if PH
niawtth to "Jtolttics, literature, Agriculture, 0riaxce," 'iSItivaliti), anb eneral intelligence;
-r-r-r 7"
VOt 18.
STROUDSBURG, MONROE COUNTY, PA. APRIL 14, 1850.
NO. )6.
mm ii&Pi r ojggg crk isi ww wa r
Published bv Theodore Schoch.
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ml this office. 1
TOO LATE.
FROM MRS. SEATONS JOURNAL.
I sit alone.. A my thoughts go bnck
to my mournful Past, this burden floats
"Wfcitingly along every chord' they htrike
Too Late!" "Too Late!"
It is as if a demon had pursued me all
y life, continually dogging my footsteps,
citb watchful malice preventing the con
summation of every hope, slutting out all
opportunity for expiation of uiy grievous
faults; barring from my-path the suulibt
of- love; coming between mc and a moth
er's forgivness, a fathers blessing, a hus
band's dying reconoiIition; depriving ine
of the last glance of my boy's glorious
eye?, and, at last, of tie feeble radiance
of expiring happiness, that might have
gilded my later days. Pray heaven that
I may not, at the last. 6nd that, also, for
-repentance and pardou I have been too
latel
Very soon my lonely life will end at
the tomb. For days I have been busily
Betting my bouse in order for the great
change; making all ready for those who
only await my death to Hep into the in
heritance of those fair acre-, my ances
tral mansion and domain.
In doing this I have cxamiucd all my
long accumulated hoards of papers, the
records of my life, and its sufferings and
disappointments Among them I have
found the pile of clasped books that con
tain the journal of my earlier days. It
"brings my history down to tho time when
the book in which, for the last score of
jcars, I have noted the far apart inci
dents of my desolate, and monotonous,
and childless widowhood w as comtuenceM.
From these, dear friend, I have drawn
the painful narrations which I hove hero
tet down for your perusal when I am no
more. Everywhere you will hear the
?atl of mv life-burden too late! too
late!"
June I CM, 17 . To day I am fifteen.
It is ray birth day. This morning, when
1 arose, I looked in my mirror and saw a
fresh, rosy face, sparkling eyes, red lips,
too full and pouting, perhaps, with white
teeth gleaming through them, as I etuiled
in salutation of my own "double." I was
a long time arrangiog my curl1, for I
would not let my mid, Alice, lay her
hands upon them. She make them feel
stiff and formal, and papa does not like
them thus. His little wished to please
him on her birtb-dBy.
I was so long that I could not po to
mamma's room before breakfast. Papa
kissed me fondly, blessed me, and then
put into my hand the tiniest watch, shin
ing with soft pearls that are set around
its outer edge. It was very good in pa
pa to give me that.
He asked me to accompany him on bis
rido, but before I ran to mamma's room.
She looked very faint and ill, but she
trailed Bweetly and kissed me, oh, so fond
ly, as sho said
"Bless you, my own, own darling."
Then the held me very cloe to her
Dosotn, and I felt warm tears falling soft
ly on my neck.
"My darling will stay with me this
morning, will she notf" she said at last,
in her sweet, feeble tones.
But at that instant I heard the horses
brought round, and drew myself hastily
from her clinging arms.
'I am going to ride with papa," I said
abruptly, and though 1 kissed her cheek,
I fear it waB but coldly, for as I left the
room I saw her looking sadly, almost re
croaohfullv. after rsc.
Papa left me at General
where we called to spend the
dear Jeanettc. It has been a
Mount',
day with
;ery uap-
py day, and Gerald Mount and his t-ister
rode home with me an hour ago. i went
to mamma's door, but' the nurse came out
and told mc, in a whiter, that she -was
very ill, and mut not be disturbed. She
is often thus, but I am very sorry ebe
could not sec bitn to night, for I have
been sad all day, in the midst of my
pleasure, becaus I was so willful and un
kind to her. I wanted much to ask - her
td forgive me, and to feel her kiss on my
brow before I slept, 13ut to morrow
morning I will go early to express my
Borrow and fecck her pardon.
June 20--For nine days I have been
motherless; and since that fatal hour that
8aw me an orphan I had no heart to
write here. The moruing on which I
hoped to ask my rnotber'ti pardoo for my
unkindoess saw me hanging over her
senseless corpse. I was roused in the
night by a .summons to her room. Alas!
when I arrived there she no longer knew
me. Insensible and speechless, she was
rapidly breathing away her life. In vain
I watched and prayed for ono look or
sign of pardon. Sho died without ever
knowing my remorse, my prayers for
pardoB, my sorrow and regret were all too
late! ' Never will the mcKocy of that
ff9B(-ny agony and fearful, impotent
grief pass from met I leas borne seDse-
less to thy room, and days elapsed ere I
again quitted it.
Sc-n'tanler Slh. Gerald Mount is at
home again. How proud and handsome
he Jooked a. he rode up this morning and
dismounted at our door. I shrunk back j
that ho might uot see me. He had not ,
looked upon my face since that fearful !
disease robbed me of 11 my beauty, and
I dreaded his start of surprise his
ef- !
forts to hide all token of his disappoint-
ment. Hut he
for the ohange.
was evidently prepared
Jeanuette has told him
all. His manner was kind and friendly
in the extreme, quite brotherly," id fact
That is right; but it destroys the hope
that for three years I have been, almost
unknown to myself, building up. "We
have not net before since that ad time
of ray mother's death, when he was my
comforter and friend, and the girl of fif
teen relied upon the lad of nineteen as a
brother, though tho feelings that then
sprung up in uiy breast were warmer far,
I fear, than tho-e of sisterly affection.
I had no tight to hope that he would
care for me now, and he does not. But
to-morrow his mother's ball takes place,
and then I shall learn how he ro
cards ine.
If he pays me marked attention
n, I shall
know that he loves in spite of my plain
face.
September 9tk. It is over! Gerald
f-carccly noticed me after the first saluta
tions were passed, but devoted himself to j
a very beautiful gtrl, who, 1 learn, is vis
iting Jeanuette, the sister of one of his
college frieuds. He evidently loves her.
1 saw it; aud though later in the evening
he asked me to dance, and looked painful
when I spoke of an engagement, aud lin
gered beside nie uutil my partner came
to claim me, yet I doubt not it was all
from pity, for I had silent aud alone al
most the entire evening, and he felt that
some little attention was due me.
So I felt sure; and afraid lest waat I
felt chould become aparent, I smiled and
flirted with Colonel Seaton, and made
myself so agreeable to him that I was not
surprised when, at the close of the dance,
he drew me away to the deser.ted music
room, on the pretence of finding cool air
there.
Colonel Seaton his long admired me,
in spite of my lost beauty, and I was not
totally unprepared for what followed a
declaration of love, and an offer of his
heart aud hand. I have sealed my fate
and Gerald Mount rhall never thall never
say that I waited for him, to bo jilted by
loss of beauty.
Evening Thus much had I written
when word was brought mc that Colonel
Seaton awaited me in the drawing-room.
I went to him at once, uot with too much
bahte, nor with shy delay. I was calm
and cool, Ee profuse iu his thanks for my
condescension and his exprcssionss of the
sense of honor conferred upon him. He
bad been with my father, obtained bis
consent to our marriage, and the affair
is now definitely arranged. In a month
we are to be married.
Yes, in a month I shall stand before
the altar a purjuress for I do not love
the man to whom I shall there vow life-
long affection and fidelity. Alas! is there
no escape! Must 1 wear the yoke my
own hands have rivitedl And I might
have been so bappyl But now it is too
bappyl But uov
late!
Gerald loves me has loved me always,
end longed to be with me last evening but
was forced to devote himself to
Ins sis
tor's guest, an utter stranger to all pres
ent. Oh, miserable me! Wretched ex
ceedingly that my own lips have scaled
my fate!
Scarcely had Colonel Seaton left mo
when Gerald eame. Flushed with hope
and love, he poured out his heart's secret,
and 6iukiog at my feet told me all and
becougbt me to become his wife. I sat
as if frozen to stone. Not until bo was
silent and waiting for my answer-could I
. Zu mi.
summon voice to epeak. Ihen, re-
memhflrin.r the man WhO.,0 nromiarwi wifn
t t u .l j.. .l.i j
a as, j. fjrinu iiiu vvuiiis mm oeuteu my
i ' ' j j'.'i i l
pale face away, and driving back the
tear- a&d shrieks thai would havo burst
forth. Then, with the samo freezing
calmness, I went from the room, and left
there the only mn I have ever; loved,
kneeling beside the couch where I had
sat, with despairing gaze-following me as
I wont. Five miuutes later I heard a
hori-e gallop madly along the avenue. I
looked from the window my last upon
Gerald Mount! Happiness was offered
mc too lat-el now I must prepare for du
ty that only remains to me!
January 2()lif 18. Twenty years
have passed since the fatal day that made
me the wife of Colonel Seaton. As I sit
here alone, widowed, orphaned aud child
less, deprived, in ono short year, of all
upon whom I bad any claim of custom, or
of love, memory goes back over the
wretchedness and sorrows of the Past. I
remember the five wretched years that
dragged their lengthened chain while I
lived beneath the roof of my husband
the separation that made us both only
less miserable than our continued resi
dence together iu mutual antagonism
would have done. I remember my fath
er's proud anger at what be held to be
"my disgrace," tho stern reproaches and
commands by which he strove to compel
me back to what he termed "ray duty,"
I remember, the only, gleams of joy in all
those dark years my boy's annual visits
to tho gloomy dower house which he
house which
seemed to light up by his glorious pres-
ence,
One year ago this day ray father died.
Dying he would have been in charity with
all. and broke the silence of years by a
brief letter in bis own band, grown trem -
ulous with age and illness, bidding mc to
his presence, that he might bless mo be- ' &1," in which persons of both sexes au
fore he died. I went, but fouud only his'uouce themselves as canditates. and in?
cold clay. He had been dead for hours,
and I was again too late!
Nest my boy sickened, at the foreign
university whero he had gone to finish his
j education. I traveled with frantic haste
to reach the bedside. JjeBrtuI storms de-
tained me, when soarcely a score of leagues
separated us. When, at length, 1 waB
set down before the gate of his lodging,
they told me had been burried a week.
AgBin I was too late! Those sunny
eyes were closed forever, that glorious
form lay in the cold obstruction of the
tomb. For me were only his last dying!
messages, and the talc of his piteous cries -
for the .mother who would have periled ago, moved in respectable society, and
her life to reach his side, bad it been pos- j believed she could make a good man bap
eible. Again the bitter refrain ,hung in py. Any such person was invited to ad
my cars, too late! j dress Betty Ballou, at the Union Square
I wrote to my husband telling him all .Post Office.
iNo
annwer came.
I had expected none,!
. I.J L.IJ .. I
for during years we had bold no coinmu-
cation, j'et I pined even for his sympathy,
the onlvono beside mvse!f who mourned!
. . i
for my boy, though he hated me. Little i your ad vertisemcn't in this morning's Her
did I guess that he was too ill to write. ' aid, and have not the slightest hesitation
But at length a third summons invaded in naying that I am a man of sense. That
my solitude. My prosenco was desired
be.-ide tho sick-bed of mv husband. Be-'lv
I
heart. I went, aud was again too late!
Still tho fiiirso nnrsiifiil mo nn rl thn rne-
onciliation Colonel Seatton so much de-j
sired, and which, in tbc humility
of
my
sorrow I woulu have yieiueu to,
was not
permitted. I saw him
a living, breathing
wreck of his once proud manhood, with
out sense, or power of motion : his lungs
only performing their function, aud slow-,
ly marking his passing moments. lor'
days he liugered in this state then died
and made no sign. Too late! too late!
I came home humbled exceedingly.
The man I had wronged had reached to
rne the hand of reconciliation, and deeply.
I felt bis nobleness of character, when my
penitence and sorrow were too late: Un
availing regret were now all I could give.
An ample fortuno is mine, and scarce
ly past the prime of my live I might now
return to tho world I have long abandon
ed. But solitude best befits my feelings
and my position. Here I will remain,
and here die, in the timo He shall ap
point. October 4, 18 . One more sorrow,
one terrible grief tho last all that was
needed to crush my already bleeding
heart. Yesterday 1 stood by the bedside
of tho only man I ever loved. Gerald
Mount came, to me from beyond the sea,
from the foreign lands whero he has worn
out his sad, hopeless life, came, full of
love aud new-awakened hopes, to claim
the woman who all these years has filled
his heart, and has been truly loved epite
of all tho wrong that drove him from bis
native shores.
Ho reached but to die! He landed
weak and ill from his long voyage. A
! sudden-cold, increased by his hurried
journey and its exposures, prostrated his
! remaming strength. He never left bis,
! bed, in the little inn at the village, but
bed, in the little inn
daily l sat by his side, ana we re
newed the vows of our childhood, und
T .1
talked of the hopes now only to find their
. , fruition bejond the grave.
So happiness came to me too late, and
the dark pall of Death shut the glorious
vision from my longing eyes. Gerald,
we shall meet again thou art not lost
foreverl
Thus, dear friend, you havo learned tho
fearful trials and dark sorrows of my
life. 331amo and pity will fill your heart
as you read, but compassionate ber whom
you have loved, when you remember tho
Ltalts liAtttiAD wnnnnt fw m 4 U nrtil ha V
' v " .
by ber undisciplined nature, xet think
' j ,i t t u a j
Ul 6"Jt uuc
1 and
repented, and, in many an anxious,
prayerful vigil has sought from -the Iufi-
i nite Father, and dies believing tho boon,
, , , , . 6, n '
long
sought, has been granted. Pray,
thou, that this repentance, also, coroo not
too late.
How the Bean Climbs the Pole.
Prof. Brewer of Washington College,
Penu., communicates to The American
Journal of Science and Arts the result of!
some experiments made by him on climb -
ing vines tho hop, the Lima bean, and ' particular reasons, which I need not cx
tbe morning glory. He finds that -they plain, for doing so."
will climb around a transparent glass pipe "Nothing remarkable,'' soliloquised
ju&t as well as anything else, and tliatj Defoe, "iu three men reading papers at
they are riio&t ardent in their embraces ! tho same time in a row; yet under circum-
when the nole is warmer than the sur -
rnnniinn oir
is attracted toward the light, but at night'
and especially on cool uight3, it turns to
the pole. He learned, also, that the col-
or ot the polo makes uo dilfcrenco ; the
caressing instinct of the vine has no pre -
judice against any shade. The element'
of constancy is very- largely developed,
the vine, after it has reached its pole; 1
showing a much stronger tendonoy to
W1iju uiwuuu u, iuuu it uiu uui iu icauitjoie commencing immediately 10 reau,
lt . Tf TV-r . 1. flinrn nrna snmntliinn
ANew; Name. fou'Tiiem. In Ver-
. .i i ' ...! ' nn
mouc inoy uavo wuat are cuueu jow
-Bov" Democrats which ore defined to
K nrrtfpaapi Dnmnnvfifs wr.n nn wl.ornMhcir bauds, looked around tho saloon.
plunder leads the way, and wbouare noth,
' D '
jpg for principles if tbey can 'grab
ey can 'grab an of-
. ucc'
MATEIMOKTAL BROKEHAGE.
J Those who have taken the trouble to
look over tho advertising columns of the
jNew York Herald hav e observed adver-
tisementa under the head of "Matrimoni-
vite correspondence with this view. If
j we believe these announcements, the ad-!
verlisers, almost without exception, are
fflAMd . . u. 1 .. A, n(lL.. A. . 1
patterns of virtue, honor and intelligence,
generally, too, of refinement, wealth and
nigu social position.
It is not very long since an advertise
ment informed the public that a young
lady of good education and accomplished
manners, beingconvinccd that the form
alities of society are mostly absurd and
restrictive of free individual development,'
would like to correspond with a man of.
independence
matrimony.
and
sense
with
a view to
Sho was twenty years
of j
A young man answered thrs advertise-j
i l- jfl. : t..i:.. 1 "II '
ment under .the signature Julius B.
foe, as follows :
"Miss Betty Ballou : . I have read
I am a man of independence would clear-
annear to vou if wo should ever be
(anymore attention to a wife than I choose; j
Unl if T wnrprl rn fro tn dm tlieatr or
opera with anybody else, as 1 probably
should, I should do it in spite of her. In
short, she could do as she pleased, if -he
chose to, and if she didn't I'd make her,
and I should do as I pleased whether she
was willing or not. If that is not inde-
pendent enough for you, I beg you not to
auswer this letter
"That I am' sensible, clearly appears
from my mode of lifo. In the first place
I have spacious apartments with a pri
vate family iti Fifth Avenue, and man
aire mv affairs in Wall street with about
four hours' labor per dice in such man- j them precisely as 1 did to you. 1 wrote
ner that I have as much money as I want! the letter you received, and my sister
to spend or give away, go where I have a ade twelve copies of it, which, were des
mi'nrl tn sinnl-f in thp nnr'nr when at ! patched to as many gentlemen. Seven
horns, and get drunk as often as I am
disposed.
"If this suits you, write and addrcss.mo
at the Broadway Post office. If it don't,
do what you like.
"I will say, however, that I should be
happy to see you, and think you will not
Gnd me a savage. If you aro disposed
to gratify me, state when and where, we
can have an interview.
Yours, respectfully,
Julius B. Defoe."
Three days after, depositing the above
letter in the, .Union Square Post office,
Mr. Defoe oalled at the Broadway office,
and found a reply awaiting him. It was
writton in a neat plain hand, and the pur
port of it was, that Miss Betty was curi
ous. to see him, but was conscious of the
impropriety of inviting a stranger to call
upon her. If, however, ho would be at
Taylor's Saloon at two o'clock on a cer
tain day, he would mcot her there. "Go
as far as you can," said tho letter,, "on
the left hand side, take a newspapar iu
your hand aud read, so I'may know you.
When L enter I will recognize you with a
nod; then, please, come and sit by me."
A few minutes before the appointed
timo, Mr. Defoe, having provided himself
with a newspaper, wcut to the place de
signated, took a seat as requested, and
commenced reading. He soon observod
a young man enter, walk near him, and
look annoyed at his presence. Finally,
however, the stranger sat down immedi
ately in front of him, and with many looks
expressive of "what business havo you
hero?" also took out a paper and com
menced reading.
"Unfortunate," thought Mr. Dofoe.
"If this fellow keeps on reading, she may
mistake him for myself. Howevcrwhen
she sees be does not recognize her, the
will try mc."
While these thoughts were, passing
through his mind, an elderly gentleman,
with a vefy'r'ed nose, also camc-up' and
politely requested Mr. Dofoe to go for
ward and give him the scat he occupied.
"I would not ask it, sir," be added, "had
I not particular reasons, which I need
not explain for so doing."
"Aud I," rejoined Defoe, "would not!
(deny so reasonable a request had I
not
'atauces. it. is a singular coincidence."
1
weight from the fact that few other per-
, Hons in tho taloon were at that time read
j ing.
But Mr. Dofoe's astobishment was oon
' iderablv increased when a third, a fourth
a fiftB a sixtb and finally a seventh, en-
tereU and in his turn seemed anxious
to get a rear 60at but failiug in tkis.took
tUo last one unoccupied, each at the same.
tUrance in this and as. mystery always
pleased. him, . could, not suppress, a smile
. tUn owiVtaftT nml (lisrroas nf rlw Urornrv
of Ln nnvYptv and distress of the literary
. - , .,- , , ,
etrangers, who, while they held papers in
1 ... - ... 1
"I think tho girl has sold me," he qatu
to himselr, and goouvnaturediy aroppiug
the paper from his hand, was about to
order a beefsteak, when he saw a joung
lady enter the right door. She was tall,
graceful in hsr movements, bad keen
black eyes, and was richly though not
gaudily dressed. She passed down tho
opposite aisle with a manner somewhat
haughty, cast a furtive glance aloug tliu
line -oi gentlemen who held papers In
their hand.", and finally gave Mr. Defoe
on iin m lL-f nlnl r A a A ... t
uii uuuiicbiiQiufii; uuu ui
recognition.
He returned the sa'.utatiou as if he had
met an old friend, and immediately join
ed her.
"Mr. Defoe, I presume," said the pret
ty lady.
"The same, and happy to meet you,
Misss Ballou," he replied..
"Tell mc, Mr. Defoe, what you thought
of my advertisement."
"I; thought it very singular that a fe
male should want a man of sense and in-,
dependence for v husband so I answer
ed it. V hat did you thiuk of my reply?
"I thought much. In the Orst place,
that you were uot handsome, and you seo
I am not disapnoinled. Also that.,v.ou
did not mean what you said, which .of
course u
Tknn
true
Then why did you answer me?"
"Because. I thought so. lou do not
suppose a sensible woman would adver
tise for a husband with an honest tnolive,
and I kuow that an hotted man would uct
write such a letter as vou did I did Uot
corno to compliment you, as'you find?"'
"I will not complain that you flatter
me.
Refreshments were served up, and the
conversation, thouirh ncceesanly carried
on in a low tone, became animated.
"Pray tell me," said Mr. Defoe, "the
precise motive you bad in publishing such
an advertisement, and in meeting 'Bid
here."
"I did it for fun. It was always my
disposition. Do you see that row of men
over there, near where you were sitting,
pnnh with n rip wn:inrr
r i
"Yes."
"Well, those deluded gentlemen all
came here at my solicitation. They all
answered my advertisement; I wrote to
of them, it seems, have accepted the invi
tation, and are waiting for me."
"And what will you do?"
"Nothing. I did not expect to recog
uize them. I came to enjoy the sport of
seeing them, who expected to fool me,
fooled instead; to watch the ludicrous ex
pressions of anxiety and disappointment.
They are dishonest, seluMr, ignorant men,
I am Euro, or they would not have writ
ten as they did. In fact, I am sure that
an honest man would not have writteu at
all. Now see them ! They look over
the top of their papers as if a sheriff was
after them."
"And you came to laugh at them ?"
"Certaiuly. This is my menagerie of
tame animals. I took them wild; but I
fancy this discipline will domesticate
them."
"Why is it that you havo honored mo
above all the rest, and not laugh at my
calamity in common with theirs?"
"Because ypu wrote an absurd letter.
I saw at once you did not intend fo have
mo believe you. But these animals sup
posed I was foolish enough to think they
meant what they said. I would uot trust
a soul of thctn with my dinner. They
thought to deceive ine, perhaps get some
of my property, aud at any rate get into
he society I move in."
"And how did you know I was the per
son who wrote over the uanie of Defoe?"
"The simplest thing in the world.' You
sat there with a broad griu on your face
with a look of perfect indifference. The
paper lay beside you on the table, as I
know jt would if I was five minutes be
hind time. ou wore thfnkiny you had
been sold, and that Bett'y Ballou had
played you a good trick. The others
were anxious aud uneasy. They were
meditating the schemes which brought
them here."
"YoUr name of course is not Ballou ?''
"No more than yours is Defoe," replied
she.
"The "menagerie" was" by this timo in
a statu of disorder. "The "auimals" un
easy at tho delay of the expected, called
for different articles of diet and drink,
and'one by one withdrew. Mr. Defoe
also expressed regret at parting, but saia
he must go.
":Vust our acqiiaintunce end hero?"
he asked.
"Yes, unless you shoidd happen to get
acquainted trith my hit$bandt and hb
should invito you to his house, iu which
case
I should bo happy to seo you as his
1 friend.
He do'cs business in street,
I T . nlH.VIS, n P l.l.k T n II "1 I'll III III
know of this adventure; but I mut havo
some amusement.' If you ever kuow him
vou will'not me'niloh it."
' Wr: .P ,ZL
Mr. Defoe pledged his nonor not w
reveal thoiyoto nun, au uu, y.
j NOTriEU Gas Stouy. -At a hotel in
'N ' york recently, an old gentleman
. s(airh. and junujrcd of the
i, whother he had any tallow candles.
n : r .1 iL.i l.n nnnlrl h( filinnlicd
wuh tallow dips, the old gentleman said :
jiTUen I wish
L...i1,;nn -T t
you u uj Duuii-j
JL U 11 V
UntnorliinS T can Moid out. for I vo been
- ...
blasting away -at that cusEed jigger in my
r0om
till I've no wind."
The clerk by
.1 fl 1 1. .r. L I. n AAnnrA
pasmoaic- uur, F .-.
countenance
bum ui...0iu uV rwu t
room
No ."
A Good Annecdote. ' :
"A pious lady in- Virginia was' in 'tho
habit of having family worship every eve
ning, and- it was a rule of lu-rs tliaFall
the servar.tH Should attend. On one oc-ca-ion
a Dutchman fro.h from Pennsyl
vania, Rtaid all night at the hou'e, a'cr
was much struck by tho ascmblir' of ffTe
negroes at prayers. Aftc they hail all
left the room i-xcept a small boy wire re
mained to light tho kucm to his chaniber,
the Dutchman ii.qutrii of the Indy w!iy
t-he brought "nigger? to prny0r ?" She
replied that she lelt her.-elf ivponsiblo
for their religious training. The Dutch
man then a.-ked her if she rcnllj thought
they had souls; and she, beginning tobd
rather excited, told hiiii sdie ceVtauily diil?,
"and that she felt a deep interest forthcrr
salv.ation."
The Dutchman then turned to-thenc-gro
boy, and asked him, "Boy do you
think a nigger has got a soul 7"
"Oh, yes," said the boy; "I reckon'
they cot souls." ' k
"Well, boy, do you think you would1 b$
allowed to go to heaven ?"
"Yes, Sir, I"?ce I will; I 'lows to git
in."
"Now, hoy, wheal outs do you think'
they'd .put a fellow like you in heaven ?'-'
"t dunno, sir," said the boy; "but I,
reckon I'll git in somcwhar 'fween
white people and de Dutch ?"
de
?
Revolutionary Incident -
One ot the rcgiuicnts iu the hattlejofi
Bcuuingtoo, was commanded by a Col
onel who when at heme, was a deacon.
He was a calm, sedate, determined man,
and weut to the battle because he was
impelled by a sene of duty. Hid whole
parish was in the regiment, so was bis
Beloved pastor, without whose presence
aud ble?hiu they scarcely thought them
selves in a way to prosper. The Colonel
was ordered by General Stark to reinforce
one ol the wings, which was .suffering se
verely. He marched at the instant with
his forces, but as slow aud comporediy as
if he had been marching to a conference
meeting. Thft offieer iu comm&nd of the'
corps to be relieved, fearing that he would
bo compelled to give way, tent a inesscuV
ger to hasten thy Colonel. "Tell 'cte;
we're coming," said he aud marched stea
dily on. A second me."sencr came, with
the intelligence that the wing was begin
ning to fall back. "That'll make room
for us, tell 'cm we're coming," replied tke
Colonel, with unmoved countenance" and '
accelerated pace. A third message reach'-
ed him, just as the troops emerged from ',
behind a coppice, in full view of the. cue-,
my, whoso balls began to whistle abont
them. "Halt !" commanded the Colonel,
"form column and attend prayers." A'rid '
there in the face of the enemy, did "life
regiment pause, while solemu prayer was
offered for their success in the deadly strug
gle they were about to bfiifin. Prayersih
ing ended, the Colonel addressed hh mc
'"'Soldiers," said he, "our wives a"nd chil-4
dren arc in the rear, the Ilessions are in
front; give it to them," and that baud of
mercenaries melted away before these
Christian soldiers, as the host, of theun- -
circumcised Philistines disappeared be -fore
the victorious armies of Israel.
.i
God's Protection of Young- Deer.
An old Canadian hunter declares that
the reason why the wild deer were not all
killed when young (as they breed ouce a"
year and ere always surrounded by otb -
er animals which prey upon them, as dog's
wolves, bears-, panthers. &c .) is that "no
dog or other animal am smell the back of '
a doo o'r afawn, while the !tter is loo
young to take care of itself!" He sTab-d
that he had often seen it deinon-trntcd.
He had taken bia'dogs over the ground1
when ho had just seen them pass, and
they would tuko uo notice of the track,
and could not be induced to follow when
taken to the spot, while they would 'in- '
stantly discover the track of any deer"
not having young ones. This is but ono
proof of the adaptation of the natural
laws to preseve life when it most needs
protection.
Cowardly Legs. A Iisu oldief ,
who was boasting of .his great courage,
was asked why ho ran away in bat tie.
"Faith," says Pat, me heart is' as bold as,
a lion so it is, but I happened to have.aV,
pair of cowardly legs which always ru'u
away wid my body, whin I'd be after tho
iuiuiy, bad luck to them 1"
Growing Still. James Wright, am
citizen of Conway, who was fifty-one.
years old and six feet and six iochea high
in September, 1859 has grown sinceUhou ij
full two inches, and now stands sis feet
aiid eight iuches high in his shoes. ... .
Irish Mothcr-r-"Arrah, Johuy, -and
where have you been so long?"
NaVive Son "Why me aud tho rest of .
the boys have bceu lickiug au Irishman."
31. "Wait ye. sap,een, till jcr fath-.
or gets home you'l bo ftbpr catching.
it!'
S.'Oh; ye be Mowed! Thstistj
man: wo Vo licked." . 'Jt
ttt ,.Ss; j.;
Thccoit of the latp short sesioh;otat
Congress, of only tbree:m6ritii3 duratiopf-
foots up the enormous sum of Two itffJ-
lions Eleven Tho iisatuj Dollars;
iQ 3 - - '
James Stephora has been convidUdjjo
Now York oity of having poUoned'hti,
wife over one year ago.