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A STERLING OLD POEM.
Who shall judge a man from manners ?
Who shall know him by his dress 7
Paupers may be fit fofr princes,
Princes fit for something less.
Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket
May beelothe the golden ore
Of the deepest thought and feelings—
Satin vests could do no more.
There are springs of crystal nectar
Ever welling out of stone;
There are purple buds ind golden
Hidden, crashed and overgrown.
God, who counts by souls, not dresses,
Loves and prospers you and me,
While he values thrones the highest
But os pebbles in the sea.
Man, upraised above his fellows,
Oil forgets his fellow then;
Masters—rulers—lords, remember
That your meanest hinds are men I
Men by labor, men by feeling.
Men by thongbt and men by fame.
Claiming equal rights to sunshine
In a man's ennobling name.
There are foam-embroidered oceans,
There are little weed.clad rills,
There are feeble inch.high saplings,
There are cedars on the hills;
God, who counts by souls, not stations,
Loves and prospers you and me;
For to Him all vain distinctions
Are as pebbles in the sea.
Toiling hands alone are builders '
Of a nation's wealth and fame;
Titled laziness is pensioned,
Fod and fattened on the same.
By the sweat of other's foreheads,
Living only to rejoice,.
While the poor man's outraged freedom
.Vainly lifteth up its voice.
Truth and justice are eternal.
* Born with loveliness and light!
Secret wrongs shall never prosper
While there is a sunny right;
God, whose world heard voice is singing
Boundless love to you aud me.
Sinks oppression, with its titles,
As the pebbles in the sea.
A Revolutionary Reminiscence.
Mb. Silas Dean, our secret minister to
Paris during the revolution, related the fol
lowing story to John the Painter.
While Mr. Dean was in Paris, a stranger,
rather advanced in years, called upon him,
and requested to talk with him in private.
Dean, surprised at such a request, was rather
on his guard, and interrogated the stranger
as to his business! but he could get nothing
from him till they should go into a private
room. Dean suspected him as an emissary
from the British Ministry, but at length de
termined to gratify him. When alone he
made many excuses for his errand, but finally
told him that he was an American citizen,
though a Scotchman by birth ; that he lived
in Amboy, New Jersey, where he had a com
fortable house ; that while the Briiish Army
was in possession of Amboy, they had sus
pected his principles and treated him very ill,
in various ways, and finally burnt down bis
house and gave him much personal insult:
thatjl he" had determined on killing King
Gedige, for which purpose he had come to
Europe; that he had been to England arfd
laid his plan, and was now ready to execute
it; but thought it his duly to make Mr. Dean
acquainted wiih it, as the minister from his
country, and lake his advice; (hat he had
passed by the name of John the Painter. Mr.
Dean was much surprised at this commni
calion, and at first thought him deranged.
He then suspected that he might have been
sent as a snare by the British Minister. Af
ter talking with bim a little, and finding him
very determined, he desired him to call again.
The next day he returned, revealing as deter
mined a resolution as ever. Mr. Dean rea
soned with him that it was mean and cow
ardly to assassinate a man in cold blood, who
had never injured him personally. He an
swered that his servants had insulted, abused,
and finally ruined him ; said he would have
revenge, and that no earthly consideration
should prevent him. He developed his whole
plan, and Mr. Dean said he was surprised at
the wisdom of it to accomplish the end, as
he seemed ter have laid it imauch a manner
as to render success certain Mr. Dean told
him that if he must have revenge, he should
take it in a manly, generous way. He
should go into the American army, and
meet his enemy fairly in the field—or, if he
could succeed in killing his generals—it would
be lawful; but the private assassination of
an innocent man, off his guard and suspect
ing no ill, would be abhorred by all mankind.
That he could not encourage or give Kim aid
in so wicked a purpose; but must do every
thing to persuade him from it. On this he
left him. When he returned, he came in a
little less frantic, saying : “I Thank you, sir,
I confess, it is unlawful to lift my hand against
the Lord’s annointed. You have convinced
me. But lam determined to burn the naval
stores at Portsmouth.” Dean answered as
that would tend to weaken the enemy in car
rying on the war, if he could accomplish it,
he would have no objection ; but he would
not aid him in it. He said he could do it,
and would go over England and recon
noitre the place. Dean reminded him that
if caught he would assuredly lose his life.
He said he should not attempt to save
He was an old man, had no connections, and
whether he died now or three or lour years
hence, it was a matter of little consequence
to him, so that he could but get revenge.
He accordingly went to Portsmouth, and
on his.return communicated to Mr. Dean his
whole plan, with the instrument made of tin,
With which he was to accomplish it. The
scheme was well laid and promised success.
Some days .after, he come again and said :
•‘Now, I know that you will think me a ras
cal : lam come to borrow money : I have
expended all I bad. I want one guinea to
carry me to Portsmouth. Dean told him if
that was all, ha should have it: ho gave it to
him, and he went off. Dean received the
following account of his proceedings, from a
THE AGITATOR
Sefcote* to tbe mvttmitm of t&e mvtn of Jfm&om an* tbe Sjireab of Mttavm
COBB, STURROCK & CO.,
YOL. 3.
friend who attended his examination before
the privy concil: He arrived at Portsmouth,
and look up his lodgings with a poor woman
at the skirts of the town. Early next morn
ing Be went out to reconnoitre. The old
woman anxious to know who or what her
guest was, had the curiosity to look into his
bundle. She found a shirt and a pair of
stockings, with a tin maebaine which she
could not comprehend. John, the Painter,
wanted a top to his machine, and took it to a
tinman and had one made. In the evening
he accomplished his purpose, and consumed
nearly a hundred thousand pounds, worth of
stores. In the morning every person in town
was ordered to. report if and stranger had
lodged there. The old woman reported John,
the Painter, with the extraordinary tin ma
chine : the tinman reported his making a top
for it. John was fixed upon as the incendiary,
and it being taken for granted that he was
sent properly prepared for the purpose, and
relays of horses were prepared for his es
cape, horsemen were sent on every road,
and ordered to pursue and take up any and
every person they found riding post. By
daylight in the morning John had taken his
bundle, trudged an foot to London. About
noon, the horsemen sent on that road came
up with John, and asked him if he had seen
any person on horseback riding post that
day. John answered in the negative, and
requested to know the reason for their in
quiry. They related the story of the fire fire',
and that they were in search of the incendi
ary. 'John told them that they were wholly
mistaken in their pursuit, for that he was the
man that set fire to the stores, and gave them
his reasons for doing it. At first they thought
him crazy ; but on his repealing it, with some
particular circumstances, they seized and
brought him back to Portsmouth. He was
there recognized by the old woman and the
tinman, and sent to London where he was
examined by the privy council. He candidly
told them the whole story, declaring that he
should certainly have killed the king, had
not Mr. Dean dissuaded him from doing it,
and convinced him that it was unlawful to
lift his hand against the Lord’s annointed.
That he was ready to die, and he did not
care how soon. He denied having any ac
complice, and said he rejoiced for having
obtained revenge for the cruellies with which
he had been treated by the British army. He
was tried, condemned and hanged. A vety
unfair and false account of his examination
was published at the lime, and no notice
taken of Mr. Dean’s having saved the king’s
life.
The Way to Raise a Collection.— The
DirmitkgKaca Journal tolls tho fol .
lowing slory''of-the Rev. W. Bennett, ol that
town, deceased : Upon one-of the occasions
when a collection was to-.be made, which by.
the way, was aft operation very frequently
performed, he gave out a hymn, and said du
ring the singing of this hymn, our friends
will make a collection at which announce
ment, several of the audience, as is usual, be
gan to leave their seals, when he said, in a
sly, confident tone, “You need not leave your
seats, for you cannot gel out until the collec
tion is over, ns the doors are locked.” The
hymn was sung, the collection made, and the
money summed up. After being informed of
its amount, he slowly rose, and said : “My
friends, the collection to the sum of
£23 17«. 5 d,” making the £23 emphatic;
“I say the collection amounts to £23 17s.
5tZ.,” making the shillings emphatic. “Now,
I say theie is some mistake; the collection
has been made with too much haste, and some
one has been missed. Go round again, and
do it carefully and deliberately,” said he ad
dressing the collectors; “we will sing two
hymns this time, so that we need not hurry.”
The hymns were sung, and the collection
summed up. “Ah 1" said be, “I was sure
some one had been missed ; it now amounts
to £34 6s. The widow’s mite is there;
it was not there before.” Then turning to
the collectors he said : “And there came a
certain poor widow, and she threw in two
miles, which makes a farthing; and called
unto him his disciples, and said unto them,
“Verily I say unto you, that this poor widow
has cast in more than all they which have
cast into the treasury; for all they did cast
of iheir abundance; but she of her want did
cast in all that she had, even all her living.’
I do desire that in future you never miss the
widow, for though the amount may not be
profitable, it is the spirit that sanctifieth.”
A Great Codktrt fob the Ladies.—
The lime for marriage in Sparta was fixed
by statute —that of the man about thirty or
thirty-five years; that of the woman at abou
twenty or a little younger. All men who
continue unmarried alter the appointed limb
were liable to a prosecution ; and all old
bachelors were prohibited from being present
at the public exercise of the Spartan maidens,
and were denied the usual rpsjject and honors
paid to the aged. “Why should I give you
place,” cried a young man to an unmarried
general, “when you have no child to give
place to me when lam old?” No marriage
portions were given with any of the maidens,
so that neither poverty should prevent a ghl
lant, nor riches tempt him to marry contrary
to his inclinations. The parents of three
children enjoyed considerable immunities, and
those with four children taxes what,
ever—a regulation which all} married men
with large families-will readily admit to be
most wise and equitable, ft was customary
for the bridesmaid to cut off all the bride’s
hair on the wedding day, so that, for some
time, at least, her personal attractions should
increase with her years.— Herodotus.
What is the difference between a pool of
water, and a pewter image of Satan ? One
is a dead level, and the olhcr lead devil.
WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA COUNTY, PA,
"Slavery in Its Mildest Form.”
“We have no slavery in St. Louis, or only
in its mildest form; and what few slaves
there are here are far. belter off than the la.
boring whites dr free negroes, and would not
be free, not one of them, if they could,”—
Such were the remarks that fell upon my
ears a few days ago from the lips of a lady
famous for her goodness of heart and kindly
charity, her universal benevolence, and never
ending patience with the, sins and follies of
the world. Such are the remarks you hear
daily from all classes of people, if you dare
approach the forbidden subject. “Slavery in
its mildest form,” let us see what it is.
Month after month as the days rolled on,
and I sat'at my door of a summer evening,
or sallied out to market in the morning, I
noticed four little children playing i upon the
pavement—two boys and. two girls. The
eldest was a slender child, with rather a dark
Southern skin, hair almost black, and a large
flashing black eye. Her motions were quick,
her laugh timid, and her ways seemed as of
one fearful of some impending evil. Yet
she was ever watchful and careful of two
little ones who were almost always with her
at play, and over whom, as the elder she ap
peared to have charge. Nest her in size was
a curly-headed, round-faced,' dark-browed
boy—a rollicking, devil-may-care little chap,
who defied all sorrow and sadness, and made
one forget gray hairs, and wish he were “a
boy again.” He might have been five years
old, the eldest girl seven. The two younger
cbildien, pretty and delicate, seemed. like
brother and sister to the two elder; yet I
had noticed the smellier ones dressed more
tastefully, and with richer material. I had
also noticed the going out at morn, and the
coming in at eve, of a trim, neat girl, of
about twenty, as I supposed, who seemed to
live in the same house ; but as she passed
me, she never looked up, and a shade of care
rested upon her brow, that told of some deep
suffering. Sometimes I would see her flitting
to and fro daily ; sometimes she would be
gone weeks, and then I would see the two
elder children clinging to her, as she turned
the corner, and hanging to her skirts with
shouts of joy, as if_she were a loved mother
just returning from a long abscence, or a
dear sister, gentle and kind, who led the little
hearts in her keeping. Of one thing I was
sure—they were the children of the same
father, and that father often sat at his door
of a summer night, and watched their gam
bols upon the street, as they led the two
younger ones about, or drew the baby in its
little carriage.
A year went by, and I still thought them
«Uuf vtnr huuarirotd. I needed a seamstress,
and asked a neighbor where one could be
found. '
“Could you tiot hire Mrs. L ’s Liz
zie?’’
“What do you mean 2”
“L 's colored girl. No she’s not col
ored ; she’s as white as I am ; but she’s a
slave. Did you ever see her—that pretty,
neat girl that you see going in and out—the
mother of Ella and Charley 2”
I almost gasped for breath. “Is Lizzie a
slave,'and Ella and Charley her children?”
“To be sure they are.”
“I thought those children were all Mr.
L ’s 2”
“Well, I suppose they are,” said the lady,
with a leer; “but the two oldest are Lizzie’s,
the other two Mrs. L ’s. She is a sec
ond wife you know, and he came here a wid
ower, and talks about Lizzie’s husband down
at Memphis. Lizzie is a splendid seamstress,
and slays at home and sews round part of
the time in warm weather; in winter, she
goes on steamboats as chamber-maid. She
is obliged, when on the boat, to pay her mas
ter thirty dollars a month—and all she gels
over she has for herself, to clothe her chil
dren. That’s why they are kept so nice.—
She is better off than many a free girl.”
We went io ihe seamstress, and after a
while we heard her tale of wo. “Better off
than many a free girl I” How could a wo
man’s tongue speak those words, and.not
grow palsied in her mouth 2
Lizzie had been torn from a home at the
South by a sheriff’s sale. Mr. L had
bought her as a fancy girl, and her fate was
like all olher’sj— now subject to the caprice
of a jealous wife, her children often ill-used,
when vhigjyife'dared. She was driven away
to earn wases on a boat, sometimes at a fear
ful rate, and only able to satisfy a mother’s
love for her children by yielding to the ex
actions of her master, who was good if she
obeyed, cruel to her children if she dared to
resist any enactment of his will. She had
high and holy thoughts. Her love for her
children was deep and strong. When at
home, she would gather them to her arms,
and weep over them through the long night,
and almost pray that they might die ere they
were old enough to know their fearful deg
radation. I never talked with her but once,
and then she seemed io fear that the tortures
of the Inquisition awaited her. She trembled
from head 1 to loot, and started at every noise.
She had been kindly raised, and could read
and write. “He makes me dress,” said she,
“and keep my children so, (hat the world
may call him a good master. Ho never
strikes me, but he tears me from them. And
O, mistress, who knows what they "gets
while I’m gone 2 Not a thing but bread and
water. And then, O, my God ! he tells me
Ella will be old enough to take my place
some day ; that she’s so pretty, he can get
fourteen hundred dollars for her when she is
fourteen, and that he can sell Charley any
day, and, if I don’t do his bidding, he will.
O, mistress, if there is a God in heaven, he
wilt blast 1 this nation for its wickedness. I
sometimes hate you all, everybody that is
free—yes, every one—beeause you can be
“THE AGITATION OP THOUGHT IS THE BEGINNING OF WISDOM.”
THURSDAY MORNING. JUNE 11, 1857.
happy in your children and husbands, and
help to make us so wretched. Mistress says
I oughtn't to complain, when I have such fine
clothes, and everybody treats me as if I was
a lady ; but fine clothes don’t cure the heart
ache, and to be treated like a lady don’t take
away the fear that my poor children will be
sold when I get back, and I never see them
again. He don’t tell me Tam a slave always ;
but O, mistress, I would rather be a dog than
such a thing.”
Her sobs and tears choked her utterance.
Poor Lizzie! Hers was ail case of “slavery
in its mildest form”—“scarce slavery at all,"
some would say, who only look upon the
surface. Are chains and whips to the limbs
and back so much more Tearful than the ter
rible agony of the mother’s heart, through
long years of agonizing suspense, looking
forward to the fate of her children, who must
bear the brand of shame and ignorance,
through her, forever; more, chains and
stripes, starvation and hard work— all that
makes slavery terrible ? That Christian ladies
can say that a woman of high and holy
instincts can be made a victim of man’s lust,
be made to bear the sacred name of mother,
that her sons and daughters may be sold like
brutes in the shambles, to the same fearful
life that has withered all her womanhood,
and turned to gall and bitterness every cup
of existence, and yet that this is “slavery in
o’ne of its mildest forms,” is most astonishing.
— Liberator.
Peter Cartwright. —Some queer stories
are told of this pioneer preacher. He at one
time offended r jx certain Major L , who
was a fire-eater, by the boldness of his preach
jng, and the first time they met, the Major
.flaw into a desperate rage, and said that if he
thought he would flght him a duel he would
challenge him.
“Major,” said Cartwright, very calmly,
“if you challenge me to a duel, I will accept.
“Well, sir,” said he, “I dare you to mor
tal combat.”
“Very well, I’ll fight you ; and, sir,” said
Cartwright, “according to the laws of honor
I suppose it is my right to choose the weapons
with which we are to fight?”
“Certainly,” said he.
“Well,” said Cartwright, “then well step
over here into this lot, and get t|- couple of
corn stalks; I think I can finish you with
one.” 1
“But, oh! what a rage he got in. He
clenched his fists and looked vengeance.—
Said he,
i. “If* I thought I could whip you, I would
smite? you in a moment."
“Yes, yes, Major L ,” said Cartwright,
“but thank God, you can’t whip me; but
don’t you attempt to strike me, for if you do,’
and the devil gels out of you into me, I shall’
give you the worst whipping that ever you
had in your life,” and then walked away.
She Wouldn’t Marry a Mechanic.—A
young man commenced visiting a woman,
and appeared to be well pleased.' One even
ing he called when it was quite late, which
led the young lady to inquire where he bad
been.
“I bad to work to-night.”
“What I Do you work for a living?’’ she
inquired in astonishment.
“Certainly,” replied the young man", “I
am a mechanic.”
“I dislike the name of mechanic,” and she
turned up her pretty nose.
That was the last time the young mechanic
visited the young woman. He is now a
wealthy man, and has one of the best of wo
men for his wife.
The young lady who disliked Ihe name of
mechanic is now the wife of a miserable fool
—a regular vagrant about the grogshops, and
she, soft, verdant, silly, miserable girl, is
obliged to lake in washing in order to support
herself and children.
You dislike the name of mechanic, eh 2
You, whose brothers are but dressed loafers 2
We pity any girl who has so little brains,
who is so verdant, so soft, as to think less of
a young man for being a mechanic—one of
God’s noblemen—the most dignified and hon
orable personage of heaven’s creatures. Be
ware, young lady, how you treat young men
that work for a living, for'you may, one day,
be menial to one of them yourself.
Bad Company. —Lawyers, although gene
rally pretty cute, are-no match for the ladies,
Dimity lakes as naturally to wit as a lawyer
does to his client’s pocket-book. ■ A lawyer
driving through the town of Worcester stop
ped at a cottage to inquire his way. The
lady of the house told him that he must keep
straight on for some time, then turn to the
right, but said that she herself was going to
pass the road he must take, and that if he
could wait a few moments till she could get
her horse ready, she would show him the
way.
“Well,” said he, “bad company is better
than none—make haste.”
After jogging on for five or six miles, the
gentleman asked if he had come to the road
yet.
“Oh yes!” said she,” we passed it two
miles back ; but I thought bad company was
better than none, so I kept you along with
me.”
A good anecdole is related of Mr. Secre
tary Marcy. Not liking Mr. Buchanan’s plan
of turning one democrat out of office to let
another democrat in, he expressed himself
warmly against it. A friend of the new
President, hearing his animadversion, asked
him if he was not the author of the maxim.
“To the victors belong the spoils.” “Yes, 1
am,’’ reported the Secretary, “but taking the
spoils from an enemy is a very different thing
from plundering your own camp.”
PUBLISHERS & PROPRIETORS. 1
i For The Agitator.!
SABBATH EVENING, j
Thai holy calmness reigns.
All hashed tho cares and noise of busy life; I
Floats on the air nought of earth's weary strife, )
As the holy Sabbath wanes,
Slowly the twilight ray |
Gives place to evening's shades, and ling'ring near 1 .
Seems loth to leave a scene so holy, deer, j -
As close of Sabbath day, j
The flow'reU close their eyes, -
As lightly near them trip the dew drops bright j
And sink to rest—gently os when to light
The soul of Christian flics.
How at an hoar like this,
The soul is filled with longings for that rest, |
That through yon golden gates awaits ihetjest, j
In realms of love and bliss. j
Oh ! when the silver cord f
That binds to oarth is loosed, when my worn soul
Pants fbr the crystal streams of peace that roll
Where angel songs are pour'4*
9 O ! may my spirit soar
To Heaven, and join the band with harps and crowns
Just os the Sabbath evening's sun goes down, I
With it to rise no more. I
Northumberland Fa. ALLJE. »
From the Christian Ambassador.!
[Published by request ,]
Bro. Austin :—The de.ath of my wife anjd
little grand daughter, both’of which occurred
within sis-days of each other, and under my
own roof, and our deep affliction on the ac
count of this severe and double stroke if
Providence, have already been announced do
the public; yet I think the case is worthy la
more extended notice, and trust it will not qo
deemed improper for me to speok upon tlje
subject of this, to us, sad' and painful bereay
ment. And in addressing you, Bro. Austiiji,
I shall feel that I am not talking to the deaf,
or to one who cannot sympathize with the
afflicted, for I am but too well aware that yo|u
also, like myself, as of one of old, art “a map'
of sorrow and acquainted with grief.” To
part with an affectionate companion, whose
presence had been as light and life to onefs
soul, is surely as great a trial as we feel able
to bear, and no doubt the greatest bereay
ment we can be called upon to experience};
yet it is susceptible of being mitigated or ag
gravated by the circumstances under which
it lakes place, I
Four-months prior to the decease of my
wife, and while apprehending the melancholy
event, a circumstance occurred that never
happened in my house before—the birth of ;a
female child—and I need not say the an
nouncement was hailed with joy by us all,
when I tell you 1 had two wives and seve|n
sons, but no daugh'ers ; and although this
one was not my own, but a grand daughter,
yet for me it possessed equal attractions as if
it had been our own daughter. I am pa?-
sionately, lontj-of children. Among all the
beauties of nature nothing is so fascinating
as a sweet,‘smiling, rosy-cheeked infant. It
is no wonder that our Saviour took them in
his arms and blessed them, saying, “of such
is the kingdom of heaven.” To my view
this is the most beautiful sentiment uttered bjy
him who spake as never man spake. Thp
alone would havemade me a friend of Jesus.
I love him especially for this saying—if it
bad been omitted, Christianity would hav|e
been deficient. Give me the man that lovels
little children. Ido not say the woman, (qr
this were a matter of course’—a woman who
does not love children is an anomaly. |t
may be thought, therefore, a womanish weak
ness—this fondness for children. Not so-J
-the greatest men living or that have lived, are
remarkable for their love of children. It has
been said that a child in a house is a foun
tain of joy. This was especially so with us.
But alas, hdw soon did this fountain cease to
flow—how soon was our joy turned to ween
ing—and all so sudden, and so soon after the
departure of one so valued by us all—an af
fectionate wife and dear fond mother. Sure
ly “woes cluster—rare are solitary woes-i
-they love a train—they tread each other’s
heels.” ' j
We were'the more reconciled to the loss df
Mrs_Bullard, for the reason that her whole
life, since~!~knew her, had been more or less
attended with sickness and pain, and esped
ially during the last two or three years!;
while her sufferings for the last few months!!
will not attempt to describe. I had no hopSe
of her recovery from the commencement of
what proved to be her last sickness. A coal
plication of diseases, with which she had
long been afflicted,’finally took Ihe form of
consumption, and consumption it is said is p
flattering complaint, and so it proved in hejr
case, for she did ndl give up until a few weelys
before her departure, and when she did givje
up that she must die—that there was nq.help
for her, it was a trying lime with us all.-4-
Though little was said, more was felt, as ap
pearances plainly indicated. Thus matters
stood—a painful suspense—until the day be
fore her transit from earth. !
I was sitting by her, as usual, when she
look occasion to speak of her nearly approach
ing end, and said that when she first made
up her mind that there was no hope of get
ting well, the thought of death seemed horri
ble. “To think,” she exclaimed, “that jl
must die arid leave you and the children, was
painful in the extreme. But I have got all
over that now. lam now willing to die, and
long to have the time come. I have no fears
of the future. The same God who has sus
tained me here, will provide for me hereafter.
If I do not see any of my friends before (I
die, bid them farewell (or me, and tell them! I
die happyl.” i
I wouljl say here, we were anxiously look,
ing for hermnly sister, Mrs. John J. Knox, of
Oneida co., who, however, did not arrive un
til the next day after she had left us for the
spirit land. She was also very anxious to
see her revered father, David Curtiss, Esq.,
of Qneida cq,, bqt tyas not permitted oq’t|e
®atei of Advertising;.
Advertisements will be charged $1 per square of
fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions, and 25
Cents fur every subsequent insertion. All advertise-,
menls of less than fourteen lines considered as a
equate.' The following rates will bo charged lor
Quarterly, Half-Yearly and. Yearly advertising:—.
3 months. 6 months. 13 mo's
1 Square, (14 lines,) . $2 50 $4 50 $6 00
3 Squares,- - . '- 400 600 BQQ
} column, - - - . 10 00 15 00 90 00
1 column 18 00 30 00 40 00
All advertisements not having the number of in,
sertions marked upon them, will be kept in until or
dered out, and charged accordingly.
Posters, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads, and all
kinds of Jobbing, done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices', Consta
bles’and other BLANKS, constantly on hand and
printed to order.
NO. 40.;
account of his extreme age. This was a
great trial to herj for a better man'and fond
er parent never lived, nor a more devoted
child than she. Hef’ s was “a slow suddeq
death,” She had; failed so fast for trweek or
ten days, that we came to the conclusion she
could not survive long—-perhaps two or three
days at the farthest. This led me to think
of taking some measures to secure the servi
ces of sojne brother in the ministry at the
funeral, for there were none very near me.
With this in view, I seated myself and wrote
a letter to you, Bro. Austin. As soon as I
had finished it, she spoke and wished me to
return to her bed-side, which I immediately
did ; and on taking her hand, found that she
was dying, and in less than half an hour she
was no more. Her death was as calm and
serene as a summer morning. She hadlteen
quite restless through the day, complained of
being tired, and expressed a desire to sleep.
Her desire was at length gratified, and she
slept the sleep that knows no waking in time,
. ''Sweet is the scene where virtue dies.
When sinks the righteous soul to rest;
How mildly beam the closing eyes,
How gently heaves the dying breast.”
U now being toolate lo hear from you, the
letter was withheld, while other arrange
ments were immediately made, which proved
successful and very satisfactory to all parties.
concerned.
The rest has been chronicled. The scene
is closed—the curtain has fallen, and I am
left on the dark side, just where I was thirty,
one years ago, I had buried the wife of my
youth and our first born, side by side in the
same grave, and was left for a season lo con
tinue the journey of life alone. The same is
now true of the wife of my manhood, and a
grandchild. Though 1 have five surviving
children, they have grown to manhood and
arejn business for themselves, and I am
again at large, and a sojourner on life’s
weary road. “And now, Lord, what wouldst
thou have me lo do?” Me thickest I hear
the answer—“Go and preach the gospel!
spend the'residue of your days in the service
of your Mpster.” This shall be my humble
endeavor as it is my heart’s deliofit, my only
crown of joy. I will try lo be faithful unto
the end. I await the call; for lam now in
the market place. Thine in the faith.
’ ■ Wj. Bullard.
A Tbce Yakkee. —A young man in this
city wrote to a gentleman in Northampton,
that he had recently unexpectedly l)een
thrown out of employment, and requested
the person whom he addressed to procure
hinf a situation; He said he would like to
work at sawing qr making blinds, —few (said
ho) nan beoi mo at that; or, 1 should like to
get into a livery stable ; or any of the stores,
as salesman, for I am a good one, and un
derstand the business ; or, to drive a team,
I will be on hand ; or (a chance to tend a saw
mill; or almost anything else—get me a
chance, and I will be on hand. Of course,
such a young man was not long destitute of
employment. He has got a “smart chance,”
and like a right smart fellow he is improving
it. —Springfield Rep.
An honest backwoodsman, unacquainted
with' the slang terms of the day,'recently
went into a store at Columbus, S. C., to pur
chase a bill of groceries. Stepping uplo the
keeper of the store, he began: Have you
got any sugar?’’ “We ain’t got anything
else, - ” was the reply. “Well, pul me up 150
pounds, and make out your bill; I’ll call and
settle, and get the sugar in an hour or so.”
In an hour or two after this the gentleman
called, paid his bill, and got his sugar. As
usual, the shopkeeper said : ‘ Want any.
thing else ?” “I did want some three or four
bags of coffee, some rice, spices, oil, &0.,
but I got them at another store. You told
me you didn’t have anything else.”
Catching Suckers.— Some time ago there
lived in Vermont a queer old man named
Miller. He had lost part of his palate and
was a fare specimen. He owned a mill, the
water of which was brought for some dis
tance through a wooden flume. One morn
ing an apprentice informed him that the flume
■was full of suckers. Miller posted himself at
its mouth, placing a large basket tocatch the
suckers in, while the boy went above to hoist
the gate. There was a rush of many waters,
carrying Miller, basket and all over the over
shoNwheel, full thirty feet below. All drip
.ping, he scrambled out, sputleting,—“You
may think I’m an idiot, but I ain’t such a
d d fool that' I can’t see through that
joke 7”
It does a body good to have his pride flat
tered jOnce in a while. We realize the bene
fit of it once a year. Every April the asses
sors come round and ask us how' much moru
ey we have got out at interest; and how
much stock we have in the public funds
or in banks, and various other questions
which are supposed to be put only to the
“solid men.” If there is anybody round wo
straighten up slightly, expand our corporosily,
and in as heavy a chest tone as we can com
mand wo answer, “about the same as last
year." They know well enough what that
is. So do we.— Nashva Telegraph.
Two Irishmen, one a Protestant, the other
a Catholic, a dispute yesterday, in
the alley that divides our office from the next
building, as to which was the true religion.
The Protestant seemed to have the best of the
argument for a long limn ; but his adversary
at last exclaimed, “Didn’t St. Paul address all
his epistles to the Homans ? Show me a loi
ter he ever wrote to the Protestants , and Pl|
give in.” We cannot say which it was, the
rain or the logic, that ended the discussion,
but the voices of the disputants wejo hushed,
—Boston Courier,