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SF" Advertising in all cases exclusive of sub scription to the paper. JOB PRINTING of every kind in Plain and Fan cy colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Hand lulls. Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every va ri. Tv and style, printed at the shortest notice. The j REPORTER OFFICE has just been rc-titted with Power j Presses, and every thing in the Printing line can In- executed in the most artistic manner and at the lowest rates. TERMS INVARIABLY CASII. §j?o*tvg* FAITH IX CHRIST. BY RICHARD COE. Close by the bleeding side of Him, Who bore my sins upon the tree, I stand with eyes suffused and dim, To think that he should die for me! For me, a rebel all my days— A vile, ungrateful clod of earth ; (), wondrous mercy, crowning grace. To breath on me the second birth! To make a child of one who ne'er. With childlike confidence and love. Besought His fond, paternal care, Nor cast a lingering look above, The while He showered down on me The choicest gifts of earthly good- Health, dwelling-place of fair degree, Sufficient raiment, needful food. But when he turned a frowning face, And took my all of good away, How quickly then I craved His grace! How earnestly I then did pray! Nor did He scorn me as He might, Nor cast me from Him in distress ; But turned niy darkness into light, (l. wondrous power of God to bless ! 'l'was then my heart, all hard before, Became a heart of tender flesh ; 1 was then tny eyes, all brimming o'er With tears of love, were tilled iii'resh ; I cried, uplookiug to the Cross, Behold! the Saviour died for me : ill earthly gain I count but dross, Si, that the Lord my portion be!" And now, or should I livejor die, 1 have a hope that ne'er grows dim : 1 gaze with Faith's far reaching eye, And fix my earnest look on Hint. The ••chief among ten thousand fair, The altogether lovely One O! blessed thought'. a child and heir. Coequal with God's holy Son! 2.lie. A JOURNEY" What I have—wife, position, indepen dence—l owe to an opportunity for exercis ing the very simple and unpretending com hination of qualities that goes by tlie name i of ability. But to my story. My father was a wealthy country gentle man, of somewhat more than the average of intelligence, and somewhat more than the average of generosity and extravagance, i His younger brother, a solicitor in large ! practice in London, would in vain remon-1 strate as to the imprudence of his course. Living freely, spending freely, must come j to an end. It did ; and at twenty I was a j well-educated gentlemanly pauper. The j investigation of my father's affairs showed j that there was one shilling and sixpence in j the pound for the whole of his creditors,and of course nothing for ine. The position was painful. I was half en- ! gaged—that is, I had gloves, llowers, a j ringlet, a carte de visite of Alice Morton. That of course must be stopped. Mr. Silas Morton was not ill pleased at the prospect of an alliance with his neigh bor West wood's sou while there was an ex- 1 pectation of a provision for the young couple in the union of estates as well as persons : but now, when the estate was gone, when I. Guy Westwood.was shilling- j less in the world, it would be folly indeed, j Nevertheless 1 must take my leave. " Well, Guy, iny lad, bad job this ; very bad job ; thought he was safe as the bank, j Would not have believed it from any one not from any one. Of course all that ! nonsense about you and Alice must be stop-j ped now ; I'm not a hard man,but I can't al low Alice to throw away her life in the poverty she would have to bear as your wife ; can't do it : wouldn't be the part of a father if 1 did." 1 suggested I might in time. L'ime, sir ! time! How much? She's nineteen now. You're brought up to noth ing ; know nothing that will earn you a ; sixpence for the next six months, and you talk about time. Time, indeed ! keep her waiting till she's thirty, and then break her heart by finding it a folly to marry at all. " Ah ! Alice, my dear, Guy's come to say Goodbye ;' he sees, with ine, that his al tered position compels him,as an honorable man, to give up any hopes he may have formed as to the future." lie left us alone to say ' Farewell!'—a word too hard to say at our ages. Of course we consulted what would be done To give each other up, to bury the delicious past, that was not to be thought of. We would be constant, spite of all. 1 must gain a position and papa would then help us. Two ways were open : a commission in India, a place in iny uncle's office. Which ? ' was for the commission, Alice for the offi -I<■ A respectable influential solicitor ; a position not to be despised ; nothing but • Inverness wanted ; and my uncle's name, and no one to wait for; no liver complaints; no Sepoys ; no sea voyages ; and no long separation. Oh, I'm sure it is the best thing." 1 agreed, agreed, not unnaturally then that it was the best. Now, you young people, you've had rime enough to say 'Goodbye,' so be off, buy. Here, my lad you'll need something start with," and the old gentleman put "'to my hands a note for fifty pounds. 1 must beg, sir, that you will not in sult— God bless the boy ! ' Insult.' Why danced yon on my knee hundreds of bines. Look you, <juy " —and the old fel on come up and put his hand on my moulder "it gives ine pain to do what I am doing. I believe for both our sakes it "st you should part. Let us part as E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher. VOLUME XXV. friends. Come now, Guy, you'll need this, and if you need a little more, just let me know." " But, sir, you cut me off from all hope, you render my life a burden to me. Give me some definite task ; say how much you think we ought to have ; I mean how much I ought to have to keep Alice—l mean, Miss Morton—in such a position as you would wish." Alice added her entreaties, and the re sult of the conference was an understand ing that if within five years from that date I could show I was worth five hundred pounds a year the old gentlejnan would add another five hundred pounds ; and on that he thought we might live for a few years comfortably. There was to be no correspondence what ever ; no meetings, no messages. We protested and pleaded, and finally he said : " Well, well, Guy ; I always liked you, and liked your father before you. Come to us on Christmas Day, and you shall find a vacant chair beside Alice. There, now ; say ' Goodbye,' and be off." I went off I came to London, to one of the little lanes leading out of Cannon street. | Five hundred a year in five years ; 1 must 1 work hard. My uncle took notice of me ; I fancied worked me hardtr than the rest, and paid me the same. Seventy-five pounds a year is not a large sum. I had spent it in a month before ifow, after the fashion of my father : now I hoarded ; made clothes last; ate in musty, cheap, little cook-shops ; and kept my enjoying faculties from absolute rust by a weekly half-price ticket to the theatres—the pit. The year passed. I went down at Christ inas, and for twenty-four hours was alive ; came back, and had arise of twenty pounds in salary tor the next year. T waited for opportunity, it came not. This jog-trot routine of office-work con tinued for two years more, and at the end ot that time I was worth but my salary of one hundred and thirty-five pounds per year—one hundred and thirty-five pounds ! a long way from five hundred pounds. Oh, I must quit the desk,and become a merchant; all successful men have been merchants ; money begets money. But to oppose all these thoughts of change came the mem ory of Alice's last words at Christmas : "Wait and hope, Guy, dear,wait and hope." Certainly ; it's so easy to. " Governor wants you, Westwood. He's sharp this morning ; very sharp ; so look out, my dear nephew." " You understand a little Italian,! think?" said my uncle. " A little, sir." "Yon will start to-night for Florence, in the mail train. Get there as rapidly as possible, and find whether a Colonel Wil son is residing there, and what lady he is residing with. Learn all you can as to his position and means, and the terms on which lie lives with that lady. Write to nie, and wait there for further instructions. Mr. Williams will give you a check for one hundred pounds ; you can get circular notes for fifty pounds, and the rest cash. If you have anything to say, come in here at five o'clock ; if not, good morning. By-the-by r , say nothing in the office." I need not say that hope made me "believe my opportunity had come. I hurried to Florence, and discharged my mission ; sent home a careful letter, full of facts without comment or opinion, and in three weeks' time was summoned to return. I had done little or nothing that could help me, and in a disappointed state of mind I packed up and went to the railway station at St. Dontinico. A little row with a peas ant as to his demand for carrying my bag gage caused nte to lose the last train that night, and so the steamer at Leghorn. The station-master,seeing my vexation, endeav ored to cousole me. " There will be a special through train to Leghorn at nine o'clock, ordered for Count Spezzato ; he is good natured and will pos sibly let 3*oll go in that." It was worth the chance,and I hung about the station till I was tired, and then walked back towards the village. Passing a small wine shop, I entered, and asked for wine in English. I don't know what whim posses sed me when I did it, for they were unable to understand me without dumb motions. I at length got wine 113* these means, and sat down to while away the time over a mil way volume. 1 had been seated about half an hour when a courier entered, accompanied l>y a railwa3* guard. Two more different exam ples of the human race it would be difficult to describe. The guard was a dark, savage looking Italian, with "rascal" and "bully" written all over him ; big, black, burly, with blood shot e3 r es, and thick, heavy, sensual lips, the man was utterly repulsive. The courier was a little, neatl3'-dressed man, of no age in particular ; pale, blue eyed, straight lipped, his face was a com pound of fox and rabbit that only a fool or a patriot would have trusted out of arm's length. This ill-matched pair called for brandy, and the hostess set it before them. I then heard them ask who and what I was. She replied, I must be an Englishman, and did : not understand the Italian for wine. She then left. The 3' evidently wanted to be alone, and my presence was decidedly disagreeable to them ; and muttering that I was an Eng lishman, they proceeded to try 013' powers as a linguist. • The courier commenced in Italian,with a remark 011 the weather. 1 handed him the newspaper. I didn't speak Italian, that was clear to them. The guard now struck in with a remark in French as to the fineness of the neigh boring country. I shrugged my shoulders, and produced my cigar-case. * French was not very familiar to me, evident^*. " Those beaßts of English think their own tongue so fine they are too proud to learn another," said the gua:d I sat quietly sipping my wine, and read ing. " Well, my dear Michael Pultuski," began the guard I " For the love of God, call me not by that name. My name is Alexis—Alexis Dzent zol, now." " Oh ! oh !" laughed the guard ; " you've ! changed your name, you fox ; its like you. 1 Now I am the same that you knew fifteen 1 3*ears ago, Conrad Ferrate—to-day, 3'ester | da 3* and for life, Conrad Ferrate—come lad, | tell us your story. How did you get out TOW AND A, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., MARCH 2. 1865. of that little affair at Warsaw ? How they could have trusted you,with your face,with their secrets, I can't for the life of me tell, you look so like a sly knave, don't you, lad ?" The courier, so far from resenting this familiarity, smiled, as if he had been prais ed. | "My story is soon said. I found, after I my betrayal to the police of the secrets of ! that little conspiracy which you and I join j ed, that Poland was too hot for rne and my name too well known. I went to France, j who values her police, and for a few years was useful to them. But it was dull work, very dull ; native talent was more esteem ed. I was to be sent on a secret service to Warsaw ; I declined, for obvious reasons." "Good! Michael—Alexis; good Alexis. This fox is not to be trapped." And he slapped the courier on the shoulder hearti 'y- "And," resumed the other, " I resigned. Since then I have traveled as courier with noble families, and I trust I give satisfac tion." " Good ! Alexis ; good Mich—good, Al exis ! To yourself you give satisfaction. You are a fine rascal !—the prince of ras cals !—so decent; so quiet; so like the cure of a convent. Who would believe that you had sold the lives of thirty men for a few hundred roubles ?" "And who," interrupted the courier, "would believe that you, bluff, honest, Con rad Ferrate, bad run away with all the mon ey those thirty men had collected during ten years of labor, for rescuing their coun try from the Russian ?" " That was good, Alexis, was it not ? I never was so rich in my life as then ; I loved—l gamed—l drank—on the patriots' money." " For how long ? Three years ?" " More—and now have none left. Ah— Time changes, Alexis ; behold me," and the guard touched his buttons and belt, the badges of his office " Never mind—here my good friend the bottle—let us embrace —the only friend that is always true—if he j does not gladden, he makes us to forget." j " Tell rne, my good Alexis, whom do you rob now ? Who pays for the best and gets j the second best ? Whose money do you invest, eh, my little fox ? Why are you here ? Come, tell me while I drink to your success." " I have the honor to serve his excellen cy the Count Spezzato." " Ten thousand devils ! My accursed cousin !" broke in the guard. "He who has robbed me from his birth ; whose birth it self was a vile robbery of me- -of me, his cousin, child of his father's brother. May he be accursed forever." I took most particular pains to appear only amused at this geuuiue outburst of passion, for I saw the watchful eye of the courier was on me all the time they were talking The guard drank off a tumbler of Bran dy. " That master of yours is the man of whom I spoke to you years ago, as the one who had ruined me ; and you serve him ! May he be strangled on his wedding night, and cursed for ever !" "Be calm; my dearest Conrad, calm yourself; that beast of an Englishman will think you are drunk, like one of his own swinish peopie, if you keep on talking so loud as this," " How can I help it ? I must talk. What he is /ought to be ? 1 was brought up to it till I was eighteen ; was the heir to all his vast estate ; there was but one life be tween me and power—my uncle's—and he, at fif'y married a girl, and had this son of perdition, my cousin. And after that, who had been the pride ol my- family, became of no account; it was ' Julian,' my sweet 'Julian !'" "I heard," said the courier, "that some one attempted to strangle the sweet, child, that was ?" " Me—you fox—me. I wish I had done it ; but for that wretched dog that worried rne, I should have been Count Spezzato now. T killed that dog, killed him, no not sudden ly ; may his master die like him !" " And you left after that little affair ?" "Oh yes ! I left and became what you know me." " A clever man, my dear Conrad. I know no one who is more clever with the ace than yourself, and, as to bullying to cover a mis take, you are an emperor at that. Is it not so, Conrad ? Come, drink good health to my master, our cousin." " You miserable viper, I'll crush you if you ask me to do that again, I'll drink— Here, give me the glass— " Here's to Count Spezzato : May he die like a dog! May his carcass bring the birds and the wolves together ! May his name be cursed and hated while the sun lasts ! And may purgatory keep him till 1 pray for his release !" The man's passion was something fright ful to see, and I was more that half inclin ed to leave the place ; but something, per haps a distant murmur of the rising tide, compelled me to stay. I pretended sleep, allowing my head to sink down upon the table. He sat still a few moments and then commenced walking about the room.and ab ruptly asked : " What brought you here, Alexis ?" "My master's horse, Signer Conrad." " Good, my little fox ; but why did you i come on your master's horse ?" " Because my master wishes to reach Leghorn to-night, to meet his bride, Con rad." " Then his is the special train ordered at nine, that I am to go with ?" exclaimed the guard eagerly. " That is so, gentle Conrad ; and now having told you all, let me pay our hostess and go." " Pay ! No oue pays for me, little fox ; no, no, go ; I will pay." The courier took his departure, and the guard kept walking up and down the room, muttering to himself, " To-night, it might be to-uight If he goes to Leghorn, he meets his future wife; another life, and perhaps a dozen. No, it must be to-night or never. Does his moth er go ? Fool that I am not to ask ! Yes; it shall be to-night and he left the room. What should be ' to-night ?' Some foul play, of which the Count would be the vic tim, no doubt. But how ? When ? That must be solved. To follow him, or to wait —which ? To wait. It is always best to wait, I had learned this lesson already. ✓ REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER. 1 waited. It was now rather more than half-past eight, and I had risen to go to the door when I saw the guard returning to the wine-shop with a man whose dregs indica ted the stoker. " Gome in Guido ; come in," said the guard ; " and drink with me." The inau came in,and I was again absorb ed in my book. They seated themselves at the same ta ble as before,and drank silently for awhile; presently the guard began a conversation in some patois that I could not understand; but I could see the stoker grow more and more interested as the name of Beatrix oc curred more frequently. As the talk went on the stoker seemed pressing the guard on some part of the story with a most vindictive eagerness, re peatedly asking, "His name ? The accurs ed ! His name ?" At last the guard answered, " The Count Spezzato." "The Count Spezzato !" said the stoker, now leaving the table, and speaking in Italian. " Yes, good Guido ; the man who will travel in the train we take to-night to Leg horn." "He shall die ! The accursed ! lie shall die to-night!" said the stoker. "If I lose my r life, the betrayer of my sister shall die!" The guard, returning to the unknown tongue, seemed to be endeavoring to calm him ; and I could only catch a repetition of the word "Enipoli" at intervals. Presently the stoker took from the seats beside him two tin bottles, such as you may see in the hands of mechanics' who dine out ; and I could see that one of them had rudely scratched on it the name " William Atkin son." I fancied the guard produced from his pocket a phial, and poured the contents into that bottle ; and the action was so rapid, and the corner so dark, that I could not be positive ; then rising, they stopped at the counter, had bottles filled with bran dy, and went out. It was now time to get to the station ; and, having paid my modest score. I went out. And a little in front of ine, 113* the light from a small window,l saw these two cross themselves, grip each other's hands across right to right, left to left, and part. The stoker had set down the bottles, and now taking them up followed the guard at a slower pace. Arrived at the station, I found the Count, his mother, a female servant, and the cour ier. The Count came up to me and said, in broken English, " You are the English to go to Leghorn with ine? Very well, there is room. I like the English. You shall pay nothing, because I do not sell tickets ; 3'ou shall go free. Is that so?" I thanked hint in the best Italian I could muster. "Do not speak your Italian to me ; I speak English as a native ; I can know all you shall say to me in your own tongue. See, here is the train special, as 3*oll call it. Enter, as it shall please 3*ou." The train drew up to the platform ; and I saw that the stoker was at his post, and that the engine driver was an Englishman. I endeavored in vain to draw his atten tion to warn him, and was compelled to take my scat, which I did in the compart ment next the guard's break—the train con sisting of onl3* that carriage and another,in which were the Count, ids mother, and tin servant. The guard passed along the train, locked the doors, and entered his box. " The Florence goods is behind 3*oll, and the Sienna goods is due at Empoli Junction four minutes before 3*011*; mind 3*oll don't run into it," said the station-master, with a laugh. " No fear ; we shall not run into it," said the guard, with a marked emphasis 011 the "we " and "it " that I recalled after wards. The whistle sounded, and we were off. It was a drizzing, dark night; and I la 3* down full length 011 the seat to sleep. As I la 3* down a gleam of light shot ac ross the carriage from a small chink in the wood-work of the partition between the compartment I was in, and the guard's box. I was terribly anxious from the manner of the guard, and this seemed to be a means of hearing something more. I lay down and listened attentively. "How much will you give for your life, my little fox ?" said the guard. "To-day, ver3* little ; when lam sixty, all I have, Conrad." "But 3*oll might give something for it to night, sweet Alexis, if you knew it was in danger" "I have no fear ; Conrad Ferrati has too often conducted a train for nie to fear to night." " True, my good Alexis ; but this is the last train he will ride with as guard, for to-morrow he will be the great Count Spez zato." "How? To-morrow? You joke, Con rad. The brandy was strong, but 3*oll who have drunk so much could hardly feel that." " I neither joke or ant I drunk ; yet 1 shall be Count Spezzato to-inorrow, good Alexis. Look you, my gentle fox, my sweet fox ; if you do not buy your life of me you shall die to-night. That is simple, sweet fox. " A3'; but, Conrad, lam not in danger." " Nay, Alexis ; see, here is the door." (I heard him turn the handle.) "If 3*ou lean against the door you will fall out and be killed. Is it not simple ?" " But, good Conrad, I shall not lean against the door." "Oh Ul3* sweet fox, my cunning fox, my timid fox, but. not my strong fox ; you will lean against that door. I know 3*ou will unless 1 prevent you ; and I will uot prevent you unless you give me all you have in that bag." The mocking tone of the guard seemed well understood, for 1 heard the click of gold. " Good, my Alexis ; it is good ; but it is very little for a life. Come, what is your life worth, that you buy it only with 3*olll - money ? it has cost you nothing. I see you will lean against that door,which is so foolish." " What, in the name of all the devils in hell will 3'ou have?" said the trembling voice of the courier." " Only a little more ; just that belt that is under your shirt, under everything, next to your skin, and dearer to you ; only a lit tle soft leather belt with pouches in. Is not life worth a leather belt ?" " Wretc.i ! All the earnings of my life arc in that belt, and you know it." "Is it possible, sweet fox, that I have found your nest ? I shall give Marie a neck lace of diamonds, then. Why do 3*oll wait ? Whj should you fall from a train and make a piece of news for the papers ? Why ?" "Take it; and be accursed in 3*our life and death!" and I heard the belt flung on th- floor of the carriage. " Now, good Alexis, I am in funds, there are three pieces of gold for you ; you will need them at Leghorn. Will you drink ? No? Then I will tell 3*oll wli3 T , without drink. Do you know where we are?" " Yes ; between St. Dominic# and Sig 11a." " And do 3'ou know where you are go ing ? " Yes ; to Leghorn." " No, sweet Alexis, we are not ; we are going to Empoli ; the train will go no fur ther. Look you, little fox ; we shall arrive at the junction one minute before the Sien na goods train, and there the engine will break down just where the rails cross ; for two blows of a hammer will convert an en gine into a log ; I shall get out to examine it ; that will take a little time ; I shall ex plain to the Count the nature of the injury; that will take a little time ; and then the goods train will have arrived ;®and as it does not stop there, this train will go no further than Empoli, and 1 shall be Count Spezzato tomoirow. How do you like my scheme, little fox? Is it not worthy of your pupil ? Oh, it will be a beautiful accident; it will fill the papers. The beast of an Englishman who begged his place in the train will be fortunate ; be will cease, for goods trains are heav3*. Eh ! but it's a. grand scheme—the son, the mother, the servant, the stranger, the engine-driver, all shall tell 110 tales." " And the stoker ?" said the courier. " Oh, you and he and I shall escape. We shall be pointed at in the streets as the for tunate. It is good, is it not, Alexis, my fox ? 1 have told him that the Count is the man who betrayed his sister. He believes it, and is 1113* creature. But, little fox, it was not 1113' cousin,it was ni3*self, that took his Beatrix from her home. Is it not gen ius? And Atkinson—he, the driver—is now stupid : he has drunk from his can the poppy juee that will make him sleep for ever. 1 will be a politician. lam worth 3* of office. I will become the minister of a Bourbon when I am Count, my dear fox,and 3*oll shall be 1113* comrade again, as of old." 1 was, for a time, lost to every sensation save that of hearing. The fiendish garrul it3* of the man had all the fascination of the serpent's rattle. I felt helplessly re signed to a certain fate I was aroused by something white slow ly passing the closed window of the car riage. I waited a little, then gently open ed it and looked out. The stoker was crawl ing along the foot board of the next car riage, holding on by its handles, so as not to be seen Il3* the occupants, and holding the signal lantern that I had noticed at the back of the last carriage in his hand. The meaning of it struck me in a moment ; if by a M 3' chance we missed the goods train from Sienna, we would be run into from be hind by the train from Florence. The cold air that blew in at the open window refreshed me, and I could think what was to be done. The train was in- i creasing its pace rapidly. Evidently the stoker, in sole charge,was striving to reach Empoli before the other train, which we should follow,was due ; he had to make five minutes in a journey of forty-five, at d, at the rate we were going 1 , we should do it. We stopped nowhere, and the journey was more than half over. We were now be tween Segua and Montelupo ; another twen ty minutes and I should be a bruised corpse. Something must be done. I decided soon. Unfastening my bag, 1 took out my revolver, without which I never travel, and looking carefully to the loading and capping, fastened it to my waist with a handkerchief. I then cut with my knife the bar across the middle of the window, and carefully looking out. 1 could sec nothing; the rain was falling fast, and the night was dark as ever. I cautiously put out lirst one leg then the other, keeping my knees and toes close to the door, and lowered myself till I felt the step. I walk ed carefully along the footboard by side steps, holding on to the handles of the doors, till 1 came to the end of the carriages, and was next the tender. Here was a gulf that seemed impassible. The stoker must have passed over it; why not I? Mounting from the foot-board on to fclie tender, and holding on to the iron hook on which the lamps are hung, I stretched my legs to reach the flat part of the buffer on the tender. My legs swung about with vibration, and touched nothing. 1 must spring. I had to hold with both hands behind my back, and stood on the case of the buffer-spring, and, sud denly leaving go, leaped forward, struck violently against the edge of the tender, and grasped some of the loose lumps of coal on to the top. Another struggle brought me on mv knees, bruised and bleeding on the top. 1 stood up and at that moment the stoker opened the door of the furnace, and turned towards me, shovel in hand to put in The bright red light from the lire enabled him to see me, while it blinded me. He rushed at me, and then began a struggle that I shall remember to my dying day He grasped me round the throat with the arm, dragging me close to his breast, and with the other kept shorten ing the shovel tor an effective blow. My hands, numbed and bruised, were almost useless to me, and for same seconds we reeled to and fro on the foot-plate in the blinding glare. At last he got me against the front of the engine, and with horrible ingenuity, pressed me against it till the lower part of my clothes were burnt to a cinder. The heat, however, restored my hands, and at last I managed to push him far enough front my body to loosen my pis tol. I did not want to kill him, but I could not be very careful, and Ilired at his shoul der from the back. He dropped the shovel, the arm that had marly throttled me relax ed, and he fell. 1 pushed him into a cor ner of the tender, and sat down to recover myself. My object was to get to Empoli before the Sienna goods train, for I knew nothing of what might be behind me. It was too late to stop, but I might, by shortening the per Annum, in Advance. journey seven minutes instead of five, get i to Empoli three minutes before the goods I train was due. j I had never been on an engine before in my life, but I knew there must be a valve somewhere that let the steam from the boiler into the cylinders, and that, being important, it would be in a conspicuous position. I therefore turned the large han dle in front of me, and had the satisfaction of finding the speed rapidly increased, and |at the same time felt the guard putting on the break to retard the'train. Spite of this, in ten minutes I could see dim lights ; 1 could not tell where, and I still pressed on, faster and faster. In vain, between the intervals of putting on coals, did I try to arouse the sleeping driver. There I was, with two apparently dead bodies on the foot-plate of an engine, going at the rate of forty miles an hour, or more, amidst a thundering noise and vibra tion that nearly maddened me. At last we reached the lights, and I saw, as I dashed by, that we had passed the point. As I turned back, I could see the rapidly dropping cinders from the train which, had the guard's break been sufficiently power ful to have made me thirty seconds later, would have utterly destroyed me. I was still in a difficult position. There was the train half a minute behind us, which, had we kept our time, would have been four minutes in front of us. It came on to the same rails, and 1 could hear its dull rumbling rushing on towards us,, fast. If I stopped there was no light to warn them. I must go on, for the Sienna train did not stop at Empoli. I put on more fuel, and after some slight scalding, from turning thf wrong taps, had the pleasure of seeing the water gauge tilling up. Still I could not go on long ; the risk was awful. I tried in vain to write on a leaf of my note-book, and after searching in the tool-box, wrote on the iron lid of the tank with a piece of chalk. " Stop everything behind me. The train will not be stopped till three red lights are ranging in a line on the ground. Tele graph forwards," And then as we flew through the Empoli station, I threw it on the platform. On we went, the same dull thunder behind warning me that I dare not stop. We passed through another station at full speed, and at length I saw the white lights of another station in the distance.— The sound behind had almost ceased, and in a few moments more I saw the line of three red lamps low down on the ground, i I pulled back the handle, and after an in effectual effort to pull up at the station, brought up the train about a hundred yards beyond Pontedera. The porters and police of the station came up and put the train back, and then came the explanation. The guard had been found dead on the i rails, just beyond Empoli,and the telegraph j set to work to stop the train. He must have found out the failure of his scheme, and in trying to reach the engine, have i fallen on the rails. The driver was only stupified, and the stoker fortunately ouly dangerously, not fatally wounded. Another driver was found, and the train was to go on. The Count had listened most attentively to my statements, and then, taking my grimed hand in his, led me to his mother. " Madam, my mother, you have from this day one other sou ; this, my mother, is my brother." The Countess literally fell on my neck, and kissed me in the sight of them all ; and speaking in Italian, said— "Julian, he is my son ; he hft saved my life ; and more, he has saved your life.— My son, I will not say much ; what is your name ? " "Guy Westwood." " Guy, my child, my son,l am your moth er ; you shall love me. " "Yes, my mother ; he is my brother. I am his. lie is English, too ; I like English. He has done well. Blanche shall be his sister. " During the whole of this time both moth er and son were embracing me and kissing my cheeks, after the impulsive manner of their passionate natures, the indulgence of which appears so strange to uur cold blood. The train was delayed for my wounds aud bruises to be dressed, and I then en tered their carriage and went to Leghorn with them. Arrived there I was about to say " Fare well. " " What is farewell, now ? No •, you must • see Blanche, your sister. You will sleep ! at my hotel: I shall not let you go. Who j is she that in your great book says, 'Where ! you go I will go ?' That is my spirit. You ! must not leave me till—till you are as hap- , py as I am. " lie kept me, introduced me to Blanche, ! and persuaded me to write for leave to stay j another two months, when he would return to England with me. Little by little he ! made me talk about Alice, till he knew all my story. "Ah ! that is it : you shall be unhappy because you want five hundred pounds every year, and I have so much as that. I j am a patriot to get rid of my money. So it is that you will not take money. You '■ , have saved my life, and you will not take money : but I shall make you take money, my friend, English Guy ; you shall have as thus. " And he handed me my appointment as secretary to one of the largest railways in Italy. " Now you shall take money ; now you will not go to your fogland to work like a slave ; you shall take the mon ey. That is not all. lam one of the prac tice patriots—no, the practical patriots— of Italy. They come to me witlttheir con spiracies to join their secret societies to abhere to, but I do not. I am direc tor of ever so many railways ; I make fresh directions every day. I say to those who talk to me of politics, ' How many shares will you take in this or in that ?' I am a printer of books ; I am builder of museums ; I have great share in docks,and i I say to these. "It is this that lam doing that is wanted." This is not conspiracy ; iit is not plot; it is not society with rib [ bons ; but it is what Italy, my country, I wants. I grow poor ; Italy grows rich ; I lam not wise in these things ; they cheat me, because lam an enthusiast. Now, | Guy, my brother, you are wise ; you are deep ; long in the head ; in short, you are English ! you shall be my guardian iu these ' things—you shall save me from the cheat, and yflu shall work hard as you like for all the money you shall take of me. Come,my Guy, is it so?" Need T say that it was so ? The Count and his Blanche made their honey moon tour in England. They spent Christmas day with Alice and myself at Mr. Morton's, and when they left, Alice and I left with them, for our new home in Florence FROM MINNESOTA. ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA, Feb. 11, 1865. To THE EDITOR OF THE BRADFORD REPORTER : —Believing that a communication from Minnesota will be interesting to the many readers of your paper, 1 have concluded to write you a description of the country and give you my opinion concerning its future prospects. I write for the purpose of giv ing information to those who are desirous of learning this truth concerning the North west. I frequently receive letters from the east containing the following questions : " How do you like Minnesota ?" " llow do you like the climate?" '.'Are the winters en durable?" I propose to answer these ques tions, and then add what other news I think will be interesting to your readers. Minnesota is bounded as follows : OP the north by the British Possessions ; on the east, by Lake Superior, the Wisconsin and the Mississippi rivers ; on the south, by lowa ; and on the west, by the Territory of Dacotah. The surface of the country is generally rolling, and somewhat similar to Wisconsin, Illinois, and lowa. In the nor thern portion of the State, there is an im mense forest containing pine sufficient to ' supply every demand. The rich valleys of 1 the Mississippi and its tributaries, are gen erally covered with a heavy growth of the J various kinds of hard wood, enough to fur | nish every family with fencing and fuel, i Besides every section of the .State is dotted i with lakes surrounded with timbers. These I lovely sheets of water not only form a marked feature on the scenery of Minneso ta, but abound with a great variety of fish, and in the spring and fall they are the re sort of incalculable numbers of wild ducks j and geese. An emigrant seeking a new home for j himself and family in the West, is anxious to settle in a good country, well adapted to the culture of the grand staples of food, and a salubrious climate. No one convei 1 sant with the facts, will deny but what : Minnesota is a grain producing State, is equal to any in the Northwest. The cli mate is admitted to be healthy, and during the whole year invalids can be found who have come here to seek lost health. This I regard as a strong argument in favor of Minnesota What is a good home worth, in a country where every breeze wafts pesti lence and death, removing one after another of those who are near and dear to us ? The winter has been the subject of a good deal of very unjust disparagement. It is thought by many to be cold and severe, almost in tolerable, but the old settlers, those who have been here for years, regard it as the pleasantest season in the whole year. In the middle of November or the first of De cember the ground is frozen, and snow falls generally deep enough to make sleighing. The air is clear and bracing, and we arc not troubled with rain and sleet followed by severe cold. In the month of March, as the sun approaches the north, winter relaxes his grasp, the rivers and lakes are unbound, the snow disappears, and the farmer is busy preparing his ground for his summer crop. In 1862 the Homestead Art passed Con gress. By the provisions of this act the actual settleys by living upon a quarter section (160 acres) five years can procure a perfect title to the same. The State will soon be thickly settled, and the land of course become valuable. Fifteen years ago the Territory of Minnesota had but few in habitants, and those were mostly Indian traders. The buffalo and deer were hunted by the Indian, and churches aud school houses were unknown. To-day the city of St. Paul, the capitol of the State, contains 15,000 inhabitants, and for 150 miles back from the Mississippi the State is well set tled. Churches and school-houses are found in nearly every community, and every thing has the appearance of an Eastern country. A railroad is in successful operation from St. Paul up the valley of the Mississippi for a distance of fifty miles, and also from Winona west to the city of Rochester, an other fifty miles, the cars are running. In a couple of years, unless some unforseen object preveuts it, the cars will be running from Winona through the southern part of I the State to Maukato, from St. Paul to Lake | Superior ; from St. Paul up the valley of | the Mississippi to St. Cloud ; from St. Paul up the valley of the Minnesota to Mandate; aud also from St. Paul to the lowa line vift Faribault aud Owatoma, making about i eight hundred miles of railroad in success j ful operation. Now is the time to emigrate ito Minnesota. Upon the completion of the ! proposed railroads the land will double in [ value, aud every thing thrive like plants in ' a hot-house. NUMBER 40. The political coraplection of UJF. State is strongly in favor of the present Adminis tration. Fifty of the sixty-three members of the Legislature are Republicans. \\ ith a population in ISCO of one hundred and seventy-two thousand, the State has enlis ted over twenty thousand soldiers. The first regiment has been with the Army ot the Potomac from the Bull Run battle-field, until the present time. The other regi ments, with the exception of two or three, that have been engaged on the frontier against the Indians, have shared in the re verses and successes of the Western Army, and upon the historic fields of Shiloh, Vieks burg, Chattanooga, Atlanta, and Savannah, have contributed not a little to make the Western soldiery the terror of Rebeldom The Legislature is in session, and Penn sylvania is well represented, in members. Bradford county is represented in the Sen ate by the Hon. J. V. DANIELS, who is serv ing his fourth year, and in the House by J. L. GIBBS, formerly of Orwell, who is serving ' his second year. Pennsylvanians have, by | the way, always had an influence upon the politics of Minnesota. Her first territorial ' Governor, ALEXANDER RAMSEY, who has since j been twice elected Governor of thejState | and is now in the I nited States Senate, is from Harrisburg. Gov. MILLER, the present | executive, is also from Harrisburg, and Hon. IGNATIUS DONNELLEY, twice .elected Lieut.- | Governor, and last November elected for 1 liis second term in Congress, is from Phila ■ delphia. j Hoping that this letter will answer the ! purpose for which it is written, 1 am re -1 spectfully yours. FREEBORN.
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