: ..fr - . -- 7.......,/, 44 ) ... -: •, • :*:".'- f ) 'I .., • „ " - 70!' 'A' • . -.- -''i ‘ i - - , .... - • • ' ' -',-* tot, ,' - , . - i..i?; „ : . . ' , -tf i• ; \ \ \ N, , ( ( ' •,, -\ ' . * ''...:. '—_ i j 1 . 11 . ii I' ' ( 1; ir .!. . 1i: ,.., :l i 11. e t L:t ). i i ! !. 1 1 .._1 L((.l I I ) 1 '._ •j j ' ;. Ls. • (.: . lo_ ....., I. s t i l i . i 1 ,. r.. L .- li r ;) N ; ; - " I \........" 1 • ) . P"' , ~..--------- • -......0- , . . , 0 familplmola to Agriculture, fittraturt, Art, fortigu l floristic dub Garret juttliiiturt, ESTABLISHED IN 1813. THE WAYNESBURG MESSENGER, YIIBLISIIED R. W. JONES & JAMES S. JENNINGS, WAYNESBURG, Gr'REEN E CO., PA B:rOPFICE NEARLY OPPOSITE THE PUBLIC SQUARE. al ealututct Sussontextou.—Sl 50 in advance; SI 75 at the ex piration of six months; 52 00 within the year; 82 50 attar the expiration of the year. ADVZIRTIIIEMENT* inserted at 51 00 per square for threeinnertions, and 25 cents a square for each addition al insertion; (ten lines or less counted a square.) A liberal deduction made to yearly advertisers. . Jon PRINTING, of all kinds, executed in the best sty , F and on reasonable terms, at the" Messenger" Job millkes. .auesburg ef using; Barbs. - ATTOItNEYS. 11. ITIMAN• j G. RITCHIE. PURMAN & RITCHIE, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, Waynesburg, Pa. irrmi business in Sreeue, Washington, and Fay ette Counties, entrusted to them, will receive prompt attention. Sept. 11,1861-Iy. J. A. J. BUCE•11.01. WM. C. LINDSEY. 111701L&NAST & warDszy, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW, Waynesburg, Pa. Orme on the South side of Main...street, in the Old Bank Building. 1862. 1. W. R &DOWPSY. SAMUEL MONTGOMERY. 110111/111131rMONTGOICEIT ArICYS AND COUNISELLORA AT LAW, Mee hs I edwith's Building, opposite the Court use, Waynesburg, Pa. R. A. IIeCONNELL alreOlininithia lITORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW Waynesbur Pa. filee In the "Wright lic se ' " East Door. E•Restione,Sce.. will receive prompt attention. Waynesburg, April 23, 1862-Iy. DAVID CRAWFORD, Aitoissy and Counsellor at Law. Office in Sayers' MbWhig. adjoining Use Post Office. 4d6l y. • N. A. SAME. JOHN MCLAIN BLACK & PHELAN, ATTORNEYS AND COUNSELLORS AT LAW 0160 e in the Court Winne, Waynesburg. 54t. 11,1861-Iy. PHYSICIANS B. M. BLACHLE___ L _Y M. D. PIETZLIMILIN INTAGNION, 01111se--Blaellers Building, Main ESPECTFUI announces to the citizens of IV Waynesburg and vicinity that he has returned from the Hospital Corps of the Army and resumed the prac tice of medicine at this place. Warnesbirm, /tufa 11, 1369.-ly. DR. D. W. BRADEN, nicks and Surgeon. Office in the Old Bank ,11ainetreet. Sept. 11, 18111-Iv. r - : DR. A. G. CROSS rOl7 LD very respectfully tender his services as a PHYSICIAN AND SITRQEON, to the people of Waynesburg and vicinity. He hopes by a due &ppm * ISlWlnatt lifiralad health, and strict attention to , to twerp& 'Mare of public patronage. Waynesburg. January 8, DM. DR. A. J. EGGIT ESPBOTFULLY offer, his services to the citizens of Waynesburg and vicinity, as a Physician and linspems. OSes apposite the Republican office. He heves by a dee appreciation of the laws of human life Rad besids. as native medication, and strict attention thipasiness, to merit a liberal share of public patronage. . April Y. IMIL DRUGS M. A. HARVEY, . Druggist add Apothecary, and dealer in Paints and Oils, the meat celebrated Patent Medicines, and Pure Liguori for medicinal purposes. Ks t.l I. 1861-1 . inxiwzmirTs WM. A. PORTER, t Wholesale and Retail DOlll4ll in Foreign and Domes tic Dry Goods. Groceries, -Notions, &r.., Main street. ...Sept. 11.1861-Iy. ANDM:W WILSON, Dealer in Dry Goods, Groceries, Drugs, Notions, nardw Queensware, Stoneware, Looking Glasses, ken a a nd re, Nails, Boots and Shoes, Hats and Caps, wain street, one door east of the Old Bank. 'Sept. 11, 1861-Iy. R. CLARK, Dealer in Dry Goods, Groceries, Hardware, Mdeens ware and notions, in the Hamilton House, opposite the Court Fromm. Main street. Sept. 11, 1861-Iy., MINOR & CO., Dealers in Foreign and Domestic Dry Goods, Gro aeries, gneeneware, Hardware and Notions, opposite dia.Green Douse. Main street. Sept. 11, 18111-Iy, • CLOTHING N. CLARK, Dealer in Men's and Rive' Clothing, Cloths, CASSi operas, natinus, Rats and Caps, &e., Main att. ei, np posits the Court (Ouse. litept. 11, 1861-4 y. A. J. SOWERS, Dealer in Men's and Boys' Clothing, Gentlemen's Fur sinking Goods, Banta and Shoes, Hats and Caps, Old Sank Building, Main street. Sept. 11, 1861-4 m =°ll7TM!== J. D. COSGRAY, 111.61 and Shoe maker. Main street, nvarly commit. Ste "Farmer's and Droser'e Bank." Every style of IW4) and Shoes constantly on hand or made to order. Sept. 1 I*. 1861-Iy. N. 11. McClellan Knot and Shoe nylker.Blactiley'n Corner, Main street. Hoots and Shoes of every variety always on band or inadeto order on short notice, dept. 11. Mel y. clotrnaras & vaarirrizs. JOSEPH YATER, Dods, la st,roCeries and Confectioneries. Notions, Paturneinia, Liverpool Ware, &c., GUM of allsisp r augh illiguldina and Looking Glass Plates. wir _ for good eating Apples. lilep I , --ly. 4011 N, MUNNELL, Mufti in Alleasenes• and Oontectiounries, and Vane,. GrodieswaraWy. Wasoa'a New fingding. Main meat. !WO *ooze, &c. LEWIS DAY, wiwi r i and miNtousevit.stonsio station moo and Papers. One door Nan Pt ate Street. Sept. It, ilefftly. aslll7l 1,43 4 1R81N1• „till ?rant Water #lOl4llll , r v. • "ball Ir I am sitting, idly sitting, where the evening shades are flitting, And the memory of the past is drawing 'round me like a spell; Breathes the last tones of the nearest, the fondest and the dearest, Still within my ears in a tremulous fare well. It is hard to think us parted—trusting, trusted--still true-hearted, And that many links may crumble from the lengthening chain of Time Tire my lips shall feel thy pressing, or my hair the light caressing That have filled my heart with rapture and a love almost sublime. ♦h l our lives have twined together like the vines in sunny weather, And we never thought to part until death should break the chain With which golden love had bound us, weaving like a halo round us— Every thought and every feeling grasp ing joys, ignoring pain. Yet thou'rt gone Thy country calls thee. Faction's gory cloud enthralls thee, And I never more may look into the blue depths of thine eyes; Never hear thy loved voice stealing, with its deep, rich freight of feeling, On my ear in gentle murmurs, as the evening's glory dies. J. J. HUFFMAN Life seems rife of every beauty, I have scarce a heart for duty, As I sit here thinking, thinking of thee, darling, far away. Tsars are falling fast and faster. Heaven grant that no disaster May make the gloom eternal that is on my heart to-day. Yet, in all my pain and sorrow, could I call thee back to-morrow, Dear, my lips should never breaths the word to hasten thy return ; Tho' I sit so sadly sobbing—with a heart so wildly throbbing I could never quench the spark that on thy bosom's altar burns. No, my heart, may wander, darling—still I see the diamond sparkling, Of the star that yet shall dawn to bid us hope for peace once more. ♦nd my soul leaps in its sadness, like an infant in its gladness, To think how fond I'll greet thee when the bloody strife is o'er. I'll not think of death and slaughter— tinged with blood the chrystal water Of the purling streams that murmur through the forests of our land, But of banners proudly streaming, where the camp fires now are gleaming Hear the rolling shout of millions peal from Freedom's fearless band. Mee 1 thee, hold, brave and daring, on thy manly forehead wearing The shadow of a purpose strong as eve ry pulse of life, Mee thee strike the foe before thee, while the rolling clouds sweep o'er thee, On mid clashing sword and sabre, in the hottest of the strife. I would never have thee falter—better death or felon's halter Than to see our cause defeated and a nation bound in shame; Were I a man, grim death should c'Aim me, ere a coward's thought should shame me, Or the stigma of inaction rest upon my manhood's fame. Love God have thee in his keep* ever, waking or in sleeping ; Every hour I breathe a prayer for our country's cause and thee, 41nd I feel his love will fold thee, till mine eyes again behold thee, In the pride of manly beauty and the flush of victory. Tv INTERROGATION POINT.—One day, as Pope was engaged in transla ting the Iliad, he came to a passage which neither he nor his assistant could interpret. A stranger, who stood by, modestly suggested that "there was an error in the print ?" adding, "read as if there was no mark of interrogation at the end of the line, and you have the meaning at once." Pope's assistant then ren dered the passag**thout difficulty. Pope was chagrined. ; he could never endure to be surpassed in anything. Turning to the stranger, he said, in A sarcastic tone, "Will you please to tell me what a mark of interrogation is ?" "Why, sir," said the stranger, scanning the ill-shaped poet, "it is a little, crooked, contemptible thing that asks questions !" stir A quaint old minister, after reading his text-,"1. said in my haste, all men aro liars"—began hie •sermon very thoughtfully :'Aye Da vid, ye said it in your haste, did ye? isr these day*, awl in refillitAWA eiNd feta detect gtittr.g. TO MY HUSBAND. BY BBLLIE Z. SPENCER WAYNISBURG, GREENE COUNTY, PA., WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1862. D'oiottilauinuts. A TOUCHING LETTER. The following letter from an officer of our army to his wife, written just before going into battle, was read at the Anniversary of the Fulton street Prayer-meeting, by Rev. R W. Clark, of Brooklyn. Its admirable spirit and affectionate and patriotic lan guage will commend it to all of our readers: "MY VERY DEAR :—The indica tions are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps to-mor row, and lest I should not be able to write to you again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more. Our movement may be one of a few days' duration, and full of pleasure, and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. ''Not my will, but thine, 0 God ! be done.' if it is ne cessary that I should fhll on the bat tle-field for my country. I am ready. I have no misgivings about or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American civilization now leans on the triumph of the Govern ment, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before as through the blood and sufferings of the Revo lution, and I am willing, perfectly willing, to Lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this Gov ernment and pay that debt. But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys 1 lay down nearly all of yours, and replace th4ra in this life with cares and sorrows--when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruits of orphanage myself, I must offer it. as the only sustenance to my dear little children, is it weak or dishonorable that while the ban ner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze underneath me, unbounded love for you, my darling wife yid children, should struggle in fierce though useless contest with my love of country? I cannot desdribe to you my feelings on this calm sum mer Sabbath night, when two thor sand men are sleeping around in many of them enjoying perhaps the last sleep before that of death, while I am suspicious that death is creep ing around me with this fatal dua -1 sit communing with God, my caul try, and you. I have sought mot closely and diligently, and otter, i my heart for a wrong motive for tin, hazarding the happiness of those I love, and I could find none. A pure love of my country and the-princi ples I have so often advocated before the people, and another name of hon or that I love more than I fear death, have called upon me, and I have obeyed. "My love for you is deathless; it seems to - bind me with mighty cables which nothing but mountains could bre*, and yet my love of country comes over me like the wind, and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle-field. The mem ories of all the happy moments I have spent with you come creeping over me; 1 feel most grateful to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. How hard it is for me to give them up, and burn to ashes hopes future years, when, Godwe might still have lived and loved to gether, and seen our sons grow up to honor and manhood around us ! I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me (perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar) that I shall retgrn to my loved ones unharmed ; but if I do no' my dear— —, never forget bow mur I love you. When my last brew escapes me on the battle-field, it w' whisper your name. Forget many faults and the many pains have caused you. How thoughtle and how foolish I have oftentim( been, and how gladly would I . out with my tears every little spot I upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortunes of this world to shield you and your children from harm ; but I cannot! I must watch you from the spirit-land, and hover near you while you buffet the streams with your precious little freight, wait ing with a sad patience till we meet to part no more. . "As for my little boys, they will grow up as I have done, never know ing a father's love or care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics among the dim mem ories of his childhood. "1 have unlimited confidence in your material care, and in your de velopment of their characters, feel ing that God will bleu pm in your holy work. Tell my two mothers I call God's blessing upon them. I wait for you there. Come after me, and lead thither the little children." The audience appeared to be much affected while the letter was being read. "The officer sent the letter to his wife,'" said the speiticer,'and with the morning elm the roil of the trumpet coiled tun to the battle.iiiehl. wont•ovrer to= meet. the essay. A abettatratireisilnibrit, snd he• leis rise no mom" INFLUENCE OF SENSIBLE WOMEN. It is a wonderful advantage to a man, in every pursuit or avocation, to secure an adviser in a sensible wo man. In woman there is at once a subtle delicacy of tact and a plain soundness of judgment, which are rarely combined to an equal degree in man. A woman, if she be really your friend, will have a sensitive re gard for your character, honor, re pute. She will seldom counsel to do a shabby thing, for a woman-friend always desires to be proud of you.— At the same time her constitutional timidity makes her more cautious than your male friend. She there fore seldom counsels you to an im prudent thing. By female friendship I mean pure friendship—those in which there is no admixture of the passion of love, except in the married state. A man's best friend is a wife of good sense and good heart, whom be loves and who loves him. If he have that, he need not seek else where; but supposing the man to be without such a helpmate, female friendships he must still have, or his intellect will be without a garden, and there will be an unheeded gap even its strongest fence. Better and safer, of course, such friendships, when disparities of years and circum stances put the idea of love out of the question. Middle life has rarely this advantage ; youth and old age have. We may have female friend ships with those much older than our selves. Moliere's old housekeeper was a great help to his genius; and Montaigue's philosophy takes both a gentler and loftier character of wis dom the date in . which he finds, in Marie De Gournay, an adopted, "cer tainly beloved by me," says the Hor ace of essayist, "with more than pa ternal love, and involved in my 'soli tude and retirement,as one of the best parts of my being." Female friend ship is to a man "prcesidium et dulce decus"—bul wark,s weuten er,orn amen t of his existence. To his mental cul ture it is invaluable without it all his knowledge of books will never give him knowledge of the world.—Bul leer. MORALS OF THE ARMY. Military officers are too apt to for get that American soldiers are not mere "human machines," made to load and fire Enfields, or perform "doubls quicks." Grant all that may be said of the "fit food for powder" of a portion of the rank and file of all armies, and it remains true that our ranks of volunteers are crowded by self-respecting, intelligent, moral and religious men—conscious of their rights as well as their ditties. They may endure the petty despotism which camp disciphne enables some swaggering, swearing, drunken offi cer to established over them, but they wilt detest the despot. They may perform the unwelcome and un necessary fatigue of fighting Sunday service exacted of them ; but it will be under protest, and with the feel ing at heart that they have been robbed of a precious right of rest for the weary, and worship for the devout. They expect to return to 1,404 homes whew the war is over; and they want to parry with them th e essay lAriatinal, virtues which ma d. * o w abiopopit affection in the honteseineles s - , Wiiiinnied by camp -44000 •it and ioWir hearts they hen ernihoeltPribarrtefileer who seeks to seiggikv.thfitroe,94enik, sod promote *it itigOirm Imam They know, too, that war is death-dealing work, and that proper preparation for its casualties does not lie in the pathway of Sabbath-breaking, drunkenness and profanity. MY LITTLE BLIND SISTER. Not many miles from Alderbrook, "the dear old home of Fanny Forres ter," lived our little blind Nellie.— Long years, dear children, have roll ed away, and been numbered with those that are no more, since this lit tle star of light was born in our home, and yet as distinctly as the events of yesterday, do I remember her birth, and her sad, yet beautiful death. It was .morning, such a morning as makes one feel that there is some thing of heaven even here on earth; the sky so calmly clear, so gloriously radiant with the morning sun—such as is sometimes tendered as the fare well to the glad Summer months. To my bedside came dear grandmam ma, and whispered in my ear, "Darl ing, do you know you have a little sister ?" A sister ! How, even now, though the flowers bloom over the tomb of the only being endeared to me by that most sacred name, still, as 'then, does it make a feeling of yearning, and send a new thrill of life through every fibre of my being. Arrayed in my little pink dress, I was led noiselessly into the room, to see my little sister. 0 what a strange, mysterious thing is a new-born babe! How beautiful the room looked I the long white curtains draping the win dows parted carefully in the centre, letting in the soft rays - of the morn ing sun; the bed, with its not less snowy curtains, and the pure white fragrant chrysanthemums--v-every thing conspiring to render it the most beautiful spot for the dawning of a w life. Child reader, have you ever had a little baby sister? If you have, you ,n fancy what proud and joyful feel- gs made my heart leap--made me 'ap my bands and dance about in a iousand curious little capers, as I ,vir this new object of love before me. Ah, grandmama! dear old grand \ mma ! as well might you have Token to the running brook to cease s murmuring, or the songsters to ish their tuneful notes, as to strive stay this overflowing fountain of A few more days, and there fell , n our household a deep gloom.— id you ever see a blind baby, chil dren ? Little sister Nellie was blind ! O 'tis a terrible thing to be blind ! to be shut out from the beautiful tin d and blooming flowers, and ver to see the light of our mother's re. My poor mother ! for days she tild only weep over little sister.— tther was silent and cold. His lde was wounded at the thought of Iving a blind child. Thank God! ►w soon she stole his heart, and ;stied lovingly upon his bosom. Year by year, most sweet and dear us she grew. Though blind to all le world, yet she was the light and )ve of our home, and no joy seemed )rfect, save in the presence of little ind Nellie. My father was appointed captain of one of those majestic steamers that plow the Atlantic. How welt-do I remember that calm Autumn morn ing when be left us. He had bade us all farewell, and was standing on the balcony, when Nellie stole to him, and with upturned face, beaming with love, whispered— "You will come come hack to your little bilnd Nellie—wont you, papa ?" "Yes, darling," he answered ten derly; and that strong man stooped down, and with tears pressed a kiss on both her sightless eyes, and with a fervent "God bless you I" stepped hurriedly from the balcony, over the shadows of the cedars, into the great heart of the restless world. Bat from that hour, mirth depart ed from our fireside. Nellie, former ly so cheerful and gay, grew quiet and listless ; her little cheek paled and she seemed like a lamb lost from the fold. It was in vain we moved her into the sunshine. In har Millsboro, disturbed by dreams, she would eall—"Papa ! papa I coma to your little blind Neflie A hw mere weeks, and she lay in our mother'i arias, dyiog ; but eves befoul she departed, •'darkness was t here no more, nor a shadow of doubt," for her little eyes opened to the light of heaven, and she whis pered—'Mamma, I see--1 see !" Little Pilgrim. THE LORD'S NO DEAF. A poor old deaf man residing in a Fifeshire village was visited one day by the parish clergyman, who had re cently taken a resolution to pay such visits regularly to his parishioners, and therefore made a promise to the wife of this villager that he would call occasionally and pray with 'him. The minister, however, soon fell through this resolution, and did not pay another visit to the deaf man till three years after, when happening to go through the alley in which the poor man lived, he found the wife at the door, and therefore could not avoid inquiring for her husband. "Well, Margaret," said the minis ter, "how is Thomas ?" "Tae the better o' you," was the rather curt answer. "How, how, Margaret?" inquired the minister. "Ou, ye promised twa years sync to ca' and pray ance a fortnight wi' him, and ye never ance darkened the door siu sync." "Well, well, Margaret, don't be so Short. I thought it was not neces sary to call and pray with Thomas, for he's deaf, you know, and cannot hear me." "But, sir," rejoined the woman, "the Lord's no deaf." And the indolent clergyman shrank abashed from the sottage. WHEN I AM GONE. Lord Macaulay, a few years before he died, had something presented to him at a great public meeting in Scotland; something which pleased him much, "I shall treasure it," he said, "so long as I live, and after I am gone"—there the great man's voice faltered, and the sentence re mained unfinished. Yet the thought at which Macaulay broke down, may touch many a lesser man more.— For when we are gone, my friends, we may leave behind us those who cannot well spare us. It is not one's own sake, _that the 'gone' so linked with one's own name, touches so much. We shall have had enough of this world before long; and (as Uncle Tom expressed it) "Heaven is better than lientuck." But we can think of some for whose sake we may wish to put off our going as long as may be. "Our minister," said a Scotch rustic, "aye preaches aboot goin' to heaven ; but he'll never go to heaven as long as he can get stoppin' at Drumsleekie."—Prazer's Magazine. IF YOU PLEASE. When the Duke of Wellington was sick, the last thing he took was a little tea. On his servant handing it to him in a saucer, and asking if he would have it, the Duke replied, "Yes if you please." These were his last words. How much kindness and courtesy is expressed by them! He who had commanded the greatest armies in turope, and was long ac customed to the tone of authority, did not despise or overlook the small courtesies of life. In all your home talk, remember "If you please."— Among your playmates, don't forget "If you please." To all who wait upon or serve you, believe that "If you please" will make you better served than all the cross or ordering words in the dictionary. Don't for get three little words : "If you please." SUPERFLUOUS CAUTION.—A-stable keeper named Spurr would never let a horse go out without requesting the lads not to drive fast. One day a man called for a horse to attend a funeral. "Certainly," said Spurr; "but," he added, forgetting the sol emn purpose for which the young man wanted the horse, "don't drive fast." "Why, jest look here, old fel ler," said the somewhat excited young man, "I want you to under stand I shall keep up with the pro cession if it kills the horse !" A QUIET JOKE.--The celebrated John Wesley, with all his ministerial gravity, was addicted to joking once in a while. His servant, Michael Fenwick, complained that his name was never mentioned in the published journal. Wesley, in the. next num ber, said : "1 left Epworth with great satisfaction, and about one preached at Clay worth. I think acme were unmoved but Michael Fenwick, who fell fast asleep under an adjoining hayrick." IJones and Brown were talking lately of a young clergyman whose preaching they bad heard that day. The sermon was like a certain man mentioned in a certain biography, "very poor and very pious." "What do you think of him 2" asked Brown. "1 think," said Jones, "he did much "Getter two years ago." "Why, be didn't preach then.," said Brown.— "True," said Jones ; "that is what I Mai" NEW SERIES.--VOL. 4, NO. 20. Water Drinking. Improper drinking of water has killed thousands. There have been instanoes where thirsty armies, after long marches, have come to some river, when the men would lie down on their faces and quaff an inordinate quantity of water, with these results : some died almost instantly,,oth ers became crazy and staggered like drunk en men. Avoid drinking water as much as possible while walking. When you feel thirsty, rinse the mouth with water, but do not swallow it. Drink only when resting. Men, when heated, should not drink anything cold. Drink slowly ; half a tumbler of water will suffice the thirsti est man in the world, if he drinks by sips. In fact, it is almost impossible to get• down a full glass of water taken in this way. DIALOUGE ON NEWSPAPERS "How does it happen, neighbor 8., that your children have made so much greater progress in learning and knowledge of the world than mine ? They all attend the same school, and for what I know enjoy equal advantages." "Do you take the newspapers, neighbor A. ?" "No, sir, I do not take them my self. I sometimes borrow one just to read. Pray sir, what have newspa pers to do with the education of chil dren ?" "Why, sir, they have a vast deal to do with it, I assure you. I should as so on think of keeping them from school, as to withhold from them the newspaper; it is a little school in it self. Being new every week, .it at tracts their attention and they are sure to peruse it. Thus, while they are storing their minds with useful knowledge, they are - "at the same time acquiring the art of reading. I have often been surprised that men of understanding should crverlookthe importance of a newspaper in a Item- "ln truth, neighbor B. I gory fre quently think that I should like them but I cannot afford the expense." "Can't afford the expense. What, let me ask, is the value of two or three dollars a year, in comparison with the pleasures and advantages to be derived from a well conducted newspaper ? As poor as I am, I would not for fifty dollars a year de prive myself of the happiness I now enjoy of reading and bearing my children read, and talk about what they have read in the newspa pers. And then, the reffection they are growing up useful and intel ligent members of society. Oh, don't mention the expense—pay it in ad vance every year, and you will think no more of it. Try it. PRAYER A UNIVERSAL ONARAO TERISTIO OF MAN. Alone of all beings here below, man prays. Among his moral inatinot t s there is more none natural, more universal, more unconquerable, than prayer. The child inclines to ft with a ready docility. The old man re curs to it as a refuge agaiset decay and isolation. Prayer ascends from young lips which can hardly murmur the name of ffod, and from dying lips, which have scarcely strength to pronounce it. Among every people, famous or obscure, civ ilized or barbarous, we meet at every step with acts and forms of invoca tion. Wherever nfen live, in certain circumstances, at certain hours, and under the influence of certain im pressions of soul, the eyes are eleva ted, the hands join themselves, the knees bend in order to implore or render thanks—to adore or to ap pease. With transportoor with trembling, publicly or in the secret of his heart, it is to prayer that, man applies as the last resource to fill the void of his soul, or to help him to bear the burden of his destiny. It is in prayer that he seeks, when every thing else fails him, support for his weakness, consolation in his sorrows, hope for his viAne.—Guizet. bboeklag Altair hi Harrisburg. A Child Abducted and Murdered.—On Friday evening a girl of five years awed Mary Elizabeth, daughter , P ,uf' Emanuel German, of Harrisburg, was missed, and it was subsequently ascertain ed had been seen in company with a man supposed to have been a discharged sol dier. No trace of the child was discover ed until Monday forenoon, when two little colored boys discovered her dead body in a swamp near the Cemetery. The child had been shot directly through the throat, carrying away one•side of the neck, and inflicting a frill tin! wound. It was also discovered that a knife hid been used on her throat. The psvpetrster of the murder has not yet been disooverat A rumor is circulated that the ehild wee probably mistaken for a datigh t tar of Gov. Curtin. The Governor has offered a re ward of $l,OOO for the arrest of the 'A lain. I tir An idle man always thinks he has a right to be affronted k a busy man does not devote to him just as much of his time as he himself has leisure to waste. The truth is, that our social ethics grew into their present form at a time when the pres sure upon each man's working pow ers had not 'reached to a tooth of its present intensilil
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers