TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
The REPORTER is published every Thursday Morn
1V ~ by E. 0. GOODRICH, at $2 per annum, in ad
vance.
VDYERTISEMENTS are inserted at TEN CENTS
line for first insertion, and FTVE CENTS per line
j. r subsequent insertions. A liberal discount is
made to persons advertising by the quarter, half
vt ar or year. Special notices charged one-half
" m( ,re than regular advertisements. All resolutions
~f Associations ; communications of limited or in
dividual interest, and notices of Marriages and
Deaths exceeding five lines, are charged TEN CENTS
l„>r line.
1 Year. 6 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 (
column, confined exclusively to their business, with
privilege of change.
rJB" Advertising in all cases exclusive of sub
neriptiou to the paper.
,101! PRINTING of every kind in Plain andFan
ev colors, done with neatness and dispatch. Hanil
liills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, tc., of every va
rietv and style, printed at the shortest notice. The
lIi.poHTER OFFICE has just been re-fitted with Power
Pivsses, and- every thing in the Printing line can
(>.• executed in the most artistic manner and at the
l„w. >t rates. TERMS INVARIABLY CASH.
gjeprto.
THE REBELLION EXDED.
The long agony is over, the Union is re
stored.
We may now count the cost of our late
unparalleled struggle for the end draweth
nigh, yea it is already attained. The sur
render of Lee necessitates that of Johnston,
and also of all other bodies of rebels now
i arms against the lawful authority of the
Government. We have conquered. Our na
tion is. today, the most powerful nation
upon the face of the earth.
Ist. Because we have now a better disci
|i!ined army than any other power, and the
broad ocean bears not upon its bosom a j
more gallant navy than ours. Whether
upon land r sea our stars and stripes are
h une upward by a power, invincible and j
irresistible.
21. Because we have the means to pay
, very dollar of the debt we have made. It ,
is, too lay, but little more than one-half as j
! u-o-e as that of the first powers of Europe, !
an 1 it.- entire extinguishment is only a ques
tion of time. With northern energy and j
enterprise, with our industry in the various
departments of business, our commerce
whitening the sea, our broad acres the Sa
vannas of the west, inviting cultivation
and capable of supplying the world with
food, the increased emigration which the
peace we have now will bring to our shores
—with all these facilities of paving off our |
national debt, it must soon cease to exist, j
3d. Because the moral courage we have j
gained in the strife will go far to prove us
invincible in comparison with every other j
na ion. Northern courage has conquered in
a contest in which every other interest in
the world was arrayed against us. In the
darkest hour it has stood firm, yielding its
blood and treasure at the call of patriotism
and duty. Defeat has but rendered it more
:> termined and disaster more willing for
tie• sacrifice. In a just cause we may defy
tiie world.
4th. Because slavery is abolished. Slave
ry that dark blot upon our fair fame is
dead, dead. We stand a free people, re- i
deemed, regenerated, disenthralled. We j
are men, all of us, not things. In the shape !
of men with hearts, souls, thoughts, pas- j
sit>ns, and affections, we are no longer i
ehattles subject to the caprice of tyrants, i
\\ e may no longer blush that our land is j
disgraced by a system that outrages rea- j
> >n and common sense, which strips a man j
if his manhood and thrusts him without [
the pale of humanity, and we may rejoice i
that no longer need our countrymen bow
their heads in shame that they are Ameri- j
can citizens.
Here, then, are so many reasons why we j
may consider ourselves so powerful a peo- j
pie, and in arriving at such conclusions we i
■lo not draw upon the imagination. Let;
the most sober and moderate among us [
-'-T.ously cmsider the circumstances under J
which we take this new lease of national 1
and in the light of what is, and is most j
pr<>hable and likely to be, decide the qnes-!
ti''ii- W bile slavery lasted it would always !
' a drag upon our progress. The good j
'" ! could never bestow his most beneficent j
Mimes where his law was so openly trans
gressed. But now, imagination can but !
feebly express the high destiny which
awaits us. Politically, commercially, and
no doubt financially, we shall hold the bal
ance <>l power. Gold, cotton, petroleum,
iron, bread, aie the great staples witli
which American labor is to supply the
wants of the world. New York is our me-
Wopolis. Look north and south, look east
and west, and where do you see an empo- j
nmn commanding such facilities for growth, ;
-'many interests all centering there.— I
W here the city absorbing the trade of so '
"> >-t an interior, and reaching that interior l
y >uch a system of communication, sit-'
iuted upon a coast line of tens of thous- j
""L of miles in extent, each mile paying
tribute, and receiving from it the produc
n of every other mile on the globe?
1 sec no where else such a world's cen-
Eurupe can furnish no rival in natural j
Mintages. Her great emporiums are but!
' ' xpressions of national interests, for j
"-li commerce has her general law of j
itutioii, yet that same law loses much
'ts force by the rivalry of distinct na
'"•fl'ties. London diverts trade from
ir 'N Amsterdam, and Hamburg; and they
1 Ulr " irom London. But New York has
' "mpetitor on the western continent.
•'1 Hie rebellion succeeded, Charleston
have assumed a certain commercial !
' Unce —as it is, it will ever be but a
of \ L . W York.
Award the star of empire takes its
wav "iii.
"muiied years will not pass be
-' w Yrk has a greater population
1 ,l "\ other city upon the globe, and ;
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXV.
our political importance will keep pace
with our population. The rebellion has
swept from our path the only obstacle to
our progress there was in it. Slavery not
only finds in it its quietus, but the pernic
ious doctrine of State rights is also explo
ded, and the pre-eminence of the Union es
tablished. No demagogue in search of po
litical power and impelled by personal
ambition, will ever again dare to talk of
State rights as a stepping stone to the pop
ular consideration. That heresy is dead
beyond the power of a thousand Calhouns
and Davis' to galvanize into spasmodic life.
We are free from all southern heresies, we
are free in heart and life, in soul and body.
! By the blessing of God we are free.
"Sound the loud timbrel, &c."
And what shall we say of those men who
; have taken their lives in their hands and
gone forth to stem this torrent of anarchy
i and rebellion, that others no better than
| they might live and die in peace? Oh,
j here all language fails to express what
should be our gratitude to those noble pat
riots who bared their bosoms to the shafts
of battle, and said to an insolent foe,
j " strike here." They have conquered in a
; mightier warfare than, till now, the world
has ever known. History has no paralell
j to their deeds, lor history has no page on
which is presented so vast a theatre for the
red legions of war to occupy. Such great
armies, such bloody battles, such impor
tant interests suspended on the issue, have
not in modern times awakened the hopes
and fears of men.
And not only the rank and file of our
armies, but the leaders in this sanguniary ,
strife, should, through all time, be endeared j
to our hearts by the liveliest emotions of i
gratitude and love. Grant, Sherman, Sher- j
idan, Thomas, anil Meade, are names that
henceforth will take rank with the proudest
and most renowned of ancient and modern
war. During the last and closing year,
each have enacted parts of a general plan,
the consummate wisdom of which is now
seen in the result. No part of the great
circle which, in its slowly contracting pro
gress was intended to crush the enemy in
its centre, was left unclosed. The end
came—the great rebellion strangled and
smothered in the folds of the Anaconda,
gave up the ghost.
But what shall we do with Jefferson Da
vis if we catch him ? Some magnanimous
souls are already advocating his release
from all the pains and penalties of his trea
son. Here is a man whose single will has
occasioned the death of a round half million
of innocent men ; some by battle, some by
fell disease, aud a great man}' by absolute
starvation in southern prisons. In the long
list of those who have cursed the earth by
their crimes and atrocities, who have cast
a reproach upon humanity and exhibited
the ferocity of demons, Jefferson Davis is
chief. The slow murder of prisoners by
starvation was a part of his cruel policy
to deplete our armies, and a thousand, yea,
ten thousand northern wives and mothers
will execrate bis name and memory for
ever.
Treason is a more reprehensible crime
than murder,.because it reduces society to
chaos and anarchy, it overturns all law and
government, it lifts the hand of each man
against the throat of his fellow, and the
strongest bears sway over the weak. Into
this black gulf the personal ambition of
Jefferson Davis plunged this nation, and
although it has extracted itself from the
horrible pit, yet it was his early, and late,
and persistent effort, to confine it there.
Ah, save such a dark spirit from the scaf
fold, whose hands are reeking in the blood
drawn from hearts that once beat with good
will to all men, with patriotism aud love to
their race, a love his sordid selfish soul
never felt, and could never know. Save
Jefferson Davis from the gallows ! " angels
and ministers of grace defend us."
MR. REPORTER —The following statement
was made in a prayer meeting in Camp
Distribution, by Mr. J. WOOD, who is a
soldier in our army. It may interest at
least some of your readers. The young
soldier stepped out into the aisle and said :
" The prayer meeting is a most interest
ing place to me, and especially so since I
have been delivered in such a remarkable
manner from the power of my enemies, for
I think that none but God could have
granted me such a deliverance.
" hen the war first commenced, ( my
father had warm friends in the South, and
being offered a Generalship, he accepted it,
and wished me to accompany him, which I
refused to do. He threatened to disinherit
me, and I told him I loved my country bet
ter than gold,and 1 could not desert her in her
hour of peril, and 1 left a home of opulence
a pennyless wanderer, and joined the army
and went into the secret service of the
United States.
"My mother taught me when a child to
say, " Our Father," and I learned to love
my Mother's God, and I was willing to
trust myself in his hands. I intend to be
an honeßt man, but I did wear a disguise
that I might render more efficient and val
uable service to my country. I went be
yond our lines. Yes ! I went into their
lines, and although I had some hairbreadth
escapes, I was not detected until one even
ing as 1 was passing through the streets
of St. Louis, J met several young persons,
and you ma}' judge of my surprise when
one of them called me by name. I told
TO WANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 27, 1865.
I them probably they were mistaken in the
person. They said no we are not. We
know who you are. And they did know
who I was, for they were my former asso
ciates, and 1 could not deceive them. They
Btepped into the house near by, and soon I
was surrounded by Confederate soldiers,
who ordered me to surrender, and 1 did not
do anything else ; and they seemed well
pleased that they had ayankeespy in their
power.
" I was very soon locked in prison, and
in a cell feet long, high, and 2J wide,
where I remained three months, and saw
no light during the time. I was fed with
bread and water twice a day, and being
quite tall, as you see, I could not straight
en my limbs during the time.
" At the same time 130 Union men were
brought out and one of their number was
to be burned alive. They cast lots, and
the lot fell on an old man whose locks had
been whitened by the frosts of more than
seventy winters, and were as white as the
driven snow, and fell gracefully down over
his collar.
" Before being taken to the slake, pray
er was offered, and oh ! what a prayer
j meeting that was. Such earnest, sincere,
i heartfelt, agonizing prayer, very seldom
! ascends from mortals.
" Prayer over, the old man was led out,
j and a black man with him. Then they
; were bound back to back to the stake,
j their hands stretched out and a small chain
| was wound around them from their feet to
; their hands. Then brush was piled around
j them, oil poured on the brush, and then the
j fatal, infernal match was applied, with
( worse than infernal hands, and the flames j
; instantly ascend in awfully majestic col- :
| umns, and their fierce and lurid contortions j
I they seized the victims, and oh ! what hor- '
rid shrieks rent the air. A few moments
more and all was over with them.
To the remaining 129 was given the
chance to take the oath of allegiance or
die, and the instantaneous, unanimous re
ply was, we can never own allegiance to a
government which will tolerate such hor
rid crimes as that. We love the Union,
and dear old flag, and then one by one they '
marched out and were shot.
" I was then placed on the scaffold, the |
rope adjusted about my neck, and the cap
drawn over my eyes, and that was the j
happiest moment of my life. 1 thought in '
a few minutes 1 shall see mother, whom I ■
loved as I did myself, and I shall see my j
Saviour, too, whom 1 love a great deal bet- j
tor than I do my mother or myself, and
then all sin and sorrow, pain and anguish,
will never mar the happiness which 1 felt
confident 1 should forever enjoy. But hark !
Who are those riding in such haste ? List
en ! Says one of them : " I believe that
is Joshua." They came a little nearer and
Gen. Joe Johnson ordered the cap removed
and I confronted my father face to face.—
It was an interesting moment. I was then
sent back to the prison, but soon was put
in an iron cage and exhibited as the Yan
kee spy who escaped hanging.
" But the officers who expected to hang
me were not pleased with the idea of be
ing deprived of tie* privilege of seeing a
Yankee dance on nothing.
" After being exhibited till they were
satisfied, I was allowed to go out of the i
prison, and was sent to the outskirts of the I
city, on some pretended errand, which 1 j
always faithfully performed and immodi- ■
ately returned. One evening I came in j
and my keeper said to me : " Wood, why j
don't you go away from here ?" Said I, |
"That would be forfeiting my word, and 1 i
consider my word when given, worth more
than my neck." Said he, "If you will
leave to-morrow we will not consider it any
violation of plighted faith." The morrow
came, and I left the prison forever. 1 wan
dered through the country and escaped de- i
tection until 1 was safely within our lines, j
and under the Stars and Stripes.
" I have told you this incident, my com- ,
rade soldiers, to show you how God can i
protect those who put their trust in Him. [
Come, put your trust in Him and you are
safe." Yours truly,
April 8, 18(55. E. P. COBURN.
WHY JEWS ARK BKAI TIFUI,. —Chateaubriand
gives a fanciful but agreeable reason for
the fact that the Jewish women are so much
handsomer than the men of their nation.—
He says Jewesses have escaped the curse
which alighted upon their fathers, husbands
and sons. Not a Jewess was to be seen
among the crowd of priests and rabble who
insulted the Son of God, scourged him,
crowned him with thorns, and subjected
him to infamy and the agony of the cross.
The woman of Judea believed in the
Saviour, and assisted in soothing him under
affliction. A woman of Bethany poured on
his head precious ointment which she kept
in a vessel of alabaster. The sinner anoint
ed his feet with perfumed oil, and wiped
them with her hair. Christ, on bis part,
extended mercy to the Jewess. lie raised
from the dead the son of the widow of Nain,
and Martha's brother Lazarus. lie cured
Simon's mother-in-law, and the woman wlto
touched the hem of his garment. To the
Samaritan woman he was a spring of living
waters, and a compassionate judge of the
woman in adultery. The daughters of Je
rusalem wept over him ; the holy woman
accompanied him to Calvary, brought him
balm and spices, and weeping, sought him
in the sepulchre. "Woman, why weepest
thou ?" His first appearance aftei the res
urrection was to Mary Magdalene. He
said to her, "Mary !" At the sound of his
voice, Mary Magdalene's eyes were opened,
and she answered, ' Master." The reflec
tion of some ray must rested upon the brow
of the Jewess.
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
OUR BOYS ARE COMING HOME.
Thank God, the sky is clearing!
The clouds are hurrying past;
Thank God, the day is Hearing!
The dawn is coming fast.
And when glad glad herald voices
Shall tell us peace has come.
This thought shall most rejoice ns :
" Our boys are coming home!"
Soon shall the voice of singing
Drown war's tremendous din :
Soon shall the joy-bells ringing
Bring peace and freedom in.
The jubilee bonfires burning,
Shall soon light up the dome.
And soon, to soothe our yearning.
Our boys are coining home.
The vacant fireside places
Have waited for them long ;
The love-light lacks their faces,
The chorus waits their song ;
A shadowy fear has haunted
The long deserted room :
But now our prayers are granted,
Our boys are coming home!
i
O mother, calmly waiting
For that belove 1 son!
O sister proudly dating
The victories he has won!
O maiden softly humming
The love song while you roam—
Joy, joy, the boys are coming—
Our boys are coming home.
And yet—oh! keenest sorrow !
They're coming, but not all ;
Full many a dark to-morrow
Shall wear its sable pall
For thousands who are sleeping
Beneath the empurpled loam ;
Woe! woe! for those we're weeping,
Wlio never will come home!
O sad heart, hush thy grieving :
Wait but a little while!
With hoping and believing
Thy woe and fear beguile.
Wait for the joyous meeting
Beyond the starry dome,
Fov there our boys are waiting
To bid ns welcome home.
A RUNAWAY MATCH.
BY MRS MARY C. VAUGHAN.
" I would not condemn them sosweeping
ly, Robert, my boy. "
Robert looked up in surprise, and the old
father gave a meaning glance at his old
wife, sitting opposite him, and chuckled au
dibly.
" What ! do you mean to say, father,that
you are in favor of runaway marriages?"
asked Robert, breathless from the shock he
had received. He had been declaiming
with that intense satisfaction one feels in
the consciousness of being able to talk well,
and the certainty of carrying his audience
with him, against all clandestine matches.
The mild check of his father's words was
like a peal of thunder in his ears.
" Why, no, my son, " the old gentleman
answered. " I object to sweeping asser
tions of all kinds. As a rule, perhaps, the
fact of a clandestine arrangement of this
kind argues the existence of something
wrong ; but there may exist circumstances
perfectly and fully justifying a runaway
marriage—eh, mother ? "
Robert looked from one to the other.—
On the wan, faded cheek of his mother a
faint flush was glowing, and a soft light
was in her dimmed eye. The big, portly
figure of his father was shaking with sup
pressed laughter, and his eyes twinkled
with mirth. Robert had just graduated at
College, and was now about to enter
the Theological Seminary. He was a good
scholar, and an earnest, practical young
man. He had a exalted opinion of his vo
cation and of himself, lie was accustom
ed to being listened to with much defe
rence, and he by no means relished being
laughed at. He got up and stalked out of
the room with a most impressive tread and
head considerably elevated. He was about
equally puzzled and angry. The joyous
ha ! ha ! of his dear old father's voice fol
lowed him as he strode away and made
him somehow angrier. But angry at his
parents! Surely that was wrong. He must
go back ; he must humble himself to ask
their forgiveness ; he must not indulge in
such sinfull feelings a minute longer. So,
without going into the garden,as he intend
ed, he turned about and entered the room
again.
His father and mother had never been
ashamed to seem to love each other in the
presence of their childred. And now he
found his mother, where he had often seen
her before, sitting by his father's side, and
listening with a well pleased smile to some
very lover-like talk. And she neither look
ed nor felt ashamed, though she had been
a wife almost fifty years, and it was already
planned to celebrate the golden wedding
the following spring.
"Never mind, Bob," the father said,
when his son, in a few hesitating but manly
words had signified the penitence for the
anger he had displayed. "It is not strange
for young people to believe their theories
better than old people's experience. Your
mother and I can readily forgive you for
differing from us in opinion, especially as
ours has the most substantial foundation,
and has already withstood the tempests of
well-nigh fifty years. Look my boy ! Here
are we a hale and happy old pair, and a liv
ing exemplification of my doctrine that peo
ple who run away to get married are not
always either wickod or miserable. "
Robert looked from the father's smiling
face to the serious and tender one of the
mother. Far down the valley of life they
had passed, serene and loving undismayed
by the storms of life, untouched by its
temptations, beloved, liouored, respected.
Their life had been rich alike in household
joys and in worldly honor. Squire Thorn
was the arbiter of all the country round,
and his opinion was respected almost more
than the law. Mrs. Thorn was a " mother
in Israel ;"a gentle minister in all things
that concerned the material as well as the
spiritual welfare of her vast circle of ac
quaintance. Wisdom and purity and kind
ness had been the law of those gentle beau
tiful lives now drawing to a close. It was
hard to believe that this aged pair had sig
nalized the outset of their joint existence
by an act which he, their son had just de
signated as " one of the insanest follies of
which human beings are capable." He
drew a long breath and sat down bewil
dered.
" I can hardly believe it yet, father, " he
said feebly.
" But it is true, nevertheless, my boy ;
and lest you should be tempted to despise
your parents—never mind depreciations- -
I'll tell you all about it, Sit still, mother you
need not be ashamed to hear your youth
ful exploits spoken of. "
" Oh, Mr. Thorn ! we never told any of
our children. Do you think it best to tell
Robert ? "
This was the most violent expostulation
that good, gentle Mrs. Thorn ever uttered
and after that, if Mr. Thorn signified that
he did "think it best," she acquiesced pla
cidly, perfectly satisfied that he must be
right.
" How cruel you are, mother, to try to
frighten father and prevent my hearing
the story ! I would not have thought it of
you.!"
This was an ancient household jest, to
pretend to fancy the wild little woman
frightening somebody, aud putting the fam
ily in mortal terror for daring to dispute
her will. It put them all in good humor
with themselves and each oth<-r.
" Now, Bob, " the old gentleman com
menced " I take it for granted that, not
withstanding your objection to runaway
matches, you are inclined to think well of
your parents.
" You've no idea that in his youth your
father was a ravenous wretch, going about
the world seeking whom he may devour, in
the shape of richly-endowed damsels with
more money than brains. Nor do you think
your mother, who I can testify, was really
a passable looking girl when in her teens,
ever flirted and read novels after the fasli-
I ion of those silly Miss Sedleys down at the
mill village. Nor were we, either of us
j persons of that class. 1 was the son of a
j poor widow,who worked and strove to keep
and educate me while I was a child, and I
: worked and strove to lift this and all other
| burdens from her shoulders as soon as I was
| old enough. I really had no time to roam
about in search of even such delicious food.
And Patty there, though her father was a j
wealthy farmer, she had to spin and bake,
and brew ; and I remember the summer j
she was sixteen she was engaged in weav
ing a web of linen to be made into table ■
cloths for her own outfit. She had spun j
and prepared the yarn, and after she had j
woven it (was it the lemon-peel or bird's j
eye, Patty ?) she bleached it, cut it into j
lengths, and sewed it with her own hands. j
That is the way girls did in those days,and !
they had not much time for novels or flirta- J
tion either.
" I was a great awkward lad of twenty ;
that summer. For two winters I had taught j
school in the little log school-house on the j
hill, and all the summers I worked for one j
or other of the rich farmers in the neigh- ;
borhood. This year I had hired out to i
Squire Evans for ten dollars a month.
" I guess you don't remember your grand
sire Evans do you Robert ? He must have j
died before you were old enough to notice.
Well he was Patty's father and counted a
hard stern man, with gusty passions and
given to harsh words if people or things
displeased him. But Patty had been my
scholar the two winters I had been teach
ing and I made up my mind that I could
get along with her father for the sake of
being where I could see her every day. So
I closed with his offer and went there to
live, though Deacon Thompson had offered
me a dollar more a month.
" I should have been angry if any one
held me a servant. I did not feel like one,
nor was I treated as one. I sat at the same
table and partook of the same food as my
employers, and I was lodged as well as
they. I retained my self respect and was
respected by them. But still there was an
intangible line of seperation. In one sensn
I was acknowledged equal—labor did not
degrade me ; but poverty placed me lower
in the social scale than the rich farmer and
his family.
"Pretty Patty did not feel this.(You
were pretty Patty then, you know,mother,)
I think that in fact she really looked up to
me. She had learned the trick of obedi
ence as my pupil and she was as gentle
and yielding then as 1 have always found
her. It was not long before I found cour
age to tell my love and had the delight of
listening to her confession that it was reci
procated. I felt a sort of indefinite fear of
opposition but 1 did not imagine it would
amount to more than a mandate of delay.
That I thought myself prepared for. I
must prepare a home and command the
means of supporting a wife before 1 took
one. We were both very young, and quite
willing to wait till we could marry with
comfortable prospects for the future.
" I, of course, had no thought of doing
anything mean or secret. I went to the
Squire the very next morning after the de
licious summer evening that had witnessed
the plighting vows, and, as the phrase went
in those days 'asked his consent'. I re
member this scene so well that it seems to
appear tangibly before me as I speak—the
great barn, witli the fragrant hay piled
high in the mows each side,and the Squire
looking at this odorous wealth with a sort
of grim exultation. Grain harvest was to
commence next day, and I iancy he was
wondering where to bestow the golden
sheaves which,before the week's end,would
be brought there. In truth,his barns were
overflowing already.
"I disliked the task I had to perform,now
that the time of it had come ; but it must
be done. And, after all, I reasoned, there
could not be a more propititous time,for the
Squire is in the best of humors. But there
was the point of my mistake. The cause
which put my employer in such a pleasant
mood was the very one to prove most un
favorable to my suit. II I had more word
ly wise I should never have chosen that
moment to propose my poor self as a son
in-law. of that rich man, exulting in his
wealth. But I was young, and had never
been taught in the hard school which de
grades tue honest man because of his pov
erty.
" So I cleared my throat, and went up to
the squire. ' What is it John Vhe said
quite pleasantly. ' Oh, directions "for the
day I suppose.' How I answered him 1
hardly remember, but 1 made him under
stand, at last, that it was his consent to
per- Annum, in Ad vance.
my marriage with his daughter that I ask
ed for. And then what a change came
over his face ! What a towering passion
he fell into ! How he raved and scolded !
And, finally, how fiercely lie brandished
the pitchfork as he drove me before its
glittering points from the barn !
" I went to the house, hopeless and dis
mayed Patty had been lingering near,
and the tones of her father's voice, as well
as some other words that had reached her
ears left me nothing to tell. But she put
her arms around my neck and kissed me
on the cheek, which she baptized with her
tears ; and then she tried to smile as she
bade me good bye, and exhorted me to be
of good courage. ' Father loves me better
than anything in the world, and I think I
can bring him round. Don't go home to
i your mother ; to tell her would only be
: distressing her, but go into the field and to
: work. Father is short of hands I heard
him say this morning, and he will be more
angry with you if you leave him now."—
' But,' said I, ' he drove me out of the barn
with the pitchfork, and ordered me never
to show my face on the premises again.' —
And then Patty smiled up in my face and
said " Trust me, John, I know father better
than you do, and I know that he don't real
ly want you to leave. Can't you stay for
my sake ?"
" Very well the little minx knew that I
would have done much more for her sake ;
and much as I disliked to meet the Squire
again I promised to stay, and immediately
betook myself to the field.
"The Squire never alluded to what hud
occurred. He treated me much as lie had
done before, but I felt myself watched. Tt
was very seldom that 1 could get access to
Patty, and though living in the same house
I was as effectually separated from her as
though miles of space had intervened.
Matters went on this way all the summer.
Occasionally we met for a few hurried
words. But Patt.y's mother or her maiden
aunt, were close upon her track at all
times, and these hurried interviews only
seemed to keep a faint ember of hope alive.
Winter came, and I was again the teacher
of the country school. But Patty was no
longer my pupil. Her parents could not
trust her so near me, and now we met more
seldom than before. I began to feel sad
and hopeless. What if she could be influ
enced by her parents and cease to love me?
The few hurried words exchanged in our
chauce meetings hardly sufficed to keep
the flame of hope burning. We both felt
sad and disheartened. And so the months
rolled on.
" Then suddenly there came to me ru
mors that old Dr. Tracy's sou and heir, from
Hadfield was often seen at Squire Evan's.
Everybody said lie was courting Patty,
and some few professed to know that they
would be married in the spring. I was in
despair and I waylaid Patty on one of her
visits to the village, and accused her of be
ing false to me. The poor girl looked pale
and worn, and cried bitterly. I felt myself
a brute and I believe I cried too. I know
1 felt like it.
" She said her lathe: was fully determ
ined that she should marry John Tracy ;
but she was equally determined that she
would not, and there had been several con
flicts of will. But no time was determined
on as yet, and she decided to leave home
and try to earn her >wn living in some way,
if he persisted. We were interrupted at
this point and parted.
" I went straight home to my mother and
told her all, and she advised interference
to prevent this unhappy sacrifice. Tracy
had nothing to recommend him but his
riches. Patty did not love him, and did
love me. Sin* promised to marry me, and
in\ T mother said I had the right, and it was,
in truth, my duty to save her from misery.
After that, my mind was made up, and I
found means to communicate with Patty,
and to let her know that she had a friend
who would not see her be driven to extrem
ities.
" Before long it was known in Brighton
that l'attv E.vans was to be married to
young Tracy on the 18th of April. Squire
Evans had spread the report and prepara
tions were making already for the wedding.
Patty told her father that she would not
marry Tracy, but would leave home rather
than be forced into a union so hateful to
her, and was immediately locked into her
chamber in consequence of such a rebel
lion.
" It must be supposed that I was on the
watch, and this circumstance soon came to
my knowledge, and I prepared myself ac
cordingly. We were not far from the
State line and on the night of the 17th of
April, I helped Patty to descend from her
window, assisted her into my carriage, and
before daylight was safely out of Massa
chusetts. We breakfasted at a tawern in
a little village near the line, in New York,
and after the meal was over, preceded qui
etly to the nearest clergyman, who speedi
ly made us one. Before night we were
safely ensconced beneath my mother's roof.
" Patty's cousin Abby who had been
locked up with her on the night of her es
cape, and had in fact, been our accomplice,
received her meals, and our escape was
not known in Brighton till the following
evening. Then, as may be supposed, the
wedding did not take place for want ot the
bride. There was much confusion on the
discovery of her escape, and Squire Evans
vowed that he would never forgive either
of us. But he did before the evening was
over ; and learning that Patty was at my
mothers, he sent his carriage to bring us
all to his house, and then, finding, I sup
pose, that it was useless to attempt any
further opposition, he gave us his blessing
and forgiveness.
"We had our wedding feast, after all,
and Patty slipped up stairs, and put on the
bridal dress in which she expected to be
transformed into Mrs. Tracy. • Altogether
we had a very pleasant and happy time of it.
" Tracy behaved like a good fellow.—
Finding he could not have Patty, whom he
fully forgave, lie transferred his suit and
his affections to Abby, who accepted them,
and made him an excellent wife ; for she
was a good girl, and loved him, which Pat
ty did not.
" Squire Evans never did things by
halves. Ilis forgiveness was full and en
tire, and from that hour until the day of his
death he was a good friend and father to
me, and in after years often avowed him
sell glad that we had taken the matter out
of his hands, and made ourselves happy in
our own way, which at last came to be the
way of his approval also.
" And now, Robert, yon have the story of
one runaway match, that proved a happy
one and I trust it will be a lesson to you
hereafter against all sweeping condemna
tions.
ON PETTICOATS.— EIihu Burritt has been
making calculations about women's petti
coats—queer business for the Learned
Blacksmith—and says more than 10,000
tuns of steel are put into crinoline in
Christendom annually. Upon this the Bos
ton Traveller remarks ; —"Such is the inag
" uitude of crinoline, considered from a busi
: ness point of view, and no wonder that the
article takes up so much room in the world.
, Twenty million pounds of iron worked up
yearly into petticoats and carried about by
the delicate creatures ! It must be a far
greater burden than their sins. But they
get along very well with it, and thrive un
der its weight. Iron, according to Solon,is
the most potent of all things, conquering
even gold's owners ; and ladies find it a
very useful article in making tlier conquests.
Just now it rules 'the court, the camp, the
grove,' and is potential everywhere, from
castle to cottage. In every sense, this is
the age of iron, even women acknowledg
ing the rule of the government of metals,a
rule that literally encircles them. Those
who would abolish the hoop must see that
they have a great interest to contend against,
and that all good conservatives are bound
to oppose them."
AN ABGCJCENTIVE YOCTH.— "That thou hast
do, do it with all thy might said a cler
gyman to his son one morning.
"So I did this morning," replied Bill,with
an enthusiastic gleam in his eyes.
"Ah ! what was it my darling ?" and the
father's hands ran through his offspring's
curls.
"Why, I walloped Jack Edwards till he
yelled like blazes : you should have heard
liim holler, dad."
"Dad" looked unhappy while he explain
ed the precept did not apply a case like
that, and concluded mildy with —
"You should not have done that my
child."
"Then he'd walloped me," retorted Bill.
"Better," expostulated his sire, "to have
fled from the wrath to come."
"Yes," urged Bill, byway of a final
clincher, "but Jack can run twice as fast as
1 can."
The good man sighed, went to his study,
took up a pen and endeavored to compose
himself and a sermon reconciling practice
and precept.
A HEROIC POINTSMAN. —The Berlin Jour
nals relate the following incident which has
just taken place in Prussia : " A pointsman
was at the junction of two lines of rail
way. The engine was within a few sec
onds of reaching the embankment, when
the man, on turning his head, perceived his
little boy playing on the rails of the line
the train was to pass over. With air heroic
devotedness to his duty, the unfortunate
man adopted a sublime resolution. " Lie
down !" he shouted out to the child, but as
to himself, be remained at bis post. The
train passed along on its way, and the lives
of one hundred passengers were perhaps
saved. But the poor child ! The father
rushed forward expectiug to take up only a
corpse, but what was his joy on finding
that the boy had at once obeyed his order.
He laid down, and the whole train passed
over him without injury. The next day the
King sent for the man, and attached to his
breast the medal for civil courage."
THERE are some people always looking
out for slights. They caunot pay a visit,
they cainiot receive a friend ; they cannot
j carry on the intercourse of the family, with
out suspecting some offence is designed.
They are as touchy as hair triggers.—
If they meet an acquaintance in the street
who happens to be preoccupied with busi
ness, they attribute his abstraction to some
motiove personal to themselves, and take
umbrage accordingly. They lay on others
the fault of their irritability. A fit of indi
gestion makes them see impertinence in
everybody they come in contact with.—
Innocent persons, who never dreamed of
giving offense, are astonished to find some
unfortunate word, or some momentary
taciturnity mistaken for insult.
THE diamond, as found in nature, usually
has a crystalized point on one side, and
rough surface, like ground glass, on the
other side, but sometimes the gem has the
entire surface rough. The distinguishing
feauture of the diamoud is its hardness ;
and the most convenient test is a grind
stone, which will not break the point or
dim the lustre ef the diamond, though it
will cut into all other crystals and paste.
The gem can be distinguished from imita
tions and quartz by its greater coolness
when applied to the tongue.
NUMBER 48.
ABSENT MINDED.—A young man of this
city, who was very fond of a clergyman's
daughter, was taking tea at the house of
his adored a short time since, and had some
fruit cake offered him Being somewhat
absent minded,he stammered out,"l pass !"
The father hearing him, and he having
played some in his younger days, was
struck with the infatuation of the youth,
and said bluntly, "You pass, do you?
There's the door ; now, let's see you pass
out I"— Cleveland Plain Dealer.
NATURAL ACTION OF THE MlND. —When the
mind acts up to nature, and is rightly dis
posed, she takes things as they come, stands
loose in her fancy, and tacks about with
her circumstances ; as for fixing the condi
tion of her fortune, she is not at all solicitous
about that. 'Tis true, she is not perfectly
indifferent, she moves forward with a pre
ference in her ehoice ; but then 'tis always
with a reserve of acquiescence, and being
easy in the event.— Anloninons.
A CERTAIN Judge was put to sleep with
an Irishman in a crowded hotel, when the
following conversation ensued :
"Pat, you would have remained a long
time in the old country before you could
have slept with a Judge, would you not ?"
"Yes, yer honor," said Pat; "and I think
yer honor would have been a long time in
the ould countliry befere they'd have made
ye a Judge 1"
Do all in your power to teach your chil
dren selfgovernment. If a child is passion
ate, teach him by patient and gentle means
to curb his temper. If he is greedy, culti
vate liberality in him. If he is selfish, pro
mote generosity.
GOOD men have the fewest fears. He
has but oue who fears to do wrong. He
has a thousand who has overcome that
I one.
IT behooves us to ever pay respect to old
age, because we are all desirous of attain
ing to it.
THE Empress Eugenie figured at a late
reception with diamonds worth three mil
lions and a half in her hair.