The agitator. (Wellsborough, Tioga County, Pa.) 1854-1865, June 11, 1857, Image 1
Terms of Publication. THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOR ia pub. ashed ever/ Thursday Morning, and mailed to sub scribers at the very reasonable price of One Dot la* per annum, invariably in advance. It is intend ed to notify every subscriber when the term for which he ha* paid shall have expired, by the stamp < —“Time Out,’ 1 on the margin of the last paper. The paper will then be stopped until a further re mittance be received. By this arrangement no man can be brought in debt to the printer. The Agitato* is the Official Paper of the Conn ly, with a large and steadily increasing circulation reaching into nearly every neighborhood in f* l ® County. It is sent free of postage to any Post-office within the county limits, and to those living within the limits, but whose mostconvenicat postoffice may be in an adjoining County. Business Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, paper in* eluded, $4 per year. 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,