lEEE
11. " — FRAZIER, Publisher.
VOLUME 11.
guointo givedorp.
DB. A. D..TEWKIE3BURY,
fleviara vita One year MI Surgeon In the IThlted BOWS
Amy. . a(
nln lowed at Auburn Centelalk2l4 .111 attend
et: In ale Trofedon.
..burn entre, Pa, Jtme 53, ISM-1 yp
. .
Du d. J. DRINKER,
ETIVOCRATI AND SURGEON. Moan.... Pa. OM* with
Dr. Coals, over W. J. S tr. II Mulfonr.Store. Pohliclore ram
lExcels with .Tosph D. Drlaker.
Mantras.. tStpt. D. 4411., 186 R.
DR E. L. DTA TrFSLER,
Ty II YUMAN AND 'SURGEON, hill located at Becalm Su
V uchaana Volpty. P. Will attcod promptly t e all calla
with which be may be lanced. 011lco at L.ll. Redlines.
ProAlvF. July 10. 1.86.1.-11.
DA. R L GARDNER,
PVsIOIAIV All SURGEON, Montrose, E. Once over
Webb'. Store. Boards al beetle% /dotal.
nectresc, Jetty 3. 0n0...4t
GROPES & REYNOLDS,
FANITIONABLE TAILORS. Shop once etutilte•
Puhlie A•nal..
N °emu., June 11. lEL3.
Dm CHARLES DECKER,
13 TT 1 , 1111 AN AND SURGEON, lamina located himself at
Lantaille, Susquehanna County, Pa, still attend to all the
sots soe!, be may be favored with proulotncasandattendon.
We , at his noudesee near orange Mott's, Emu.
kbrchanlvl Ile. SON. Co., Pa., May . LSta.—tf.
JOHN BEAU MONT,
wool, CA RcER, Cloth Mester, sod ilonerattarer, at the old
IV rowed 'crown as Suslth's Carding Ibsen:Lß. Terms made
hnowr, whin el. wort Is brought,
Jrwur.
Dn. G. Z. Dimes.,
PH , 1 - ,. , .1 ..., t'1 ; k u. 7 ., rd 0p 5 1 2.:E0 e N ai 1gr , 17 , 11 . 0.5&1'5 :
13 =
,72
SPrie 11,14 - 1
F..hrnarS 6th.1665.431,
C. M. CRANDALL,
I'ANITFACTI:KEIL of Linen-whom..Wool.whoels. Wbeet.
;33, Woo4r.umlog done to order..d
Y. manr,r. Turtling Shop 11.1,4 Watel Ftletol7 Slorrele
Y. Bathlinz. Pair.
Jor.saary Sut4 1803.-11
B. S. BENTLEY, JR, NOTARY PUBLIC,
MONTROSE..
TK ES Aeknoseledzment of Deeds . Mortgaases, dm. for any
at r, the United States. Pension Vouchers and Pay Cr,.
tso , as ,otootsiedgad before him do not tequila the certtflette of the
C 4, Ir. n 1 UK' Coml. Montrose, Jan. t, 1665.—th
DR. E. L
,HANDRICK,
rssiola N and YIIIHOHON, reypectpdly Waders Yds croft
yi,,u n•rrfmstotbadtlrenaof Flieudavllle and yldlnity. 04
rh- L L Boards at J. Hortortra.
July 27, 1864-21
E. W. SMITH,
airoaarr m COITHEIELLOR AT LAW and Lnneneed Chia
ca.
Rena Offlcc over LealDrinr Dote. :•ll.l.4.l=La DeDot Jennars
BURRITT,
DEAL DR la Maple and Fancy Dry Gooda Crockery
. .Hard arana
1,, "%over, 111 , 42. 011 a. .d Panata. Boots and Sbnca, Hats
buffalo Robes, Orocer:aa, Provitioas,
sn l
April 11, 1864.-tf
S. H. SAYRE & BROTHERS,
vr e:si 1 FACT - 071XAS of 111111Cuallo s ca. Caning" of all kand
Th. and Shectlrcro IC
Altrico/to.ral Implesucsr.a
4.2 Deal." DI Du Good.. Groccrl ea, OrockeeT, &c.
P... February =•.7854.
BILLINGS STROUD,
riitE AND LIFE 11.51.111ANCE AGENT. OISIce In Lath
•or., cad of Brick Block. In hie absence, but
see st ofScs betransacted by C. L. Broom.
ilnutro, Felarcary I. 18134,41
J. D. VAIL, M. D.,
Idr.O.FATHIC PECYI3ICL&M, has parmaneatly !Mated
tnatelf In Montrose, Pa., where he orlll promptly strothd to
rail. , It Mr profession onth which he may favored. O&
Rendence Rest of the Clown Hoare. near Bentley &Meld.
M , ttreze, Fehuary 1,1144.-0ct.112, 1811.
L. 0. WARREN,
A TTGENIEE AT LAW, BOUNTY. 11.603. PAT 311116 PEA
a. SION CLAIM AGENT. Al] Penton Chime carefully pre
ttt4. Otte. la room formerly onezryrted try Dr. Van, !VW.
Sove. hulldiptb.,los Soda's Natl.
lanttroye, Feb.l.lEtril.-teb17111865.
LEWIS KIRBY & E. BACON,
6/LEP conetrattly hand a full e apply of every variety al
GROCERIES and CONFECTIONERIES. By strict eaten ,
, t•netteaft and falreteselo &Intl, they hope to merit fie finer.:
facentage of tie public. An OYSTER and EA TIN 0 SALOON le
tacheo to the Grocery, wbereblealveta,ln season. are served In ev
-1 le trta , too cone, of the public demand. Renfeembeetne nltnia
Mon Groha y nand, on Male Street. below the Fontana.
r eam re, Nov. 17,18413,--mch17.113 —tf
Da. CALVIN C. HALSEY,
PHYSICIAN AND stiRGEON, AND RE-aiIiTNING SUB
OK , N for PENSIONERS. Office overtbe store of J.LIon
a on, PuMir Avenue Boarda et hi, Etheridge.
°owner. 1g39.-tf
D. A. BALDWIN,
ITORNET AT LAW, and Petudaa, Boanty. and Rack Pal
LE. &oat. Or Rend. SuA. mamma Clouuty. Pa.
Great Smd. August N. IPGL—Iy
BOYD & WEBSTER,
11Z011,E115 it stoma, Store Me, .11n, Coppe wad Elmo
If Iron Wart; law., Window Soak. Panel Do orl, Wino
Loth. Pine Larta'an, and all kande of Billietar myt.ta.
7a haup eoalb of Searle Hotel, and Carpenter Slop near tie
Methodist Ctothr.b.
Ito.zoor, Po.. Dummy 1, 1541‘.41
WILLIAM W. SMITH,
51.72.0E01V DENTIST. Deice over the Banking
asl ulll...be.fll;,:rf;ygmed In r
J AE Dental Operatiohl
and
Raznembes,offtee formesly at EL I;Stfrt l 6.2.
Se:Arose, January 1, 1864.—if
E. J. ROGERS,
\rah e't. ,, lTlltitE of all dem:lotions ofWAG
ai °fib, CAMRIAGES, suctons, en, to the
..•••••Icle ofWerkman.... , ap end of the bmt fr.aterlals
well ans..: moral of E. H. ROGERS. a few rods mat
• bearle . : lintel an Mont:me, whom ha will be happy to re.
the mile of CI who want ataythlng In his line.
Totrost.,./ nr.e 1, 1869....t1
DE. JOHN W. COBB,
i{ 181016 n and 8 UEGZON. respecttelly tendete hl. cervices
I t tee c! Limas of Sc. o.r.etuarto County. Be sill give elpecie I
tbetrorttiml sod medical Sr. of rtt....,.t5, of the
st. d Kar, and - s.r.y be corer:Mee relative to sorgiol operation.
...' charge et tilsogi. over W J. & B. EL If ialford . .Sters.
P. , ldet.ee on Maple scroeL ear of J.l. Torben'. Hotel
.ntrne. 151.1. County, Pa, Jor.e 21.196.9.-tf
BA_LDIVIN & ALLEN,
R, !CALLERS In FLOUR-Salt, BAY, rith, Lord. Grain, Teed
II Candles, Clover and Tlcaottly Seed. Alen GROCERIES
trri sr Snizare, SInSWAM Sreocely Tes arid ()ogee. Wen ride a;
.0 Avenue, one door below J. Etheridge.
wcroee. Amunry 1. 1844.41
F. B. WEEKS,
FIS.A.CTICIAL BOOT AND ISHON MILIESII; Mao Dealer la
B^ , - , t , Shoes. lossther.and Shoe rithllaes. &chairing done
mC 41.1,--tch. Two doers shove Searle'. Hotel.
ratroe,, Jantatry I. 1564.-tf
WY. 4; WM. H. JESSUP,
TTOIINETS AT Lew. Montrose, Ps. Practine in B.qxte
El banns, Bradford, Wavle. Wyoming and Laserne Countlea.
astrom, ro a Jensary Ist, 1861.
ALBERT CHA3IBERLEN,
rhiSTRICT ATTORS EY AND ATTORNEY AT LAW--
1.1 OrLee onrer uie M:^re formerly rexforlefl by roc, Brothers.
Montrose, PAE.Jr.Arary
J. LYONS SON,
ZAL.BRB IN MY GOODS. Orocertea.Croekery,llariware.
if Tinware, Books, Ken:lso., Pianos, and all kinds of Null
. Instrumrda, Sheet Mosta, An. Also cam on the Book Iliad
_4 in all its brnhches. .i. ASONA
d.auves, January 1, 1664. T. A. 1,0811.
ABEL T URRELL
I)z.m..ca DZUGS,
Pkinta.hs. Ilytrattaffs, Varntebe., WIcCo. Wu&
I Urnmrrtra, Crockery, Glasprnrc. Wall-Payer, Jen ,
Y Proxy ouoda, Poritunery, &veal antroments, Tr.-
, • Etrustms, dm...mad Agent for itl of tho most popo-
L rate:a Itectleines. . Montrone, JanttarY 1. Itel.
- • C. O. FORDHAhf,
IreNITTACTUREE of BOOTS a fiffo.M blotfrost,
.11 61,.....ver DeWitt's Store. All Mob of Nrort made
and rep-airing Clow. nentty. Work done loboo pram.
Mourne ADTIJ.II.IBGL-11
CHARLES N. STOHDARD,
nEeynr. In BOOTS & BIIONS. Leather and VIO-
L? on Mahe at. third door below bearla'a Motet. La.
L. Work raw* to order, and reperlag dope neatly.
Montrose, Pa.. December 12.1E60.
L H. BURNS,
A TTOEMEY eT LAW. Moe with:William J. Turrell.
0pp.144 Spart.'4 lioLeL PengOn aud BOtarty ClaLtai caref tl ul
•) rtlartra. collediona magolyulads. •
cr.trose. Tr tre.n. 7864.-. u. . .
B. IL LYONS ik CO
ne.I.,EICB 1n013,Y GOODEI, GROCtillES:800141, SHOWS.
LI Ladies' Limiters, Carpets, 011 Cloths, Wall and WladoW Yrs
Paints, Oils, b.c. !Store on tLe east tdde, of Public Arenas.
a. LIVAII - • •
Montross. January 1,184.4 t
READ, WATROUB it FOSTER,
ri LISLE P.S IN URA GOODS. Oren Medlclntit. Pranta; 0111
GrElerles, Jrockeiy. Iran, clocuriSsiebts. Jew
.-SLlves Swages. Perfumery. t.e.. Brick. Mock. klantXoll6.
e.r. II CAD ♦ IMTIIO4O 2L. O. 101rrn
Kuutroue, January 1, 13e4. •
WILLIAM - W.
" CAJUN= 46.26" Mlt a hum°.
tneturtr. Keep, onattnner on hand all
Li•ned at short 1201$01. titV ' sfli l lara Zooms foot or at Hatt IM.
M..tme, Pa.. March S. 1668.-ti
PEULANDER .1012NE43 1 . . -
WiItOIIII Proa
moans Ammo.% it'd-sue/ow 8a4141
pjap. Vlcat row Pa;
.
. ~
1.•,....,..."
_
..
....
.•
.....
.„.
..
7 ,.......,...,......,..\...:::.„.....:.,• .
..,.
. ,
.„ • .
rt . . I _
. .... ,
...:..:
~ •.....,........
• _............:_,_.,....7„...._ •.......:::.,
,:i.cv.:._.,,_; ~..,1 , , i 1 • ).• . .
f
• ,
rt ~...
.:,:....,.......,.....:......,...,,,,,
, .
~
... ...
......,/......x,.....t....._
...
~_:...:.....,ttu"._:ap.....
,;.:.1.;......,..„.;....,F",:,...,„....,.i...,,.5..:...1.
1,,....•,..:.,.Ait0....•,„/..?,..,41%.,". ~
.
.. ..•
•..
..
• .(.
\.....,.',.
,
. 4
An end at last t The echoes of the leer--
_ .
The weary war beyond the western waves—
Die in the distance. Freedom's rising star
Beacqrus above a hundred thousand graves.
The g raves enema who have waft the fight,
Who in the storming of the stubborn town
Have rung the marriage peals of might and right,
And sc al ed the Jiffs and cast the dragon down.
Pteans of armies thrill across the sea,
Till Europe answers—" Let the struggle cease,
The bloody page is turned; the mat may be
The ways of pletuantness and paths of peace I"
A golden morn—a dawn of better things—
The olive branch—clasping of hands again—
A noble lesson lead to conquering kings--
A sky that tempests had not scourged In vain.
This from America we hoped and him
Who ruled her "in the spirit Obis creed."
Does the hope last when all our eyes are dim,
As history records her darkest deed ?
The pilot of this people through the strife.
With his strong purpose turning scorn to praise,
E'en at the close of battle reft of life, ,
And fair inheritance of quiet days !
Defeat and triumph found him calm and just,
He showed how clemency should temper power,
And dying left to frame time In trust
The memory of his toter victorious hour.
O'ertnastered by the Irony of fate,
The last and greatest martyr able cause;
Slain like Achilles at the Bean gate,
Ile sett the end and fixed the purer laws.
May these endure, and, as his work, attest
The glory of his honest heart and band—
The simplest, and the bravest, and the best—
The Moses and the Cromwell of his land.
Too late the pioneers of modern spite,
Awe stricken by the universal gloom,
Bee his name lustrous in Death's sable night,
And nffer tardy tribute at his tomb.
But we who hare been with him all the while,
Who knew his worth and loved him long ago,
Rejoice that in the circuit of oar Isle
There is no room at last for Lincoln's foe.
REM MORE NIGHT THAN DAY.
Ah! don't be sorrowful, darling,
And don't be sorrowful, pray,
Taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more night than day.
'Tia rainy weather, my darling,
Time's waves they heavily run;
But taking the year together, my dear,
There isn't more cloud than sun.
We are old folki now my darling,
Our heads are 'growing gray;
Bat taking the year all round, my dear,
You will always find a May!
We have had our May, my darling,
And out roses, tong ago;
And the time of the year Is coming, my dear,
For theallent night of snow.
And God Is God, my darling,
Of night as well as day,
And we feel and know that we man go
Wherever he leads the way.
A God of the night, my darling,
Of the night of death SO grim;
The gate that leads to life, good wife,
Is the gate that leads to aim.
William Britton registered hia name among the
arrivals at Raratoga and eat down in the parlor
twilight, half discontented with himself for being
there. Many men find themaeleve in stroller places
in a similar mood; and, as in this case; the motive
power that brings them there is found In the lovely
creature who travels with a dozen timakz, said crea
ture being a fashionable woman.
While 'he waited and meditated, one of these
creatures fluttered In; for the quick, birdlike mo
tions, and the soft swayings of delicate white fab
rics stertotaore like flutterings than decided move
ment&
The white robes ceased their swaying at the arm
chair, where William Britton eat, and a soft white
hand felion his broader palm. Then a low voice
said sadly:
"Cousin Will, Is not Saratoga unsatisfying t"
The question corrected some fallacies. In the first
place, It was unorthodox creed for a fashionable wo
man. In the second plane, it revealed to William
Briton the fact that he had never seen the owner of
the voice.
" I beg your pardon, but—" be began.
At the first word, the little hand started from the
broad palm, and the plaintive tone was quick with
tright.
you wer beg
your par ond " she echoed. "I thought
mcousin WilL
"Itis my name. 1 would I were coualn to that
voice."
The gallant speech drove the women away. She
begged another hasty pardon, and William Briton
heard the sound of floating garments as she fluted
up the broad stairway.
A moment later another white-robed figure dashed
lo upon the lone men's quiet.
"Isn't Saratoga charming r exclaimed a quirk,
lively voice. "Such beautiful dresses and delight
ful men, and lovely women, and such music? And
oh the hops! I would be Content to remain here
forever.
There was no mistaking that fashionable woman.
There was no heresy in that doctrine_ It was pure
ly worldly. The voice belonged to Clara Ipswich,
the motive power that brought William Britton to
Saratoga.
" *hat a butterfly It is!" he said, half fondly and
half reproachfully, as he looked down on the bright
face and scarlet roses, all revealed by the brilliant
gaslight that dispelled dreams and mysteries and
errors with the darkness.
"And oh what an owl, with all his wisdom and
solemnity," she retorted, laughing; but shestooped
down and kissed his forehead.
in vain William Britton studied the faces in the
parlor that night, seekingin that gay throng some
mark of discontent, some spirit ill, at mise, some
soul unsatisfied with the kind and degree of hap-
piness Saratoga offered. She who brought him there
mingled with the gay, eeligitt ed by none save the
tall, slight girl in garnet, whose beaming face was
the brightest thine in all the room. He was with
the dancers, too, biding studies 'neath his smiles
and great thoughts under pleasant chit.
Fie was an odd man. Even Clara Ipswich admitted
that, lover though he was and-husband was to be.
It was so odd she thought to think of other things
than dress and dance anti shovi at Saratoga.
Under the careless amity Wilt sto Britton studied
the slight girl In garnet. How her dark eya flashed
How the color came and dint upon her brunette
cheek! How she talked. Andnow laughter rippled
from her lips until he tailed her lo his mind Mo
neta:is—laughing water. What a spontaneity of
life! What an exuberance of gladness! Was she
cot/scions of a sou)? Did atx„tbink of a hcreefter ?
Did she know that Me was struggle, combat, vic
tory?
as be looked, he listened and caught the chat of
two dowagers at his side.
"Sayte is looking her beat to-night," said one
lady to the other.
" Yes," wan the pleased rejoinder, "Garnet be
comes Ircr well"
" Your niece is doing you lionoi, certainly," con
tinued the first speaker. "Her engagement must
be very gratifying."
"/t is I may tell you, Mrs.! Jenkins, It has taken
a great load off my mind," was the confidential re-
Abuse "Sayte Is not like other women of our set
Yon would never dream the thoughts of that girl.
She Is one of the kind who make missionaries and
martyrs, and many beneath their position, and do
ridiculous things from duty. I can't nnderatand her
atoll. I think rho is something of a mystery toDavid
Harper, .Nobody can Interpret her thoroughly but
her cousin Will Tompkins. • You know him, you
have heard him lecture: He IA very dent: 'Many a
time 1 have wilted for fear Wry would - mirky; but
she is engaged to David Harper now, and there le an
end of trouble, for with bet promie onceigiven
1 a prymlse forever He is wealthy and odgood faint,
1 ly, and has a fine.position in society, and it puts an
end to all her noUsense about cougentality and kin
ship--of spirit. 4 have not Kea her In sacks gay
mood for months. Her cousin, Will Tompkins
,
came to-night; and she has been as happy as a - bird
ever since. Something happened to vex het'. It - was
about her dress, and she came up shirrs and divested
herself of her beautiful mull and arrayed herself in
garnet. Bach a Whim! I think she was ounoyed
to find so many others clad in
Willßrittoneadhxl dh, he understood. 8,7411 5
own nature he understood that girl In *deed
garnet dross he reecodzeil the tunatialled mind, the
longing, ttapirity;_,worean who had wearied of Bars-
top.
Ere . !on he talked with twill - opt seriously but to
the , gay appropriate to the4laor—
her well, ad wvool* Ito spialbig Ws and
=. • a • • M
MI
—An Agrish fizper.
poi:wocull
My willing soul would stay
In such a frame la this
And Bing and dance itself away
To enriasting bliss."
"Freedom and Right against Slavery and Wrong."
MO=ROSE, SUSQ. CO., PA., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1865.
Derma. mouth. content that there was a deep eonl
hidden under ■ll.
Elbe stalled to see him coming on the following
Morning, and her eye lit up with pleasure when In
the evening dance they met. It was nature, nothing
more, and the unity and harmony of like andi like.
Sayte aunt, rich in her Jewels and rare old
point, looked on and smiled as the days and nights
wore on. She was glad that Sara and David were
not foolish and exclusive after the manner of some
engagements. — Mr. Britton was a very clever man,
and It showed good taste in Sayto to appreciate him
so thoroughly. She had no solicitude. Ther were
both engaged. It was so delightful for Basle to
remain content when she had feared uneasiness for
days. Onlif Will Tompkins sighed, and one night
he dld more.
It was after a Shakespearean reading, when the
poet's wondrous words, rendered by a man of gen-
Ina and rare elocutionary powers, had thrilled the
heart of those who could appreciate. Clara Ipswich
yawned as she talked of it. Nothing but a dance
could drive her dullness away. David Harper, too,
begged for a dance. William Britton crossed over
to Sayte Ingalls.
"I think you have been In the clouds to-night," he
said. "We touch earth so suddenly as to exper ience
a shock at the suggestion of waltzes, polkas, re
downs. Let us go out beneath the starlight"
Will Tompkins frowned, then he turned to Sayte
Ingalls. "You will not go out to night. The air is
damp."
She laughed at him.
" Oh, nonsense, Will 1 I must breathe another at
mosphere than this."
Bbe took William Britton's arm and went out
Oh the stillness and beauty of that hour: Oh the
depth demotion that thrilled either heart ! They
talked of new things. Thoughts which had never
found expression in the ballroom at Saratoga, nor
spoke in language either understood. In that hour
the unity of their Inner life stood all revealed, soul
spoke to soul, and like rushing currents flowed to
gether.
• Whither 1'
Oh, Clara Ispwich!
Oh, David Harper I
As great rocks sever flowing currents, those names
TWO between their lives and loves.
. .
Standing just above Bayte '
lookine Sown
eyes,into her eyes, now clowing Soft and beautiful, Wil
liam Britton said:
"Methinks there is an error, and you helcrng to
me.
We needs must love the highest when we see it
Not Launeelot hilt another."
She didrnot answer but sank down on the+, seat
and buried her hr-ad In her hands; while William
Britton paced hurriedly to and tro. 3ilnutes fled
and the struggle went on. Sayte Ingalls ended It
first—raising her head and calling in a cold, altered
tone:
" Mr. Britton."
He came and stood before her.
" Let us return to the house," she said.
"And is this the end ?" he asked.
"The end," she answered_ "There were no end
f trouhie otherwise."
The dancers were sill tripping' to the sound of
merry music when the wanderers returned.
Will Tompkins smiled and then he sighed. lie
smiled that they Sad compered; he sighed for suf.
feting manhood and womanhood.
Ten years and the heroism of America's men and
women was a proven thing, proven by three Team'
serWicc on the battle fields, In camp and hospital.
These were the places to find such men as William
Britton ; and where men dare to go, women of like
spirit do not shrink to follow.
Kneeling by a wounded loan one day, he heard a
voice near hy. That voice! It brought to him a
memory of Saratoga, a robe of white, a garnet silk,
soft thrilling words, a bowed head, and a sad adieu.
What a place for such memories! And what a place
for Sayte Ingalls, a Saratoga belie! But it was she
William Britton, looking down on the bent form
clad in mourning, met the old bright eyes and
nervouemouth.
n I couta not stay home. There P7lll , nothing to
keep me, and there was suffering here," she said,
In explanation of her presence.
It was a development of the old spirit that her
aunt said made missionaries and martyrs.
" David Harper?"
William Britton spokb his name reverently, as he
glanced at the widow's cap.
"He died a year ago," she answered, " and
Clam?"
_
"Clara Ipswich Britton was written on a marble
five years ago."
I need not tell yon more. There are a few whose
discipline of aufferingja over ere the silver cord is
loosed or the golden bowl la broken.
E
JENNE'S ELOPEMENT.
Oh I Jennie Gray was young and fair,
With azure eyes and sunny hair,
Which gently toyed around a rare
and beautiful throat, and a bust of symmetry. Full
many a lover, I wean, sighed and repined, and
cursed cruel fate that they had not been one of
Jennie's curls instead of a man; for strange to tell,
nothing flavoring of masculinity has ever encircled
Jcnie's neck. If her lovers had only been curls,
they could—
Upon her breast find couch of ease,
Or wander with her 'mong the trees,
And kiss her cheek with every breeze.
John Henry vas a lover bold,
Tho' minus of silver and gold,
And Jennies heart once so cold,
was melted by the first glance of his loveliest eyes.
She likened him In her vestal imagination, to Apollo,
because be had red hair, to Orpheus, because be was
a sweet singer, and played the fiddle; and to Adonis,
bemuse he was a youth of lair proportions and come
ly to look upon. She sighed when the beloved oh-
Ject of her heart's adoration was not near, like the
wind through an oak-tree-squirrel-hole. Her cruel
father bad sworn by the rod and mass, II he caught
him with Jennie,
That he would creep twhind him sly,
— And let tits heavy pee-hoot fly
At him a /a posteriori!
Jennie bewailed his high decree,
But vowed that wedded she would bo—
"By thnnder I shouldAke to see
the old man hinder me frem getting marred when I
leel like It," was the defiant exclamation.
"Why don't you feel like it then r said John
Henry.
"Because I dew," was the reply.
"Let's 'lope, my cinnamon, sassafras, maple
sugar, corn stalk, beet, my paragon of sweetness,"
was big gallant reJoinder..
"Gosh, I'll dew It, John Henry," said she.
Great was the Joy of the enamored swain when
she consented, and he fairly screamed,
"Here's my boss, jump on astride,
And tew the Parson's we will ride,
And have the knot all firmly tried."
Upon the steed she sprang amain
John Henry seized the guiding rein,
And fast they scampered o'er the plain
towards the parronage, some milet distant. The old
man, Grey, got wind of the aflair, mounted a fleet
courser and gave instant pursuit after the disorder
ly pair. Being mounted on a swifter horse, and not
quite so much to carry, Mr. Grey soon came In
eight of the fleeting party. Putting spurs to bin
steed,be soon had the satisfaction of overtaking them.
Seizing John Henry's horse by the bridle, he cried,
In a voice of anger loud and high,
That shook the mite from Licari bard by.
That she must go back hum, or die!_
He seized her roughly by the waist,
And drew her from her bean in baste,
And on his prancing steed he placed her,
menacing the while her lover with summary pun
ishment. As he was in the act of Mounting before
her, old Boreits—the north wind- feeling sorry for
the weeping, maiden, blew a fierce blest to signify
his displeasure, which sent the old man's had flying
far down the road. He rushed after hie hat, and
they whipped up their steeds and left him.
Conte back, come back," the old man cried.
But Jennie haughtily re lied—
"l will, pap—when the knot Is tied."
Mope= Ecosoarr or Taste.—The Scientific Amer
icon thus shows how time has been economized by
the application of machinery:
Corron—One man can spin more cotton yarn
now than tour hundred men chuld have done in the
same time in 11"69, when Arkwright, the best cotton
spinner, took out his first patent.
FLona.—One man can make as much flour in a day
now as a hundred and fifty could a century ago.
Lace—One woman can now make as much lace in
a day as a hundred women could a hundred years
ago.
Suess—lt now requires only as many days to re
fine sugar as it did mouths thirty years ago.
LOOII.ICO-GLASSEB-J1 once required six months
to put quicksilver on glass ; now it needs about lb
minutes.
Bin:awes—The engine of a finit-rate Iron-clad
frigate will perform aimuch work in a day es forty
two thousand horses.
Ora young end gamey KW, pet fro
evsehefites even =toys young lean the
fever.
152 M
IN THE EA.
My chum, Tom Hawse, did not. Wog remain In
Valparaiso after ho was discharged from the ship
Cumberland. His nautical nose led: him back to
the water.
He snipped in a Chili= vessel, bound to the
Sandwich Islands. The craft was a beautiful one—
a trim little brig—with maststhat were round and
tapering, like the notified arms of a Belle, and a
bow as gracefully moulded as the bosom of a swan,
Her well-proportioned hull seemed scarcely to
touch the water when, with swelling sails, she gild
ed on her course like a white-winged bird as It
skims along the grass of the prairie. Tom wee de
lighted with the brig. The crew, however, did not
please him. There were four men in the forecastle
besides himself, as dirty and disagreeable a set as he
ever encountered. Seven of them were Chillan and
the rest were Kanakas. They would swear and
wrangle from morning till night, making so much
noise that Tom found it impossible to sleep In the
daytime when It wee his watch below.
On a certain occasion he remonstrated, when one,
a big, burly fellow, with a monstrons hend,and with
shoulders like those of a giant, started to his feet,
and drawing a knife, ordered the complainant to lie
down again.
"Me will cut your throat ii you make objection !"
he added, brandishing his huge with a threatening
alt., es he witnessed the angry flash that gleamed lu
Tom's eyes
The bullying manner of the giant quickly roused
the fro of the American, and obeying a sudden im
pulse, he dashed the knit,: from the grasp of the
owner with a blow upon the wrist. Leaping from
his bunk almost ut the same moment,he threw him
self upon the person of the burly Chinni with a
force which sent him heavily backwards. As he fell
to the deck his temple came in contact with the
edge of an oak chest and he lost his consciousness.
When his countrymen beheld his motionless fig
ure, they levelled a perfect torrent of
y ells and ex•
ecrations against the American; and hardly bad be
regained his feet when they rushed toward him In a
body,with the Intention of avenging their shipmate.
Tom, however picked a handspike from the deck,
and swinging It about with a will, contrived to keep
his antagonista at bay.
Nevertheless, he would soon have been overpow
ered hod It not been for the interference of the cap
tain and his mates, who, attracted by the uproar, ar
rived upon the spot at the very moment when two
men had succeeded in wrenching the handspike
from the grasp of the young sailor.
As Tom was the best seaman In the foretopmost
shrouds, the officers took the part of our hero, and
ordered the Chilions to disperse. The men obeyed
reluctantly casting many dark glances upOn Turn,
and breathing low muttered threats and execrations
against Wm.
In the meantime, the giant having recovered his
senses, had risen to his feet and commenced wean
ing his head in cold water. Although he did not
say a word to Hawser, not even look toward him,
there was a certain expression In his eyes which
warned the America!! to be on his guard. He be
lieved that his - late antagonist would adopt corn, se
cret plan of revenge, would await an opportunity to
attack him while he was unpreixtred for defence—to
strike him from behind or Iu the dark.
As day after day passed away, however, and the
Chilimas did not attempt to tub:dere with hint, Tom
came to the conclusion that he had been mistaken,
and as anatural consequence he became less watchful.
One morning while the vessel was within a few
hundred yards of tee place of her destination, she
was brought to a "stand still" by a d••ad calm.
The surface of the eta was like a polished mirror.
Not a ripple upon the water, not a clued in the sky.
The 811 , 1 ‘ b heat was intense,the pitch started from the
deck•planks, and the melted ter glistened upon the
shrouds. The men who had been in the habit of go
log bare-footed were compelled to wear shoes upon
this occasion, otherwise the heated plunks would
have blistered their lea.
l'im•eutiy the captain and las mates were seen to
matte preparations for swimming. In a short time
shey weie semi diving from the bulwarks, or rolling
about luxuriously In the water.
The men decided to follow their example. Tom
Hawser wan it good diver ana zurexeellent
'Mounting to the fore topsail card he ran to the
weather end, and sprat:glow Ulf' sea. •
lie was followed by the Chifian giant, and then
striking out slmultaneou.sly, both men swam away
from the brig.
"A mee a rues!" shouted the rest of the crew.
Tom glanced toward the giant, and the latter return
ed the glance which said plainly, "1 challenge you."
Resolving not to be outdone by his burly ship
mate, the American f i,rted himseli with such skill
that be was soon enabled to pass the other.
He could now hear the Chillan blowing like it
lorpoise behind him, and as long as that noise sa
uted his ears he continued bla course ; for, al
though he was already a long di'tanee from the brig,
he determined that he would not be the first to
turn. The giant seemed to have formed the same
resolution, and followed his companion boldly. lie
was e good swimmer, and had Tom watched him
closely, he would have perceived that he did not ex
ert himself so much as he might have done, but
seemed well satisfied that the American - should take
the lead.
The distanee between the two men and their ves
sel was becoming greater every moment. The hull
of the brig, as the American could perceive when
he threw an occasional glance behind him, seemed
to settle lower in the water every moment_ His arms
and legs ached with exertion He felt that his
strength was gradually passing away. But his reso
lution stoutly refused sympathy with these warn
ings of approaching weakness. The porpoise-like
blowing of the giant in his wake still contlnued,and
presently hu thought the noise sounded nearer than
before.
He turned his tread and perceived, to his surprise,
that the Chllian -was suddenly twginning to gain up
on him.
Yea, in spite of his utmost efforts, his fullo%cr
was rapidly lessening the distance between them.
Nearer and nearer he came, every moment, and at
length Tom could be= him puffing close upon his
Mtn
At the same moment a fearful eight broke upon
his view—a long black fin cleaving the smooth cur.
face of the water Ilke a knife.
It was approaching him steadily and stealthily
from au opposite direction, and already it was not
more than forty fathoms ie front of him.
Ms blood ran cold In Lid seine.
The lie was that of a shark.
Belem he could utter a word, however, he felt a
pair of hands grasp hie ankles tinder the water.—
fhese hands pulled him ben •ath the surface, and
the next moment -ascended to his throat. They
grasped it,they pressed upon it liken vice. lie grog•
glad vainly to release himself. The terrible pres
sure caused his mouth to open. The salt water
rushed into it, he felt that he was strangling, that
he could live but a few minutes longer. A horrible
pain was in his head, a leaden weight seemed to
have been placed upon his brain.
Opposite to him, whilst his eyeballs were forced
almost from their sockets by the great agony he Bat
tered, he could see the dim outlines of the Chillan's
face looking into the blue depths of the sea, like
the face of some hideous monstmeof the deep. The
eyes were of a dull greenish hue, and the dark skin
seemed covered with a multitude of little tins. This
appearance was caused by the disordered state of
ibis
In a few minutes both of the men arose for an in•
giant above the surface of the water. But Tom
knew It not. A yellowish vapor seemed to float be
fore his eyes and obscure his right. Now he could
not even see the face of the man whose hands were
upon Lis Paoli. Falling consciousness seemed to
convert that hand into a fiery serpeut, twisting Its
bolds about his neck.
The yellowish vapor turned Into a blood red col
or, then suddenly grew darker, while a swarm of 10-
costa seemed to buzz in his brain. The men were
again under water.
The terrictra serpent! How tightly its folds were
clasped about his neck 1 Agony—tearful agony I
Would he never die?
Ah I what did It mean? The serpent suddenly
unwound itself from his 'throat. The dank vapor
grew lighter, the locusts flew away from his brain,
he felt himself ascending.
Suddenly be seemed to stop The vapor was
passing from before him. A sweet feeling of relief
entered his bosom. Ile arose to the surface of the
sea, and breathed a mouthful of fresh air. Before
he eank again consciousness rushed into his brain,
and gave hint back his natural sight, sense, and
feeling.
He moved his hands,and keep himself afloat. His
bewilderment passed away as he looked around him.
Here was the sea, there the sky, and far In the dis
tance the little brig. But where was his compan
ion—the man who had attempted to murder him 1—
Why did he relinquish his savage intention?
Both questions wore soon answered, for he sad
denly noticed that the water In his immediate vi
cinity was thickly clotted with blood.
Then he remembered the shark. The fierce crea
ture had saved his life, and attacked the Chlllan
while the latter was engaged In his foul work, and
dragged him away front his intended victim.
It was evident that ho was not aware of the vide-
By of the creature when be had made his cowardly
assault upon Tom, as the head of the latter had con
cealed the approaching fin from hb view.
A cold shudder ran through the veins of our hero.
The shark was probably engaged at that moment In
devouring the person of the giant awe) , down le the
depths of thasea. With a glance at the blood-stain
ed water around him, the young eat - now struck
out for the brig. Bat he found that 11.4 exertions,
joined to the fearful ordeal through which ballad
Passed, had weakened his frame .so much that it
was doubtful whethar ho would mewed In rescht ,••
do vessel
I:=2
ItMMM,iM
In a few moments, however, be was gratified to,
observe a boat shoot from the aide of the brig. It
approached rapidly and he wee soon picked up.—
The officers had feared that his companion and him
self would not be able to get back to the vessel after
the exertion of swimming off to so great a distance,
and had therefore sent the boat for them. The
reader can imagine the feelings of the crew when
Tom bad made them acquainted with the facts we
have Just related.
They were all more or less superstitious, and the
terrible fate of the giant, together with the fact that
he had been attacked by the shark while engaged in
an attempt to take the life of onr hero, inspired
them with feelings of awe toward the latter, ao that
he remained unmolested by them the remainder of
the voyage.
In a sweet, rural valley, nestled among the hills of
Massachusetts, atatnis a pleasant village, with a
picturesque millpond and factory. Sqveral summers
ago this hamlet was the temporary residence of two
young men, who were apparently traveling artists;
as their chief occupation seemed to consist in
sketching the scenery of the neighborhood, which
was celebrated for its beauty. Their arrival bad
created some stir among the villagers, for without a
bit of pretension, both young men had a certain dig
nity of manner that made them looked up to, and
many a pretty factory girl, as she [rippled to her
work, cast back a look over her shoulder, if she met
either of the handsome strangers.
Though the society of the village was unusually
intelkvent, and the females were remarkable for
loveliness, there was one famed beyond all the rest
in both mind and person, sweet Edith Mather. She
was an orphan, without sister or brother, anj lived
with an aged aunt whom she chiefly supported by
her labor In the factory. Edith waa popular with
ever• one. She was so gentle, considerate and kind,
that even those who at first envied, learned at last
to love her. The younger of the two artists, whom
we shall name Lovell, soon became interested in
this sweet creature; at least If looks, tones, and
constant seeking of her presence were any 'proof,
he wan thus Interested.
One day he and his friend had clambered op come
rocks on the sleep hillside, from which the village
was overlooked, and as they eat there the bell of the
factory rang, and the green wag immediately covered
with the girls employed In It, wending their way
thither after dinner Among them it was easy to re
cognize the lightand graceful form of Edith Mather.
"Is she not beautiful 9 Where can you show me a
person so sylphltlte," said Lovell, with undisguised
enthusiasm
Ills companion made no reply for a moment, but
hen abruptly remarked.
" I think It la time we lett thi•
"Why?" asked Lovell, in a tone of surprise.
" li.•c.mec if we do not, you will have that girl In
love with you. Youradmiration Is evident to all her
friends, and you are ton honorable to hold out hopes
you never Intend to fulfil."
" Hold out hopes I never intend to fulfill"
"Yes—for you don't think of marrying the girl
do you ?"
" To be sure."
" The deuce von do," said his cOmpanion,srartlng
to his feet in Jnatfeeted astonishment.
" Wiry not •"
" Why not! Why, for a thousand reasons. She's
only a faztory girl, a lady of neither birth nor educa
tion, but a simple country lass, very good in her
way, only no match for Fred Lovell. Think of pre
senting her to your fashionable friends in town! No—
no—it will never do. Shake off this love fit; pack up
your trunk, and let Its be off to-morrow.
Lovell shook his head.
"I am, perhaps, a more romantic man than you
are, Harry," he said, " but I have some common
a 00,... to .no, ood I think 1 have brought it to bear
spun this question. We have now been here a
month, in which time I have' become pretty well
acquainted with Edith. I left tow u—we bout tot,
it—heartily sick of its frivolities; and on my part,
with the firm opinion that I know no woman in our
that wily= ha to make my
wife. The city girls are so frivolous, so fond of par
tic., so eager for wealthy alliances; and really so
Ig,nomnt of household affairs that for a man of my
taste to marry one of them would be folly. I
am not food of gay life-1 think It wastes ton
muchprecious time;. and I want, therefore, a
wile who wilt be domestic, and not involve me
in a round of balls and other entertainments.
I do not wish to In a hermit, a few friends are a
great blessing, and I shall be always glad to gather
'wowed me a small circle of the right kind ; but pro
miscuous visiting I detest. Now I think I have
found- Just the partner I required In Miss Mather.—
She is well informed, agrei_able, simple In her tastes,
has sound sense, and withal, posaesses a large share
of personal beauty, and, If I mistake not, the power
of loving very deeply. 111 marry her, and take her
to the city, her intuitive tact--and she has this in a
remarkable degree—will soon supply any deficiency
In manner. In short. Ido not know where I could
make a better choice."
"Row ? when she has no accomplishments."
"She can sing with untaught grace, and as for jab
bering French, I don't know how that would make
her better. She would soon learn, too, with her
quirk parts. Besides I care not to have one possess
ing only superficial accomplishments."
But her family ! Recollect who your grandfather
was."
•'But who was hers? a worthy divine,pnor, I war.
rant, bet estimable. Besides lam above the cant
you talk of. I would care little whether they were
of royal blood or peasant extraction. I believe with
Burns that 'worth makes the man,' and the only
degradation I acknowledge is that of crime."
"Well if you are resolved on it, I know enough of
your obatinaney to say no more. Bat faith! Lovell,
if you had a guardian and I was he I would take you
from this place tomorrow. You'd thank me for
it when you recovered your senses."
This conversation here ceased ; and directly the
two friends retraced their i-tepe to the village.
The next Morning. Lovell'a companion came down
stairs attired for a Journey.
"I am going beck to town," he said. "I am tired
of ruralizitig. The tit for that la over, and lam
afraid if I stay I shall be astoolisti as you."
Bo the two parted, for Lovell remained behind
and in leas than a week, it was known everywhe
In the village that he and Edith were engaged to be
married.
I( you ran content yourself with the preearions
life of a poor artist," he said, when he told his af
fection, "we may be happy "
Edith answered with a look of her bright oyes so
tender, confiding, end em.fuent, that Lovell adored
her from that moment mor., than ever.
In a fortnight they were married, when Lovell
took his bride to see his relations in the city from
whence he came. Edith's parting with her Aunt
was sorrowful, but it Wa6 made in expectation of
speedily returning. Arriving at Philadelphia, the
carriage drove to a handsome residence in Walnut
street. She was dazzled by the glare of light that
burst from the windows.
"This is the place," said Lovell, assisting his wife
to alight, and almost carrying her Into the superb
parlor, with its Saxony carpet, rosewood furnituru,
costly curtains and gilded mirrors reaching from
ceiling to floor.
"Whose house la this? Have yon relatives living
thus?" said Edith, surprised at so much magniti-
cence.
it was my house, it is now yours." said her hus
band. "I am not a poor artist, but a man rich In
wordiy goods, yet richest of all in you."
Several years have passed since then, and Edith
has fulfilled all her husband foretold of her. She
has made the beat of wives, and is one of the most
brilliant ornaments of the circle she moves In. Lov
ell's friend married a silly fashionable woman, and
no greater contrast in happiness exists than between
these two former friends.
A handsoine cottage, tilled with all the appliances
of luxury, has been erected In Edith's native town,
and thither, every summer, she and her husband
repair to visit her aged aunt, who has been Installed
mistress of this pretty retreat..
A EmuAm.—From New York State we have It
that immediately atter the delivery of the Democrat
ic Convention, a Copperhead met a Republican
friend :
Copperhead —You see we have nominated three
Republicans on our ticket. What do you think of
that ?
Republican. —I can see but ono parallel In modern
blAtory.
Copperhead.—What is that?
Republican.—The effort of Lee to arm the negroes
In the last days of the Confederacy.
Exit Copperhead. .
riff - Arthur Is a real Union boy, but not at all re
ligiously inclined, so tils mamma often bad great
difilcully in getting him to pray understandingly
Ono evenin after ranch persuasion, he knelt down
to repeat his g,
casual prayer, bat raid—
" Now I lay me down to elects, shouting the battle
cry of freedom."
Fir "Jane, h us that surly fellow cleared oil" the
snow from the pavement f"
"Yes sin"
" Loire he clear It off with alacrity ?"
"No, air; with a shovel"
rgr Josh Billings says : "When a man's dog de
serts blm on account (Aids poverty, he can't go any
lower doWn In this world—not by land."
MlffffM
THE TAOTORY GIRL
A. BICNSI.H.L.h: .LO'Vie.. EMORY.
illiriittati oculars /deal hospitallt a eiti.
rag
BLUE GENTIAN.
Gentian I In your fringed cup,
Fold my heart's best secret up;
Kindly take it, gentian blue,
thane ;—I know a nulls like you.
I know one with eyes as blue,
Clear as heaven, and deep and true;
Well I love their bright, calm light;
You shall see their smile to-night.
You shall bloom beneath their heaven,
Softest glances shall be given
To your beauty, gentian rare ;
Will they read my secret there?
Tell my secret, If you will,
Gazing in those depths so still;
Tell It softly, gentian blue,
Low and softly—" One loves you."
—Springfield Republice.
TEE SOVEREIGNS OF ENGLAND.
First, William the Norman! then William his son,
Henry, Stephen, and Henry, then Rlchani and John.
Next, Henry the Third! Edward. one, tWo and three ;
And again, after Richard, three Henries we Fee;
Two Edwards, third Richard, if I ;14 L bily guess;
Two Henries,sixth Edward,Queen ,Queen Bess ;
Then Jamle(ScotamanOthen Charles w °matey slew,
Yet received, after Cromwell, another Charles too.
Next James the Second ascended the throne;
Then good. William and Mary together came on;
Till Anne, Georges four, and fourth William past,
God sent us Vicronta—mayabe long be the last!
From the Record of the Times.
HON. °HAMS NINE&
At the commencement of the present century,
there appeared upon the stage of active life in the
valley of Wyoming two young men, who at a later
period were destined to leave an impression upon its
scientific and-literary history above all competitor..
The one, a younggentleman of taste, refinement, ed
ncation, and wealth, possesed a mind fitted to deal
with abstruse and difficult subjects, to dive down in
the bowels of the earth, and to draw from their bid
den mysteries a knowledge of Itatreasures of untold
wealth and utility. The other, with less taste for
abstruse and occult, but with still enough to keep
pace with his companion and friend, possessed a fer
tile brain, a brilliant imagination, a ready pen,
great powers of thought, a thorough knowledge of
mankind, and an energy and will which never wa
vered until age and Infirmity bad hound the strong
man in their chains, and rendered him helpless us
the cradled Infant.
. .
The one was Jacob Clat, the other was Charles
Hiner. The former has long since gone to his rest,
cut down In the heyday of life and in the midst of
his usefulness, and his fame la now scarcely remem
bered, save by his own imm•dlete family, his now
aged tuatociates who still survive, or by him who is
antiquarian enough to pore over the early newspa
per literature of the valley. Yet he was a useful
and talented man, and all his prophecies have been
fulfilled.
The latter has Just been gathered to his fathers,
fall of years and honors, an old man, with the snows
of more than eighty winters settled upon his head.
To the generations that have gone, and to the gen
eration that Is fast passing away, these associated
names were like household words for all that was
original, or suggestive of thought. Sometimes look
ed upon as visionaries, whore imaginations were
constantly painting unreal scenes upon theglowing
canvas--sometimes laughed at, or commiserated
with, as mad men whose brains bad been turned by
an endeavor to work out impossibilities—but more
frequently thought and spoken of as men of sound
common sense, who looked far Into the future with
prophetic eyes, battling for truth, clearing away the
rubbish over which ignorance stumbled, and leading
their hearers and readers onward and upward to a
higher-knowledge which they alone possessed-
When such men die their worth !mould be record
ed in • more than ordinary manner. They were tne
- Fioneers - Orsor4eti and Or science, and we their de
scendants, who bavegatbered from their months and
writings, words of wisdom, which nave helped to
fit us educated men for the higher duties of Ills,
should turn aside, and pay is propertribute to their
memory.
Charles Miner waft born on the first day of Febru
ary, 1780, in the town of Norwich, Ct., where be
passed the early years ofhis life. In 1790, in the 19th
year of his age, he removed as a Connecticut claim
ant, to Wyoming valley, and settled in Wilkesbarre,
following his brother Asher, who had emigrated s
year or two earlier. From 1729, to 1801, Mr. Miner
was engaged upon the family claim in Susquehanna
county, near what is now Ho bottom Station, on
the Delaware & Lackawanna Railroad, then a deep,
dark, Impenetrable wilderness, which claim he com
menced to clear, felling timber, cutting shingles,
making sugar, and doing duty as a man should whose
future life depended upon his own exertions. Many
a night, I have heard him say, he lay chilled to the
bone on his rough bed, the snow driving through
the chinks of the rode cabin and the wintet winds
whistling around him. "In 1801," says Mr. Pearce,
in his "Annals of Luzerne," "Asher Miner establish
ed the 'Luzerne Federalist,' and the first number
was Issued on the fifth day of January. It was a
sheet of very moderate dimensions, for two reams
of its paper were placed In an ordinary hag and car
ried on horse-back from the paper-mill at Allentown
to Wilkesbarne, and this was done once in two weeks.
The press on which the 'Federalist' was printed was
brought from Norwich, Ct., on a sled by Charles
Miner and S. Howard. In 180.1, Charles became as
sociated with Asher Miner in conducting the 'Fed
eralist' widen they ably edited until 11309 when it
was transferred to Stenben Butler and Sidney Tracy.
These latter gentlemen in 1811 enlarged the paper
and changed its name to the 'Gleaner,' with the
motto 'lntelligence is the Life of Liberty.' In a
few months Mr. Tracy withdrew from the establish
ment and was sne-eeded by Charles Miner who, In
connection with Mr. Butler and others, ably con
ducted the 'Gleaner,' until 1816 when It passed In•
to the bands of I. A. Chapman, Esq."
From such small beginnings, unaided and almost
alone, arose the historian of the valley. It was in
the columns of the "Gleaner" that Mr. Miner made
himself celebrated as a writer. For this paper werj
written those beautiful essays from the desk oT
"Poor Robert the Scribe," a series of weekly essays
filled with good sense, cromblntuji: amusement with
instruction, which were read witrpleasure at every
In the, country, which have been many times
reprinted, and which may even at this day be found
in school books, as lessons of wisdom not to he pot
aside or forgotten. In this paper, too, Mr. Miner
published many articles upon the subject of anthra
cite coal, a subject, the importance of which was
just beginning to dawn upon the minds of the peo
plc of our valley. It was the object or Mr. Miner to
extend that interest awakened here, to enlighten
the minds of those who would not believe abroad,
and to disseminate the theory that Anthracite would
burn as readily as Bituminous coal. lie hoped one
day to see the mines of ore opened and their treas
ures spread throughout the land, and he hoped to
see the valley of Wyoming, then almost a wilder
nests, blossom as the rose, and Wilkesbarre, then a
mere Inland village, alive with the busy hum of in
dustry, filled with dusky workmen, the mart of trade,
connected with cities and built up with noble man
sions—air the fruits of her under-ground wealth.
All this he lived to see. Determined however not
to be a theorist only, but to carry out in practice
what he had taught others through the columns of
his paper—he, In 1813, with Mr. Clet and others,
leased the Mauch Chunk mines, and in the same
year floated an ark load of coal to Philadelphia.—
Their struggles to reach that city in safety, land their
efforts to introduce and sell their coal are beautiful
ly described by Mr. Pearce, in his "Annals of Le
setae."
It was during his connection with the "Gleaner"
that Mr. Miner first entered public life. In 1807 he
was elected to serve In the Legislature with Nathan
Beach; in 1803 with Benjamin Dorrunce, the As.
semhly then convening at Lancaster; and again In
1812 with Colonel Dwane°, the Legislature at Har
risburg. There he advocated, and 1 may say, almost
originated that scheme for internal improvement,
which, at a later period, through the instrumentali
ty of Geo. Denison and Garrick Mallory, terminat
ed in the North Branch (of the Susquehanna) Canal.
That Mr. Miner's abilities as a writer and thinker
were not confined to his own town and county, we
find In an invitation extended . from Philadelphia in
1816, to take charge of a paper entitled the "True
American." He accepted this invitation and re
mained its editor for one year. In 1817 he removed
hie family to West Chester, Chester county, Penn
sylvania, and established the "Village Record," a
paper which he carried on with unusual ability, and
which remains to this day se a lasting monument to
his memory.
In Hal Mr. Miner was elected as a Representative
In Congress from Chester county, and re-elected In
1826. Mr. Buchanan was his colleague, and I well
remember in 1860, when President Buchanan was
abused and vilified by both friends and enemies,
how the old man's heart warmed toward the com
panion of his earlier days, and with much readiness,
though alwayspolitically opposed, he took up the
pen to do him justice. Mr. Miner was the associate
of all the great men orbits day. Intelligent and SOa
chi, he was attractive, and the ease and brilliancy
with -which he =prated his thoughts on paper
made him useful as Well es ornamental In advancing
the doctrines of his party, and in furthering the ob
jects of the mighty leaders who then wielded the
baton of power. Henry Clay, at Math= Ste=
of State, recognized at once the abilitg b r
nets of the member nom Pent:mint and made
his friend personally, 110 he knelt tit be per
y, and MOW to him mere than to any other
02.00 per annuniny in advance
NUMBER.., 49.
, •
gentleman of the House, to early out his views up.
on the subjects of internal Improvement, the Ta
riff, and a United States Bank. His intercourse
with Mr. Webster, too, then in the Bate , end al
most at the zenit of ids fame as an orator-and a .
Statesman, was familiar and pleasant. They wets
all men of like tastes, like opMions, and like talents
in their different spheres, end the friendships, com
menced at that Period, were continued in lOW years
by letter, and closed only when Webster and Clay
were laid In the grave. Ills own party was not alone
in his praise. The leaders of the Democracy honor •
ed his ebilitice. I recollect while visiting Ex-Pned
dent Tyler In the summer of 185i3, 01115 day_ in con
versation, finding that I was a resident of Wyoming
valley, he asked If was acquainted. with Clarks
Miner, and upon answering In the affirmative, gave
me a history of his career In Congresai told me of
his wonderful powers In writing, of bisurbenity and
politeness as a gentleman, and summed up by say
ing that ho was the most able man he had ever met
with from Pennsylvania.
At the close of his Congressional /IN Mr. Hiner
returned to West Chester, and continued to edit the
"Village Reeord" until TKO when he determined,
from deafness and Increasing age, once mare to
seek a refuge in the valley where his literary career
had commenced, in the midst of whose beautiful
scenery and quiet people be had planed his wing
fur a loftier flight, and where he had ever hoped to
pass the evening of his days in rest and prosperity.
Here then he came, laying aside editorial honors;
and political preferments, at the ago of fifty-two, to
enjoy the cemftirts of his own fireside, to entertain
with munificence the friends who gathered around
him at the "Retreat," and to receive with every
mark of politeness the passing stranger who having._
beard of Charles Miner es one of the celebrities of
Wyoming, bad turned aside from his course thanks
him by the hand. lint even In his retirement hie
busy mind must find something to work upon, and
his ready pen some object upon which to expend its
'energies.
This was found. In collecting and , dotting down
the recollections of the early settlers, whom time
and coed fortune bad preserved from the massacre,
the Port, or the common destroyer, and having done
this, weaving in his own expert:nee/land knowledge
of the subject, in preparing for the press a "History
of Wyoming," which appeerd In 1845. This was
the last great effort of his life, and It was well done.
He still continued to send communications to dif
ferent newspapers upon minus subjects. Ht 3 still
continued to awaken new interest in the subject of
our coal fields, to impress upon the public the meet,-
&Sy of internal improvements, to lay out distinct
routes for railroads and canals; and In all these he
had but one aim—the advancement of Wyoming In
wealth and importance. Ls 1863 these communlar
none ceased. Age had done its work. The mind
still lab3red on, unclouded and serene, but the hand
which for so many years had done its duty In amus
ing or Instructing, in advising or correcting, which
had spoken upon the paper In .thunder tones of re
proof,
or in the sweet accents of compliment, be
came paralysed forever.
Mr. Miner in youth and in age, was the perfect
gentleman, a true typo of what is termed a gentle.
man of the old school. He was easy and winntryz
In his manners, scrupulously neat and precise in nra
dress, with ruined shirt an dwhite cravat, fond of
his glass of wine when taken with a friend, kind of
heart, courteous In demeanor to all who approached
him, open and generous in purse even to his own
detriment, a great admirer of female beauty and
worth, and a lover of all those nobler qualities which
help to make up the true and honest man. Irr con
versation he was peculiarly agreeable. No !anvil
more eloquent than his, so smooth Its compilmPlit.
so polished its language. And I doubt if either
male or female ever left his presence without a feel
ing of self-satisfaction and of pleasure for the In
terview.
His earthly career has closed. With the burthen
of more than eighty years upon bin shoulders he
sank to rest calmly as an Infant on Its mother's
nowt, without a struggle or sigh. He hen gone to
join that throng of Heroes and Btatesmen and Ora
tors by whom he was surrounded during a long and
active life, and to unite with Allow whom he best
loved on earth, his wife and children, at the mercy
seat of his Ord. Us Was tan tAhind a life worthy of
imitation, and in his death we have no regrets.
E. B.
One day, es Dr. Young was walking in hisigarden
at Welwyn, in company with two Min, (one of
whom he afterwards married,) the servant came to
acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak
with him. "Tell him," said the docter, "I am too
happily engaged to change my situation." The Is.
dies Insisted that hrrahoulA,o as his visitor was 11
man of rank, his patron, and Ms friend. But as
r E
suasion had no effect, one took him by the ht.
arm. and the other by the lett, and led him t 0
garden gate : when, finding resistance in vain, he
bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and in Doctor,
pressive manner for which he was so remarkable,
spoke the following lines :
Thus Adam looked when from the garden driven;
And thus disputed orders sent from Henna. f'f'•
Like him I go, but yet to go Pm loth
Like him I go, for an drove us both,
Hard was hi. fate, but mine still more =kind—
Ms Eve went with him, but mine stays behind.
Ben Johnson having been invited to dine at the
Falcon Tavern, where ho was already deeply to debt,
the landlord promised to wipe out the score If ha
would tell him what God, the Devil, the world, Mid
the landlord himself would be the beat pleased with.
To which the ready poet promptly
God is best pleased when men forsake their sin;
Th. devil is best pleased when they persist therein;
The world's best pleased when thou dolt sell good
wine;
And you're best pleased when I do pay for mine.
Burns, going into church one Sunday, and finding
it difficult to procure a seat, was kindly invited by
young lady into her pew. The sermon being upon
the terrors of the law, and the preacher being parr
licularly severe in his denunciation of sinners, the
lady who was very attentive, became much agitated.
Burns, on perceiving it, wrote with his pencil, on
the blank leaf of hor Bible, the following:
, Fair maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue ;
'Twas only sinners that he meant,
Not angels such as you.
One evening at the King's Arms, Dumfries, Bums
was called from a party of friends to see an Imperti
nent coxcomb In the form of an English commer
cial traveler, who Patronizingly Invited the Ayrshire
Ploughman to a glass of wine at his table. Entering
into conversation with the condescending stranger,
Burns soon sew what sort of person he had to dela
with. When about to leave the room, the poet wag
urged to give a specimen of his facility in impromp.
to versifying, when, having asked the name and age
of the conceited traveler, be instantly penned and
Winced him the following stanza—after which hose.
raptly departed :
In seventeen hundred and forty-nine,
. Satan took staff to make a swine,
And mist It In a comer;
But wilily he changed his plan,
Shaped Into something like Loa, .
And clic! it Andrew Homer.
Dr. Johnson' definition cda note of admiration (I)
made on the moment, Ia very neat:
I sec—l see—i know not what ;
I see a dash above a dot,
Presenting to my eontemphition '
A perfect point otadmirsUon I
An old gentleman, named Gould. Utica martirul
a young lady of nineteen, thus addressed his friend.
Dr. G., at the wedding festival:
So you see
my dear air though eighty years old.
A girl of nineteen falls in love with oW Goad/
To which the doctor replied:
A girl of nineteen may love Gon/4„ It In true
But believe me, dear air, It's Gold without er
When Percy Drat published his collection of An.
dent English Balladt‘, ha was rather lavish In com
mendation of their beautiful simplicity. This pro
yoked Dr. Johnson to say one evening, at the tes
table of Miss Baynelds, that be could thyma se
well and as elegantly In common narrative and con
venation.
Batty Willlard, who formerly lived in thenorthem
part of Vermont, OAS noted for his carelessoregio
bond habits, ready wit, and remarkable faciltU
extempore rhyming. Bitting one day Ina
more, among a crowd of idlers who always gathered
about him on his arrival, the merchant ratted Batty
"why be always wore that shocking bad hat." Bat
ty replied that it was simply bemuse he was UMW*
to purchase a new one.
'Come," raid the merchant, "make men good
rhyme on the old hat Immediately; without stop
ping to think and I'lkgive you Qs best enter Id
the store." Whereupon Batty threw his old WO OR
the door, and began:
Here Unsay old hat,
And pray, what of that t
'Tie as go ea the rcat of my raiment;
I
/ If buy me it better,
...
_You'll make me your debtor, .
And send me to jail lbr payment.
The new hat was a dj udged, by_ the "waltdll4oll
vote of the house, ' to belong toaarty, who weersis
off In triumph, , saying, It was II poor head that
couldn't take care of Itself."
r- "r uls-roTr," ei ttl 0^ 10 lila
hip fi moth*
MN:I,WIQuiI