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EARLY VVTI MV.
. ~ . the brook the yellow golden reeds,
W th no hling plumes, stand idly swaying there;
, ilTe the stream the summer's flying seeds,
j ce tuneless insects, a.i the balmy air.
, 1,, u light upon the mountain sleeps,
are hid in valley vapors wet;
'■: 'hlaiol blackberry on the wooded steeps
\W.irs its ripe berries of enameled jet.
trlv clouds, becalmed within the sky,
1 with pale gold, like summer castles stand,
in a vision by some dreamer's eye,
I'r railing the sunny slopes of fairy-land.
T ■ ntle winds scarce stir the fading leaves,
v remove the brown and withered clover heads;
A:. I undisturbed the busy spider weaves,
lb im bough to bough, her web of filmy threads.
ru. on the grass the brooding sunbeam lies ;
I'lir wandering airs are filled with faint perfumes;
i/i-r's eye along each ridge descries
i'Le upland sumach's crimson painted plumes.
I the topmost spray the blackbird sings,
With mellow note, his silvery-throated song;
drowsy b> c, with purple gossamer wings,
II us his low, surly hymn the whole day long. !
; . I lie with half-shut, dreamful eyes,
Vu 1 listen to the sounds that fill the air—
.... i low hum ; the wind's melodious sighs ; !
The wanton blackbird twittering blithely there, j
. ion will come the melancholy d ivs,
V . u Nature seems to wear u hidden grief,
• ak and bare will be those pleasant ways,
vVir it moaning winils shall whirl tlie faded leaf! ■
ptefdliuuflttg.
EDITH.
,
-,■ was an orphan. In her helpless ba- j
1 they laid away in the quiet church- j
,i !:ie parents she was destined never to j
. w till tliev met on the shores of another
vorld.
Harry Ainslie and Herman Clay had been
Miniate ti en boyhood ; and it was with a
i_r of' perfect confidence that the for-'
r placed his one treasure in the arms of j
■ friend, ere his feet crossed the dark riv- I
: to j.iiu those of the idolized young bride ;
-■ guile before. " Homeless, penniless, '
le<s, I yield my birdling up to you,"
tiie last words syllabled by the white - '
; - and well was the trust repaid,
iikcn alike into the large old-fashioned;
use, and the great, warm heart of
- 'V.ner, the little Edith never realized
. -ss that had clouded her earliest days,
y one hud had opened by the hearth
: <>f Herman Clay ; his little Claude—
'*.le, fragile, loving ; with a face like the
.".urnd Christ-Child. And so the twochil
"ii walked together through the years
it led to womanhood ; Edith gay, affect-
To, content if only his hands would lead
; Claude looking with reverent love on
:u toss of the bright little head or smile
the dimpled mouth ; caring more for ba
words than for ail the world besides.
Hut rosy childhood flitted away at last,
hniigh her benefactor was in the humble
of life, Edith was allowed a good ed
niiiii. Claude toiled through the college
i limited means until at length the dar
. wish of his heart was realized, and he
as Ml prepared to enter the sacred desk
■ the service of the All-father he adored,
nd thus it was that years of struggle and
■"• had passed, ere the two again met
enoath the lowly, yet cherished roof of
ill' tude had loved the little baby-girl
i;ul shared his early joys and sorrows,
s iw wonder he worshipped the peerless
'nan. Tall, graceful, with her round,
tiit face and raven tresses, she was a
r i' werin that old homestead ; possess
-1 a warm, loving heart, although away
' v " i i its depths lurked the seeds of that
ii ui which had blighted her father's
'"■' ii and life, and which ueeded only the
! temptation to bring them forth to
u "i Claude soon found that he was not
y one that loved her. Often and oft
a stylish horse was fastened to the next
that enclosed the pretty yard ; often
H there was another who sought
: - ".'iety.
■ "s Warren—young, fashionable,
' ay—had left his native town to restore
• ' tiling health ; had seen tlie farmer's
"'-s blossom, and resolved to call her
w". frue.she was a poor country maid
' at such loveliness would grace his city
: and Charles Warren understood the
: winning woman's hearts. So, all
tnough lie was, Claude learned to
sounds of that firm tread up the
walk ; to shrink from the sight of
!' r, "! , l iiead bending over Edith— his
■; [or although he had never spoken
' r of love, it seemed as if he could not
r up. At last he would summon
'gc, and know the worst.
s " one afternoon when Edith sat idly
' 'pen parlor window window, Claude
took a seat near by, and said :
1 uig \\ arren comes here often.Edith."
, J "ght he spoke calmly,but the tone
''sky and abrupt. There was a start,
y • and then the simple word,
. -' f did not pause. He had begun
"k and painful though it was he would
••'iter.
a y e always been a brother to you,
> ue went on, (how that word smote
•w!) " may J aak jf | ie ever speaks
' of marriage."
.picking up a rose from the
"A '? , VLNE " utsi dc a little nervously,
is that love returned, Edith ? Do
"ttpt will at some future day ac-
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXVI.
No one but Claude knew the effort that
question cost.
There was a long pause—then she sat
there quiet and self-possessed.
" I have accepted him."
There was no emotion in the tone. The
sunlight shimmered through the green
leaves on the calm face, and one bird war
bled on the pare tree just outside.
" Edith, I love you better than my own
life !"
The words burst from him involuntarily.
He meant to have concealed it all, but his
exquisite agony wrung it forth. There was
no preceptible change in the face by the
window, and then the vast tide of Claude
Clay's love welled forth, sweeping away
the floodgate of prudence and reserve.
" I love you, Edith" and the tones were
passionate and hoarse, " I love you with
the whole force of my being ! Year by
year that love had gathered strength, till
it is like a,mighty river that will not be
controlled ! 1 have folded you away in
my inmost heart like some priceless gem !
You have been the beacon light that lias
guided me on through struggle and toil !
! I cannot, CANNOT give you up. It would
rend every fibre of my soul !"
And Edith ; what of her ? Dearer than
her own heart's blood was the man before
her ; but he must never know it.
There was a hoarse gasping in the young
man's throat, and then he went on ; this
time bitterly.
" But I am only a clergyman at best ;
and he is a son of wealth and fashion.—
Of course lie could not choose a bride from
the daughters of high degree, but must
claim the one blossom that my whole heart
craved ! Thus says fate ; but I could bet
ter see you die to-day, than behold you the
wife of another I"
The rose was crushed till a thorn was
pressed deep into her finger—but she heed
ed not the pain, so insignificant it was,
compared with that which was searing her
heart forever
There was a long pause—and when he
spoke again, all the passionate harshness
was gone from his voice.
" May the pitying Father forgive these
rebellious thoughts," lie said, in low, mourn
ful tones, " I had hoped so fondly for a sun
ny home in the future, that would be yours
and mine ; but it is over now, 1 must be
content. In God's own time, I shall know
why this crushing blow was sent and
with bowed head, and bended knee, ac
knowledge the stroke was just.
She rose abruptly.
"Let this end now now," she said. "One
month hence, we part before the World ;
let us say good bye in reality now. Al
ways your friend, Claude,"with out stretch
ed hand.
He looked at the dainty fingers lovingly.
" I cannot take them with the feeling of a
brother," he said at last, " the right to
clasp them with other sentiments belongs
to another. Farewell, Edith. May the good
God bess you forever."
And tiie roses wafted in their sweet per
fume ; the single bird in the green tree-top
poured forth its richest melody ; but they
heard it not; while the sun showered
down bis golden rays as gaily as though
two hearts had not just been blighted for
life.
Thus goes the world. In the comonm,
familiar life around us, hearts are breaking
every day ! lives are hourly growing more
und more a burden of misery ; and souls
are blighted for time and eternity ;
" But oven paced come round the years,
Another Nature changes not."
It was over at last, and Edith went from
her early home a bride. Went to move in
frigid yet flattered dignity amid a blaze of
splendor; went to find how utterly cold
and selfish was the man whose name she
bore ; went to wear a weary aching heart
beneath a silken bodice, and to realize how
much better it is to
'• ltange with humble livers in content,
Than to be perked up in a glistering grief."
It was a gloomy afternoon in mid-winter
that she sat by the window of her elegant
chamber, gazing forth at the storm, feeling
all the while that it was not half so deso
late as at her own heart, ller husband
sat opposite, dozing over a book, but rous
ed himself soon, and remarking, " 1 am go
ing down to do some writing wife," left the
room. The door closed sullenly, the storm
grew wilder without, and she sat there
thinking—thinking.
Four years of married life, and what had
they brought her ? Throbbing brain, an
guished heart and sleepless nights. So it
would be in all the years to come. She
looked forward towards the never ending
future that lay beyond. It was utterly
rayless. No pardon or peace in the world
to come for one who had crushed down ev
ery holy sentiment, and fostered pride and
ambition in this.
The storm grew fiercer. The soiled snow
whirled in angry eddies hack and forth,
while the wind chanted a dismal dirgd.—
There was one little spot of marble pave
ment that had escaped. Round and round
it whirled the snow, but there it lay, white
and shining ; and Edith bent forward and
watched it with anxious wistful eyes, as if
it had been a human soul Over it spreads
the suow—off again—over it and off again;
then it piled on gradually. The dark eyes
were strained intensely. There was a
mournful windwail; then one little glimpse
of the pure stone, hut it was the last.—
Swifter and swifter whirled the dark snow,
hiding it deeper from view.
There was a great groan that welled up
from the aching heart, and she rose sudden
ly, pacing the rich carpet with stony eyes
and white lips ; going at last to a half
open drawer, and tossing over the contents
aimlessly. All at once her fingers drew
forth something from one corner ; a little
golden locket with pictured face therein ;
a sweet mouth, earnest eyes, and white
brow stamped with intellect. She grew
deadly pale, and clutched at a chair ; then
the reaction came. All through these days
aud nights of agony she had kept it under
control, while it gnawed deeper and deep
er int> her heart's core, hut now the icy
calmness of years gave way.
"Oh, Claude ! Claude !" she moaned in
frantic anguish ; "Oh, Claude, I am dyiug
by inches ! Why did I refuse the heart
you gave ? Why did I barter love for gold?
Take me away ! take me away ! Take
me into your heart again, Claude, a miser
able, hrokeu-hearted being Oh take me in
pity and love, or I shall lose my reason !"
"And this is the woman who promised at
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., OCTOBER 5, 1865.
the altar to love, honor and obey."
There was no start. The passionate ag
ony of her face settled down into calm, ashy
whiteness, as she turned to meet her hus
band. He stood there with clenched hands
and sneering lip.
"This is the girl who was all purity and
affection," he went on ; "the woman who
was all truth ; the woman who was all
honor."
"Proceed," she said calmly; "you can
not break a broken heart."
"Give mo the picture, most injured of
women."
She laid it in his hand mechanically.
"Ah ! the country parson" he sneered.
"The young hopeful of the house where I
first saw you, kneading bread and making
cheese."
It seemed strange to speak of such horne
,ly duties to that tall, queenly woman stand
ing there in her silks and jewels ; but they
made no impression on the stony face.
Then his irony changed to hot wrath.
"The penniless puppy !" he cried, "the
low deceitful, canting parson ! The pale
faced baby!" and with one quick move
ment he dashed the locket to the lloor, and
ground it under his heel
"It's like you," was all she said.
"Yes, madam, it is like me !" he thunder
ed ; "and let it be like you to exhibit no
more of this sentimental woe, or you leave
my house forever !"
"I can leave it now," she said, calmly.
But that would never do. Charles War
ren was proud of his beautiful wife in the
thronged street and gay saloon, and the
disgrace of a discarded wife must not sully
his haughty name. So Edith settled into
her former stony apathy and stayed, with
no hope iu earth or Heaven.
And what of Claude? Many were the
stuggles that had deepened the light in the j
brown eyes, and whitened the manly cheek
as the weary years rolled by. Sometimes
it seemed as if he must entirely give up.
Was he, into whose heart the rebellious
so often entered, worthy to point out the
path of life to others ? Was he who could
not root out from his soul the image of an
other man's wife fit to preach of that living
God whose every thought was pure ? No
one who listened to the musical voice, who
noted the sweet smile, or gentle manner, j
ever dreamed of the many dark hours that
crossed his way ; of the frequent wrestles
of agony in the quiet closet ; but through
all the darkness, and toil, and anguish, an
all powerful right hand sustained him ; a
loving Father poured balin on the turbulent
spirit, and out of every trial he came calm
and purified, nearer the perfect day.
And when the war clarion pealed over
the land, Claude Clay was among the first
to answer the call. Books and sermons
were laid aside, and the musket and knap
sack taken instead : with brain and soul i
he had toiled for the nation ; and now when
her rights were trampled under foot, lie
would give health, comfort, life if need he,
for her safety : and it would be so blessed
to die for the old flag ;
So he went forth
" With high vows sealed, and sinews
steeled," and away down on the crimson
soil of'-Maryland, the bullet came. It was
a wreck of manhood that lay on the narrow
hospital bed, day after day, babbling of
"home," and "mother," and the bright birds,
violets, and buttercups of days gone by
forever. At last the mind returned, and
he lay there white, and motionless, so like
death, save the deep, earnest look in the
great, brown eyes.
And then came a pale, sad-eyed woman
to the bedside, clasping the thin hand with
gentle tenderness.
"Edith !" whispered the weak lips.
"Edith at last," was the low reply.—
" Edith after years of change and agony :
Edith who is free, and who will love you to
the end."
"With this—, and this ?" pointing to the
scarred brow and useless hand.
"Maimed body and seared heart. We
will put them together and form a life that
will be true till the angel calls," was the
answer of perfect love and trust.
And an all-wise Maker overlooked the
past, and spared the one love of her bruis
ed heart. No more pains and struggles
now. Hand in hand they go down life's
pathway, with hearts that never falter in
the great love they hear each other : with
souls that would not have been so pure
and lowly, hut for the mighty waves of dis
appointment and agony, that deluged them
in the painful past: with eyes fixed 011 the
beautiful, pearly gate which they will enter
at last, to dwell forever in that blessed
home. " Where the wicked cease from
troubling, and the weary are at rest."
NOT Goon FOR MAN TO RE ALONE.— No one
will contend that there arc no crimes com
mitted by married men. Facts would look
such an assertion out of countenance. But
it may be said with truth that there are
very few crimes committed by married
men, compared with the number committed
by those who are unmarried. What ever
faults Voltaire may have had, he certainly
showed himself a man of sense when he
said, "The more married men you have, the
fewer crimes there will he. Marriage ren
ders a man more virtuous and wise." An
unmarried man is hut half a perfect being,
and it rcijuires the other half to make things
right ; and it can not be expected that in
this imperfect state he can keep the straight
path of rectitude any more than a boat
with one oar, or a bird with one wing, can
keep a straight course. In nine cases out
of ten, where married men become drunk
ards, or where them commit crimes against
the peace of the community, the foundation
of these acts was laid while in a single
state, or where the wife is, as is sometimes
the case, an unsuitable match. Marriage
changes the whole current of a man's feel
ings,and gives 11im a centre for his thoughts
his affections,and his acts. Here is a home
for the entire man, and the counsel, the
affections, the example, and the interests
of his " better half" keep him from erratic
courses, and from falling into a thousand
temptations to which he would otherwise
be oxposed. Therefore, the friend to mar
riage is the friend to society and to his
country. And we have no doubt hut that
a similar effect is produced by marriage on
the woman ; though, from a difference in
their labors, and the greater exposure to
temptation on the part of the man, we have
no doubt hut man reaps a greater advan
tage from the restraining influences of mar
riage than woman does.
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
WITH A LOC K OF HAIR.
Go to her breast, my envied curl!
And if the way be cold and wet,
Cling to the bed of liquid pearl,
Whose fragrant warmth breathes o'er you yet.
'Twill swell around each silken ring,
As when my temples throbb'd above ;
And, truants ! when you closest cling,
Tell her you grew on thoughts of love!
Oh, wildly envied! you will lie
Upon that couch of rosy snow,
While passionately fast will fly
The warm transparent veins below.
And you will feel the dewy swell,
When dreams of love grow wild beneath,
And, truants! as you love me well,
List if iu sleep my name she breathe!
Go to my mistress ! Softer fingers
Will smooth your tangled meshes now,
And while the tapering pressure lingers,
Will lay you to her lip and brow.
And when, amid her fragrant breath,
Each silken fibre fondly stirs,
Oh, truants ! toll her until death,
My life, my soul, thus thrill to hers!
ADDRESS OF THE UNION STATE CENTRAL
COMMITTEE.
We have received from the Hon. John
Cessna, Chairman of the Union State Central
Committee, a copy of a very able address
from that body to the people of the State,
on the issues of the campaign, which is too
long to enable us to give it entire. We
make room, however, for the following ex
tracts .•
THE SOLDIERS.
Extraordinary efforts are being made by
our opponents to obtain the votes of our
fellow citizens recently returned from the
service of the country in the army of the
nation. In these efforts they should, and
it is confidently believed that they will
fail :
]. Because a vigorous prosecution of the
war for the suppression of the rebellion lias
ever been urged by the Union party of the
country.
2. Because the war has never been sus
tained or advocated by the leaders of the
party opposed to the Administration.
3. Because the friends of the Union
cause have always sustained and support
ed the soldiers in the field, and the leaders
of pretended Democracy have ridiculed and
derided the soldiers of the Uniou, calling
them " Lincoln's hirelings," " robbers,"
"plunderers," and other epithets unfit for
repetition.
4. Because when volunteers were called
for, they demanded a draft.
5. Because when the draft came, they
opposed the commutation clause, and de
clared it was a discrimination against the
poor man.
6. Because when that clause was repeal
ed they complained that the only hope of
the poor man was gone.
7. Because they deuounced the war as a
negro war, and did nothing to aid or assist
in carrying it on.
8. Because they became highly indignant
when negro troops were called for, and
threw the benefit of all their sympathies
with the South
!•. Because they opposed every measure
the Government found it necessary to adopt
for the suppression of the rebellion.
10. Because they magnified every rebel
success, and depreciated every Union vic
tory.
11. Because, in 1864, they declared the
war a failure.
12. Because, in 1860, they declare that
the fruits of the war are "debt, disgrace
and slaughter."
13. Because they tried to prevent the ex
tension of the right of suffrage to soldiers
in service. Their leaders opposed it in al
most every form. Senator Wallace, now
Chairman of their State Central Committee,
said, (see Record of 1861, pages and 330,)
" I vote against this bill upon principle, as
form. It is said that so meritorious a class
as volunteer soldiers should not be disfran
chised. To this I answer that neither the
Constitution of 1700 nor that of 1838 con
ferred this privilege, and the act of the
soldier in taking upon himself duties that
are, from their nature, incompatible with
the right of suffrage, deprives him of this
privilege. He disfranchises himself when
lie ceases to be a citizen, and takes upon
himself the duties of a soldier." When the
amendment of the Constitution was sub
mitted to a vote of the people, many of the
so-called Democratic counties gave majori
ties against it, while every county in the
State,(and it is believed every election pre
cinct,) which gave to Abraham Lincoln a
majority of its votes, gave a majority in
favor of the amendment.
14.Their leaders almost invariably oppos
ed giving bounties to volunteers, while the
friends of the Union party always sustain
ed and supported these measures.
15. Even since the war is over, they em
ployed their ablest lawyers in an effoit to
declarethe bountylaws unconstitutional,and
really persuaded their two friends on the
bench of the Supreme Court so to hold.
16. When men were greatly needed to
fill up the ranks,and the Government order
ed a draft, they resisted, and all their rep
resentatives upon the bench of the Supreme
Court declared the law authorizing the na
tional government to take men out of the
State by draft was unconstitutional and
void. Men were only obtained and the na
tion saved because their party was defeat
ed at the polls in 1863, and the act of three
of these Judges rebuked by the people and
one of their places filled by a loyal man and
sound Judge.
17. Because they have tried to injure the
credit and disparage the currency of the
country, by means of which the pay, boun
ties and pensions of the soldiers can alone
bo paid. This point they also pressed be
fore the Supreme Court of the State, and
failed by a division of three to two.
18. Because the platform of the Union
party recognizes the services of the soldier
—declares that the war was commenced by
the rebels—that peace was the result of
the courage and heroism of the Union army
—that the cause in which he fought was
holy and sacred, and that honor, glory and
prosperity to the country, and not " debt,
disgrace and slaughter," are the legitimate
fruits of his toil.
19. Because the Union men expressed the
hope that our troops might soon be able to
conquer the South,even by their exhaustion
and want of food, those leaders of the new
Democracy declared that "wo could never
I conquer the South," and that " they had
more to eat in the South than we had in the
North.
20. Because when rebels were starving
our brave soldiers by the hundred at Libby,
Belle Island, Andersonville and elsewhere,
these same leaders excused or mitigated
the crime by declaring that '"they fed our
prisoners as well as they did their own men
that "owing to the unconstitutional block
ade of the tyrant Lincoln, they could not
obtain a sufliciency of food."
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND TUE OPPOSITION.
The Opposition have not been so consist
ent in their course towards President John
son as they have on the subject of the war.
Prior to his renoinination they abused, vil
lilied and denounced him. From the time
of his nomination until the election no epi
thets were too coarse. From the inaugura
tion until the death of President Lincoln they
continued it the same strain. After that
they began to flatter—then to approach.—
When he ordered the execution of the as
sassins they sent forth a loud howl of in
dignation. When lie ordered a trial of the
Andersonville wholesale murderer, and
talked of trying Jefferson Davis, they were
about to give him up in despair. But now
they profess to grow a little more confident.
They endorse hiin in Maine and New York.
They indorse him (provided he will do as
they wish) in Pennsylvania. In 186-3 they
spoke of him thus : Senator Lamberton
Record of 1863, page 361) : " But then he
was Andrew Johnson the Democrat. Now,
however, he has deserted his post of honor
in Tennessee ; he is stultifying his past
record ; he has become a pensioner on pow
er, and a defender of the usurpations of
Abraham Lincoln ; and he appears among
us to-day as an itinerant peddler of Abolit
ionism " Senator Wallace,page 3T4 : "Dur
ing all the existence of the rebellion,where
iis Andrew Johnson ? In the Senate of the
United States, asking protection for him
and fellows under the bayonets of the sold
iers of McClellan. He is never found in
arms in defence of his State, or valiantly
fighting in defence of the liberties of his
people, against the armed cohorts of the
rebellion. Never, never !" Senator G'ly
mer, page 377 : " I say, sir, that his (John
son's ) appointment, by the President of the
United States, to that position was a usur
pation of power on the part of the Presi
dent." * * * " That is my position, so
far as concerns this pretended Governor of
Tennessee. But without regard to any
question of his official position, take An
drew Johnson as an individual. * * *
I never, by my vote, will allow a man to
come into these halls, and from this place
speak to the people of this great State in
support of what I know to be illegal, un
constitutional and tyrannical acts of the
Federal Government. 1 know, sir, that An
drew Johnson has gone as far as the fath
erest, and is ready to go still further, to de
stroy, to uproot, to upturn every principle
upon which this great and good govern
ment of ours was founded. 1 knew that he
has bent with suppliant knee before the
throne of power ; I know that for pelf, or
some other consideration, he has succumb
ed to every measure presented to him for
approval or disapproval."
These political leaders now are simply
watching their chances, hoping that some
thing may turn up which may enable them
to return to power. In New York they
adopted a platform at variance with all
their past professions, and actually refused
to condemn negro suil'rage ! They hope to
use President Johnson to subserve their !
selfish purposes.
THE CHARGE OF NEGRO EQUALITY.
For many years our political opponents
seem to have a large investment in slavery
and the negro. Now that slavery is pret
ty generally admitted to be dead, it was
thought that they might allow the old sub
ject to rest. But not so. They return to
the question with as much apparent zeal
and warmth as ever. With a full knowl
edge of the fact that negro suffrage and
negro equality are not and could not possi
bly be an issue in the October contest,they
are making extraordinary efforts to mislead
and deceive their fellow-citizens into a con
trary belief. They think that our hostility
and prejudices against the negro are so
great, and that they have so often appealed
to these with some show of success, that
it is only necessary to repeat the effort in
order to accomplish their designs. They
tell you that efforts are being made to ele
vate the negro, and to place the two races
on an equality. They seem to be very much
afraid that some poor degraded negro may
outstrip them in the race of life. They tell
us that these negroes are weak, ignorant
and inferior to the whites. If so it would
seem that they needed our help and assis
tance to educate and instruct them. The
only danger of equality we can see is, that
some white men, by continuing longer in
such a course of argument, 111 utter disre
gard to truth, experience and history for
the base purpose of reaching the prejudices
of the thoughtless, may at least succeed
in bringing themselves down to or beneath
the level of the negro. The time was when
they confidently declared that the destruct
, ion of slavery would send swarms of ne
groes into cur midst to drive away white
laborers. Experience has shown that the
few we had here ran away from slavery
in the South, and that had there been no
I slavery there these negroes in the North
would have long since moved South. They
told us, too, that in case of a war, the
slaves would all fight for their masters.—
Neither Southern masters nor their North
ern allies have any faith in this now. But
I these politicians cannot live without the
: negro. He comprises nearly their entire
I stock in trade. One year it is one phase of
I the negro question; another year it is some
thing else.
The great work of Bishop Hopkins was
ouce one of their standard works. It is
rather dull sale this year. The conduct of
these politicians towards the poor degraded
negro would be past all comprehension had
we not a memorable example of the same
kind iu the early history of the human race.
All the troublesome and deadly plagues of
Egypt, including the death of all the first
born of the land, were not sufficient to reach
the heart of Pharaoh, nor to persuade the
Egytians of the errors and sins of slavery.
So that, even after the slaves had left the
country, led by a pillar of cloud by day,
and a pillar of lire by night, the ruler and
his hosts of subjects followed them even
into the midst of the Red Sea. Our nation
has suffered more than all the plagues of
Egypt. As the law of primogeniture has
Sper Annum, in Advance.
been abolished among us, the deaths were
I not all of our first-born, but nearly one of
every household ; yet these deluded hosts,
J led on by hard-hearted and wicked Phara
| ohs, as leaders, are still pursuing even into
j the midst of the Red Sea. Will not the
"waters, standing as walls of safety to the
] slave, return again and cover Pharaoh and
! liis hosts, and all that come into the sea
! after them, until there shall remain not so
| much as one of them?"
OCR CANDIDATES.
For Auditor General we have presented
: the name of Major-General John F. Hart
| i aiift, of Montgomery county ; and for Sur-
I vcyor General, that of Colonel Jacob M.
Campbell, of Cambria. As biographies of
these two gentlemen have recently been
published and circulated among their fel
low-citizens, it is only remaikedjhere that
they are both brave and gallant soldiers,
and especially qualified for a satisfactory
discharge of the duties of the respective
offices for which their fellow-citizens have
nominated them.
IMPORTANCE OF THE ISSUE.
It is not to be disguised that there is a
large numbers of persons,both at the North
and at the South, who have not finally aban
doned the hope of the ultimate triumph of
the principles of the late rebellion. They
hope to secure by the success of their views
at the ballot box that which they failed to
accomplish by aimed force. It may depend
upon the decision of Pennsylvania on the
16th of October whether the war shall
prove at last, a failure—whether its fruits
are to be only "debt, disgrace and slaugh
ter," or whether it is to have substantial re
sults in the death and burial of slavery,
State sovereignty aud the right of seces
sion.
It is a well established fact that the con
test was long protracted by reason of the
hope and belief entertained by the South,
that they would receive aid and sympathy
from the North. It is now all-important to
the South that they should be assured that
this hope is fallacious, and tliat the North
will adhere unfalteringly to the doctrines,
principles and views which carried them
triumphantly through the four years of
bloody war. It is best to let them know,
at once and forever, that there is no hope
for the final triumph of the doctrines and
measures for which the}' contended in the
field.
We have seen that the men among us
who were first to urge upon the govern
ment to hold the rebels in the light of belli
gerents are now the first to strive to relieve
them from the consequences and penalties
of their belligerency. Those who were con
stant in their predictions that the " war
would never end," and "that the south could
never be conquered," are now most ready
to insist that the war is over, and that its
objects and results shall not be secured,but
! Tiat rebels shall be instantly restored to all
beir former rights under the constitution
and laws of the country These same men
who are now appealing to the soldiers for
their votes officially denounce as " murder
ers" all those engaged in trying and pun
ishing, by military commission, the authors
of the wholesale slaughter of their compan
ions in arms. All this and more they do,
with the full knowledge of the law of na
tions and the laws of war, which declare
that these men have forfeited all their rights
under the Constitution, and that they now
lie prostrate at the feet of the victor as
conquered,overthrown and subdued bellige
rcn's, with just such rights, and no more,
as a kind and merciful Government may
choose to vouchsafe to them. Let the peo
ple rally to the polls and sustain by their
votes the great cause so bravely defended
and sustained by the soldier in the field.—
The future will then declare that the "Great
War of Freedom " was not a "failure," but
our children, to the latest generation, will
learn to read with the warmest glow of pat
riotism those pages of our nation's history
which describe the skill and heroism of the
officers and soldiers of this great struggle,
and never cease to venerate their memories.
The greatness, power,resouices and energy
of a free people displayed in our great
struggle for the preservation of the nation's
life, will only be equalled by the future
greatness, prosperity and success of the
nation, purified, regenerated and reclaimed
by the firey ordeal through which we have
just passed.
By order of the Committee.
JOHN CESSNA, Chairman.
lit: FRANK. —Iie frank with the world.—
Frankness is the child of honesty and cour
age. Say just what you mean to do on
every occasion, and take it for granted you
mean to do what is right. If a friend ask
you a favor, you should grant it, if it is
reasonable ; if it is not, tell him plainly
why you cannot. You will wrong him and
wrong yourself by equivocation of any
kind. Never do a wrong thing to make a
friend or to keep one; the man who requires
you to do so, is dearly purchased, and at a
sacrifice. Deal kindly and firmly with all
men ; and you will find it the policy which
wears the best. Above all ; do not appear
to others what you are not. If you have
any fault to find with anyone, tell him, not
others, of what you complain. There is no
more dangerous experiment than that of
undertaking to be one thing to a man's face
and another behind his back. We should
live, act and speak out of doors, as the
phrase is, and say and do what we are wil
ling should be known and read by all men.
It is not only best as a matter of principle
but as a matter of policj'.
ICEI> CHAMPAGNE.—A gentleman who has
been in the ice trade at St. Thomas, relates
funny anecdote about the natives there and
their luminous idea of Boston hard water :
He once sold a lump to a gentleman, who
sent a colored.servant after it, with direct
ions to have it kept for the dinner table.
The servant took it home, and inquired of
the cook how it was prepared. After con
siderable discussion in the kitchen cabinet,
it was decided to have it boiled. At din
ner the gentleman called for it, and was in
high glee,for he had drank iced champagne
in the States, and he felt a mighty hanker
ing for a second trial of the same beverage.
Soon Sambo made his appearance, with
eyes rolling on the outside, grinning like a
frightened monkey.
" Where is the ice, Sambo ?" said the gen
tleman.
" Oh ! glory, massa !" replied Sambo, "I
put him in de pot and boiled him for more
an half hour, and when 1 went to look for
him, he was not dar."
THE SHACK WHICH ARMIES OCCCFV. —The
figures of Gen. Sherman's combined army,
during the Atlanta campaign, footed up
generally about as follows : 120,000 ef
fective fighting men, 0,300 wagons, 000
ambulances, 32,000 artillery, cavalry, am
bulance and draught homos, 4,600 private
horses, 35,000 mules,|tnaking an aggreg i'e
in all of some 72,000 animals.
These figures are simply enormous, and
will give the reader some slight conception
of what an ariny really is, if he wili but
consider them for a moment. For example,
an army of 125,000 men marching in col
umn four abreast, and the intervals but six
feet apart, which is less than the interval
of troops on the inarch, would extend over
a distance of thirty-five miles, without mak
ing any allowance for the usual intervals
between regiments, brigades, divisions and
army corps. So with the wagons. On good
roads, where trains are kept well closed up,
it is calculated that each mule team will
occupy OM an average about sixty lineal
feet; this would give about ninety teams to
the mile, a large average on most marches,
so that 6,500 teams would ordinarily re
quire about seventy miles. If the weather
or roads are bad, of course they will strug
gle along indefinitely, and thus require
much more. An ambulance on the march
usually occupies about forty feet, so that
nine hundred ambulances would occupy a
distance of about seven miles. So with
the artillery. An army of 125,000 men will
usually have at least two guns to the 1000
men, which would make two hundred and
fifty guns, or say forty batteries of six
pieces each. Now, a battery on a march,
as a general thing, will occupy fully three
hundred yards, so that forty batteries alone
would take up about seven miles.
These figures, thus roughly taken, foot
up one hundred and nineteen miles, as the
free and easy marching distance of an ar
my of the size of the two great ones that
we have had operating East and West dur
ing the past campaign, and this, too, with
out counting in accurately the Bedonian
Arabs, the cavalry, that always swarm a
long for miles together, besides, in appar
ently interminable columns. Of course no
General with a moderate stock of brains
would ever think of marching his troops
thus in one continuous line, and hence the
necessity of parallel roads in moving an
army, to keep your troops massed and well
in hand.
NUMBER 10.
How NEAR WE ARE TO DEATH. —When we
walk near powerful machinery we know
that one single mis-step, and those mighty
engines would tear us to ribbons with their
ponderous jaws. So when we ire thunder
ing across the country on railways, and
there is but half an inch liange iron to hold
us on the track. So when we are on the
sea in a ship and there is nothing but the
thickness of a plank between us and etern
ity. We imagine then that we see how
close we are to the edge of the precipice.
He we do not see it. Whether on sea or
land the partition which divides us from
eternity is something thinner than an oak
plank or half an inch of tlange iron. The
machinery of life and health is within us.
The tissues which hold those floating pow
ers in their place are often not thicker than
a piece of paper, and if this thin partition
were ruptured or pierced it would be just
the same with us. Death is inseparably
bound up with life in the structure of our
bodies. Struggle as we may to widen the
spaces, no man can be further from death
than the thickness of a sheet of paper.
CHARITY. —Let my lips be sealed with
charity, that may open only for the good of
my neighbors. Let my eyes be veiled with
charity, that they may rest on good, and
that wickedness may be shut from my sight.
Let charity close my ears to all unkind and
malicious slander. Let charity keep my
hands busy with profitable work, and my
feet turned in the path toward those whom
God hath given me power to benefit. May
charity keep my heart from secret sin, from
evil imaginations, from the tempting whis
pers of the evil one. So that shutting
every door against uncharitableness, my
soul may be made strong in love to the Fa
ther of all men.
DEACON JOHNSON is a great temperance
man, and sets a good example of total ab
stinence as far as he is seen. Not long ago
he employed a carpenter to make some al
terations in his parlor, and in repairing the
corner near the lire plamfc it was lbund ne
cessary to remove the Wainscoting, when
lo! a discovery was made that astonished
everybody. A brace of decanters, and a
pitcher were coziiy reposing there, as if
they had stood there from the beginning.
The deacon was summoned, and as lie be
held the blushing bottles, he exclaimed—
" Wal, I declare, that is curious, sure
enough. It must be that old Raines left
them there when lie went out of this house
thirty years -ago."
" Perhaps he did," returned the carpenter;
"but, Deacon, tee ice in the pitcher must
have been friz mightp hard to stay so till
this time."
THE VIOLET. —The origin of the violet
dates back to the age of Apollo, and asso
ciates itself with the peccadilloes of those
earthly gods whose highest mission was
perplexing man. la, the daughter of Atlas,
one of the nymphs of Diana, falls in love
with Apollo ; and her mistress, determined
to prevent a match of which she did not ap
prove, causes the face of the nymph to be
come of a violet color, to disgust Apollo.
Apollo, however, still pursues her, and she,
in escaping from him, is converted into a
violet, preserving as a flower the beauty
and the timid bashfuluess she felt before.
\ building formerly used as a powd
er mill near Marshal, Texas, was recently
blown up, and with it four men belonging
to the Bth Illinois Regiment, who were ter
ribly burned and wounded. Two of them,
named Davis and Little, lingered in excru
ciating pain until the following morning,
when they died. The other two, named
Grate and Algood, will recover.
taaiF Some one wishing to be witty 011 a
gentleman, with a large mouth, asked him
if he had a long lease of it, when he was
good huinoredly answered—No, 1 have it
only from (/-ear to i/-ear.
teg-An editor in western New York is
in a bad tix. lit- dunned a subscriber lor
his subscription, which he refused to pay
and threatened to ilog the editor il he stop
ped the paper.
" What's whisky bringing ?" inquir
eb a large dealer in that article. " Bring
in"- men to the gallows and women and
children to want," was the truthful reply.
THERE are three faithful friends—an old
wife, an old dog, and ready money.
" A GOOD key is necessary to enter para
dise."