagger ; 1 grasped the folds of a window curtain in the hope of saving myself, but my equilibrium was I too far gone—down came the curtain, over 1 I went, head first, against a flower stand, j on which were a nondescript array of flower pots, and a Canary bird in a cage, und a | Maltese eat in a basket. The force of my fall upset the stand, and i with all its favorites it went over on the i carpet. Cat, bird, cage, plants, and Roy Sunderland, all la3 T in one mass of ruins to gether at the feet of the astonished Miss Ilay. The cat was the first to recover her presence of mind, and with a " midnight cry" which would have appalled the stout est heart, she sprang into 1113- face tearing up the skin with a violence worthy of the 1 admiration of all persons who believe in i the wisdom of "getting at the root of a matter" at once. 1 scrambled up and give the animal a i ldow that sent her to the other side of the room—and hatlcss and bloody made for the door. With frantic haste 1 seized the haml ; le—it di'l not 3'icld ; the door was fastened by a spring lock and I was a prisoner. Imagine 1113- dismay. Florence stood looking at me, and there was a siuile on her face that she with great difficulty re strained from breaking into a decided ha ! ha ! Jut then I would have sold myself to 1 a 113- reliable man for a sixpence, with tliir -It- days credit. Mortified and crest fallen, I was very strongly tempted to follow the example of the heroines in the sensation novels, and hurst into tears; but crying it is said makes the nose red, and remembering this; I fore bade. I suppose Florence pitied me ; she must have seen the woe-begone expression of my face that I was in the last stages of human endurance, for she came quickly- to 1113- side and laid her hand 011 1113- arm. "Come in, Ro3 T ,"shc said kindly—almost tenderly I thought-—and drew me into a small boudoir opposite the setting room.— Things in the latter apartment were too nearly wrecked to make it pleasant for oc cupation, I suppose. "There," she said, seating the on a sofa l3 r her side, and speaking in the consoling tone that one would use to a child who had burnt his apron or broken the sugar bowl, j " don't think anything more about it." She j was wiping to blood from pussy's auto-, graph on 1113- face with her handkerchief - ' " Accidents will happen 3-011 know." She was too close to rue—her sweet face i so very near mine—and the temptation so great, 1 trust I may be excused especially as I am a bashful man and not in the habit of committing such discretions. 1 threw mv arms around her and paid back the kiss I had kept so long. A burn ing blush overspread her face. " Oh, Roy, bow could you ?" she exclaim ed, reproachfully. 1 had gone too far to retreat; the words which for years had filled mv heart strug gled up to 1113' lips ami clamored for utter ance. " Florence!" I cried passionately, " I love you, and I want 3-011 to be entirely mine ! —Take me, and cure of the bashful lolly which has been the bane of my life." She did not reply. I was.in a tumult of fear and hope, but a sort of desperate cour age kept me firm. " One word, Florence, only one word ! Am I to be consigned to Hades or Paradise? Do not keep me in suspense !" She nestled closer to iny side ; her soft cheek rested against mine ; her breath swept my lips. She spoke but one word in accent of deepest tenderness and that word was my name— " Roy !" " Florence ! my darling !" I trust that everybody will forgive me and feel charitably towards me when I de clare, 011 1113- honor, that I was happier at that moment than I had ever been in my life before. Popping the question lias al ways been acknowledged to be a serious piece of business, and if ordinary men find it a serious business, how much more terri ble must it be to a bashful individual like myself. A silence fell between Florence and me ; perhaps I was holding her so close to my heart that the effort of speaking was diffi cult. I should not wonder. By and by she lifted up her face and said quietly, "Did you mean for me to marry vu, Roy?" " Marry ire ? Yes, dearest, and that, too, before many days have elaped. I have been a fool so long that now 1 cannot af ford to wait." " Y'es ; but if I promise myself to 3 r ou, how can I be sure that on the way to the altar 3-011 will not jump over the fence and leave me to the care of Will Richardson?" "Confound Will Richardson ! Florence forgive me, I was little less than a 1 rute ! Is there peace between us ?" " Both peace and love," she whispered softly ; and 1113- heart was at rest. My 7 mother was overjoyed at the turn af fairs had taken. Everything had happened just as she wished; and to this day the I good lady idolizes tomatoes, insisting upon I it that it was through the agency of those I preserves that Florence and 1 came to an I understanding. It might have been—l ean j not tell—great events sometimes originate in small causes. Florence—dear little wife ! —for she has sustained that relation to me for five 3'ears; and if she has not cured me of 103- bashful uess, she has at least broken me of its ex treme folly. To other men afflicted as I was with constitutional slyness, I can conscientiously recommend 103- course.— Don't be afraid ; the ladies admire cour age, and " none but the brave deserve the fair." THE PARTICULAR LADY.— Here is a portrait of more than one lady whonie it has been our fortune to meet: —There is a coldness and precision about this person's dwelling, that makes your heart shrink back (that is, if you have the least atom of sociability in 3-our nature) with a lonely feeling,the same which you experience when 3-011 go 113- your self, and for the first time, among decided strangers. Everything is in painful order. The damask table cover lias been in just the same folds ever since it came from the ven der's shop, eight 3'ears ago ; and the legs of the chairs have been on the exact dia mond in the drugget they were first placed on ; by-tlie-by, do 3-ou ever remember of seeing that same drugget oft* the carpet un derneath ? No—for she never has company ; the routing-, the untidiness they would oc casion, would cause the poor soul to be subject to fits for the rest of her natural, or rather unnatural, life. Though untidiness is a fault all people should avoid, especially the young, yet for mercy's sake urge them not to be parlieular. She will become as hateful in the sight of her friends as a sloven. The particular lady generally lives in the kitchen —and an excruciatingly tidy one it ! is. The great parlors, with their crimson i curtains, Turkish carpets, mammoth mir rors. beautiful mantles, and elegant paint ; ings, are always closed. Nobody visits | them; nobodv enjoys them ; the children tread 011 tip-toe to steal a glance into them, their eyes expressive of wonderment and a cautious air of dread. She is all the time dusting and washing and scrubbing, and scrubbing and washing and dusting. The door-step, the window sills and sashes, the wash-boards must he daily scrubbed, though immaculately white they already be. The very knives,forks and spoons are rubbed thin and genteel by re peated cleaning. You can tell her crossing the street ; she watches for every vehicle and waits until it has passed a square, for fear of* being splashed ; and even in (In- weather she crosses on the joints of her toes, and holds her dress above her ancles. Her constant fidget wears the flesh from her bones and color from her checks. She never can get a servant to stay long with her. We never heard of but one "particular lady" who retained a domestic longer than a 3'ear, but then she was as " particular " as her mis tress. BUSBEQTIUS, an Austrian, introduced the lilac and tulip into YVestern Europe from Turkey in the 16th century. CLUSICS, a Belgian, brought the horse-chestnut about the same time from the East. POPE, the poet, introduced the weeping willow, by planting a slip he received from Smyrna. Within living memory, the first orange tree was to be seen in Portugal, and which had been transplanted from the East. Plants indigenous to the steppes of Tartary, are now flourishing in France, the first seeds of which came in the saddle stuffing of the Russian troops who entered Paris in 1814. The Turkish armies left the seeds of Orien tal wall plants 011 the ramparts of Buda and Venice. The Canada thistle sprung up in Europe from a seed which dropped two centuries ago out of the staffed skii. of a bird. 111 1501, when St. Helena was discovered, there were only 60 species of plants on the island ; there are now 750. From the straw and grass packing of Thor walsdeu's pictures there sprung up in Cop enhagen twenty-live species of plants be longing to tin- Roman Campagna.— English Paper*. THE WAY Y'OU ALWAYS STOPPED. —The Ver mont lleeord tells a good story 7 of an inno cent old lady,who never before had rode on a railroad, who was a passenger on one of the Vermont railroads at the time of a re cent collision, when a freight train collided with a passenger train, smashing one of the cars, killing several passengers, and upsetting things generally-. As soon as lie could recover his scattered senses, the con ductor went in search of the venerable dame, whom lie found sitting solitary- and alone in the car (the other passengers hav ing sought terra firma,) with a very placid expression upon-tier countenance, notwith standing she had made a complete summer sault over the seat in front, and her band box and bundle had go ic unceremoniously down the passage way. "Are you hurt ?" inquired the conductor. "Hurt! why?" said the old lady. "We have just been run into by a fre'gbt train, two or three passen gers have been killed and several injured." "La, me ; didn't knowjlmt that was the wag gnu alwag s slopped.'' 1 A KIND WORD FOR "MOTHER," —Despise not thv mother when she is old. Age may wear and waste a mother's beauty,strength, limbs, sense, and estate ; but her relation as mother is as the sun when it goes forth in its might, for it is always in the meridian, and knoweth no evening. The person may be gray beaded, but her motherly relation is ever in its flourish. It may be autumn, yea, winter with a woman, but with the mother, as mother, it is always spring.— Alas, how little do we appreciate a moth er's tenderness while living ! How heed less we arc in all her anxieties and kind ness ! But when she is dead and gone, when the cares and coldness of the world come withering to our hearts, when we ex perience how hard it is to find true sympa thy—how few will befriend us in misfor tune—then it is that we think of the moth er we have lost. PRIDE. —It is certain that one of the sides of virtue leads to pride, and there is a bridge built there by the demon. THE ANCIENTS OUTDONE. —TaIkof Dmdalus and Icarus ! A man made wings to his house, and had a fly in it ! #3 pei* Annum, in Advance. BROTHER PAUL. How well I remember the morning my brother Paul left Grassville lor his lot of land in " the Heavy Timbers." Everybody would call our home Grassville, though we struggled long and hard for Gracevillc. However, when the nickname got into the Gazetteer, we gave it up. Paul was a fine, strong fellow, five feet eight inches high, with a ruddy complexion, and life in hie eyes. His brown hair curled, his lips were j loving like a girl's, und lie was what is ! called " a mother's boy." There is no bet-j tor recommendation for a young man. His j dress was striped home-made cloth, indigo J blue and white, made iu the form of a blouse, ; wi'th wide pantaloons, over which were j drawn long leather boots. The blouse had | a square collar, which was tucked back, | which revealed a fine, white, and very neat- j ly-made shirt. I made it, though " I say it j who should not say it." The blouse was j confined at tbe waist by a black leather i belt. A very full knapsack, with a blanket! strapped outside, a very bright rifle and : axe, completed the accoutrement of the! traveler. He walked as if his nerves were perfectly tempered steel springs, and as ; though all means of locomotion were con- J tempt ble save those included in himself. ! He was going to his farm in the woods, or ! rather to his " lot of land," which was to j become a farm when it was cleared and | brought under cultivation. When he had j walked twenty miles became to Woodville. i His place lay beyond, in the nameless re- j gion known as " the Heavy Timbers." The j hard wood and heavy growth frightened ninny, but tempted my " live brother," as we used to call him. As he passed on his j way, he came to a house in the outskirts of j hamlet, consirting of a saw aud grist mill, ; a clothing mill, and five or six dwellings. Paul was hungry—he was a genuine hero, ! but heroes get hungry like ordinary mor- j tals. At the edge of a slope, a little he- j fore he came to the house, was a spring, \ and " a dear pretty girl" was filling a j bright tin pail with the crystal water.— Whether the sight of the young lady inten sified Paul's hunger I cannot say, but here- : solved to get his dinner at the next house, for hotels were unknown then in this re- j gion. He had bread and cheese in his pack, j still he had a fancy to rest and dine. He knocked at the door of the wayside dwell ing, a cheerful voice said "come in," audi he entered a neat, large, square room. Two ! girls—almost as pretty as the one he hud j seen at the spring—were spinning ; one I was spinning woolen rolls, the other cotton i roping. In each case the material was re- i duccd by machinery to a roll about as thick as the little linger of the spinner. The wheels occupied one side of the room, on another a man was making shoes, and at a front w.udow a worn, faded, but lady-like woman with failing sight was mending boys' clothes. It was a sad fact that the boys of this family were something of the nature of a uuisanc \ The neighbors said j the father did not like to give them his own j trade, for he felt above it himself. Certain I it is, they were not trained to useful work, but were sometimes made to do "chores." They were imprisoned in school in winter, and they " raised Cain" the year round. They tore their pantaloons bird-nesting,they made " elbow room " by holes in the sleeves of their jackets, they went swimming in dark deep pools iu Black River, and they were any thing but "a real blessing-to mothers." In the country where openings alternate with forests, and a village has six dwellings, a traveler is a sort of irregular newspaper. Every body is glad to see somebody, when somebody seldom comes along. There is life in the grasp ol' a stranger's hand in the monotony of forest life. Paul was made to feel at home at once. The family of Mr. Joseph Jones soon learned that he was from Grassville, that he was the son of his fa ther, who was a man of mark among- the settlors, and that he was going to " the Heavy Timbers" to take up and clear a hundred acre lot. The girls were not frigh tened that he was going alone. They even promised to come and see him in sugar time, as they were only seven miles from j his opening that was to be, and there were 11 blazed trees to mark the way, so one of the j boys could p lot them. , : " But I will come for you," Paul said, j gallantly. Mrs. Jones looked a little more ! worn and weary as the young people talked j it over, and said what " good fun it would | be." Poor lady ! she had made just such a I beginning with her husband twenty years I since. She had helped him clear a good | many acres, but he was not persevering, j I'hev had sold out years ago, and he had | "taken up" several kinds of business. For j the last years he had worked at shoemaking. | This he had also "taken up," whieh means, j that he had never learned the trade. He j was clever, this Joseph Jones ; but there ! was sorrow in that home, and he caused it. j The gent ler neighbors said, "AY hat a pity ! such a clever man should be unsteady !" j The bolder and less kind said. "What a] shame that such a man should drink !" He was not a habitual, daily drunkard, but at all raisings, log-rollings, at Christmas, and in all times of illness and trouble, Mr. Jones was sure to be " in liquor," so as to be use less. This terrible unreliability had broken his wife's spirits, and almost broken her heart, and at forty she was wrinkled, gray, and prematurely old. Some tin night books and a superior education had spoiled Mr. Jones ; others said more books, a Lyceum, an agricultural association, and competing for prizes, would have saved Joseph Jones. But he was not saved, and his family were not blessed in him as they should have been in a man of his education and ability. An hour's talk, a nice dinner, and the smiles of these pretty girls, set Paul vig orously on his way. Did he steal any thing in that home? He took something away with him which he never returned, and which he hid as carefully as if it were a , thief. Why is it that the first conscious ness of affection leads us to conceal ? There is one name that we can never utter freely and cheerfully, though the sound of it thrills the heart with delight, even though it be Smith, Brown, or Jones. Paul took away a great deal from that wayside house, with its large square working-room, and its various workers. Carefully as he con cealed wlmt he took, I have an inventory) of all. First, a pair of bright blue eyes ; i next, a great lot of golden curls ; then red checks, rosy lips, and a form full of spring- j ing grace. Emily had a wreath ol* trailing , arbutus in her hair, though it was June,and j the blossom is always called the May flow er. In this northern region this most beau tiful and fragrant bloom is seldom seen till June. Paul carried away the wreath with the sunny curls, and to this day he has a special tenderness for trailing arbutus. — Cheerily and lightly he went his way with his hidden treasures to his lot in the heart of " the lieavy Timbers," and he did not sleep that night till he had explored a good deal. Laying his pack downon a good dry camping-knoll, he took his rifle and threw it up in the air, and caught it as it came down, many times in merry play that night, b tcause his heart was full of companion ship. He found a hill-side against which to build his camp, and the early morning shone on him with axe and shovel, hard at work clearing a space for his shanty. His shovel had a steel-iron blade, and he had carried it in his pack with some screws, which helped him to fit a wooden handle— holes having been drilled for the screws. Before noon the hill was partially dug away, and posts set with crotched tops to hold poles, on which a thatched roof of birclAark and hemlock-boughs was to In laid. When this was done, Paul shot a partridge. When it was dressed he broiled I it. Perhaps he smoked it a little, but. with ; bread and salt from his pack, it made an i excellent dinner. He then peeled birch and j gathered hemlock-boughs, and before he | slept he had a comfortable camp. He was j much happier alone, with the angel in his j heart, the owner of the sunny curls, then j he could have been in a log-house at the next opening. He had sundry adventures jin his forest solitude. He cleared his laud, | leaving a knoll for his house, and he left some grand old forest trees in the places I where he would have set them had not na i tore forestalled his labor of love. Trees tu I most of the settlers were only enemies, t.> !be got rid of. They spared none but the ' maple, for sugar. Paul left groves of ! young trees, though it cost him much can jin burning. Others turned the growth of ! ages, and which none can recall to shade ! the naked land, into ashes, and then into i salts, and then iut<> money. Paul had his j time of making salts, a time of tiresome I and profitable interest, but his beautiful j home at this day is embellished with a glorv j of trees. i One Sunday morning Paul was getting; j ready to go to church at Woodville—not | withstanding the common property in tin* ; curls and other treasures, he felt more as I if he had them when he saw them in church ! —this morning he made a kettle of maize j meal mush for his breakfast, and set it out 'of doors to cool, while he shaved ; for no ! one was hirsute in those days who was j within hailing distance of civilization.- I Presently he heard a series of horrid grunt-, I and looking out he saw a tear who had pin j his head into the kettle of mush without leave, and who was caught by the bail fall ing over the back of his ears, the bail hav ! iug been accidently left upright As Bruin ! was trapped Paul split his head with his j axe, and had enough to do that day to dress ! the carcass. No doubt Emily was disap ' pointed in not seeing him at church, and Paul was disappointed in having plenty >f i bear's grease, a barrel of salted meat f>r i winter, and a grand bear-skin for his bed. | Day after day our hero went on falling 1 trees, burning them to ashes, and then with i a leach tub made of a hollow log, lie leached ; his ashes, and he boiled away the lye in a huge cast-iron caldron kettle, and inad<- salts. Salts are always silver to the sot tiers. The land is cleared of trees when this money is earned, and gold comes of tin rich cleared lands. He built a house of hewn logs, and the neighbors helped him to roll it up when the time came, and then he put a neat paling i around a goodly space for a garden, with i the house in the centre. His fence, the I first of the kind in that region, was made by driving sharpened poles into the ground Next spring lie planted scarlet runners,and his fence became highly ornamental when it was festooned all over with vines in bloom. He planted currant-bushes and strawber ries, plum-trees, and even rose-bushes, among the great black stumps. He went un for a year improving his farm, and dream ing of an Emily for his Eve, all that time, without saying a word to the yauug lady He had seen her at church, aud lie had called at her home, but he had never found opportunity to speak of his love or his hope. At last, with his cage built, lie de termined to try to catch his bird. One bright morning he found himself at Woodville,and not long alone, for the people were all smartly dressed, and out in the street. Paul asked a lad where the people were going, and he said, " To the wedding, be sure." " Where ?" "At Mr. Joe Jones." Paul gasped out, " Which of the girls is going to be married ?" " Why, the prettiest one, be sure." Tin boy starting to run lest he should miss the show. Paul sank down on a rock by the wax - side. What cared he now for his prett \ hewn log-house, with real glass windows, twelve seven-by-nine panes in each? What cared lie for tbe pole paling, scarlet rnii rers, rose-bushes, and fruit, and great trees and groves of trees, and sugar orchard ? His Eve was lost to him. The bears might eat him instead of the hasty pudding, if it ['leased their appetite to do so. He sat still in his misery, till the thought struck him that he ought to go on and wish the happy couple joy. Like a good, gen erous youth he rose, and with a sad heart and faltering steps he entered the house of feasting. The clergymen had just married the couple, and was making a long prayei for their happiness, when Paul found him self at the door of "the best room " in Mr Jones's square house, which no one ever dreamed oT calling a cottage. The hnppy couple were standing together looking what is called cheap. Their awkward and sheep ish appearance made the joyful revelation to Paul that the bride was Miss Seruphinu Elvira, and not Miss Emily Letitia Joins How Paul wooed his Emily, or how huppx ; she was won. 1 can hardly toll. Years have gone ft, since that happy wedding Sons and daughters have grown in iu\ brother's home. That faded mother ha?, lived many years with Emily, a setting sun beam upon her children and her grand-chil dren. Though she is sixty years old, she is airer and fresher than she was twenty years ago. It is sad to think that the kind est thing Joseph .Tones ever did for his wilt and children was to die. The bird-nesting out-at-elbow boys took warning by their father, and all came to good. There are in> heavy timber a now, but one of the finest tar ining counties occupies their site. THE Juniulia Sentinel says a young WO man named Coder, daughter of a soldier <>l the 4t>tli Pennsylvania, died from a singular cause a few days ago. She had a pin in her mouth, falling asleep, awoke to find ii lodged somewhere in her throat. Medical aid was summoned, but in vain. She lin j gered for several days, and expired in the i most cxcrutiating agony. What adds to j the sadness of this unexpected death, is the ahsyiiee of her lather and brother in ! the army. Women and children should he : warned against the dangerous habit of j caryiug pins in their xnouths. NUMBER 38.