TERMS OK PL'BLIK'ATIOSR.
The REPORTER is published every Thursday Morn-
JTLT , J,Y E. O. GOODRICH, at $2 per iinmun. in ad
vance-
VPVERTISEMENTS are inserted at TEN- CENTS
,„r line for first insertion, and FIVE CENTS per line
tor subsequent insertions. A liberal discount is
made to persons advertising by the quarter, balf
vear or year. Special notices charged one-half
more than regular advertisements. All resolutions
of Associations ; communications of limited or in
dividual interest, and notices of Marriages and
Deaths exceeding five lines, are charged TEN CENTS
per line.
1 Year. G mo. 3 mo.
One Column, SSO $35 S2O
• - 30 25 15
One Square, 10 7£ 5
Administrator's and Executor's Notices. $2 00
Auditor's Notices 2 50
Business Cards, five lines, (per year).... .5 00
Merchants and others, advertising their business,
will be charged sls. 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.