OCR (DATS ARB DARL Sorely the cause of freedom is opprest And life ifl freely offered for bar wko: An InW cloud fcin&9 d&rkHng in the weel And birds of erU, omen stfck it* *ak* Mocking the eyren pod*'that will not Of peace Ifcd qrdet,'*B*n there f* no pe*c®> 0» «0» «r« dark. 1 Id Matelari m borta Insult and outrage, and woetwtter wrongs OUr overture* for quiet latifh to scorn. Sold on the floor of Congress for old songs, Pledge* and which were kept Buton one part—for truth ana honor slept. A cloud hang* In the west; and men of‘thought Know that a whirlwind broods athwart theeky, *T will bunt upon us, neither ibun’dnor sought, Ytt, being met, we may not turn or fly, Or yield us; but will bear us In the flghi As men who strike for freedom and for right The cloud lowers darkly, and we e&hnly wait As those who hide the coming oAhe shock, Nor threat* oT dissolution, nor wild hato Shall turn da from the way. Old'Plymouth Rock, ’Ooiufit which (he wares dash freely as they flow, Standi as H stood two hundred years ago. 0. T 7. Siam. Sfcetct). An Unexpected Race. in one of the large towns in Worcester county, Massacbuseits, used to live a clergy mao, whom we will call Eidewell. He was one of the Baptist persuasion, and very rigid in his ideas of moral propriety. He had in his employ an old negro named Pompey ; and if (his latter individual was not so strict in his morals as his master, he was at least a very cunning dog, and passed in the rever end household for a pattern of propriety.— Pompey was a useful servant, and the old clergyman never hesitated to trust him with me most important business. Now u so happened that there were dwell ing in and about the town, sundry individu als who had not the fear of the dreadful pen allies which Mr. Ridewell preached about before their eyes, for it was the wont of these people to congrgate on Sabbath evenings upon a level piece ol land in the outskirts of town, and there race horses. The spot was Hidden from view by a dense piece of woods, am. tor a long while the Sunday evening races were carried on without deiecnon by 'he officers, or others who might have slop ped tnen. 1; also happened that the good old clergy man owned one of the best horses in the country This horse was one of the old Morgan stocK, with a mixture o! Arabian blood in ms veins, and it was generally known inn; few neasts could pass mm on the road. Mr. Ridewell, wim a dign'ty becoming his calling, stoutly declared that the fleetness of his beast never afforded mm any gialifi canon, and that, for bis part be would ns be nave any other. \e; money could do: but his Morgan, nor could any amount o. argument persuade him to swop. Tne church was so near the good clergy man s dwelling that he always walked lo meeting, and his m>rse was consequently allowed 10 remain m lac pastors. t'ompey heard that these races were on '-he tapis, and he resolved to enter his mas ters horse on his own account, for he fell assured that Morgan could beat anything in me snape of horse-flesh that could be-pro cured m the quarter. So on the very next Sunday evening he hid the bridle under his yacKet, and went out into the pasture and caught the horse and rode of: towards the spot where the wicked ones congregated. — Here he found some dozen assembled, and the race was about to commence, Pompey mounted his beast, al the signal hesiarted.— Om Morgan eniered into the spirit of the tnmg, and came out two rods ahead of eve rvtning So Pompey won quite a pile, and Deiore darK he was well mutated m horse rocir... rompev succeeded in gelling home with ou, exciting any suspicions and he now longed lor int Sabbath alternoon to come, for he was uetermmed to try it again. He did go again, and again he won ; and this course o. wickedness he followed up for two months, maxing ms appearance upon me race ground everv Sunday alternoon os soon as he could aue- •• meenng was out.’ And during that nnie Kompev was not the only one that loved racing. No, ior old Morgan himself aao come to love tne excitement of the thing, ioo, ana ms every motion when upon the tracK, snowed bow zealously he eniered into tne spirit ol tne gam., but tnese tnings were not always to re main secre.. One Sunday a pious deacon beneld inis racing from a distance, and he straightway went lo the parson with the siarmmg intelligence. The Rev. Mr. Ride weu was utterly shocked, his moral feelings ouiragec, and he resolved lo put a slop to tms wicKednees. During the week he made severs inquiries, and he learned that this ming nad been practiced all summer on eve rv Sabbath afternoon. He mode his par ishioners Keep quiet, and on the next Sun mv ne would make his appearance on the verv spot and catch them in their deeds ol IDIQUII’. , Or. me following Sabbath. afier dinner, •V Ridewell ordered Pompev to bring up old Morgan and pul him in (he stable. The oraer was obeyed, though noi without mis givings on the part of the faithful negro.— sonr as the afternoon service were ciosec, me two deacons and some otheis of me memners of the church accompanied the mimsie' home, logeiher wilh their horses. " R is me most flagrant piece of abom ination mot ever came to my knowledge,” *aic me indignant clergyman, as they rode “ It is mosi, assuredly,” answered one of ine oeaconu “ horse raciD g °n the Sabbath 1” uttered me minister. “ Dreadful!" echoed ttie second deacon. And so the conversation went on until they 'cached the top of a gentle eminence which overlooked the plain, where the racing »as carried on, and where soma dozen tiorsemcn, with a score of lookers on had ■isembted. The sight was one that chilled me good parson to his soul. He remained motionless until he mads out, the whole “tarming truth, then turning to his compan tons, said, 11 how, my brothers, let us ride down and controni )h e wicked wrdtohes, end if they wilt down on their knees ami implore God’s merc r> and promise to do so no more, we *ni not take legal action against them, O, hat my own land should be desecrated thusl” or it was indeed a portion of his farm. As the good clergyman thus spoke he on towards the scene. The horses he wicked men were drawing up for a ar ' lnc minister approach. Somd of fbr thi Agitator. COBB, 6TORROCK .& CO., VOL. 2. the riders at once recognized old'Morgan, but did not recognize the reverend individual who rode him. ■ “ Wicked men I” commenced the parson, as he came neat' enough for his voice to be heard, “children of sin and shame—” “ Come on, old boss,” cried one of the jookies, turning towards the minister, “If you are in for the first race you must stir your Btumps> , Now we go.” “ Alas ! O, my-wioked—” “ All ready !” shouted'he who led the af fair, cutting the minister short, “ and off it is !” And-the word for starting was given.— Old Morgan knew that word too well, for no sooner did it fall upon his ears than he stuck oot his nose, and with one wild snort he started, and the rest of the racers, twelve in number, kept him company. “ Who-ho-ho-o!” yelled the clergyman, tugging at the reins with all his might. But it was of no avail. Old Morgan had now reached ahead of all competitors, and he came up io the judge’s stand three rods ahead, where the petrified deacons were standing with eyes and mouth wide open. “ Don’t slop,” shouted one of the -wicked judges, who now recognized parson Ride well, and suspected his business, who also saw into the secret of old Morgan’s joining the race. “Don’t slop,” he shouted again ; “ it’s a two mile heal this lime. Keep right on. parson. You nre good for another mile. Now vou go —and off it is.” Those last words were of course known In lhe horse, and no sooner did Morgan hear them than he stuck nut his nose again, and again started off. The poor parson did his utmost to stop the bewitched animal, but it could not be done. The more he struggled and yelled, the faster the animal went, and ere many moments he was again at the starl ing point, where Morgan now stopped of his own accord There was a hurried whisper ing among the wicked ones, and a success ion of very curious winks and knowing nods seemed to indicate that they understood the matter. “ Upon my soul, parson,” said the leader of the abomination, approaching the spot where the minister still sat in his saddle, he having not yet sufficiently recovered his presence of mind to dismount, “ you ride well. We had not looked for this honoi.” “ Honor, sir !” gasped Ridewell, looking blankly into the speaker’s face. 11 Aye—for ’lis an honor. You are the first clergyman that has ever joined us in our Sabbath evening entertainments.” “ I—l, sir ! I joined you 1” “ Ha, ha, ha ! you did it well I Your good deacons really think you were trying very hard to hold in your horse; but I saw through it; I saw how slyly you put your horse up. But 1 don’t blame you for feel ing proud of Morgan, for I should feel so myself il I owned him. But you need not fear; I will /tell all who may ask me about it, that you did your best to slop-jhe beast ; for I would rather stretch the truth a little than have such a jockey as you suffer.” This had been spoken so loudly that the deacons had heard every word, and the poor parson was bevyildered ; but he came to him self, and with tf flashing eye, he cried: “Villains! what mean you] Why do—” “ Hold on,” interrupted one of the party, as the rest of the racing men had all moun ted their horses ; “ hold on a moment, par son ; we are all willing to allow you to car ry off the palm, but we won’t stand your abuso. When we heard that you had deter mined lo try if your horse would not beat us all, we agreed among ourselves that if you came we would let you in. We have done so, and you have won the race in a two mile heat. Now let that satisfy you. By hokey, you did it well. When you want lo try again, just send word, and we’ll be ready for you.” As the wretch thus spoke, he turned his horse’s head, and before a word could be ut tered by the astonished preacher, Ihe whole party had ridden away out of hearing. It was some lime before one of the churchmen could speak. They knew not what to say Whv should their minister’s horse have join ed in the race without some permission from his master? They knew how he set by the animal, and at length they shook their heads in doubt. “ It’s very strange,” said one. “ Very,” answered the second. “ Remarkable,” suggested a third. “ On my soul, brethren,” spoke Ridewell, “ I can't make it out." The brethren looked at each other, and the deacons shook their heads in a very solemn manner. So the party rode back to the clergyman’s house, but none of the brethren would enter, nor would they stop at ail. Before Monday had drawn to a close, it was generally known that parson Ridewell raced his horse on (he Sabbath, and a meeting of the church was appointed for Thursday. Poor Ridewell was almost crazy with vex ation ; but before Thursday came, Pompey found out how matters stood, and he assured his master that he could clear the matter up ; and after a day’s search be discovered the astounding fact that some of those wicked men had been in the habit of stealing old Morgan from the pasture and racing him on Sabbath afternoons 1 Pompey found out all this—but he could not find out who did it. As soon as this became known to the church, the members conferred together, and they soon concluded that under such circum. stances a big mettled horse would be apt to run away with his rider when be found him self directly upon (be track. So parson Ridewell was cleared, but it was s long w(jile before he got over the blow, for til to tt.c sirtMTSton wmmm WELISBOROUGH, TIOGA OQflStft TA. ■ THURSDAY MAY gj 1856. I r) Y T /, < T O T ■ M '" ACWpAxlbtf'f)P THOUGHT ii T&TB BEOINnInGOF wfsittjß." many Were (he wicked. Wags who delighted lo hecior him by offering to, r|de a race with him, to bet on his head, or to put him against the world on a race. But Ridcwell grbw older, his heart grew warmer, and filially he could laugh with right good will when ,he spoke of bis unexpected race. Be sure there was no more Sabbath racing in that town. Another Queer Sermon. The Knickerbocker for April, just issued, has the following capital story s The sermon in our February number has recalled to an Alton (Illinois) correspondent one which was preached in Tennessee by a Baptist minister. When drawing near the close, lie said: “Brethering, I am a hostler, and I must curry these horses before I leave. Here is the high blooded Episcopalian horse ; see what a high head he carries, and how black his coat is, and soft as silk, but he’ll kick if you touch ou bis Litany or Prayers; Whoa sir, whoa!—Here is an old sober Methodist horse : Whoa, old fellow I Just slip away his love-feasts and his class-meetings, and he kicks until he falls ; Whoa, you old shouler! who ! Ah, here is the horse that is ready to.kick at all limes; don’t you go near his professional penance: Whoa, Mr. Pope! — Htjw beautiful his trappings are, his surplice and mitre ! Whoa, sir, whoa !” 'And so he went on through the various denominations. When he was nearly thro’ an old Methodist gentleman, well known in the place, offered his services to conclude, which was readily accepted.. He said : “Friends, I have learned this morning how to dress down horses, and, as the broth er has parsed two of them, I will lake it up on myself to finish the work: Here is an animal that is neither one thing or the other; he is treacherous and uncertain; you cannot trust him ; he’ll kick his best friend for a controversy: Whoa, mule, whoa! See breth ren how he kicks. Whoa you old Camp bellile ! whoa. Here friends is an animal that is so stubborn be will not let me in his stall to eat from bis trough: he is so stubborn that be would not go where the prophet wish ed him ; he is so hard mouthed that Samson used his jaw ns a weapon of war against the Phillistines. Whoa, you, you Close-Commu nion Baptist; whoa !” “Do you call me an ass 1” exclaimed the minister jumping up. “Whoa!” continued his tormentor; see hin kick, whoa I hold him fast, my friends ! —whoa I” And thus the old gentleman went on, the minister ranting meantime until he got out of the church. The congregation agreed (hat they had never seen an ass so completely “curried” before. Wadsworth’s Rifle vs. Toll’s Bow. The following instance of daring sport is related in the Albany Transcript : — The feat performed by Tell, in shooting an apple off the head of his son, which has been told over and over again, and is as familiar ns household words, was a wonderful piece of execution, close calculation, and great daring. Something similar was attempted and per formed successfully, in the village of Pitts lown, Renselaer county, some time since. The circumstances were related to us as fol lows : There had been a lurkey shoot at which several “crack shots” had assisted ; after the shoot was over, the crowd adjourned to the tavern ; numerous drinks were called for and put out of sight, and the whole party some what elated, commenced talking of William Tell, when one of the parly, by the name of Horace H. Wadsworth, remarked lhathe was as good a shot as ever Tell was, “and,” said he, “find a man and I’ll prove it,” whereupon Alonzo Grogan stepged forward and said, — “I’m the man for you to practice upon.” “Very well,” said Wadsworth: “get an apple and I’ll try.” Search was made for an apple, but not find ing one readily, a polatoe was substituted, and the crowd adjourned from the bar-room to the yard adjoining the barn. “Measure off twenty paces,” said Wads worth. Tho distance was measured, Grogan look his place, with cap ofl and polaloe on his head, when Wadsworth deliberately raised his rifle, drew a fine site on the polaloe, and discharged his piece at arm’s length! No one expected that he would do it, and for a moment consternation was depicted on (he countenances of all the bystanders, until Grogan pul his hand on his head, and said in an agonizing tone— “Am 1 dead ? Is there tiny blood It was found that Grogan was not dead, , but that the polaloe had been cut in twain, and that no blood had been drawn, though a ridge had been raised on the top of his head bboul the size of a persons finger by the force of the ball. Grogan, who did hot think that Wads worth would fire, was seriously alarmed for a few minutes afterwards, as he believed his skull was split. He says that if any smart shots want to practice shooting potatoes off a person's head, they must find some one be sides him to be their target. Titles.—A lieutenant in the service by the name of Broom, was advanced to a cap taincy, and naturally enough liked to hear himself addressed as Captain Broom. One of his friends persisted in calling him plain Broonv much to his annoyance,"and one day, having done eo for thb fortieth time, Broom, said; “ You will please remember, sir, that I have a handle to my name.” “ Ah,” saidlhe tormentor, “ so you have —well, Broom-handle, how are you I” i OO '*•» Mi ■Hit u \ !’/■; f»; s.t‘ m; \i M One who.saw Hancock in June, 1782. re lates that ha had the appearance of advanced age. He had been repeatedly and severely afflicted with gout, probably owing in pari to the custom of drinking punch—a common practice of high dircles in those days.' As recollected at this time, Hancock was nearly six feet in height and ol thin person, stooping a little, and apparently enfeebled by disease. His manner was very gracious, of the old style, a dignified complaisance. His /ace has been very handsome. Dress, was adapted quite as much to the ornamental as useful. Gentlemen wore wigs when Abroad, and com monly caps when-al home. At this lime, about noon, Hancock was dressed in a red velvet cap, within which was one of fine (in nen. The latter was turned up over the lower edge of the velvet one, two or three inches. He wore a blue damask gown lined with silk, a white satin embroidered waist coat, black satin small clothes, white silk stockings and red morrocco slippers. It was a general practice in genteel families to have a tankard of punch made in the morning and placed in a cooler when the season required it. At this visit, Hancock took from the cool er standing on'the hearth a full tankard, and drank himself and then offered it to those pre sent. His equipage was splendid, and such as is not customary at this day.’ His npparrel was sumptuously embroidered with gold, sil ver lace and o'her decorations fashionable among men of fortune of that period; and he rode, especially en-public occasions, with six beautiful bay horses, attended in livery. He wore a scarlet coal, with ruffles on the sleeves which soon become the prevailing fashion ; and it is related of Or. Nathan Ja ques, the famous pedestrian of West New buryport, that he passed all the way from that place lo Boston in one day to procure cloth for a coat like thtwt of John Hancock, and returned with it under his arm, on foot. “Eusebius” writes to the New York Ob' server, from Rome, as follows : The Tiber is not only rich in historic as sociations, it is rich in treasure. An English company has actually offered to turn the cur rent of the stream fur above the city and around it, provided the government would give them what they might discover in its present bed. This would be attended with vast expense, but it would pay. Treasures of art from age to age have found their way in to the stream, which would faring in the mar ket a perfect remuneration. In the museum of St, John Lnterna a magnificent column of stone is lying, which was taken not long since from the Tiber, a portion of which has been polished to display its beauty, and no one can see it without wishing to have more of the secrets of this river revealed. Statuary more perfect and perhaps more beautiful than any of the ancient works of art now seen in Rome lies embedded in groups beneath (he stream. Agostini Chigi, the famous banker at the lime of Leo X. once gave a splendid entertainment to the Pope and his Cardinals, at which the dishes were all of precious met als. The price paid for three fish was 250 crowns. It is said that the dishes were all thrown into the Tiber by order of the rich banker, in order that no less illustrious guests might ever use them. The sacred vessels brought from Jerusalem by Titus, and among them the golden candlestick, are reported to have been lost from tlio Milvian bridge, and if so, are still lying there. The present gov ernment of Rome will suffer nothing belong ing to ancient art to pass from her territory, nor is it able to carry on such an investiga tion upon its own account. The way to get a Claim.—Horace Gree ley writes to the Tribune : “I have been told that a man who had an indisputable claim on the Government for four or five thousand dollars, danced attendance at the Capitol for two or three sessions to no purpose. At length, an old member, who knew the ropes, struck by his pertinacity, called him aside and gave him the benefit of some vol unteer counsel. “My friend,” said he, “I see you are green, long as you have been in Washington, fust withdraw your papers, and increase your claim to twenty or thirty thousand. Then piomise a thousand to this one two thousand to that and so on through a lia; of half a dozen who can help you,'all of course on the contingency of gaining your claim, [f you should be cut down a little, you can afford it.* The claimant thankfully took the advice, acted on it, and in due time carried home his honest due and a little more. A Model Tavern. —A gentleman who has just returned from Arkansas informs us that he heard the following conversation at a tavern “Halloa, boy 1” “Halloa yourself!” “Can I gel breakfast here I” “I reck’n you can’t I’’ “Why noli” . “Massa’s away, Missus drunk, baby’s got the cholic, and 1 don’t care a darn for no body!” As we have never seen a better illustration of sublimity, to that of ridicule, we give the following, which we clip from an exchange. “As the ostrich uses both legs and wings when tho Arabian coUrser bounds in her rear ■—as tho winged lightnings leap from tho Heavens When the eternal has unhontided their bolts l —sododsa'little nigger streak it when a big do*'is'aflef hint! r r>, - ■K f.J ’ f .1 j .•)» i •.tiV., / n w / ... j Vi > 'Vn fJ -tJiiUj [•■V o' ,<■ John Hancock. Buried Treasures. Jl u xii i . PUBLISHERS PROPRIETORS. All honor totho Toiler who dares and does for Kuf, Who at'tho‘World's conttnnelyfcmllesabd tramples on Hshani Whose deeds of love and charity rebuke the bigots suocr,— That Soul shall harreat twenty-fold for all it planted here. Say not that Ufe la short to. him who.doth his duty 'well; All lives aro long. that brim with deeds, and gray To-day shall tell, - \ , The young To-Morrow in its prlmt, how well 1 such martyrs fought, . How much of deathless good to mar their martyr-labor wro*t. They may lie down unlauded, nnbonorod in their time. Dy such as reckon deeds as nought, and Jove to m,*m a crime: They may no.t win mausoleums, a nation may notj'Wall— . But time shall Como wheb they shall reap— thtir hqrixst Can not /adl Lift up thy head, 0 Toiler I behold the whitening field 1 Behold how few the reapers, iiow great the prdmliod yield 1 Behold bow thousands famish, how tans of thoiuan'ds bleed — Thy heart may aid to heal them, thy lands may help to feedl Hark to the sound of scourges, the grating clank of chains, A nation groans in bondage on Freedom's sacred plains I Then can ye factor, dareyv I and sit with folded hands, While glows a brother’s forehead with the manor-tvmhts brands? M. H. Codb. Select saiscellanp. When the farmer knows that a gate is bet belter, and as a time-and-labor-saving fixture, cheaper than a set of bars and posts, and without calling on a carp&nter he can himself make one. “ Why don’t he do it I” When he has no other fastening to his gale and barn doors than a stone rolled against them, and in a single evening nfler supp?t is able to make a belter one, “Why don’t he do; it I” •Or when he sees the boards dropping from his barns and out-buildings, and like heaps of rubbish lying in piles about the premises, and need only nailing on again, “ Why don’t he do it 1” Or' when he is afraid of the expense of nails, and is always crying up the maxim of Dr. Franklin, to “save the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves.” Ahd he knows that that the same Dr. Frank lin also said that “ many men arc penny wise and pound foolish,’ 1 and he is not careful to think of the precept contained in the latter, “ Why don’t he do it I” If it is saving of half the manure of a farmer’s slock by keeping .them shut up in yard, instead Of running at large through most of the winter, “ Why don't he do it?” If he knows that many of his fields would be greatly improved by ditching, and by the removal of large slumps and stones, “ Why don’t he do it 7” And when he knows that his pastures would yield nearly double the feed, and of o better quality, if the bushes were all out and subdued, “ Why don’t he do it?” And.ifhecan add (lily per cent, to the product of his clover-fields, and even his pas tures, by the useof gypsum (plaster,) “Why don’t he do it 7” It is a man’s destiny still to be longing for something, and the gratification of one set of wishes but prepares the unsatisfied soul for the conception of another. The child of a year old wants little but food and sleep ; and no sooner is he supplied with a sufficient allowance of either of those very excellent things, than he begins whimpering, and yell in" it may be, for the other. At three, the young urchin becomes enamored of sugar plumbs, apple pie, and confectionery. At six, his imagination runs to kites, marbles and lops, nod an abundance of play lime. At ten, the boy wants to leave school, and have nothing to do but go birdnesling and black berry hunting. At fifteen he wants a beard and mustaches, a watch, and a pair of Wel lington bools. At tweniy he wishes to cut a figure and ride horses ; sometimes his thirst for display breaks out in dandyism, and some times in poetry ; he wants sadly to be in love, and takes it for granted that all the ladies are dying for him. The young man of twenty five wants a wife ; and at thirty he longs to be single again. From thirty to forty he wants to be rich, and thinks more of making money than spending it. About this lime, also, he dabbles in politics and wants office.- Al fifty he wants excellent dinners and capi tal wine, and considers a nop in the after noon indispensable. The respectable old gentleman of sixty wants to retire from busi ness, with a snug independence of three or four hundred thousand, to marry his daught ers, and set up his sons, and live in the coun try ; and then for the rest of his life, he con tinually wants to be young again. Supporting the Gospel. —The papers out southwest are circulating amusing stories in relation to the “Hard Shell Baptists.” A correspondent writes; This sect ore in tho habit of holding a yearly association in our vicinity, generally in a piece of woods near to a good spring. The brethren from abroad are quartered upon those in the neigbboihood of the meeting; and these are required, of course, to lay in a good jsupply of the creature comforts,. and among them, as the most important, plenty of wjijskey. A short lime ago, such a place having been selected, the brethren nearby were busy putting up the benches and mak ing. (her place ready, when brother Smilh said: . “Wall, brother Gobbin, what preparations have you made at home for the big associa tion r “Why, I’ve lain in a band of flour, or so, and a gallon of whiskey.” Brother Smith expressed great contempt at Ibis preparation. “A gallon of whiskey for a bigmeeiin! “Why, I’ve laid ia a whole bar’l, and you’re just as well able, 1 Brother Gobbin, as I am' to support the Gospel 7” ' A Farmer's Life.—No life is more dig nifide, independent, or useful to the country than that 'of art intelligent and truly vittuous fa finer, j'l* <■; w:.ijui ■»; So. a. For the Agitator,. <* HONOR TO WHOM HONOR.** >'l Why don’t he do it. The Wants of the Age. Mrs.—y waa,£ riqh gud pretty, widow of J»y jm. a f- WMplft PWiWP' l W^«wr>> o ' »’ — In the county of Oakland, who judiciously died about*.tbs* age of fifty, i B——, a sighing sWainCf tWehly, fell in love with this charm ing, widow during a tchool vacation, and was thereby; distracted from study and nearly frantic. His'father, who.“designed him for the hod a peculiar (.horror of the sweet widow, : whom be regarded as little bet. ter .than.one«f the wicked. Herblackeyea, her-heaving bosom. and her elastic tread,, were to him only tbe symbola of Old Nick. He was in despair. and iti his despair he visi ted the widow, .and besought of Her, if she had a particle of mercy dot to ruin bis son. In vain (he'- widow protested that 'she had used no arts —hodonlyseen the youth a few limes, and was entirely indifferent to him} the father still insisted, and the pretty widow promised that-if the boy came again (o seo her, it should be his last , visit. Not many days .passed when'the enamored youth made his arrangements for a visit, of which ths widow had The few previous inter views had taken place under circumstances peculiarly favorable to romance and senti ment, upon moonlit vales or in parlor iete-a- ’• M M V -i< i 1 tele. This lime the timid youth was told upon his arrival that Mrs. —-■■■ was at the barn, whither he went, and found his belle ideal with skirls knee high, dressed in man’s bools, and covered with a man’s hat, a pipe in her mouth, a mug of cider in her bend, superintending her men— killing nocs ! Ho never came again—it was 100 ki'ling. . Nearly SeveiTfHundred Murders Were committed la the'United States, in ihe year 1854. Nine out of ten were the di rect fruits of the liquor business. Let tin honest man look at the record of blood, and then support the rum traffic without a burning cheek, if he can. What a fearful slaughter—what darkening crime ! So many have been transformed into fiends, so many have been stained with hu mm blood, and their souls with crime.— Stains never to be washed out, have been affixed to so many names. The people have tried and punched all these, end borne the taxation thereof, and in God’s holy name, what benefits have they received by the traf fic, by which was wrought all this? And so for ages, blood has smoked holly from rum’s sacrificial altars. The gallows are as necessary to the rum traffic, as peat houses are to Ihe plague. A heathen people might plead an excuse for this infernal sys tem. But Christian people have none. Mur der riots in its unbroken feast of blood. Fiendish butcheries are common occurren ces. With the shadow of these scaflblds'dark ening the land, the statesmen stand up and petifog about nothing, and wail about the value of properly invested in the rum business! God teaches us that ttiiS,n is of more value than many sparrows. Politicians 'each us that rum is more sacred than the interests of two worlds. Homes, hearts and human life, must be all sacrificed to feed the consuming fires of these hells on earth ? Bui the belter day comes steadily on.— Human fiends shall not always give daily record of revolting and bloody butcheries.— Cayuga Chief. The Drcxkaed’s Daughter. — That night I was out very late. I returned by Lee’s cabin about eleven o'clock. As I ap proached 1 sa|w a dark looking object cow. ering under tiie low eaves. A cold rain was falling. It was late in Autumn. I drew near, and there was Millie wet to the skin.- Her father had driven her out some hours before ; she had lain down to listen for the snoring of his heavy slumbers, so that she might creep back to her bed. But before she heard it, nature seemed exhausted, and she fell into a troubled sleep with the rain drops pattering upon her. 1 tried lo.lake her home with me ; but no, true as a martyr to his faith, she struggled from my arms and returned to her own dark and silent icabin.— Things went on so for weeks and months, but nt last Lee grew less violent, even in his drunken fits, to his self-denying child ; and one day when he awoke from a heavy slum ber after a debauch, and found her preparing breakfast for him and singing a childish song, he turned to her, and with a lone almost lender, said: * ' " Millie, what makes you slay with me I'* “ Because you are my father and 1 love you.” “ You love me? Repeated the wretched man; love me? He looked at his bloated limbs, his soiled and ragged clothes; love me, still he murmured—Millie what makes you love mo? I am a poor drunkard; everybody else despises me. Why. don’t you ?” “ Dear father,” said the girl with stream ing eyes, “ mother taught mo to love you, and every night she comes from heaven and stands by my little bed and says, Millie don’t leave your father. lie will gel away from that rum fiend one of these days, and then how happy you will be !" Certificate of Character.—-A Hoosier was .called upon ihe siand out VVesl to testi fy to the character of a brother Hoosier.— The testimony was as follows : How long have you known Bill Whack ? Ever since ho was born. What is his general character I Letter A. No, 1, 'bove pat a great ways, I judge. Would you believe him on an oath 7 Yes, sir-ee ! on or off, or any other way* I conclude. What is your opinion, are his qualifies lions as to a good character 7 He’s the best shot on our praries, or in Iho woods. He can shave the eye.winkers off a wolf as far as shooting iron'll carry a ball. He can drink a quart of grog any day, and chaws tobacker like a boss. Argumentative.—Whille an old farmer in Connecticut was flogging one of his sons —a graceless wight of eighteen—an idea all of a sudden entered the head of young Jona than, and he sang out —“Slop, Dad—let’s argue. " When has a man a rightlto scold his wife about his coffee? When ho lias quftkieut “grdhtids," A Short Story.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers