For the Agitator. mother and Child. D*mW Uio light of the summer morn Shade on the willow and while hawthorn j Far in the cast pale streaks of gray Coldly tokened the coming day; In the morn'mg dim, thro’ the rank, wot grass, A woman’s form did wearily pass— Passed with step uncertain and slow, To the bank of the stream that slept below. And ever with loving tones she wiled As oho held by tire hand her only child { Who upward gaicd with a strange surprise At the gleaming light of her sad dark eyes: M I was sleeping warm in my little bed, And why did yon bring me hero 7”—he said. •The world is bitter, my darling child !” She said, and her eye grew strangely wild. “Bitter and cold—and wo are lone! • Wilt go with me, my loved, my own ?’’ Ob, a strange, weird sight was that mother pale Whisp’ring gently a fairy tale, A sweet, wild tale of a beautllul homo Fathoms beneath the snowy foam. And the boy grew calm and sunk to rest, In childlike faith, on his mother's breast. Sank to rest on the grassy shore That his little feet shall press no moro. , * * » ■ * The sun has silvered a thousand rills. Warmed the valleys and brightened the hills, Casting aelant a golden beam, Whore sleeps the mother beneath the stream— Calmly sleeps in a'dreamless rest With the boy she loved on her gentle breast. The while hawthorn has scattered its flowers On the summcr.wmd, in fragrsnt showers, The willow trees on the streamlet’s verge, Are softly singing a mournful dirge— A soft, low dirge in the morning gray— A requiem sad, a gentle lay. With voice that seemclh ever to say— “l* e arc passing away—passing away *' G. W. Sears. HllfOROdS SKETCH. Prom The Yankee Blade. AWFUL PREDICAMENT FOE A BASHFUL YOUNG NAN. Lewiston Falls, Maine, is a place, il is I You can't exactly find n on the map, for it has been located and incorporated since Mitch ell s latest ; but it's there—a manufacturing cit),ns large as life, wlh banks, barber-shops, newspapers, and all the usual fixtures and appurtenances of a locomotive going ahead, Yankee sellleme:.., Just about the sweetest thing in the new cilv, is a new. cheap, clothing store that “nz up’ or “rained down" lately, on the Jonah’s court) or Aladdin s palace principle and which bv me same mysterious dispensation, became endowed with the cutest Yankee salesman that the Dingo Stale ever turned out. T’other day. an tin river young un, who is about to forsake both father ana mother, and cleave unto iNancv Ann, came down to get his suit,and was.ol course, "iesi natural!v bound” to find his way into me new clothing store. Not that he sauntered in with the easy swag ger of the town-bread searcher of cheap do thine, for the vernal lint was tolerable fresh on him yet, and he slopped to give a modest ran at the door. He had effected nn entrance at the cnst mill and at the Journal olhce, where he had been doing business, in the same unobtrusive manner, and the boys all agreed that Mr. Nehemiah Newbegm was from "the Guliep,” and was paying his vir gin visit to "Pekin. Nehemiah was let in “imegitiy,” and he was delighted with the cordial reception he met win. Tne proprietors were ready to “forward his sun” at once, if he “saw fit,’ or they would “talca measures" and furnish him “to order.” Nehemiah drew a handbill from the top of his hat. and spread it on his knee for easy refer ence, Il was headed in the fat Gothic let ters “Winter Clothing at Cost!” and set forth that in conscouence of the mild ness of the season.over five thousand dollars worth of ready-made clothing was lo be clos ed un and sold at at “Lnormoos Sacrifice” A lisi of nrtces followed, and Nehemiab, runmnc his slumpv hnaer down (he column, In with emphasis on a parlicular nem. “Sav —‘v’ye got ennv of those blew coles left, at five dollars ‘nd five n’af ‘nd six dollars —pot ennv of'm left * “Smith, aro there any of ihose cheap coals left inomred the perlite Mark of his part ner “We sold the las! this morning, did we nor’’ Smith understood (he cheap clolhing busi ness and answered promptly, “All gone, sir.” “Jest's 1 expected,” murmured the disap pointed candidate, “darnaiion seize it all 1 I told dad they'd all be gone I" "We nave a very superior article for ten dolla: “Scarcely, Squire, scarcely ! —ten dollars ts an all-fired price lor a cote.” “W e can make one to order. ’’ “1 -e-s 1 but 1 want n now—want it right strut off—fad is, Squire, must hev’em.” “You’d find those cheap al len dollars.” “Dun kno bou; il 1 say. ‘v’y got eny of these dewrable doeskin trowsers left, at lew dollars ; sold them all lew, ‘sped Wiint ye?” —haint none of ’em left nouther, have ye. Luckily there was a few left, and Nehomi nh was advised to secure a pair al once.— Nehcmiah was open for a trade, but acting on the instincts of the Newbegms, it must be a dicke “Dew yeou ever take projeuce for your clothing k “Take what ?’ “Produce —garden sass—and sich—don't do n do vcou “ Welt, occasionally we do ; what have you to selP” "Oh, almost anything? a leelle of every thing from marrowfat peas down to rye straw; got some new cider, some high top sweetings ; got some of the all-killtn’est dried punkin yeou ever set eyes on ; “sped, naow, yeou'd like some of that dried punkin; any how.” Mark declined negotiating for the dried punkmg, but inquired if he had any good butter. b “G-o-o-d butter I now squire, Lexpecl I’ve got some of the nicest and yalteresi yeou ev er sol eyes on ; got some out here neow ; got some in a shooger box, eout in dad’s waonfn • brol it down for Kurnel Waldron ; bui°y e ou Ken hev it: I’ll bring il right strut in here darn’d ef I dont V' ' And with all the impetuosity of youth, Ne hemiah shot forth to “dad's waggin”and brol >h the butter. On (he strength of the butter, a dicker jyas TIE amotto to iOc artcnaton ot tij)t am of iryctaow ano if COBB, STURROCK & CO., YOL. 2. spedily contracted, by which NefiemiaK was to be put in immediate and absolute possess ion of a coat, veal and jpantaloons, of good materials and fit. “Now, then,” said Mark, “what kind of a coat will you have?” “I reckon I’ll hev a blew ’un, Squire,” “Yes, but what kind—a dress coat I” "Certainly, Squire, certainly—jest what I want a coat for, tew dress in.” "Ah, exactly ; well, just look at these plates,” pointing to the fashion plates, in the window, “and see what style you fancy.” “Oh, darn your plates; don’t want any crockery ; ‘spect Nanse has got the all-kil len’est lot of arlhen ware yeou ever sot eyes on.” “Yes, I sec ; well, just step this way then, and I think 1 can accommodate you.” Nehemiah speedily selected a nice, blue coat, and vest of green, but he was more fas tidious in his choice of pants, those crowning glories of his new suit. He seemed to in dulge a weakness for long pantaloons, and complained that his last pair had troubled him exceedingly, or, as he expressed it, blamed ly by hitching up over his boots, and wrinkled about the knees. Nehemiah delved away impetuously amidst a stock of two or three hundred pairs, and finally finds his eyes res ted upon a pair of lengthy ones, real blazers, and with wide yellow stripes running each way, Nehemiah snaked them out in a twink ling. He liked them—they were long and yellow—they were just the things, and he proceeded at once lo try them on. The new clothing store had a nook curtained off for (his purpose, and Nehemiah was speedily closeted therein, The pants had straps, and the straps were buttoned, Now Nehemiah had seen straps before, but the an of managing them was a mystery, and like Sir Patrick’s dilema, “re quired a might dale of nice consideration.” On deliberation, he decided that the boots must go first; he accordingly drew on bis Blucher’s, mounted a chair, elevated the pants at a proper angle, and endeavored to coax the legs, into them. He had a lime of it. His bools were none of the smallest, and the pants were none of the widest ; the chair 100, was rickety, and bothered him; but bending his energies lo (he lask, he succeeded in inducing one leg into the “pesky-things.” He was straddled like the CoJlossus of Rhodes, and just in the act of raising the other fool, when whispering and giggling in his immediate vi cinity, made him alive lo the appalling fact that nothing hut a thin curtain of chintz sep arated him from twenty or thirty of the pret tiest and wickedest girls that were ever caged in one shop ! Nehemiah was a bashful youth, and would have made-a circumbendibus of a mile, even if he had been in full dress ; as il was, his muulh was ajar at the bare possibil ity of making his appearance among them in his present dishabille. What if there was a hole in the curtain I —What if he should fall I It wouldn’t bear thinking of; and plung ing his fool iolo the vacant leg, with a sort of frantic loseness, ho brought on the very ealastrojihe he was anxious lo avoid. The chair collapsed with a sudden “scrouch,” pitching Nehemiah head over heels through the curtain, and he m ide his grand entrance among the stitching divinities on all' fours, like a fettered Rhinoceros. Perhaps Collier himself never exhibited a more striking tableau vivanl than was now displayed. Nehemiah was a “model,” every inch of him, and though not exactly “revol ving on a pedestal,” he was going through that movement quite as effectually on his buck —kicking, plunging, in short personilying in thirty seconds all the attitudes ever “clnsseled.” As for the girls, they screamed of course, jumped upon chairs and the cutting hoard, threw their hands over their faces, peeped through their fingers, screamed again, and de clared, “they should die, they knew they should.” “Oh, Lord!” blubbered the distressed young ’un : don’t gals, don’t I 1 didn’t mean tew, 1 swan to man 1 didn’t; its all owing to these cussed trowsers —every mile on’t: ask your boss, he’ll tell you how it ’twas. Oh, Lordy ! won’t nobody kiver me up with old clothes, or turn the wood box over me 1 Oh, Moses in the bullrushes, what’ll Nancy say 1” He managed to raise himself on his feet and make a bold splurge toward the door, but his “entangled alliances” tripped him up again and he fell “kerslap” upon the goose ol the pressman I This was the unkmdest cut ol all. The goose had been healed ex pressly for thick cloth seams, and the way it sizzled in the seal of the new pants was af flicting to the wearer. Nehemiah riz up in instant, and seizing the source of all troubles by the slack, ho lore himself free from all save the straps and some pantalet-like frag ments that hung about his ancles, as he dashed through the door ol the emporium at a two forty pace, Nehemiah seemed to yearn with the poet for a “lodge in some vast wilder ness,” and betrayed a settled purpose to "flee from the noisy haunts of men,” for the last seen of him, he was capering up the railroad —cutting like a scared rabbit —the rays of the declining sun flickering and dancing upon a broad expance of linen, that fluttered gaily in the breeze, as be headed for the nearest woods. A young man and a female, once upon a lime, stopped at a country tavern. Their awkward appearance excited the family, who commenced a conversation with (he female by enquiring how fai she had traveled. “.Traveled I” exclaimed the stranger, some* what indignantly, “We didn’t travel, we rid.” Confidence contributes more to conver salion that wu Of tuleni. 'lf) T ■ M [ ;i i TOLLSBOBOPOH, TIOGA COUSTY, PA., THURSDAY M'OlfflfflG, AUGUST 9 1855. - E ———— = - ! - : ——— -—--‘ LI -i 1 - ' ~ ■■ - .... TAKES AT Hls AvORD. A few years ago 1 made tine of the seven lynine passengers on board the Past steamer Emily BarWn, bound up the Tennessee. A pleasant, intelligent, go ahead captain, a good steward, and a social, refined company, made the trip one of pleasure; indeed long shall T remember ihetsaucy Emily Bapion, and her superb-Jiving freight. One lovely summer afternoon it was whis per started first low and, near the stern, somewhere in the. vicinity of, the ladies cab in, and speedily making its way to the. hall, the boiler deck, and then to the main ? like the snow-ball rolling down the mountain, gathering size, form,-and-.moinenium, as it rolled forward, until the principals in the in teresting scene were not only pointed out, but the parson with some scraps of the history of each fiction, fact, and surmise, ail hushed up ingeniously, leaving one in that half pleasant, half painful slate of suspense and doubt, that opens the eyes so wide and strains the drum of the ear so light to all transpiring around you. Well, we landed lo wood at a magnificent beech bottom, the tall, heavily leaved trees with their silver grey trunks making a deep cool shade, while they, with the grassy, green bank that bore them, were imaged in the glassy river, so clear, so true, that inversion only pointed the false from the real, while cutting this charming spot in twain, came murmuring a crystal spring brook, scarcely four spans wide, to lose itself in the mass of Tennessee waters, they in return to be alike lost in the boundless ocean. No sooner was ihe staging out than there emerged from the ladies’ cabin a fine, manly looking fellow, dressed in faultless taste, intel lect beaming in every feature, while over his face perfect happiness shone like Phorus on the sea. Leaning on his arm, was the most loveable woman it has ever been my lot to behold, her fine hazel eyes—tell tales that ihey we^e—speaking deep emotion, and her expressive lip, quivering with suppressed ex citement, while her dress, step and grace, was that of a queen. “There they are ! Thai’s her!—Oh, how beautiful burst from many a lip, as we in stinctively made way to let them pass to the altar, and where that was we had about as clear an idea as a trancendcntalist generally has of what they are talking about. But one thing was fun ahead, and to follow in their wake was the way to see it. As the ladies passed, a gallant arm was offered to each, and thus we marched out of the cabin, down, the stairs, across the staging, and up the slopinc bank. Some fifty yards up the brook the pair stopped, and joining hands they stood with the clear water between them—bridged it was by the twining fingers and crossed by a stream of love as pure as itself. All was silent, still, until broken by the minister read ing in an impressive manner; ‘And of the rib which the Lord had taken from man, made he a woman and brought her to the man. Adam;said this is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh, she shall be called woman be cause she was taken out of man. Therefore shall a man cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh.” He then closed the good and holy book and offered a most touching and beautiful prayer—not a heart but seemed to feel the earnest appeal to the throne of grace. Then asking the usual questions he pronounced them husband and wife. The bride slowly sinking on her knees,rais ed her beautiful face all covered with tears, —clasped her hands, and in the most touch ing sweet voice, tremulous with emotion, said: “And now, oh, merciful Father, grant that our lives thus united may peacefully flow in one, even, as this rivulet, until we reach the river ofdeath, undivided in faith and conduct, and be permitted to enjoy thine eternal smiles in the land of the pure and blessed.” Every pulse seemed stilled, hoping for more of this beautiful drama. Not a word, not a movement from all that throng—all, all was happiness. Ob, lovely panorama, how thou art graven on this heart! The happy man was in the act of imprinting a kiss upon the smiling lips o ( f his magnificent bride, when the clear tones of a manly voice start ed all from (heir pleasant reveries, and the universal gaze rested on a tall, handsome Tennesseean, whose eagle eye spoke the man a fit representative of the Biale where sleeps a Jackson. ■I can’t slant) this any longer. I cnn’i by —pardon ladies, but I have a proposition to make on the good faith of a man who never lies or trifles. I must make it or die—so here goes; Now I will marry on this spot any lady who has the nerve to face such music. Look at mo, and if yon can love me as she loves (pointing to the brideji’ll promise lo be a husband to you, such a husband as a true hearted man will make a woman who comes trembling under his wing; I say further, that no spot of shame attaches to my name, or ever shall, and this arm shall support and protect the one that will trust it. Who’ll take me 1 and his eye ran slowly and steadily over the crowd of handsome women around him. His earnest manner and novel speech had aroused an intense excitement, all was sur prise and deep sympathy with the fearless, excited orator, when, to the astonishment and delight of every one, a fawn like, blue eyed girl from the flowery banks of the Alabama, stepped to his side and looked confidently up to his eyes with her hands on his arm, and said— “l am thine.” By this time his arm was around her waist, and parting her curls—black as the raven at midnight—looked steadfactly in her face for a moment and ‘signed the contract’ with a kiss that all the married ladies afterwards pronounced lo be ol the genuine sorljporfoct- “ TUB AGITATION OF THOUGHT. M THE BEGINNING OF 'wft'DOM.” V T V (ill v Tor, ly satisfactory. Raising his dashing eyes with a triumphant expression from the pleas ant job just mentioned, he said ; “Whore.is Ihe parson? ■ Send him here— on tins spot we’ll be made one. 1 never*let such luck pass me by wailing a minute*, so go. ahead,!’ and on that spot where first they met,- were theyrsoiemniy united forever. When the words, ‘what God had joined let no man put-asunder,’ died away,.a shout went up that awakened the echoes* for miles* every hand was extended to the happy, lucky, venturesome fellow, and every lady in that crowd pressed the lips of his trusting 'wife.'— For a moment I wished I were her, but I in stantly recovered my self possession, and thrust the weakness from me, (women kiss ing each other always seemed a waste of sweetness,’but they know best,) and laughing, shouting and happy, we returned on board. Our generous captain set a splendid sup per, the clerk made out two certificates, they were signed by the parson ; and seventy-four witnesses—five more made nine you know, men and women all told—everybody signed. Then we danced, we laughed, wo made children of ourselves—yes. I’m afraid we made fools o( ourselves. Be that as it may, when the watch was changed at solemn noon of night, the bluffs on the dark shores of the river returned only the echo of the hoarse coughing of the engines of the Emily Barton, for we slept, and our dreams vainly tried to vie with the lovely reality of the evening. Fireside Story about Honesty. One evening a poor man and his son, a little hoy, sat by the way side, near the gate of an old town in Germany. The father took a loaf of bread, which he had bought in town, and broke it, and gave the half to his boy. “Not so father,’’ said the boy, "I shall not eat till after you. You hove been work ing all day at small wages to support me; and you must be very hungry; I shall wait till you are done.” “You speak kindly, my son,’’ replied the pleased; father; “your love to me does me more good than my (ood, and those eyes of yours remind me of your dear mother who has left us, and .who told you to love me as she used to do; and, indeed, my boy, you have been a great strength and comfort to me; but now that 1 have eaten the first morsel to please you, it is your turn to eat.” “Thank you, father; but break this piece in two, and take you a little more; for you see the loaf is not large, and you require more than 1 do.” “I shall divide the.loaf for you, my boy ; but oat if LclKo-ll' oca ojui laJ us thank God for his great goodness in giv ing us food, and in giving us what is better still, cheerful and contented hearts. He who gave us the living bread from heaven to nour ish our immortal souls, how shall He not give all other food which is necessary to support our mortal bodies?” The father and son thanked God, and then began to cut the loaf in pieces, to begin together their frugal meal. But as they cut one portion of the loaf there fell out several pieces of gold, of great value. The little boy gave a shout of joy, and was springing forward to grasp tho unexpected treasure, when he was pulled back by his father. “My son, my sonhe cried do not touch the money j. it is not ours.” “But whose is it father, if it is not ours?” “ I know not as yet to whom it belongs; but probably it is put there through some mistake. We must inquire.” “But, father.” interrupted the boy, “you are poor and needy, and you bought the loaf, and the baker may tell a lie, and—” ‘‘l will not listen lo you, my bdy ; I boughi ihe loaf, but I did not buy the gold in it. If the baker sold it to me,in ignorance, I shall not be so dishonest a'S to lake advantage of him ; remember Him who told us to do td others as we would have others do to us. The baker may possibly cheat us, but that is no reason why we should try ami cheat him. lam poor, indeed but that is no sin. If we share the poverty of Jesus, God’s own, son, oh ! let us share also the goodness and trust in God. We may never be rich, but we may always be honest. We may die of starva tion, but God’s will be done should it be so! Yes, my boy, trust God, and walk in his ways, and you shall never be pul to shame. Now run to Ihe baker, and bring him here ; and I shall watch the gold until he comes.” So the boy ran for the baker. “Brother workman,” said the old man, you have made some mistake, and almost lost your money,” and he showed the baker the gold, and told him how it had been found. “Is it thiAe 1” asked the father, “if it is, take it away.” “My father, baker, is very poor, and”—“Silence, my child; put me not lo shame by thy complaints. I am glad we have saved this man from losing his money. The baker had been gazing alternately upon the honest father and his eager boy, and up on the gold which lay glittering upon the green turf. “Thou art, indeed, an honest fel low," said the baker, “and my neighbor Da vid, the flax dresser, spdke but the truth when he said thou wert the most honest man in our town. Now, I will tell the about the gold. A stranger came to my shop three days ago, and gave me that loaf, and told me to sell it cheaply, or give it away to the honestest poor man whom I knew in our city. I told David lo send thee lo me as a customer, this morn ing, and as thou wouldsl not take the loaf for nothing I sold it to thee, as thou knowest for the last pence in thy purse,and (he loaf, with all i