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(iivertising in all eases exclusive of sub ■ ..ion to the paper. „ PRINTING of every kind in Plain and Fan- ! done with neatness and dispatch. Hand lilanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Ac., of every va lU,l le, printed at the shortest notice. The liiiKi; OFFICE has just been re-fitted with Power and every thing in the Printing line can , v , ut< d in the most artistic manner and at the j owest rates. TERMS INVARIABLY CASH. JnicrUtl TIME. "I'honek centuries after centuries pass, And earth is deep with human clay, p., Traveler with his scythe and glass Pursues his even way— Onward, still on, in change and death, Wt trace L.s steps in every clime, tu.l nations tremble at the breath Of -tern old conqueror Time. lb points his fingers to the walls 01' temples towering to the skies, Villi <">'•• r their dust his footsteps fall, And loftier ones arise ; lit- rules supreme o'er earthly things— The great, the glorious, the sublime ; I'he august dome, the throne of kings, All own their conqueror, Time. Ht stills the forum and the mart, lie fills a thousand sculptured urns, Aud they in ages roll apart, And dust to dust returns. Aud genius, with thy pallid brow, Thy haughty lip, and eye of fire old Time shall conquer even thou. The pencil and the lyre. And o'er those grand ancestral piles Where ivy ever green is spread, Aud through those dark and solemn aisles Where sleeps the mighty dead, And o'er the proud triumphal arcli Where erst victorious chiefs were crowned. He passes in his silent march, And lrurls them to the ground. Well, let his ivy banner wave O'er palace dome and castle tower, Aud let him trample on the grave, Exultant in his power ; There is a realm beyond the tomb, A purer clime, a fairer shore, Win re Time comes not to blight the bloom, Aud death shall be no more. REST. . y. bells! sound midnight through the air: . . it men's lives, now groaning under eare ; W great Time with clashes every where— I wait, yea long, for rest. - '■(!, stop not, ye finger-marks of woe ; ye shades! Oh! let the sunlight go ; R ■; -t. ye hours, life is too sad and slow— I wait, yea long, for rest. rtli, ye flowers, let Spring and Summer die ; :1 down, ye sheaves, let Autumn too go by ; ; i v. xv winds, another Winter's nigh— I wait, long, for rest. laxth not, rest is not for the young ; k liveth not, it lies the graves among ; i - -la x to age, so yonder death-bells sung— I wait, yea long, for rest. - He-til not with worldly joy and mirth ; K i -a; th not until the soul's new-birth ; K- -t ivineth not until we die to earth— Then Cometh rest indeed. b' .nil e. spx ;;> lives, sealeth them carefully ; le-t guards our souls now lying peacefully, -stk our lip.s, which murmurs thankfully— '• Xow have we rest indeed." ptettlianflroji. SETH HATHRON'S FOURTH. , —~ I 1 always was a brack-browed, broad- I Tiliiered, brute of a fellow, always from 1 ■ } At school (not that I had much of i belt s u-t of thing), but at school if old ! l 'yy I'-'ggv fotui ! out any mischief she | " 1 it t > my score because of my looks, : •'ten and often, while 1 was liulding ; niy it.itid to be rulered, the prettiest y in school was grinning over his good i ; k in getting off so safely. She had her ! •conceived notions of a villian, I pre-! '-i", and I answered the description. r "i' the matter of that, ot all the books > ■■ l ies I've read since, especially those '"'Hen by ladies, I've noticed there isn't i 1 • where the burglar, or forger, or pirate, j r w iiat not, who does all the wickedness j " >k, as though he's taken it on con- j wouldn't do for me on a passport, j ■ their pets, who do the grand and no- j ' things, are generally slender, and fair, j pretty. Now the worst wretch / ever 'W -one who was afterward hung, and i deserved hanging richly, even on his i wii showing—had blue eyes, anil white '" ics, aud a pink mouth like a girl's. It's I ver and over again ; b,-.t it's my opin- j ■ that if women were put on the police, ' >re the year was over every hulking, i bilious fellow whose eyebrows: ■ t would be locked up in the State I'rison suspicion. ' never was a favorite with any woman : iy mother, and she died when I was - years old. So instead of growing up ' the idea that most men have, that " y girl they meet is ready to fall in love them, I never had the slightest hope •t any would ever like me well enough "t me fall in love with her even. And I -k",l gi r ] s so. It was odd for a fellow like ■ hut how I did like tlia girls ! "ever could bear to see one cry, or to " "I their being imposed upon or hurt. 'l'll' t pass one with a heavy basket or "•'•I" without at least wanting to offer to \ r 'J -t lor her. 1 could never bring my- U sit in stages or cars when one was "'"tig I don't think I could I could "if "i been weak or lame instead of the -•"Wit I was. Yet I've seen gentlemen • ! o'' with their hands in their pockets " poor old ladies, who might have been . , '. r o ru "dmothers, stood up before them ! their manners were good and mine 'JSt .>l a bear, and I myself only a work x w w ' l ° 'earned all be ever knew at ''Miss Peggy's school K. O. GOODRICH, Publisher. VOLUME XXVI. Something as a man might have felt just in sight ol tlie angels, who were too much above him to be spoken to or touched, I felt about all girls. When a woman was intoxicated or in any way debased she never seemed a woman to me, but a dread ful sort of creature, all the worse for hav ing something of the pretty womanly look about her. I was a maker of fire-works, as my father had been before me. I don't know that I liked the business particularly, but there I was, and there I staid. 1 made good wages and saved them ; for I didn't think enough about my looks to dress much, and I never drank. "Sulky," the other men called me. What of that? It was better to be sulky than raving mad, as some of them so surely as Saturday night came round. Men with nice, good-looking wives too, whose chil dren wanted for bread and shoes what they spent in drink. I never expected to have a wife and children, but I knew how they ought to be used better than they did. 1 suppose I had come to be twenty-eight, or so, and no girl had ever looked at me except as she might at a tarnish polar bear, when, one day, old Mr. Williams, the pro prietor of the place, came to me as 1 was going home to dinner, and said, in his own quick way : " Hathrou, can you drive ?" " Yes, Sir," said I. " I want you to take the wagon and go over to the railroad depot at Baldwin, and bring down a new hand aud her traps," he said. "She'll be there at half past twelve, so you'll have barely time to snatch a bite and go ; and you can have the rest of the day to yourself, if you like, as it's Satur day. Her name is Annie May." Before you can understand what he meant I must tell you that our place (they called it the "N'e plus ultra Pyrotechnic Estab lishment," bless you !) employed some five aud-twenty girls, and that they generally came from a distance, and boarded while there with an old woman close by, all in one place, to keep them out of harm's way. Mr. Williams insisted on that, and had a lot of rules about the hours they were to keep and the way they were to behave ; good rules, and not so rigid but that there was plenty of innocent courting and more than one wedding in a season. As for we men, we went where we chose. Some put up at the tavern, some with people who would take a few boarders, and those who lived in the place with their families. There were very few girls who had homes there to go to ; for the village was an uppish kind of place, full of country seats and vil las, and the factory Btood all by itself, quite a distance away, and the tavern and a few common houses were grouped close about it, as if the others were too genteel to mix with them. So Mrs. Munson's place was always full. When a new girl came down somebody always had to be sent over to Baldwin to bring her to the factory. I had never been before, and why I was chosen this time it was hard to tell. However, 1 was willing enough, and so, wheu I had taken a bite, I put on my best coat and drove over. It was a day to tempt a man out —a beautiful spring day, with fender green grass on the earth and tender pink buds on the branches, aud in the sky there were only two or three fleecy bits of clouds, like carded wool, amidst the blueness. It took only half an hour to get to Baldwin. I'd have been willing it should be ten whole ones. The train had got in, aud there were people waiting in the little house at the de pot—a couple of stout old ladies, a gentle man who looked like a minister, and a young woman. I looked at her and made up my mind she couldn't be the new hand, not because she was more dressed than they usually were, bat because she wasn't dressed half so much. Generally they bad on their brightest gowns, and big beads around their necks, and roses enough in their bonnets to fill a garden. This girl was all in gray, and wore a veil to match. The things were cheap and not new, but they made her look like a lady. I walked up and down and waited. The fat women went away in a wagon ; the clergyman had a gig sent for him ; and there the girl sat beside ber trunk, lookiug now and then out of the window and beginning to seem anxious. At all events it could do no harm to speak ; so I took oil' my hat and stepped up, with a bow. " I beg your pardon, Miss," said I, "but has there been anybody here asking about Vicing taken to Mr. William's place ?" " 1 want to go there myself," she an swered ; "that is, if you mean the lire-work factory. I'm Annie May." " 1 do mean the fire-work factory," I said, " Mr. Williams sent me down to fetch you. I'm Seth Hathrou, one of the hands. The wagon is ouside ; will you get in ?—Wait a bit ; I'll put the trunk in first." " Shan't I help you ?" she said, and she put ber little hand to the trunk nearest her. It looked so small I burst out laughing. " I don't need any help," said I—but I thought I could carry both the trunk and its owner together, if I chose, and she'd let me. She was the smallest creature, to be a full-grown woman, that I ever saw. A piece of the blue sky for her eyes, and a bit of the golden sunshine for her hair, and some of those wild roses that would climb with the barberries over the stone fences seeu for her cheeks, and you know how to paint her. After I had helped her in and had taken the reins in my hands, I kept stealing looks at her and thinking how beautiful she was; and I tried to talk about things that would please Iter, and pointed out the places on the road, and felt that, bright as the day had been before, it was somehow a great deal brighter now with her beside me. We stopped at Mrs. Munson's and said good-by. 1 carried her trunk into the hall and called the old lady, aud drove the horse back to the stable. Then, having a holi day, 1 got a newspaper and went out into the woods—Baldwin's Woods they called them —and I think I knew every tree by heart. 1 sat clown by chance under a great oak, where .lack Yarne, one of the hands, had carved .1 V. for his name, and 0. G. for Olive Grey's, and had put a ring round them both ; and as 1 looked at the work fell to wondering why Jack Varne should have a sweet-heart and I none, and wheth er it was only his pretty face or something in our ways that made all girls like him and none me. And somehow I felt lone some and unhappy, and couldn't read my paper, and sat down with my head on my hands, sulkier than ever, I suppose, to look at. Maybe it was an hour, maybe two, that I sat there before I heard a step com ing over the grass, and looking up, saw the girl I had driven over from Baldwin, Annie May, coming toward me. She did not see me at first ; but when she did she started and stopped, and smiled at me just as I'd seen other girls smile often at other men, but never once at me before that moment. I never thought what I was doing, but held out my great brown paw and shook hands with her as if we had been friends for years. "I found there was nothing for me to do in the factory until Monday," she said, "and I came out to see what these woods were like. It's a pretty place." " Prettier in summer," I said, "and pret tiest of all in autumn, when the leaves arc turned gold and scarlet." " I like spring best," she said ; "every thing is new and fresh, and just begun. In autumn every thing is nearly over, and that is sad." "I don't mind it," I said; "I haven't a gay disposition, I suppose. But look here, if you like fresh young things I'll show you something and I took her to where, be hind a fallen log, the first spring violets al ways grew. There was a dozen there now, and she went down on her knees to smell them. She would only pick one, though ; it seemed wrong, she said. That one, after we had walked for an hour or so, somehow dropped out of her hair. She did not know it, but I did ; and when she had gone home I went back and found it lying on the path and put it in my bosom. It was so sweet and fresh and beautiful that I could but think it was like her. I liked to think so. 0, what a day that was for me ! What a night when I dreamed it over ! Next day was the Sabbath, and I did what I'd never done before. After I was dressed, angry with myself for not looking handsomer all the while I stood belore the glass, I went over to Mrs. Munson's and asked for Miss May. She came down in a muslin dress and a pretty bonnet with a pale blue ribbons; aud I remember stammering out something about thinking she might like to go to church and would not know the way. That was all nonsense, of course, for there was the steeple iu full sight, but it gave me what I wanted, leave to be with tier again. I'm afraid I couldn't have remembered the text to save my life, and that the ser mon was thrown away on me. But I was very happy —happier than I had ever been before ; for this sweet young thing seemed to like me, was frank and pleasant with me, and found, I was so glad to think, a sort of protection that she liked in my great arm where her hand rested, going home over the fields, like a fallen snow-flake. It almost seemed to me that I must be crazy to believe that she had taken a notion to me ; but it was true. So true that when four of those Sabbaths had passed I made her walk with me again in Baldwin's Woods, and sat down beside ber on the hollow log, behind which a great patch of violets were in bloom by that time, and told her how I loved her, and asked her to be my wife. Only a month since she came there— only one month since I drove her over in the little wagon ; but if the auswer had been any thing else than what it was I should have prayed to die. It may not be such a mighty matter to other men to have one woman's love, but I bad no one else on earth to care for. So when she said, "Yes," and let me kiss her, it was only shame that kept me from crying outright for joy. She was mine now, and how proud I was of her ! How glad to know that she was so near me when I was at work ! How happy to see her so trim and neat among the other girls, who were most of them slovenly when they were not fine ! and how full of dreams of the future ! She had promised to marry me in the au tumn, and after that ehe should work no more in factory. I was saving to buy a little three-roomed cottage in the village, and to furnish it—humbly, of course, but so that it should be a home for her ; and when she was its mistress I should not en vy any king his palace. Meanwhile we saw as much of each other as we could, both working so industriously. One week we had been more than usually busy, for it was near the end of June, and we were making fire-works for the Fourth of July, and the first I had seen of Annie that day I saw in the great salesroom where we always gathered to receive our wages. The men on one side, the girls on the other, stepping up to the great desk one by one as old Griffin, the clerk, called our names. I looked across the line of girl's faces, and saw her smiling at me, but I could not get near her. Besides, at that moment, my name was called—" Hathron " —and I stepped up to the desk. Then, for the first time, I noticed that old Griffin was not there. A nephew of Mr. William, whose name 1 knew to be Richard Janes, was paying the hands instead. He was a hand some young fellow, and very gentlemanly and of the fair kind. I remember thinking as he laid my wages before me that his hair was just the color of Annie's. He had a sort of amateur way with him very different from the business-like man ner of old Griffin, and when it came to the girls he had something pleasant to say to each one, instead of the old man's snapping —"Sixpence deducted from yours, Jane 1" or, " You were late three days last week, Martha?" What he said to Annie I don't know, but she blushed like a wild rose from brow to chin. Walking home together, Bhe asked me who he was. " Mr. Janes," I answered ; "did you ever see him befove ?" " No," said Annie. " How very beauti ful he is ! don't you think so ?" I gave a grudging "Yej." I couldn't J bear to hear her praise him. She might, j for all I knew, be contrasting him with me. That was the first pain I had had since she ; had promised herself to me ; but there was more to come of it. Besides her daily work Annie had got in to the way of doing some fine sewing and embroidery of evenings for a Miss Redford, a beautiful young lady, who lived in the village, and once a week she carried it home. Generally I went with her; but there was overwork for the men to do one night, aud I could not get off. I fretted and fumed about it, and when the time REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER. TOW AND A, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 10, 1866. came couldn't for the life of me help slip ping away to a stairhead window to try and catch a glimpse of her. Sure enough, I did see her a good way on the road, with her little basket on ber arm, but there was some one with her. It was too far to see faces, but I knew the light-grey coat lie wore, and it was Mr. Richard Janes, lie was bending over her as though talking very earnestly ; and when some one inside called " Hathrou !" and 1 could stay no lon ger, they were still going on close together —her face turned up and his bent down, both earnest and eager in whatever they were talking of. I went back to my work, but I kept that picture before my eyes all the while. I thought of it until it seemed to be burned into my heart in firy outlines. After all, it was only what might easily have hap pened if Mr. Janes had walked the same way by chance ; but I could not look at it that way—or perhaps I would not. It was like my sulky, brooding nature, too, never to say one word about it to An nie, but to keep ou thinking and watching in silence. I found out more than I wanted to in that way ; for one day when 1 had made an excuse to enter the woman's work room after Mr. Janes had gone there, 1 plainly saw him slip a little note slyly into Annie's pocket. The time had come around for her to go over to Miss Redford's with her work ; but that evening, instead of go ing with her, I watched her—hiding like a thief behind trees and buildingson the road. She went alone and came alone, and I saw nothing for my pains. I did at church next Sabbath, though. When the hymn was given out Mr. Janes, sitting in the hand some family pew, seeing Annie in doubt as to the number, for the old clergyman didn't always speak distinctly, reached over and took her book to find the place (she sat but a pew behiml him). When he gave it back I saw that there was something be tween the leaves, and come what might would have snatched it, but at that mo ment Miss Redford, who sat in the side aisle, whispered to Annie to show her the number, and I lost the chance, for in pass ing the books it was hidden. That it was a.note I knew by the white glimmer of the edges as well as if I had seen the whole of it, and surely as 1 live I saw Annie give Mr. Janes a meaning smile as he passed us on the church path going home. Miss Redford looked at Annie as if she knew sometuing of it too, as she stepped after her father and mother into the car riage. They were carriage people—the Rcdfords—and the old folks looked down on every body else. There was a feud be tween them aud the proprietors of the fac tory, and they never spoke to cither the Williamses or Mr. Janes ; so there was no social chatting on the porch, aud the Wil liams people smiled sarcastically, and the old Redfords scowled and looked haughty, until they were all fairly shut in and driv en away. Not Mr. Janes—he was too gen tlemanly ; norjMiss Redford—she was tho sweet. The feud was among the old folks. The farmers' families made up for their ill temper though, and half the genteel people from the villas were smirking and bowing to each other. The factory hands who were at church— a dozen in all, I suppose—hurried home pell-mell by short cuts,not to lose their din ners, and of them all only Annie and I were left. She was waiting for me to join her— a thing I didn't mean to do. I leaned against the iron railing of the church-yard, wishing I was sound asleep under one of the green mounds, but only looked darker and sulkier, no doubt, than usual, until I saw her turn toward me.— Then I leaped the railing and went away, never looking back. I did not go home, but spent the day in Baldwin's Woods alone. On Monday I was at work as usual. It was the third of July, and the Fourth, of course, was to be a holiday. There were to be grand celebrations atj Baldwin, and the show-pieces for the evening were being finished at our place, under the superinten dance of Mr. Richard Janes. It was hard to keep the younger hands at their work. They were half crazy about the Fourth, and 1 suppose every one of theni had a pistol. I never cared for banging at nothing, and should not have had one even if I had felt differently. One young iellow tried hard all day to sell me his : like a goose he hud bought two, and was sorry for it. About dusk I went to get my supper,and was coming back when, among the shad ows,! saw two ligures standing whispering together. 1 felt in a moment who they must be,and got close enough to hear their voices. It was as 1 thought. One was Annie May, the other Richard Janes. They were parting, but I heard enough in the few last words : "Eleven will be the best time ; the moon will be up by then. I'll have the carriage waiting under the two elms in Baldwin's Woods. Be certain about the hour, for the down-train starts a quarter to twelve.— Good-by—God bless you 1" Not another word—but I knew the whole. She was going off with Richard Janes. — She whom I loved so. The one of all the world who had seemed to love me,l herad his firm tread die away. I heard her light foot steps rustle over the grass, and went back myself to the work-room, for we were to work until a late hour that night. I walk -1 ed straight up to the young lellow who had been trying all day to sell me his superflu ous pistol. "Smith," said I, "I think I'll trade with you after all." "Good for you," said he. "The Fourth j ain't no Fourth without a pistol, and this is ! goiu' cheap A good load in it too, so be ! careful." I counted down the money and took the | weapon away with me. Do you want to i know what 1 meant to do with it ? Shoot I myself through the heart. The idea ofmu *- i der had not crept into my mind then. I'd j swear that with my dying breath. I only wanted to get rid of my tiresome i life. There was nothing left to live for—so | it seemed to me. i At half past ten 1 got the chance I wan ; ted, and slipped out. I was going to kill | myself in Baldwin's Woods, on the dead i log behind which the first spring violets I grew, and where we had sat so often since I together. The moon was just rising round ! and yellow behind the black trees, ami*lhn ! factory windows were all ablaze. As 1 slunk by the office I saw Mr. Richard Janes there alone. He was standing exactly un der a swinging lamp. A trying light for any but a very handsome face, but bis was not hurt by it. Great heavens ! how hand some he looked and how happy. My blood boiled with rage, and jealousy, and grief I was as mad for the moment as any lunatic, could be. My hand went into my bosom and caught the pistol hidden there. The next instant I had fired, taking aim at the handsome head. But it was not good aim. The ball pas sed over its mark and struck the swinging lamp. I saw it fall, and a great blaze spring up on the instant,and knew that the fire work factory was on fire. That factory filled to the roof with explosive substances, and with a hundred and fifty men and boys, and pretty, innocent girls shut up within its walls. Ido not know whether Satan ever feels remorse, but if be does it must be such as I felt—hopeless maddening, scorching. The next instant there was a horrib'e re port, and I was thrown into the air. Not hurt, though. I picked myself up from the grass aud stood looking at my work. The windows were belching forth flame up in the air, amidst the smoke. — Hundreds of rockets, and blue-lights, and Catharine wheels were tossing and flaming —scarlet, and yellow, and purple,and pink, and green, and blue. Hundreds of cannons seemed to be roaring ; and over it all you could hear screams—women's screams— aud I went down ou my knees and prayed— "Oh, save her, save her —to be his wife, to hate me—only save her !" People were flocking in from the village. Workmen, singed and scorched, forcing their way through the flames ; aud iu the midst of the wildest tumults some cue caught my arm. I turned—it was Annie, and beside her, white and trembling, stood Miss Redford. "Oh, Seth—thauk God for this !" cried Annie; "you are safe. Oh, dear young lady, try to hope—he may he too." And then that beautiful Miss Redford sank on her knees before me, and clasped her hands, and prayed me to Bave her Rich ard ! " I should have been his wife in an hour," she said. "Oh, Bave my husband—save my husband —my love, my life, my dar ling 1" The truth rushed into my mind then. I saw all my blind folly . 1 remembered the feud between the Redfords and the Wil liams family, and knew that my Annie had only been helping Miss Redford to meet and correspond with her lover ; that it was to her the message I had heard that even ing had been sent, and that it would have been better for me to be dead. "Go out of danger !" I panted "I'll bring him to you or die with him !" and, with Annie's scream of terror in my ear, dashed away. They were playing on the burning building with the one engine they had at hand by this time, and I could see that most of the workmen were alive. I clutched one by the arm as I went past. "Are the women in there yet?" I yelled. "No, thank Heaveu," he answered.— "Didn't you know the women were dismiss ed five minutes before the explosion took place. There wasn't one there. All the men are out too, 1 guess, but them that were setting the last show-piece in the in the room next the office—about a dozen. The rest jumped out o'wiudow. There's a broken limb or two, I guess. But that's better than the poor fellows inside roast ing alive or blown to pieces. Young Mr. James is thtre, too. His uncle is offering anything to have him got out. Life's worth more than money, though nobody can do it." He was rigid. For hours we worked at the fire before it was out ; and then a great heap of lumber was piled over the bodies of the thirteen men who must be inside dead we supposed—and I heard some one say that Miss Redford was going from one swoon into another at the Williamses, and that it had come out that she was to have eloped with Mr. Janes the night before. It was the Fourth of July ; but no guns were fired and no bells rung at Baldwin. All the people of the town were about the factory helping as best they could. We lifted great charred logs and heaps of boards and molten cans, and at last one stopped. "Hush!" he cried ; "for God's sake no noise. I hear a voice !" And then amidst a breathless silence we heard a moan under our feet. We worked with a will now, and at last heard more. One of the men put his head close down and cried, "Are any of you alive ?" And some one groaned, "Yes," Black with smoke, scorched by the cin ders we handled, we went at it again, and at last came to a spot where the beams had made a kind of pent-house. There, jam med together and half suffocated, but alive, were four men. And such a yell went up as mortal ears never heard before. Four saved ! four saved ! And we drew them out and gave them over to the doctors. Then there was another shout not so loud, for we Jjad come to one insensible, jam med between two logs. He breathed though as soon as we brought him to the air. It was a time no one ever forgot. Judge what it was to me ! At last all were out but Mr. Janes, and somebody cried that they could see him under some beams It was a dangerous place to get at; but I would not stop for that. I forced myself into the narrow aperture, and set to work. I called, but there was no answer. At last I came to him, lying with a great beam across his chest. His beautiful golden hair and beard were singed and scorched, and one of his hands was blistered. I touched him, and screamed in his ears, but they were deaf to me. I got the log off somehow, and drag ged him to the light, and then I had help enough. They took him between them and laid him on the grass, and the doctor un factened his vest. " Is he dead " I asked ; and I meant as truly as Hive, if the answer were "yes," to tell the crowd before me what I had done, knowing well that if I did no law could save save me. There was no answer for a moment, and I spoke again, "Is he dead?" And God bless the dear, white-headed old man who answered so kindly : " No, my man, he isn't dead. I think : lie's coming to." Oh, the mercy of the good Lord—think jof it! Of the whole not one was killed. #££ per- Annum, in Advance. There were burns, and broken limbs, and black eyes, but there was no death ; aud soon I saw Richard Janes —pale and faint but out of danger—standing before me. I couldn't believe God had been so good to me. Then that old white-haired doctor mount ed on a pile of burned logs and lifted his hat, and there were three such cheers as were never heard before, and at dozen boys sped in to Baldwin to ring the joy bells ; and women came crying to thank me for helping to save their dear ones—so that for shame I went and hid myself in Baldwin's Woods and cried, with my head hidden in my arms, on the old log where the violets were. Then somebody came softly up the path and sat beside me, and bent over me, and took me singed and smoke-stained as I was, in two white arms—and only one of all the world could do that—and without looking I knew it was Annie. "My noble, brave darling," she said ; "my own dear that I aru so proud of!" and sobbed and kissed me. " They are so happy, too," she said ; "and Mr. Janes is only scorched and burn ed a very little, and old Mr. Redford is re conciled to old Mr. Williams, and they will be married after all. They are so fond of each other, Setk—as fond as you and I." And then I stood up and put her gently from me, and made atonement for my sin by an awful sacrifice. I told her the truth —what 1 was, and what 1 had done, and why, and waited to hear her renounce inc. She did not do it. She was shocked and grieved, but she pitied me, and I dared to take her in my arms and call her mine again. I believe that all my life there had been an evil spirit in my breast, and that he left me forever at that moment. It was some time before the factory was rebuilt, and some had been injured, and many were out of work. I knew my du ty. To those in need came little gifts of money every week, with no clew to its donor, until my savings were all gone. So we did not buy the three-roomed cot tage, and perhaps never shall ; but penni less as I was, she married me, and we are happy. Mr. Janes and Miss Redford are married too ; and when we sit in church she smiles across the pews to that little wife of mine, and I think, with a pang of terror even yet, from what God's mercy saved me. INGRATITUDE TO PARENTS. There was once a father who gave up everything to his children —his house, his goods—and expected that for this his chil dren would support him. But after he had been some time with his sou, the latter grew tired of him, and said to him : "Father, I had a son born to me this night, and there, where your arm-chair stands, the cradle must cpme. Will you not, perhaps, go to my brother, who has a larger room ?" After he had been some time with the second son, he also grew tired of him, and said : "Father, you like a warm room, and that hurts my head. Wont you go to my broth er, the baker ?" The father went, and after he had been some time with the third son, he also found him troublesome, and said to him "Father, the people run in and out here all day, as if it were a pigeon-house, and you cannot have your noonday sleep.— Would you not be better off at my sister Kate's near the town wall ?" The old man remarked how the wind blew, and said to himself: " Yes, 1 will do so ; I will go and try it with my daughter. Women have softer hearts." But after he had 6pent some time with his daughter,she grew weary of him, and said she was al ways so fearful when her father went to church, or anywhere else, and was obliged to descend the steep stairs, and at her sis ter Elizabeth's there was no stairs to de scend, as she lived on the ground floor. For the sake of peace the old man went to his other daughter's. But after some time, she too was tired of him, and told him, by a third person, that her house near the water was too damp for a man who suffered from the gout, and her sister, the grave-digger's wife, at St. John's, had much dryer lodgings. The old man him self thought she was right, and went out side the gate to his youngest daughter, Helen. But after he had been three days with i er, her little son said to his grand father : " Mother said yesterday to cousin Eliza beth, that there was no better chamber for you than such a one as father digs." These words broke the old man's heart, so he sank back in his chair, and died. A WORD to MINISTERS.— The ministry should be wide awake to the daugers which threaten to counteract their influence and oppose their word. As an important part of the Gospel morality, they should preach temperance, warning every man and pledg ing every child and youth to eternal vig ilance against the insidious foe. The min istry, closely followed by the church should lead off in this work ; and there should not be an hour of needless delay. The same zeal which patriots have manifested in put ting down the slaveholders' rebellion,should be shown in putting down the rebellion caused by strong drink. Rum, if not de throned, will curse this nation more than slavery ever cursed it, for intemperance is the slavery of the soul, and is infinitely worse than chattled slavery. We give you a fair warning, brethren. The enemy is organizing for the conflict. If you love God or, man, gird yourselves for the bat tle, and fight for religion, humanity, and victory. Leave no work undone, no instru mentality ui tried ; for temperance is the great work of the hour.— /ion's llerahl. THE man everybody likes is generally a fool. The man nobody likes is generally a knave. The man who has friends who would die for him, and foes who would loved him broiled alive, is usually a man or some worth and force. WHAT is the difference between a wealthy toper and a skillful miner V One turns his gold into quartz and the other turns his quartz mto gold. PRENTICE says if you want to get a favor from a man feed him. A man like a horse, can't be managed till he has a bit in his mouth. REPUTATION is a good deal like a bonfire, you've got to keep piling on the shavings, If you don't, the flame will soon subdue. WELL-DIGGIHG IN CHlNA. —There is a story of a tipsy fellow who attentively examined a cane-bottomed chair, and wondered who took the trouble to twist all those rattans around those little holes. In China they dig a well somewhat as this fellow suppos ed they made cane-seats. They make a hole first, and then dig a place to put it in. "A pit twenty feet deep is dug, by which time water is nearly reached. Boards about an inch thick are then placed at the bottom in the form of a circle, in the centre of the hole, its diameter being seven feet, which is to be the width of the well at its bottom. Round this wooded circle a cylin der ofbrick is then constructed to the height of ten feet, the bricks being carefully joined by mortar. The outside of this cylinder is then covered with matting and tightly roped round. Poles are then driven into the ground at short intervals all round the outside of the cylinder, and in close op position with it. These are secured by ad ditional lashing of rope applied round and over them. The inside of the cylinder is then lined with matting, which is secured by ropes passed down vertically and brought out underneath the cylinder, where the two ends are fastened and the rope tightened. By these means any dislodg ment of the bricks is physically impossible, and the structure is rendered as compact as if it was made of metal. The strength ening of the brickwork having been com pleted, they commence to dig inside ol it, and as the earth is removed from the in terior, the cylinder gradually sinks by its own weight, the excavation being contin ued until the upper margin of the cylinder has reached the level of the original hole twenty feet deep. The well of thirty feet is thus formed, and rapidly finished in the most complete manner by building up a continuation of the brick cylinder until it reaches the level of the ground. CANT COOK. —It is a sad defect wheu young ladies are incapable of directing their own servants—shoes without soles or wrist bands without a shirt are not more useless than one of these. One day, shortly aftei his marriage,a young merchant went home, and seeing 110 dinner ready, and his wife appeared anxious and confused asked : "What is the matter ?" "Nancy went off at ten o'clock this morning," replied his wife, "and the cham bermaid knows no more about cooking a dinner than a man in the moon." "Couldn't she have done it under your direction ? inquired the husband, very cool 'y- "Under my direction ? I should like to see a dinner cooked under my directions." "Why so ?" asked the husband in sur prise. "You certainly did not think I could," re plied the wife : "how should 1 know any thing about cooking ?" The husband was silent, but his look of astonishment perplexed and worried bis wife. " You look very much surprised," she said, after a moment or two had elapsed. "And so I am," he answeed, "as much surprised as I should be at finding the cap tain of one of my ships unacquainted with navigation. You don't kuow how to cook, and the mistress of a family ! Jaue,if there is a cooking-school anywhere in the city,go to it and complete your education, for it is deficient in a very important particular." COURAGE —Man cannot come to his full growth of character and influence without courage. The term is from cceur, "heart," "soul." It is not mere physical instinct. It is not the spirit that animates those men of whom it may be said, "They are brave in proportion as they are without thought." Courage is rather that deep conviction, or that solid purpose, which gathers strength by delay. We are told that icebergs in the north ern seas are sometimes seen moving north ward, in the face of strong winds and tides setting toward the south. This movement is explained by the fact of deep undercur rents drifting along at the base of the ice mountain, and moving it with irresistible power. So the real courage of the soul is power which stems and goes counter to su perficial tides. It is a principle of self-pro pulsion, moving in the direction of reason, aud conscience, and heart. It is that rare power of the soul which is able to say of a proposed undertaking, "It may be difficult, it may be costly, it may be odd, but it is right, and I dare to do it. One of the greatest triumphs of courage is to dare to be one's self—to stand in one's own shoes, accepting one's own personality,addressing one's self to one's own responsibilities, en vying none, imitating none. LONG AND SHORT HAlß. —Many customs have prevailed among the fair sex respec ting the mode of arranging the hair, and they have a right to adopt a variety of changes ; but cutting the hair short, and wearing it like boys, is not commendable. Men heve, at different times, worn the hair long. This has ever been condemned as an uuscriptural custom. In the days of Charles the First, of England, the cavaliers who despised close religious forms, wore long hair, while the Puritans cut theirs short, and were called "round heads." It has been calculated that, by continual cutting and shaving of the hair, about seven feet length is removed from a man in twenty five years. Some writers assert that the practice of close cutting and shaving tends to weaken the body. Such writers draw a powerful argument from old Samson, who when all uushorn, slew several thousand Philistiaus with the jaw bone of an ass. " WHY do you turn up your nose at the butterplate? there enough on it?" asked an indig nant landlady of one of her boarders, (hoping by a flank question to vindicate the quality of the ar ticle, "isn't there enough of it, sir ?" "Oh! yes! ma'm!" responded the gentleman—"l was only think how so much could ever be got rid of.'' THE remains of a bachelor who " burst into tears " at reading a description of married life, has been found. WHY is a young lady just from boarding school like a building committee ? Because she si reedy to receive proposals. AN industrious tradesman having taken a new apprentice, awoke him at a very early hour ou the first morning, by calling out that the fam ily were sitting down to table. "Thank yon," said the boy, as he turned over in bed, to adjust himself for a new nap, "thank you ; but 1 never eat anyt ting during the night." * NOT long since, a fire-eating Irishman i challenged a barrister, who gratified him by an ac ceptance. The duellist, being very lame, reques ted that he might have a prop. "Suppose," said he, "I lean against this milestone ?' "t\ ith jfleas j ure," replied the lawyer, "on condition that I may ! lean against the next"" The joke settled the quar- I rel. " MARY," said a wise and witty old lady, the other day, to her granddaughter, "What do ' you call the ugly bunch that hangs down behind your head?" "Why, grandmother, everybody knows it is a waterfall." "A waterfall, indeed!" replied the old lady, "it looks for all the world like a land slide." A LITTI.E boy in Wisconsin was being put to bed the other night about dark when he objec ted to going so early. His mother told him how the chickens went to bed early and he must do so I too. The little fellow said he would if his mother ; would do as the old hens did— goto bed first, then coax the chickens to come. NUMBER 47.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers