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.