H. H. FRAZIER, Publisher. vcitumE 11. ,Ittoincoo glirectos DR. E. L BLAKESLEE, Ye ICI AN AND SURGEON, ban locital at Brooklet% Sap P Ta. bar , . L . ...MY. P. Will attetd promptly to al/ calla Le may ba favored. ()Mee at L. 3d. Baldentea, I:teals - a. July 10, le6s.—yt. Dn. E. L. OARDNER, plij;tl , s . l , N ore A.N il D o* Uß . Eoll,.y l o o n t lio . re, Ps. 00',Iee over ottrore ,J.e GROVES & REYNOLDS, 1, - voITIONARLE TAILORS. flop over CtArdleen St•lre. Public AMU. liu•,Ve, June PI, IFC.S. Dn..CIIARLES DECKER, TV:I" , ;('IAN WD SIJELGEr.N. Lavine located htmnelf . r iu nvWe Susquehanna County. Pa, will attend to all the •nudult he twnt . be flvorui with promptneseuld attention. , 6( rn , ldtraCe near Orange Mara Es, rshardel de, 'dual. iJo.. Pa., May ".9. JOHN "IRMO - MONT, w EF L Cj m ot i h th %relser jl et o. nd'la c rgrt, e Ml= . rho Mori[ln brought, mar Mk Ins. Da. G. Z. DThLOCK, priTSICIAN and SURGEON, MONTROSE, Pa. Ose on ii rt~4 op to the Rarmszac..as Omni. Boards at • tram, February etb.1665.-lyp C. IL CRA_NDALL, If .1 NUFACTURICR of LionaArbeele, Wooloalleelot, Wbeel• to.S. Clock-reels, &C., he. Wood-toroth; dom. to ondrz and , ace. manner. Turning Sbop and Wlteel Factory lo Sara' Fl-11111111vg. uy cain.. et .t.: - tiOth, 1963.-t1 S S. BENTLEY, JR., NOTARY PUBLIC, 1.10 vrrnosE.. Artrow lodgment of Deeds Elortgaxee at, for any in :he United Staten. Penelon Vouchers and Pay O. • betbre him do not require the eertteente of the Montroea. J.. 2. Ibas,_tr. CII ARLES HOLES, Dt.ki.P:ti. CLOCKS, WATCHES, AND JEWELRY 1.- as usual, on short notice and mappable tam • Public .A.W.Utit 'UK B.Clliinalets Store. P... :4 0V . 7.1%4. DB. E. L HANDRIGH, psr, SURGEON, respect:fatly tendert tat prate , • o the Ctlunt of niendsville end tidally. Of. vi nt Ih. last, Flour& at J. llostard'e. Y J • 'y 97, l_ oct.-41 W. SMITH, Titoti. , . Et .t t..'OQ77I3r.LLOIt AT LAW and Erred Cla e. • t • !1.,. ovr: L.'. Drug More. • 1. , e:•0t Juraary 18E4. H. BURRITT, L staple rartcv Dry Goads. Crockery. Hardure, j / •. - v and Patrits. Boot• and Stack EMU h Grocerien, Provision.. Gc. M 1564.-41 ii. SA.YRE & BROTHERS, , Ooods,Orocesles, Croc . 6e. February t 4,1564. BTILTIiGB STROUD, AND LIPS lI.SITRANOE AGENT. O In Lot-- rr , h0, , 1bv,. - nat end of Brick Block. In Ma nb•ence, bard. trr oMce mill be tranc.cted by C. L. Brom 11.,r,..c. brory 1, W34.—tl J. D. VAIL, M. D., KOPA.TIT/C IRTSIcILF . Itas artily locates. Ll. sta..c. , f in Montrose, P6_, where be wll prompt!). attead tc •t• hie proftwirm 'nth which he may lee favored. OliDde • .• 1. :to W 1,1 of I..DP Con, Howe. rear Ileatley &Mich's. sr, trot, Feboary 1, 1564.-Oct.. W., leen. A. 0. WARREN, r:ort.N ST AT LAW, BOUNTY, BACK PAT and PIM 1:)N CLAIM AGENT. All Pension Clan,re cnrefilly pre Office In roam forme:lly‘elpled by Dr. Vali, in W. B bek.lo 13en•le. 9:mt.:oft. Pa_ Feb. 1. 1.964.—feb1. 11968. S. S. ROBERTSON, ke.l3l:l74.CTUalial Of BOOTS& SHOPI2I6 Owego 81.riezt. licalrose, Ps. e .ctro.., January ". 16N.-ti LEWIS KIRBY E. BACON, ESP ea netaatly Gn heads fell topply of every variety al and CONFECTIONERIES. By @rid stints fairness In deal, Bier bone to !merit tbe llbeenl of the publlc. An OYSTER end EATING SALOON b the tiroccry, where blvalortr,tn ronson.,wre zeroed ln !--, : ,battlikteztes of the trabllr dernamd. Remeninerthe .ff Grocery eland. on Male Street, below the Postofla. Inv. 17, 1663.—mch17,63.-tf Di. CALVIN C. HALSEY, DriTh!CW ehD sCROZOIN, AND s' AItLICTISO SIM . T.'S VEY , 4IOINERS. Office over the stare of J. Lyous I r. 1 . 1:14.• Assns., Boards at Mr. Etheridge's. U 1939.41 D. A. BALDWIN', 31.1iINICY GT LAW. and Penton, Bounty, and Back fty aer. Bend, Buquenanna Malty, R. tiald.6 nee. la, 12U-1y BOYD & WEBSTER, VW, "' SV a''ve tudo. "*. Flan, lT lttg93tTo r 'ner ' int n d ' o ' t t H Lr.inber, m and all kande of Hotldhhe Materials o . ear:e*. otel. and Carpenter Shop u the .s 1 urat. Januar,. 1. 19642 E DR. WILLIAM W. SMITH, - SURGEON' DICNTIST. Office over the BankLux • e'er of coopar 3 Co. All Dent. Operation ▪ . t,e performed in his usual . good style and evler..i. I:er, m het. o Ell ee formerly o 1 B. Smith& Son. In,ce, I, 1004.-0 E. J. ROGERS, 'REP. nt tfll deseriprtJone ofIVAG • . PI G ES, SLEIGHS, Ott., in the 03* - .• and of the beet matertola. - - " nand of E. H. ROGERS, a few rode east M o.u, when he will be happy to Tb. D. JOHN W. COBB, TY*7 , . •t A\ nr.C. $ Ull3EO3t, raper:Unify tenders blo ocrolco , ' •.'ltizetkp .0 snhoocuostr.s Oonotty. llt alltrlveerpeciol ro-Rlonl oledl=l trostmetrt of amuses of the - .co.° iced relfolve to onszioloperattove I. ort. OveT Vif J.& B B. Mulford's &ore. `. • ,1 • s ease of J. n. Torben', Howl. rJ,4voty, Po, June 2.2.1663.-tf BALDWIN & ALLEN, DCALL' Folt.. pork, nth. Lord. o = l, l„Feed L , .' r•,. ct, stcl Timothy head. Also 13110CkasiEN • 11.tewo, Hemp Teo and Went ear tr - • oto Or.or beluga J. Etherldgo. Jonnork 1, 11364.--tf DR. D. W. BEACH, Y'. AND SURGEON. haring permanently locate Peroelys Center. PI, tendcre proftelonal err - • 1 s of SUNClthilrags Count, on WIN commenum• cat Owes! . t nE.ce of the Leta Dr. R. Richard it re. lt,enariectia •• r . •te...r. Pa.. Jutte 6. 1844.-1 y F. B. WEEKS, aI. WY.Yr LIU , SHOE, MAKES, oleo Dealertt •ionte Learhes,euel Shoe Medium Repelling dons • . •!.. and dispatch. Tem dooosabovo Boorle's EtoteL January 1. ISC4--tf WM. & W H. JESSUP, ~: NETS AT LAW. Montrone, P. Pnnuee In 6neQae 1,441cr4, Wymr.ing ;Lad Luscrne Canada. V..r.trur.. Ya., J.nr..cary itt. nu. ALBERT CHAMBERLIN, rk! ,, TICICT ATTORICSY A.ND ATTORN . lover the Starr kurir.rly cccuplea 15,0. J. LYONS & SON, El I DiY GOODS, Groceries.Croetneu.Hardc-sre. ' ssrr. 1:61m10008., sod all kinds of 'Z '•-• ire, tihect Musk , agc. Also carry us the Book Dia , in Al! Itt. Inane:he& J. LIGRA, January 1, 1864, 5. A. L oan. ABEL TURRELL, nE 1y en TN DM.TOS, ILEDICINEB, cirEntvaeLz, IJ Paulus, arils, Dye stuffs. Varolsbes, Window Glam. •- • G [velum,. erocketT, Glassware, Wall-Paper, Jew 'Cy Oonsie.P...flaerN, Str.7,lml I.ustromtuts, True, Bruzb.. Agent for of the most pup, Mcalrla a . lioutrose, January 1, mat C. 0. FORDLIAII, UT ACT WIER or BOOTS & SHOES Ideutrame. 01. trera DeWltt'sl3tore. Ali kinds ol 'work made *- •. wodirtred dons ormtly. Work doue when proso mppyroo„ April 2. 1661—t: CIiAREYS • STODDARD, POUTS St SUGE:S, Leather awl nod. 1111, t. third door h(410 , 4 to order. and mtpahir.ig done neltly. Ih=ber 12,186 d. L li. BURNS, 7•1...1 , N EY AT LAW. Of Ea. with WILIam J. Tnrrell. F like!, Pennon and Bounty Claims crt.rdul " 7 r. wo.a. CoUnttreae prom to.ly =dr— lb lams, Nov . 21. I.l_- B. R. LYONS & CO., A E 4.5 inDRY GIP.JC eaves. 1300TfS,A1306e, r%iLi' atnt tl figt: lll =n l . l 4lll l 2=lZ • • 1. 9. LYON? January 1,1861-4 f READ, WATROUS, lb FOSTER, ~~-n:.cc;n 1 1 .1x 1 Y G?oDse, it ry. Iron . r ucb , cka. t i r t gAtiz.. • ry. Itauja,%. FAS.. n . 0.1/037.21 ' .1 1, PHILANDERLINES, T. 111011., Drlrk Black, ow Seidl . Tortnr's Store. linntrrt4e. Pa. PS Jo!, If lug 1 • " - - • ,41 11 Antiepenbe N z - • - : t1111114. • -.••••••w • 7 ,, • v;s elpAnb Come, let us make his pleasant grave Upon this shady shore, Where the sad river, wave on wave, Shall grieve for evermore; Oh ! long and sweet shall be his dream, Lulled by Its soothing flow— Sigh softly, softly, signing stream, because he loved you so! Fair blossom-daughters of the May, So lovely in their bloom, Your ranks must stand aside to-day To give our darling room; These dew-drops which you shed In showers Are loving tears, Bloom brightly, brightly, grateful flowers, because be loved you so! Here, all along warm summer days The yellow bees shall come, Coquetting down the blossomy ways With fond and ringing hum; While, warbling In the sunny rees, The birds lilt to and fm— Sing sweetly, sweetly, birds and bees, bemuse he loved you so. Here, with their softened, cautious tread, The light feet of the shower Shall walk abOnt his grassy bed, And cool the sultry hour; Yet may not Wake to smiles again The eyes which sleep below— Fall lightly, lightly pleasant rain, because he loved you so li And when the summer's voice is dumb And lost her bloomy grace, When sobbing nutamn's tempests come To weep above the place Till all the forest boughs are thinned, . Their leafy pride laid low— Grieve gently , gently, walling wind, because be loved you so! And when, beneath the chilly light That eminia the winter day, The storms shall fold his grave in white, And shut the world away; Abore his sweet, untroubled rest, Fall soft, caressing snow— Drift tenderly across his breast, because ho loved you ao! Prom Hou►a at Home FRED, AND M A MA, ABB ME. I don't suppose yon ever was down to Goshen, In the State of Maine. Butif 3-on was, you had the old Avery place p`inted out to you, and heard a kind word spoke about them as had lived there. My father was well-to-do, and so was hie father before him. And so, when one by one oar family drooped away, I was left In the old place, rich and lonesome. At least it looked as it I was lonesome; and every body was glad when I took a little friendless nephew of mine to be the same as my ojvn child. I hadn't no great use for money, and there Is no sense in pre tending I knew how to take care of It. Senna has a faculty that way, end some hasn't And so it hap pened that after Fred grew up and went to New York to live, he got into the way of taking a thousand dollars here and a thousand there, partly to take care of for me and partly to use in the way of hia business. didn't-keep much account of what he had; and It came nrotl me all of a sudden one day that I was finding It hard to get enough to pay my subscrip tions with. For I always subscribed to the Home Missionary and all them, end paid up regular; and 1 wasn't never the one to be mean about supporting the gospel, either. I paid thy pew-rent right up to the day, and our minister knows how often I had him and his wife and all the children to tea, and how there wasn't never any stint, and the best cups and saucers got out, and them children eating until they couldn't hold no more, and a tilling their pockets full of doughnuts, and I making believe not sec 'cm doh. Well! I never shall forget the day Deacon Morse came round to get the pew-rent, and I had to say ont and out, •• Deacon Morse, I'd give von the money if I had it, but the fact is, I ain't had a dol lar these three months' ' You don't say so,' says he, and ho was so struck that he turned quite yeller. Yes, I do say so,' says I. "Fred has been plagued a good deal about his business, and I've had to help him along; and then you know I ain't no band at taking care of money, and so he been keep ing It for me. And he says I give away too much I and shall look out that a check Is kept upon me. expect he. don't consider that at my tune of life folks can't change their near's. And its my natnr to keep my money a stirring. You can't eat it and you can't drink it, and why shouldn't you make your fellow.crentnres happy with it r ' But Fred pays the interest regular, don't be r says the Deacon. Well, I can't say as he dOes pay it regu/or.• says I. "lie sends me twenty dollars one time, land ten another time; and onto or twice he's wrote that he IVES hard up for cash, and he knew I'd not press him against the wall. And lately he ain't wrote at all. ' Pretty business, to be sure ! says the Deacon. 'I never thought you knew much, Aunt Avery, (you see Pm everybody's aunt; it's a way folks has) but I did think you had a little mite o' common sense, it you hadn't nh book-learrdn'' ' I don't suppose I know much, says I, " and I never wao left to think I did. And as for sense, I know I ain't got much of that, either. The Lord don't give everything to one. Folks can't expect, it they're handsome, to have sense besides. It wouldn't be fair. And them that has money can't expect to have the gift of taking awe of it and hoarding IL No, no, the Lord divides out things even, and His ways are better than:onr ways.' • I'll tell you what,' says the Deacon, " you ought to see a little more of the world. You're a nice little hody, and when It comes to standing up for the Lord, and going round among the poor and the sick, I don't know your match, anywhere. But you're ignorant of the world, Aunt Avery, very ignorant And as for that nephew of your'n, I guess you'll find his gift la the gift of landing Ton in the alms house, one o' these days.' Deacon Morse,' says I, "I've heard you speak in mectin' a good many times, but I.toever saw you so much riled - up as yon are now. And if it's on my account you're so wrathy, you needn't be wrathy no more, for I've got riches no man can take from me.' ' And what if 1 turn you out of that pew of your'n where you've sot ever since you was born, and where your father and gmndfather sot afore you?' ' I don't know—maybe it would come hard. Bat there's free seats up in the gallery, and if / don't pay my rent, I'm sure I ought not to set in my pew.' Well, well, I nsver thought Fred Avery would turn out as be has,' says the,Dcacon. "As smiling, good-natured a boy as ever was! I'll step over and have a word whit Sam, if you have no objection. lie may think of some way out of this bother. And as for you, 'Aunt Avery, don't you worry. The Lord will take care of you.' Wel], pretty soon Sam Avery:came In, looking half as tall again as common, and nit sure I wouldn't for the world, write down all the dreadful things be was left to any about Fred. , rit go now and consult Lawyer Rogers,' said he, at last.. 'But wouldn't that hurt Fred's feelings F says I. And 1 didn't want to hurt his feelings, I'm sure I didn't. Besidea, there ain't no lawyer In the world can get your money buck when there ain't no papers to to tell where It went to.' • It's the most shameful thing I ever heard of !' said Sam. "And con take it as cool as a cucumber. Why, Aunt Avery, do you realize that you won't never have a red a cent togive away 4' • Well, I hope It 'in!t so had as that,' says I. And I took off my spectacles and wiped 'em, for somehow I couldn't serct to see as plain as com mon. Now the next day was ,Eunday, and I will own Satan is dreadful busy Sundays. And he kept hov ering around me as I was Washlng up the dishes atter breakfast, and says he, "Ilow'll you teel a slain' up to the gallery this aftefrnoon ?" says he, "Every body'll be lookin' up saidwondente, and there'll be nu end to wanderin' thoughts in prayer. You don't feel very well, Aunt Avery, and if I was you, I wouldn't go to meetingto-day. Next Sunday mar, he It won't be so Lath togo and alt. in the gallery."' You needn't call me hunt Avery,' says I ' for I ain't your aunt, and ycsa know it. And I'm goln' to meeting, and I'm golia'..alt day, and eo you may go about your business,' bays L So I dressed my 7 sell up In my go-to-meetin' Wogs, and I went to meetin', but I didn't sit lin the Avery pew, 'cause I hand't paid my pew-tax, and hadn't no business to. I went np into the galls and and set down in the free I seats near the singers , here was old3ll'am Hardy and old Mr. Jones, ant one other Man and mei that was all ; and the old verypew it was empty all day. If the people 'stared and had wanderin' thoughts, Leouldn't helpllt, but I don't believe they did lance no wanderint thoughts. And comb:' out of meeting a good many shook hands with me just the name .as ever, and Our minister he smiled and shook hands, and kis little Rebecca, her that used to like mydoughnnts sin: she kind o' cuddled up to roc, and says she, "Aent Avery, put downyour head so I can whisper tO, you.' And I put down my head so she could reaebt up to my ear, and 'says she,- ' You wool bo Floe any more, for here's some moneyof my ownlthat I'm to give to you, and don't you tell any body you've got It, 'calms they'll borrow It if youldo, and never pay It back.' And then the little thingueeseti two' cents into my band and kissed me, locked 0 Ottlitellted Ls IN PEACE PART TIM !TWIT. " Freedom and Right against Slavery and Wrong." MONTROSE, SUSQ. CO., PA., TUESDAY, JULY 18, 1865. an angel. And I always was a fool ation such things, and what did I do but burst right out a crying there before all the people! But I don't think none of 'em see me, for they all passed on, and so I got out endgot home, and I laid them two cents down on the table, and I knelt down, and says I "Oh Lord, look at them two cents!' I couldn't any no more, but he knew what I meant, Just as well as if I'd prayed an hour, and I could almost see him a-laying of his bands on that child's head and blessing of her jest as he did to those little ones ever so _many years ago. So f ate my dinner, and read a chapter, and went to meetin' in the afternoon, and our min- Cater preached such a sermon that I forgot that I was In the gallery, and everybody forgot It, and there wasn't no wanderin' thoughts in that meetin' house, I'll venture to say. Well, after tea I sat in my chair feeling kind n' beat out, and In walks Deacon Morse. 'Aunt Avery, do you keep Satur day night ?' say he. ' Yes, deacon, I do,' says I. 'So do we to home,' says he, "and It's all the same as Monday mornin' after sunset,' says he, "so there ain't no harm a talking of world things. And I want to know whet you went and left your pew for, and took and set up in the gallery a every body's mind with all sorts of thoughts, and makin' 'em break the Sabbath day a talkie' of It all the time between rneetin's ' Why, I hadn't no right to no other seat,' Rays I, 'and I didn't mean to do no harm,' says I 'lf you wern't so good you'd put me all out a' patience,' says he. ' The pew's your n, and there ain't no hurry about them taxes, and If there was, we could sell the pew and get our money's worth. And don't you go to being stuck up 'cause you've lost year money, and making believe humble; the Lord don't like them sort o' things. I don't mean to hurt your feelin's, Aunt Avery,' says ho—"my ways is rough, but my heart ain't. And what I mean Is, don't go to satin' up there in the gallery, but set in the old Avery pew and let's have It look natural down stairs so we can listen to the sermon and not be starin"round thinking to ourselves, If there ain't an Avery up in the gallery ' Deacon Morse,' says I, ' you don't mean no harm, Pm sure, and I don't mean no harm. And I'm sorry I ever told you where my money'd gone. It's turned your natue, and made you kind o' sharp and cutting, says I. ' And it's turned you and every body against Fred Avery, and ho ain't to blame for being poor. I'm sure he feels bad enough that he's taken away my living, and we ought to be a-pitying him instead o' upbraiding him. So Deacon Morse he wipcd his eyes, and says he, 'it did rile me to see the old pew empty, Aunt Avery, but good bye; next Sunday we'll have things our own way' Alter he'd gone I set and thought and thought, and at last I cot some paper and a pen and ink and I wrote a letter to Fred, and told him not to feel bad about it but I was pretty well used up for want o' money, and If he could let me have a little Pd take it kindly of him, and if be couldn't he needn't mind, ra sell the oldace and manage somehow. Ratan hung round while I was a writin', and says he, Miss Avery, you'll be as forlorn as old Ma'am hardy It you sell out. You'll have to go out to board, and won't never have nothin' to giro away, and never have the minister to tea. And you was born in this hones, and so was your father and your grandfather. 'rm glad .you'Ve learnt manners and stopped calling me Aunt Avery,' says L ' And If you're hinting about going to law and such things you may as well go, first as last. For I'll sell this house and give it to Fred, sooner than do anything to please yea.' With that he sneaked off, and I finished my letter. In a few days who should come driving down from New York bit Fred Avery Ile said be was dreadful sorry about that money, but %was all gone, and times harder than ever, but be certainly would pay every cent sooner or later if be had to sell his house and furniture and turn his wife and children into the street. 'I can't sleep nights for thinking of it,' says he, 'and my wife can't sleep either, and my little chil dren they keep asking papa, hadn't we better stop going to school, and go and work for our thin', so as to pay Aunt Avery all that money?' ' La! do they now ?' says I, the little dear. 1 Yon tell 'em Aunt Avery won't touch a cent of it, and to comfort their ma all they ean, and tell her never to mind anything the old woman writes again, for she won't have folks kept awake worrin' about her.' So Fred he promised to make all right and pay me np besides, and he gave me money enough to pay my pew-rent and to get along with a few months— law I I didn't need much! and so all began to go on jest as it did before, and Deacon Morse and Sans Avery left off worrying me about things. But I was turning them over in my mind unbeknown to them, and one day when there was only a dollar left, I put on my bonnet and went over to 'Squire Jack son's, and says I, "Squire Jackson, if you still want to buy the old place, I've concluded to let you have IL I m getting old and don't want my affections sot too strong on things below, and 'somehow my heart feels kind o' sore and as if it wouldn't mind parting even with the old place.' The fact is, though I didn't know it, I'd got sort o' weaned from this world by Satan's botherin' me and saying, "Tain't right for Fred Avery to cheat you so! Be ain't a man to be depended on!' For if there was anybody I ever did love 'twas that boy, and I never looked to see him grow up selfish or mean ; and his last letter sounded kind o' sharp and out o' patience, as if I was the one that owed the money, and not him. 'Squire Jackson didn't wait to be asked twice. He jumped right up and went for lawyer Rogers, and had the papers drawn np, and I signed my name. And the old Avery place wasn't the old Avery place any more. 'Squire Jackson cut down those trees my grandfather was so proud of; and had the house turned upside down and inside out. I went to board at the widow Dean's and she gave me bet best bed-room, and I tried to make out that I was a' home.. Bat 'twasn't home after all, and I couldn't have the minister to tea, nor fry doughnuts for them dear children, and the widow Dean's ways wasn't like my ways, and things seemed kind of strange, and I began to feel as if it wasn't me but somebody else, and my bead got to spinning 'round in a way it nev er did afore. I thought it was the tea, and that the widow Dean didn't make it right, but I didn't like to hurt her feelings by saying hat, and at last I said to myself, The fact Is, Aunt Avery, you're an old maid and full of notions, and you've no business sitting here boardin` as If you was a lady ; you ought to be doing something as you was brought up to.' But when I happened to speak to the doctor about them queer feelings in my head, he said, 'Aunt Avery, a journey would do you more good than all the doctors in the country. You've a great deal to try you and you've changed your manner of life en tirely. It don't agree with you to sit here doing nothing, and you must get up and go off some where.' . . 'But whereabouts? says I. 'I never was twenty miles from home in my life, and I'm sure I don't know where to go.' That very day Igot a letter from Fred saying he had been sick with a fever owing to his anxiety shout his business', and especially at the step he had driven me to take by his want of money. 111 had a few thousand dollars I could take advantage attic state of the market,' said he, ' and make a specula. tion that would set me on my feet again, and you with me, AOnt Avery. Then you could buy the dear old place back and live just as you need to live. But alas this paltry sum is wanting ' Money wouldn't set them old trees a growing again,' says I to myself, ' nor make our old house ever look old again, at least not in my time. But if it could put Fred on his feet again, why it's a pity he shouldn't have It. And I've had hard thoughts I ought not to have had, and called hint mean and selfish, and that Isn't the way the Bible tells us to feel. If I thought I could get to being ns quiet and happy as I used to be in the old times, I'd give him every cent I have left, and welcome. But then where should I live, and who'd take and clothe and feed me for nothing ? It takes all the widow Dean's grace and nature too to stand having me to hoard even when I pay her every Saturday night, and 1 s'pose people wasn't made to live together ; if they was, everybody'd like their tea lukewarm, and not have twm opinions on that p'hat or no other.' Just then Sam Avery be came sauntering in, and says he, ' Aunt Avery, the doctor says'lf you don't go off on a journey youshead'll split in two, and Pil fell you what, I've got a first rate plan in my head that'll set everything straight in no rime. You set here all day worrying about Fred and pitying him 'muse he can't pay his debts; now if you could put him in the way of paying what be owes you, would n't it take a load off your mind r 'Goodness, Sam,' says I, of course it would But there ain't no way unless it is to let him have what I got for the farm. And I've a good mind to do that.' 'lf you do, Pli have you put in the asylum,' says Sam. ' You don't know nothing about the world and I do, and I wept you to promise me that you won't let Fred have that money without consulting me. Be yon think your good old father worked and tolled and got hisface sun-burned and his hands as bard as two horns, just for Fred Avery? What do you suppose he'd say if he could rise from his grave and sea strangers rampaging over the old place, and them tress cut down, and them red and Fatter carpets all over the floors your mother used to keep so clean and shining? Why he'd sneak. Track where he rose from in less than no time.' I got so bewildered hearing him talk, that I did n't know what I was about, and I began to think there's two ways of 100510' at things, and may bo I hadn't reflected whether or not my father would bare liked what I had done. But I know I'd tried to do as rd done, and so I says to Barn : ' Don't talk so, - Sam It makes me sort o' shud der to think of my father that's gone to heaven, caring anything about the old place now, and what color . Squire Jackson's eanseta are and such things. And U you've got any plass - for end's good lo your head, I wish you'd tell it, for I'm afraid I haven't shown a Christian spirit about him.' ' Well,' says Sam, ' you've got to go a Journey and so have I, for I'm going to New-York on busi ness. And you can go along with me and see Fred and tall him you'll take part of his debt in board.— That will relieve hie mind and his wife's mind, and be as Christian an act as need he. And then, If af ter trying 'em you don't like their ways, and don't feel to home, you come right back here, and me and my wife will make things agreeable for you.— Amanda Is a little woman anVoly could live with, and if anybody could you could. If you like your tea hot—' ' I do,' says I, "hullo hot' Weil, if you like It hot she does. But then if you change your mind and like it kind of Insipid and lukewarm, she'll change hers, sad 'lke it Weiss. Id. Amanda and I never had no words together, and she's a nice little woman, that's a fact' 'Sam' says " you've hit the right nail on the head this time. PII do what is no more'n Christian, and go to Fred's. Poor man how glad he'll be, and how glad his soiree! be, and their little children too. I wonder I never thought of it before!' So the next week we set off, Sam and I, and all the way I kept taking back the thoughts I'd had about him, for it was plain now he had Fred's good at heart, and all along, I had fancied there wasn't much love lost between 'ern. ' Howpleased they'll be, I declare,' says Ito myself. I can take bold and help Fred's wife about the work, and them children; and there's my old black silk, I can make that over for one of 'em, if they are any of 'em big enough to wear silk, and then there's my de-laine I hadn't telt so happy since the day I set in the gal lery, but Just then wo drove pp to a very high brown house, and Sam cried out: Wake up, Aunt Avery, here we are P f. • Why, we ain't going to a tavern, aro we?' says " I thought we was going right to Fred's I' Well, this Is Fred's; jump out, Aunt Avery, for they're opening the door.' ' What! this great palace!" says I, all struck up. •Oh Sam ! it must be they've took boarders.' Sam kind o' laughed, and says he, ' Then it'll come all the handier having you,' Bays he. We went up the steps, and pretty soon they let us in, and Sam pulled me along into a great, long, splendid room and set me down on a soly. At drat I could not see much of anything, fur there was thick curtains over the winders, and the blinds shut tomina. but alter a I began to make out the things, and there was a eight of 'em to be sere, chairs and tables and solys, and 1 don't know what not, all in a muss instead of setting regular and tidy up against the wall. • Things is In dreadful confusion, ain't they?' says I, hot I suppose Fred's wife is a getting sup. per and ain't had time to clear up yet ' By this time a lady come Into the mon:tend stood a staring first at me and then at Sam as if we was wild Indians or Hottentots, and says she : You've probably mistaken the house.' says she. Sara got np and says be, Isn't Fred at homer says he. Upon that she stared worse than ever, and turned quite red, but Sam np and told her who he was and who i was, and he was going down to find Fred, and would leave me In beg rare. ' But Pm surprised he ain't to home, for I made an appointment with him for Just this time of day,' says he, "and it's rather awakward not to find him, Pm free to say.' Just then in walks Fred a looking its black as thunder, and he takes no notice of me nut test goes up to Sam, as if he was going to catch him by the throat, and says he : ' Well Sir!' ' Well Sir!' says Sam. And they stood a looking at each other just like two roosters that's going to tight. But after a minute Fred turned round shook hands with me awl says. ' This is my Aunt Avery, Maria,' and the lady that had been standing there all this time she stared harder than ever, and says she, 'lndeedl' Thinks 1 she feels bad at having me see her parlor In such a clutter , . and so I made believe not to look at anything, bat for the life of me I couldn't help seeing them chairs all askew, and so I got up and laid my bonnet on the table, and while I was a do ing of It I just set a couple of 'em straight and even, ande window. askewinu the see me she run pulled 'em allagain. Fred he kept edging off while we was a moving of the chairs, and at last he got 83m into the backpar lor, for he didn't seem to want anybody to hear what they was talking about. Fred's wife didn't say nothing, so says I : Do you keep boarders, ma'am ?` ' Keep boarders ! greet use f says she. 'I ask your pardon if I've said anything out of the Way, Bays I. "It looks like such a big house, and as if it had such a sight of room in it' 'Did I understand Mr. Avery to say yon are his aunt ?" says she, after awhile. ' Yes ma'am, Pm his aunt, by the father's Bide,' says I. Most extraordinary!' says she. 'No dear, not extraordinary,' says L "It's as natural as can be. Jeremiah Avery sod Abraham Avery they married sisters. And Jerry's sister she married a cousin. And Fred's father, he—' • Good-bye, Aunt Avery, I'm going now,' says Sam coming in, ' remember what I've told you about Amanda; good-bye, Miss Avery goodbye, Fred;" and so off he Went. And I realized that I was beat out, what with the journey and all. So I raid I should be glad to go rip stairs if it would not be too much trouble to show me the •Oh no, not at all,' says Fred, and he had my trunk carried up, and sent fora nice, tidy young woman to show me my room. Well, we went up so many pair of stairs that 1 was all out of breath when I got to my room, and had to set down to the first chair f see. It was one o' them short days in the fall, and though it wasn't more than four o'clock, it was beginning to grow dark. So the young woman let down the curtains and lighted a light, and I could see what a btemtiful room it was, with such a great wide bed, and a white quilt all sweet and tidy, and the brown and blue carpet, and the brown and blue curtains, and all. • Dear me !' save I, ' this room Is too nice for an old body like me, Isn't tilers some little corner you can tack one Into!' 'Oh this Is not the best room by no means,' says. she. ' Not but It is a decent bed-riom enough though. Shall I help yon dress for dinner ?' ' Why, ain't they had dinner yet r says L ' I hope they ain't waited all this time for me.' ' Oh, dinner isn't till six,' eays she. I stared at her and she stared at me ; and then says she: 'I guess you ain't been much in New-York ?' says she. ' No, I never was out of Goshen before, till now,' says I, ' and Goshen's ways ain't like New-York ways, at least I expect they But what is it you was saying about dressing for dinner ? Are they going to have company?' 'No, only I thought you'd want to Si up a little,' says she. ' I gams It ain't worth while II they ain't going to have nobody,' flays L ' And I'll Jlat lay down a little while and get rested, If you'll call me when dinner's ready.' So she went down, and I tried to get a nap, but somehow I couldn't, I was no faint, and beat with the journey and the need of some thing to eat, If 'twas not more than a cracker. And when they come and called me to dinner I was thankful to go down, though 'twas so odd a eating dinner after dark. Weill set down to the table, Fred, and his wile, and me, and there wasn't nothing on It but soup. '1 suppose , they economize In their victuals,' thinks I to pay for living in such a big, handsome house. to I must say 1 never ate such good sohp, and It must have taken more'n one beef-bone to make it, I am sere.' ' Cousin Avery,' says Ito Fred's wife, ' you make your soup heautlfuL And you all dressed up like a lady, too. I can't think how you do It. Now when I'm round to work a getting dinner, f can't keep nice and tidy. Not that I have such handsome clothes as your'n,' says I. for I see her a clouding up and don't know what rd said to vex her. There was a man a clearing off the table, and I see him a laughing, and thinks I what's he laughing at I At me ? But I slut dune nothing to laugh at, and most likely It's his own thoughts are pleating him. Bat] ust then he came in with a great piece of roast beef and a couple of boiled chickens, and ever so many kinds of vegetables, enough for twenty. ' Why, Fred,' says I, 'them chickens look as plump and fat as If they'd been raised In the coun try. I bad an idea New-York chickens were only hall grayed. But I suppose being brought up on a farm you know how to raise 'em Mari n common, don't you?' Fred smiled a little, but -didn't say nothing, and it got to be kind o' silent, and I kept thinking what a number of things was brought on to the table and so much trouble just for me, so says L 'Don't put yourself out for me, Cousin Avery,' all wish says 'fou Taketranferoinel i gdietcolhevubeplentyof t hat cold meat for to-morrow, and I'm partial to cold meat.' By this we'd about got through dinner, and the man had gone away, ao Ides Avery ate spoke up quite angry like, and says she: 'The idea of my being my own cook and making . the soup! Da! ha! Even John couldn't help Why t do you keep a girl!' gars I, quite bewil dered. • And was that the girl that showed me the way_up stairs t" What does she mein 4' says she. looking at Fred. 'My dear, Pm surprised at you!' Fairs Fred. 'Of course everything strikes II person fre the country as more or lase singalar. Bat here e the child ren r The door opened and In came three children ; two girls and one boy, and every one of 'em'dreesed np In white, with curls n flying and ribbons a eying' and looking as if they'd Jest come out of a bandbox. There wasn't one of them more'n seven years old, and it come across me it was kind o' queer for 'cm to talk of going to get their living, as their pa bad said they did, but thinks I they are smart little things and not like the common kind. The youngest one was not much more than a baby, but he set up In a chair, and his pa and ma they gave him a good many unwholesome things, and the others helped themselves to whatever they could lay their hands on. They wouldn't speak to me, but all they seem ed to care for was the good things and the nuts and raisins Fred kept a feeding of 'em with. But then all children's fond of eating, and never would stop if they were left to their own way. I wasn't sorry to hear the'Clock strike nine, and to go np to bed. But when I knelt down and tried to pray, it didn't seem as It did to home ; there was such a noise in the street of wheels going by, that I couldn't collect my thoughts at all, but i seemed to rush and drive and tear along with them omnibuses till my poor old heart got to beatinglike a mill clap per. And Satan he hung round and kept saying ' Well, what do yon think of all this? Your poor nephew, Fred' seems very poor, don't he ? and this Is a miserable little mean house, ain't it? and don't his poor wife have to work hard ? Where's that old black silk of yonen, that you was going to make over for the children ? Hadn't you better stop a saying of your prayers and begin to rip it ?' So I got ail wore out, and undressed me, and bloomed out the light and got into bed. It looked like a nice bed afore I got In, but as soon as I laid my head on the pillow, I says to myself, ' Faugh ! what leathers I I never slept on such feathers, and ' taln' t wholesome.' So I rose up on end, and tossed 'em off on to the floor, but it didn't make no difference, and the air seemed fell of brimstone and sulphur and all sorts 01 things, snob a. you expect to smell when Satan Is a prowling round. I felt as if I should smother, and turn which way I would I couldn't get to sleep. MY head felt worse than it did before I left home, and I began to wish I'd stayed there, and not come to this new-tangled place where everything seems so strange. At last I got up and dressed me in the dark, and went out into the entry to see If I could get a breath of fresh air, and who should be coming up but cousin Fred's wife. ' Why, ain't yon to bed, yet ?' says I. 'No, says she, ' I ain't, but where does this hor rid smell of gas come from ? What hate you been about ?' says she. ' I ain't been about nothin,' soya I, only I could n't get to sleep, and I didn't know what was the matter after I bloated out the light.' Mowed out the light I Goodness! It's lucky I've cot a nose, or you'd have been dead before morning, for aught I know,' and she ran into my room and set such a light a blazing that I was half dazzled. Don't never blow out the gas again,' says she, ' but turn it off so,' says she, and she put out the light and went away, and there I stood In the dark, and didn't know where the bed way, and went feel ing round artd round, and kept getting hold of all sorts of things, till at last I found It, and was thank ful to undress and creep in and hide myself under the clothes. [amended nee week. J Isisys4nigu4s),olo:vilfamiti The commerce on the great lakes amounts at pres ent to at least twelve hundred million of dollars an nually, and increases so rapidly that all estimates of lie prospective value have hitherto fallen short of the truth. It employs about two thousand vessels and twenty thousand sailors, besides four great lines of railroad. It sends to the seaboard one hundred million bushels of grain, two million hogs and a half million of cattle; composing the principal part of the food of the Atlantic States and affos a I.gc aerpius tor csportatlon. It being well known that the wheat crops of New York would hardly feed her people for one-third of the year, and that of New England is sufficient for only about three week's consumption. The cereal wealth yearly floated on these waters now exceeds one hundred million bushels. It is difficult to present a distinct idea of a quantity so enormous. Suffice It to say that the portion of it (about two-thirds) moving to market on the Erie and Oswqo canals requires a line of boats more than forty miles long to carry it. On the lakes It requires a fleet of five thousand vessels, carrying twenty thousand huabels each. If loaded in railroad cars of the usual capacity, It would take two hundred and fifty thousand miles In length. The four great lines from the lakes to the seaboard would each have to run tour hundred cars a day for half the year to carry this grain to market. This grain trade Is a new tact in the history of man. In quantity It already ranch exceeds the whole ex portof cereals from Russia, the great compeer of the United States, whose total export of cereals was, in 1857, but forty-nine million bushels, being leas than half the amount carried In 1864 upon the American lakes. It was the constant aim of ancient Rome, even in the zenith albs power, to provision the capital and its adjacent provinces from the out lying portions of the empire. The yearly crop, contributed by Runt, was fifteen million bushels. Under the prudent administration of the Emperor governs, a large store of corn was accumulated and kept on hand, sufficient to guard the empire from famine for seven years. The product of ISSO In the five Lake States of Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Wrisedfisin, was three hundred and fifty-four million bushels. THAT GRASS WIDOW. It seems that Tennyson made some slight mistakes In "Enoch Arden." The real affair happened sec , . era] years ago In New-London, and the chap was a sea-captain named Sanford Mr. and Mrs. Sanford lived several years in the enjoyment of the richest matrimonial blessings, Including one child, when he left port, and was not heard from In ten years.— Then he was reported shipwrecked, and Mrs. S consoled herself by taking a new husband named Miner. In a few years the old Captain returned, and with a generosity that takes the spots out of " Enoch," submits to net as husband or widower as Mrs. San ford, alias, Mrs. Miner, may decide. It must be very stupid to a woman of poetical temperament to live rive or ten years with the same husband, and it is not strange that she, with true womanly Instinct, decides to accept her Holt love, and renew their early matrimonial acquaintance, if he would promise to abandon the billows, With that "If," the Cap. failed to connect end went to sea again, like an unfeeling wretch, leaving the desolate Mrs. Miner with but one husband upon whom to depend for her support. The bereaved woman clasped her orphan children to her breast, taking her only husband by the hand, retired to tits wildnerness of Winchester, CL, (where she prob ably thought there would he no temptation to fur ther matrimonial alliances,) where her memory is still held sacred. MEEE! ONOE A CLERK, ALWAYS A MERL Ben. F. Taylor, the Washington correspondent of the Chicago Journal, writes as follows: " Perhaps I have told you before that there ought to be a Washington proverb, ' once a clerk, always a clerk: and here Is an illustration. A young man of ambition and talent dnlsheci his studies as a phy sician one day, and with a diploma and oyster-knife In his pocket—the latter to open the worts with— he looked atxmt him for a place to begin- But then, he wanted a few silver steel knives and hooks and crooks, possibly a little scammony and gam boge, and a clerkship seemed to offer the surest means of equipment Bo he obtained a position in one of the Departments of this city. " The young doctor was seen to enter a marble hall, and has never come forth; never made his country rounds at a Canterbury gallop ; never felt a city patients pulse In groves; never decapitated any body and so mnch for Bockingbam!' The young man of burnished locks entered that ball thirth-nine years ago,and there is a middle-aged man there now, who has made silver—he has threads of it In his hair—and woo is said to be a missing member of the tribe of Escniaplea!" Tnorrexesome Emu:tasters —Among other reports from Mexico those whieh profess to tell whet the exiled Secessionists are doing there are Interesting to their late countrymen. Notwithstanding the pro- fessed veneration of the Southern politicians for the " Monroe doctrine," and their pretended dislike of any domination. It is represented that In Mexico they declare themselves to be good Imperiallsta and willing to assume a yoke to which the best men among the native Mexicans will never submit. They say they go to Mexico for " peace and stability." Now, SS Mexico Is never at peace and Is In Its gov ernment the most unstable in the world, it seems probable that these ex-Itebels, who go nut for wool, will return shorn. They are Ilke their cnuntryman, the celebrated Henry 8. Footc, who for several mqutlas has been In search of " a sequestered spot where taxation is unknown." The Secessionists aro satisfied with the prospects, however, and they say that they "will be to Mexico what they were to the Confederacy ;" and if they do they will be haughty, domineering, faithless and treacherous—a mare dan acrona element to injure Mexico than even the French, Austrian and Belgian mercenaries who have been brought there to uphold the Imperial anthori ty.—Plaktisirdita faqufesr. per To dream that you are worth a million of dollars, and then upon waking and yourself an edit or, is very provoking. gar WL7 b a beggar like s lawyer t He pleads tar Tho Cleveland Berard doesn't know the modus cpwandi of e " poetical marriage," bat Sup poses that the parson was a ryhmer : MINISTER. This woman wilt thou have, And cherish her for 11113 ; Will Toro and comfort her, And seek no other wife? 'LE. This woman I will take, - That stands beside me now; I'll find her board and clothes, • And have no other frow. MINISTER. And for your husband will You take this nice young man; Obey his ellghtest wish, And love him all you can ? OWL I'll love him all I can, Obey him all I choose, • If when I ask for funds Ile never does refuse. MINISTER. Then you are man and wife, And happrmay you be; As many be your years As dollars In my fee. PROGRAMME ECITAORDDIALEY. Rogers, of the Berkshire (Hass) Courier s lets off the following : 1776. The Celebrated Ansieni and Honorable IS6 i. Goggle-eyed Dear Grannies I of Great Barrington and superbs, after the moat tearful and excruciat ing entreaties of the city fonrfathers and twomoth ere, have very reluctantly consented to assist to celebrating the birth day of American Impudence by =1 And parade of their ibrees, attired In all the mag nificence of their Imposing and gorgeous array, which has been procured, regardless of expense or appearance, and which will be displayed to the nak ed eyes of an admiring public, for the first time In eight years—more or lesa. They will he insisted by representatives from all the fastest families of Brush Hill, Little York, Gilder Holler, Turkey Street, Blab City, Bengali, Barkmateeth, Otis Flats, Nigger Hill, Beartowntwoodchucktown, Muddy Brook, Three Mile Hill, New Guinea, Eggreham, Wiggletownßbibtown, and many other place of note too littl e known to mention. • The day mill be jerked out of bed at early fodder ing time, and be fired at by the national slnot, con sisting of pop-grins, great guns, little guns, wooden guns,lesther guns, squirt gone, pill guns, air Funs, and guns, accompanied by the wringing, of droner bells, meeting house bells, church bells, door bells, row bells, tea bells, sleigh bells, factory bells, Isa bela, dumb bells, dlvlrgbells, and belles, each wrung by one of Swindler's Patent Wringers ; also the blow ing of engine whistles, steam whistles, factory whis tles, penny whistles, pigtail whistles, Yankee whis tles, willow whistles, sugar whistles, and other whis tles. - An hour or two after breakfast precisely or about 9 o'clock, Major-General Bummersett Bkailey Wegg accompanied by his Lemon Aids will proceed to perform the nnmerous companies into Corpses, Divisions, and Brigands, on the north-cast corner 01 the old Haunted Gum Shoe-Shop, regardless of ghosts, hobble-gobbleins, or other scary critters, and prepare to march thro' town In the following dis- ORDIU OP PROCESSION Int. Corporal General B. Flunkey Bamboozle mounted on his favorite satinet charger," Tumble bug." This gigantic animate vas cap tured in the late battle of I.l,ftkow Run, by a gallant congress man. 2nd. Condensed Pleeco Force, very numerous and very formidable, a terror to all law-abiding citizens, armed with glee clubs, gin slings, dead shots, and other dangerous wipons. 3d. Prot Bloemskibra Russian Sheet Iron Band, Imported from Central Africa expressly for this oc casion, Including the following celebrated artists, Herr Bytiatozoff, Herr Kicisnozo__,ff Herr Tairlscloz citT, Herr Pullhisanuesoff, Herr Kutiseerzoff, Herr Chnekiminthedockoff, and many other highs and skies too Mikan to mention. They will ho trans- Ported through town on foot, and perform the fol lowing new and beautiful mute composed expressly for this occasion : " Aged Long 'Line," Docile! Tucker, Es" " James Crow," "Old Mr. Z. Coon," " Dankee Yo q., odle," " Miss Lucy Lengthy," " The Berea - el War is Over," "The Needle Sigh" "The Weasel goes Pop," "A Metxy Key," "Ancient Aunt Dinah got Intoxicated," "The Last Rows of Some where, "Hale Cow Lumby," ' and several pieces never heard nor thought of before or since. 4th. The Government authorities have very kindly lent for this particular occasion, His Diabolical Highness, Jeff. Davis; clad in the latest habiliments of southern chivalry, and carrying on tier arm a small water-pail containing the remains of the late Corn fed-heresy, as he appeared when on her way to the "last ditch." He will perform ber novel and dar ing act entitled, " Try to pansy se guard in ze caval ry hoots and en petticoat." This brave and wonder ful feet has never been attempted by any other ar tist, and tuo doubt will awaken the admiration of every lover of true courage and heroism. sth. The Last Ditch flied with Copperhead mourn ers. 6th. Headers of the New York News and World closely veiled, and heads down. 7th. His Most Confounded and Bewildered Max 1.000,000, direct from Mexico, mounted on a change able mustang. Stk. Ambasswooddoors and Delleates front all the principal European, Asiatic, and African cities within 25 miles of the place, mounted on foot. 9th. Patent Churners—great expectations ' Still so gently o'er me stealing.' 10th. Petroleumites or Ile-men, consisting of bor ers, diggers, rooters, and speckle-tatnrs generally. 11th. Citizens, Inhabitants, Peoples, - Folks, Per sons, Human Belies, Foreigners, Men, Women, Fe males, Boys, Girls, Babies, Infants, Trundle-bed trash, Critters, Bachelors, Old Maids, Etsettery, and so 4th, &e. 12th. Stragglers, who have no place ass fined them in the 4going skedule, will grab hold and help bring up the rear. If any have still been omitted they Will be expected to fall or tumble in the procession when it is in motion, or Spectate. = The procession will leg it up Gum street to Wa ter, wade through Water street to Bang, jump from Rung to Christian Hill, roll from Christian 'Hill to Limerick Lane, stumble through Limerick Lane to Depot, stagger from the Depot to Main street, swell down Main street to Pig Lane, waddle through Pig Lane to Upper Tenth street, tip-toe through Upper Tenth to Nebrasskey, shin it through Nebrasskey to Kneels, slide down Massie (eyes right,) to Vanity Lane, wiggle through Vanity Lane to Piety Allot, pace through Pb-ty Alley to Strut street, hippetyhop down Strut street to where they atop, at which place they .111 halt, and listen with all their ears to what is said by the man who speaks—Timothy Tickle pitcher, F.sq. At early Roman candle-light, there will be a grand display of Firewood. 0 ALIFORMA HIIMOB. TUE LEARNED MONKEY The Sonora Democrat, of April let, remarks [Frank Sall, agent of HailHeywani's Concert Troupe, travelling In a vehicle bearings resemblance to a peddler's cart. Old lady rushes out from a house by the roadside. The following colloquy en sues:l Old Lady—Say, what. have you got to sell Agent—l am travelling agent, madam, for the mat. eat menagerie of ancient or moders times, which is shortly to be exhibited in this section, affording to the inhabitants thereof an opportunity of viewing the most stupendous collection of animals ever ex hibited. Old Lady—Dew tell ! Have you ary elephant! Aged—We have, madam, six elephants; but these constitute a comparatively unimportant Darter the show. We have living specimens of bipeds and , How Flan Ctralloa Colon —The change of color quadrupole who roamed over the earth not only In In flab le moat remarkable, and takes place with the antediluvian, but also In the plioceno and poet ' great rapidity. Pat a living trout from a black micent period, embracing the megatherlum with born Into a white basin of water, and it becomes nix Ims.and two tails: the iethvonairns, with four within half an hour of a light color. Keep this fish eyes and three tails ; thegyasciitue, with no eyes, living In a white Jar for some days, and It becomes two noses, and four tails ; the nielosanrus, resetub- absolutely white ; but put it then into s dark-color tine Satan In shape, which spits fire and breathes aor black vessel, and although on being tint plac sulphurous lumen ; the whangdoculle, with one eye ed there the white colored fish drown most and five tails, and many other specimens too nu- conspicuously on the black graund, to a quarter of nitrous for enumeration. an boor it becomes as dark-colored as the bottom of We also have a pious lawyer. the Jar, and consequently difficult to be seen No Old Lady—Well, I declare! doubt, this facility df adapting Its color to the bet , Agent—Bute madam, the great curiosity by en of tom of the water in which it lives, is of the greatest our exhibition, In a learned and elastically educated service to thefish In protecting it from its numer monkey, who was brought op a Mahommedan one enemies. All anglers tend have observed that priest in the mysterious regions of the Great Desert In every stream the trout are very much the same of Sahara. This monkey speaks With fluency all the color as the gravel oreand. - Whether this change of modern languages, besides Latin, Greek, and Ile- color is a voinntary rmt on the part of of the MO, Is brew. Me can re peat _ the Ten Commandments, a matter for ecientille investigation and dismission. the Emancipation Proclamation, President Lincoln's last Message, and also performs the most intricate ga , • _ The mumps orgooa men are commonly more examples in the higher mathematics with raptditv, ' published in the world than their good deeds; and ease and acreracy. While being exhibited to Wash- ington, he actually repeated a long s p eec h o f th e ; m ore ault of a well•dese . Meg nun 'hitt meet. with th reproach than ell his virtues praise; such is President, making more sense out of it than the panda _ force of and ill•nature. President mild himself. This monkey COITeG Beaatiful young lady suddenly protrudes her i• _ head fkorn the window, and (=listed ' ! aly - If brook* are, as poets call there, the mod Mother, mother: a sk hats tekttAftthf. Um monkey iCrO ir thligs in nature, tilist are they'Mqrs 'purr. , Oda I db,Pr aka& di di oil* Otintebt ' about ? 1112.00 perAtuinum, In advance. OktukisoDl:494:l I'LL NEVER FORGIVE NUL ru never forgive biro—never !' • Never Is a hard word, John,' said the sweet-faced wife of John Locke, u she looked for s moment from her sewing. He is • mean, dastardly coward, and upon this Iloly Bible I—' ' top, husband. John ! remember he; Is fly • brother; and by the love you bear me forbear to curse him. He has done you wrong, I allow, bet oh, John 1 he le young and very aorrowftd. The mo-, wen shame yon felt yesterday will hantly be outipe with a atm. It will Were paulle/4 John Oh, plea.. don't say anything dreadful I' The sweet-faced woman prevailed; the curse that hung upon the Hess of the angry man was not spok en ; but still ho said, never forgive him—he has done me a deadly wrong.' The young man who had provoked his bitterness, humbled and repentant, sought in vain for forgive nese from him whom, In a moment of passion, he had inJuredilimoat beyond reparation. John Locke steeled his heart against him. In his store sat the young village merchant, one pleasant morning, constantly, contentedly reading the morning paper. A sound of hurried footsteps approached, bat he took no notice of it, until a hat less boy bunt into the store, screaming at the top ' of his voice, Mr. Locke, Johnny is in the river— little Johnny Loeke.' To dub down the paper and spring teethe street was the first impulse of the agonized father. On, on, like a maniac, he flew till he reached the bank of the river, pallid and crazed with anguish. The first eight that met his ryes MB little Johnny lying in the arms of his mother, with her hair hanging around her, bent wildly over her child. The boy was }net saved. He breath6d, and, opening hie eyes, smiled faintly on his mother's face, while she, with a chocking voice, thanked God. Another form lay Insensible, stretched near the child. From his had the dark blood flowed tram a ghastly wound. The man against whom John Locke had sworn eternal hatred had, at the risk of his own life, been tbe sav iour of his child. He had struck a floatingplea of drift wood as be came to the surface with the boy, and death seemed almost Inevitable. John Locke llnng himself down on the green sward, and bent over the muscles& form. • B•Ve be cried, to the doctor who had been Bum tnoned ; restore him to consciousness flit be only one little moment--I have something Important to say to him.' ' He Is reviving,' raid the doctor. The wounded man opened hie eyes—thee met the anxious glance of the brother-in-law and the pale lips trembled forth, 'Do you forgive me ?' Ye*, yes; God to witness, as I hope foe mercy' hereafter, I freely forgive you, and in turn wik.your forgiveness for my unchristian conduct.' Many days the brace young man hung upon a slender thread of life, and never were there more de voted friends than pose who hovered around the sick bed. But a vigorous 4onstitntion triumphed, and pale and changed he walked forth once more among the living. • ' Oh, if he had died with my unkindness clouding his soul, never should I have dared to hope for mercy from my Father in Heaven!' said John Locke to his wife, as they eat talking over thenelemn event that had threatened their lives with a living trouble. ' Never—now I have tasted the sweetness , of forgive- ness—never again will I cherish revenge or unkind nos, toward the erring; for there is new meaning In my Boni in the words of our daily prayer and see that I have only been calling judgment s my self, while I have impiously asked, ' Forgive, us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against Sick-headache is sickness at the stomach, a ten dency to vomit, combined with pain in some parts of the head, generally at the le ft side. /t is caused by there being two much bile in the system, from the fact that this bile is manufactured too rapidly, or is not worked out of the system fast enough by steady, active exercise. hence sedentary persons, those who do not walk about a great deal, but are seated in the house nearly alt the time, are almost ex culaively the victims of this distressing malady. It usually begins soon after waking up in the morning, and lasts a day or two more. There are many causes; the most frequent is, the derangement of the stomach by late and hearty suppers; by eating too soon after a regular meal—five hours should at least intervene—eating much of any favorite disk; eating without an appetite; forcing food; eating al ter one Is conscious of having enough; something which the stomach cannot digest, or sour-stomach. Any of these things may induce headache of the most distressing character In an hour; it is caused by indulgence to spiritous liquors. When a person has sick-headache, there is no appetite; the very sight of food is hateful; the tongue Is furred, the feet and hands are cold, and there is a feeling of universal discomfort, with an utter indisposition to do any thing whatever. A glass of warm water, into which has been rapidly stirred a heaping tea spoonful each of salt and kitchen mustard, by cane leg instaneous vomiting, empties the stomach of the bile or undigested sour food, and a math] re. lief is often experienced on the spot; and rest, with a few hours of sound, refreshing sleep, completes the cure, especially the principal part of the next day or two is spent in mental diversion luntout-door activities, not eating an atom of food, but drinking freely of cold water and hot teas until you feel a piece of cold bread and butter would really taste good- Nine times in ten the cause of sick-headache is the fact that the stomach la not able to digest the food last Introduced into it, either from its having been unsuitable or excessive in quantity. When the stomach is weak, a spoonful of the mildest, plainest food will muse an attack of sick-headache, when ten times the amount might have been taken in health, not only with impunity, but with posi tive advantage. A diet of cold bread and butter, and ripe fruits and berries, with moderate continuous exercise In the open air, soffit-lett to keep up a very gentle perspiration, would, of themselves, cure almost every case within thirty-six hours. Two table spoonfuls of pulverized charcoal, stirred in half • glass of water, drank, generally gives relief. An ACTTLIMMC ANECl)ol7...—Talleyrand woe once in the company of Madam do Bbel and another emi nent French lady, whose name we do not remem ber. " You say charming • things to both of us," said Madam de Elbe' to him ; " which tdo you Mrs beet?" The wily statesman artfully replied that ho was delighted with both. " Ah I but you prefer oilcans" continued Madam de 81sa1 ; "suppose we were both drowning in the Seine to-night, which of no would you help first 1" " I would extend my right band to Madam do Simi and my left band to madam yonder." " Yes but suppose only one of us could be famed, which would you attempt to rescue ?" Talleyrand's diplomacy was pushed to tin severest test, but not one whit discomposed be turned to ifcdam do 81w!, and replied.— " Madam, you who know so many things, doubt, leas know how to At a grand Union meeting In Plttabnrg Rev. Col. Moody called on the people to sing the throe leg stanzas. the first two of which were written by Rev. D. L Watts, over o century ago: Go with our armies to tho tight, And he their guardian nod, In vain Confederate powers unite Against Thy lifted rod. Oor troops shall gain a wide renown, By Thine misting hand ; Thy power will bid the Ti atfors Bee, And make the Loyal stand. For right is right while God le God, And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be eh). Sla-KCADAOH:B. APPROPRIATE.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers