Terms of publication. THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATQR is pub. .i*hed every Thursday Morning, and mailed to sub scribers at the very reasonable price of One Dol mi per annum, invariably in advance. It is intend ed to notify every subscriber when the term for which he has paid shall have expired, by the stamp — M Time Out,” 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 Agitator io the Official Paper of the Coun ty, with a large and steadily increasing circulation reaching into nearly every neighborhood in the County. It is sent free of postage to any Post omco within the county limits, and to those living wtlhin the limits,but whose rfibslconvenienl postoffice may be in an adjoining County. Business Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, paper in cluded, $4 per year. IF YON BRIGHT STARS. nr WTLUB OATLORD (OARX. If yon bright stars which gem the night, Be each a blissful dwelling sphere, Witere kindred spirits reunite, Whom death has torn asunder here. How sweet it were at once to die— To leave this blighted orb afar— Mir soul with soul, to cleave the Sky, . And soar away from star to star. But ah! how dark, how drear and lone : Would seem the brightest world of bliss, If, passing through each radiant one. We failed to find the loved of (his! If there no more the lies should twine. Which death’s cold hand alone can blight. Ah ! then those stars in mockery'shine. More hateful as they shine so bright. It cannot be!—each hope, each fear. That lights the eye or clouds the brow, Proclaims there is a better sphere. Than this bleak world that holds ns now ! There is a voice which sorrow hears; When heaviest weighs life’s galling chain; *Tis heaven that whispers, “dry thy tears— The pure in heart shall meet again \ n THE MISTAKE. ‘‘l’ll never do it,—never, so long as I live!” And the boy clenched his hands together, and strode up and down the room, his fine fea tures Hushed, and his forehead darkened with anger and shame. ““I’d ask the minister’s pardon, in father’s presence, of course I would ; but logo before the whole Academy, boys and girls, and do this !” His whole frame writhed at the thought. “Ellsworth Grant, you will brand yourself as a coward and a fool all the days of your life.” “But father never retracts, and he said I must do this or leave the school, and .go out on the farm to work ; and the whole village will know the reason, and I shall be ashamed to look any one in the face.: I’ve a good will to run away.” The boy’s voice grew lower, and a troubled, bewildered expression gath ered on his (lushed features. “It would be very hard to leave the old places ; and then, never to see Nellie again ; it would break her heart, I know it would.” And his face worked convulsively a moment, but it settled down into a look of dogged res olution the next. “I musn’t think of that just now ; though it’s only ten miles to the seaport, and I could walk that in an hour, and get a place in some ship that was about to sail, before father was any wiser. Some time I’d come back, of course, but not till I was old enough to be my own master.’’ The boy sal down and buried his face in his hands and the sunset of the summer’s day poured its currents of crimson and amber into the chamber, and over the bowed figure of-the boy. At last he lifted Iris bead—there was a look of quiet resolve in the dark hazel eyes and about the usually smiling mouth, which in youth is so painful, because it always in dicates mental suffering. Ellsworth Grant was, at this time, just fifteen; he was his father’s only son, and was motherless. The deacon was a stern, severe man ; while Ellsworth inherited his mother’s sunny temperament. His father was a man of un swerving integrity and rectitude —a man. who would have parted with his right hand sooner than have committed a dishonest act; but one who had few sympathies for faults indi genous to peculiar temperaments and char acter ; a man whose heart had never learned the height and depth, and the all-embracing beauty of that mighliesTtext which is the one diamond among all the pearls and precious stones of the Bible; "Be ye Charitable .” He was a hard, exacting parent, and Ells worth was a fun-loving, mischief-brewing boy, that everybody loved, despite his faults, and the scrapes he was always getting him self into. There is no doubt that Deacon Grant loved his son, but that was not a de monstrative man ; and, then—it is the sad, sad story that may be written of many a pa rent—“he didn’t understand his child,’’ and no mother, with her soft voice and soothing words, to come between the father and son. Ellsworth last offence can be told in a few words. The grape vine, which, heavy wilh purple clusters, trailed over the kitchen win dows of the school-teacher's residence, had been robbed of more than half its fruit, when the inmates were absent. The pprpetrators of this deed were, how. ever, discovered to be a party of the school boys, among whom was Ellsworth. The rest of the scholars privately solicited and obtained the school teacher’s pardon, but the deacon, who was terribly shocked dt this evidence of his son’s want of principle, in sisted that he should make a public confes sion of his fault, before the whole assembled school. In vain Ellsworth explained and entreated. His rather was invulnerable, and the boy’s haughls spirit entirely mutinied. “Ellsworth, Ellsworth, where are you go ing ?” There came down the garden walk, an eager, quivering voice, that made the boy start, and turn round eagerly, as he stood at the garden gate, while the light of the rising day was flushing the grey mountain in the east with rose colored hues. A moment later, a small, light figure, crowned with gol den hair, and a large shawl thrown over its night-dress, stood by the side of the youth. ‘•Why, Nellie,how could you ? you’ll take cold in your bare feel, among these dews.” “I can’t help it Ellsworth.” It was a tear swollen face that looked up wistfully to the boy’s. “You see, I haven’t slept any, hardly, all night, thinking about you. and so I was up, looking out of the window, and saw you going down the walk.*’ “Well, Nellie,” pushing back the yellow tangled hair, apd looking at her fondlv, “you THE AGITATOR. Brhotrh to the Svttu»iva of the area of iFreehow anh the Spreah of healths Reform WELLSBOEOUGH, TIOGA COUNTY, PA, THUESDAY MOENING, JUNE 18, 1857. ness, that, at last, all converged into one joyful certainty. “Merciful man !" The words broke from the girl’s lips, and the last roil of butler fell from the little hands, as looking up, she saw the stranger in the doorway j and • her rosy cheeks actually turned pale with the start of surprise. Incident of the Revolution. A miliiary officer with whom we have long been intimate, relates two incidents connected with Croghan’s gallant defense of Fort Ste venson ; one of which affords strong positive proof, and the other a strong negative proof, of the adage, “fortune favors the brave." As the British and Indians, in their opera tions, had violated theit pledges and the usage of civi|ized warfare by wantonly murdering their prisoners, Croghan’s little band (only one hundred strong, with a six-pounder, and surrounded by about Six hundred Indians) had naturally agreed to sell their lives as dearly as possible. When all was readyi-ffie Ihritish comman der sent a messenger, untisr/a flag of truce, to treat for the surrender olj the fort. Cro ghan pointing to him nsf-he arproached, ex claimed : “It will not do to let him enter here and see our, weakness ; who will volunteer-to meet him I” The exclamation seemed to recall the young man to himself. He removed his hat. “Ex cuse me,” he said, with a bow, “but can you tell me whether Deacon Grant resides here?” “O! yes, sir, will you walk into the par lor and take a seat ? Uncle, here is a gen tleman who wishes to see you.” And in a flutter of embarrassment, she hurried towards the door. The gentleman did not stir, and removing his silver spectacles the deacon came in ; and the two men looked at each other, the older with some surprise, and a good deal of curi osity in his face; the younger with a strange longing earnestness in his dark eyes that seemed wholly unaccountable. “Do you know me, sir ?” he asked, after a moment’s silence, and there was a shaking in bis voice, “I do not know that I ever had the plea sure of meeting you before, sir,” said the deacon. But here a change came over the features of the girl, who. had been watching the stranger intently, the light of a long buried recollection, seemed to break from her heart into her face. Her breath came graspingly between Tier parted lips, her dilated eyes were fastened on the stranger ; then, with a quick cry, she sprang forward. “Uncle, is it not Ellsworth! it is surely our long lost Ellsworth I O ! if you had seen that old man then I His cheeks turned ashen pale, his frame shiv ered ; ho tottered a few steps forward, and then then great, wild cry of his heart broke out—“ls it you my boy, Ellsworth!” “It is I, father: are you glad to see me?” And that stout man asked the question with a sob, and a timid voice, like that of a child. “Come to me ! come to me, my boy, that I thought was dead, that I have seen every night for tbo last eight years, lying with the dark eyes of his -.mother under the white waves. O! Ellswprlh, God has sent you from the dead I Come to me, my boy !” And the old man drew his arms around his son’s neck, and leaned his grey head on his strong breast, and for a while there was no word spoken between them. “You have forgiven me, father ?** asked the young man. ,( D« n»iooU m« tn J t»oy« How many times would I have given everything I pos sessed on earth to ask, ‘forgive me Ells worth V and to hear you answer, ‘Yes, fa ther.’ ” So there was peace between those two, such peace as the angels, who walk up and down the hills, crowned with the royal pur ple of eternity, tune their harps over ! “And this—this is Nellie? How she has altered ! But I knew the voice,” said Ells worth at last, as he look thg girl's hand in his own, and kissing her wet cheeks, adding, very tenderly : “M-y darling sister Nellie.” And at Inst they all went out under the cool shade of the vine, and there Ellsworth told his story. , The merchantman in which he had sailed for home was wrecked, and many on board perished; but some of the sailors constructed a raft, on which the boy was saved, with several others. They were afterwards res cued by a vessel bound for South America. Here Ellsworth had obtained a situation in a large mercantile establishment, first as clerk, afterward as a junior partner. He had written home twice, but the letters had been lost or miscarried. As he re ceived no answer, he supposed his father had never forgiven him for “running away,” and tried to reconcile himself to the estrange ment. - But he had of late, found it very difficult to do this, and, at last, he had resolved to return, have an interview with his parent, and try whether the sight of his long-'absent son would not soften his heart.- 0 I it wss a happy trio that sat under the green leaves of the hop-vine that summer morning. It was a happy trio that sat down in that low, old-fashioned kitchen, to the delicious dinner of chicken and fresh peas, that Nellie had been so long in preparing. And that night three very happy people knelt in the old sitting room, while the trem bling voice of the deacon thanked God for him that was dead and is “alive again.” The Mother.—Despise not your mother jtvben she is old. Age may wear and waste 9 mother’s beauty, strength, limbs, senses and estate; but her relation as mother is as the sun when it goes forth in its might, for it in the meridian and knoweth no evening.- The person may be gray-headed ; but her motherly relation is ever in its bloom. It may be autumn, yea, winter, but with the mother, as mother, it is always spring. Alas I how little do we appreciate a mother’s tender ness while living. How heedless are we in youth of all her anxieties and kindness. But when she is dead and gone—when the cares and the coldness of the world come withering to our heart—when we expect how hard it is to find true sympathy—how few love us for ourselves—how few will befriend us in mis fortune—then it is that we think of the moth er we have lost. A sailor being asked how he liked his bride is reported to have remarked: “Why d’ye see I look her for to be only one half of mo, as the parson said ; but dash me if she ain’t twic* as much as I am. I’m only a tar aqd she’s a tartar.” As it was pretty certain that whosoever should leave the fort on such a mission, would be murdered by the dastard foe, there was a brief pause, when Ensign Shipp replied : “I will, upon one condition.” “What is that?” asked the captain. \ “Pledge me your word, as an officer and a man of honor, that you will keep that gun bearing directly upon me, and that you will fire it off the moment ybu see me raise my hand.” The pledge was given, and Shipp went forth. To all the arguments and persuasions of the enemy his unwavering reply was : “I am instructed to say that we defend the fort.” Soon the Indians began to surround him. One clutched his epaulets, another his sword. Shipp, who was of Herculean frame, released himself by a powerful effort, and, turning to the envoy, coolly said : “Sir, 1 have not pul myself under the pro tection of your truce without knowing your mode of warfare. Ybu see that gun,” said he, pointing to their solitary six-pounder, “it is well charged with grape, and I have the solemn pledge of my commander that it shall be fired at me the moment I give him the sig nal. Therefore, restrain these men and res pect the law of war, or you shall instantly accompany me to the other world.” This was enough. Shipp was no more molested, but returned to his comrades in safety, fought out the desperate action that ensued, and -obtained promotion for hts bra* very. The counter instance referred to at the head of our paragraph was told as follows : After the British and Indians had with drawn, Croghan missed one man, only one, who bad belonged to his little band, and all efforts for his fecovery were,for some time unsuccessful. At length his remains were discovered in the garret of one of the blonk-. houses, where be had crept for safety, and was cut in two by a cannon ball. All (ho lest, considering their chances of life not worth a thought, had oply sought to dotheir duty, and escaped alive, from per haps the most desperate fight on record. The only man that was killed hastened to be the one that proved himself a coward. Secret Phayek. —Men never take so firm a hold of God as in secret. Remember Ja cob. Thou shoulds’t pray alone, for thou hast sinned alone, and thou art to die alone, and|to be judged alone. Alone thou wilt have to appear before the judgment seat. Why not go alone to the mercy seat ? In the great transaction between thee and God, thou cans’t have no human helper. You are not going to tell Him any secret. You may be sure He will not betray your confidence. What ever reasons there may be for any species of devo'ion, there are more and stronger rea sons for secret devotion. Nothing is more embarrassing and disturbing in secret prayer than unpropilious circumstances. Great at tention ought always to be paid to this point —“Enter into thy closet,” says Christ. He says not a closet, but thy closet. The habit of secret communion is supposed to be formed. The man is supposed to have a closet—some place in which he is accustomed to retire for prayer—some spot consecrated by many a meeting there with God, some place that has often been to him a Bethel. The Saviour uses the word to mean any place where, wiih no .embarrassment either from the fear or pride of observation, we can freely pour out our hearts in prayer to God. No matter what are the dimensions of the place, what its flooring or canopy. Christ’s closet was a mountain, Isaac’s a field, Peter’s the house top.—Necius. One Prays and Another Finn's.—The ship, Senator, which arrived at this port Irom Liverpool last week, in. a leaky condition, met with a very severe gale of wind just after leaving the port, on the 9lh of April, in which she shifted her cargo and sprung a leak.— After several days hard pumping, the crew, becoming exhausted and discouraged, notified the captain that they should not pump any longer, Capt. Coffin hereupon assembled all hands. Taking out his watch, be looked at it and then at the men, and said, coolly : “It is now just twelve o’clock ; at the rate the ship is now leaking, I calculate we shall all be in the other world .at about half past two. I am going below to say my prayers,” and went into his cabin. A consultation was soon held. One old fellow declared he had rather pump than pray, as he understood it belter, and it-agreed belter with his constitution.— In a few minutes, the Captain heard the pumps going again lively as ever, and they did not cease going, except at short intervals, until the ship arrived in f’Jew.york,— Nap York Times, COBB, STURROCK & CO., YOL. 3. see," I cao’t do what father, says I must, to day, and so I’m going off.” “O, Ellsworth I what will uncle say ?” cried the child, betwixt her shivering and weeping, “what will uncle say? How long shall you be gone ?” *4 don’t know,” he replied, evasively, “I shan’t be back to-day, though. But you musn’t stand here talking any longer. Fa ther’ll be up soon, you know. Now, good bye, Nellie.” There was a sob in his throat, as he leaned forward and kissed the sweet face, that had only seen a dozen summers, and then he was gone. "Go and call Ellsworth to breakfast, will you, Ellen?” said the'deacon, two hours later. “He isn’t up stairs, uncle.” And then as they sat down to theirs, sl)e related what had transpired. The deacon’s face grew dafrk as she pro ceeded. “He. thinks to elude the confession and frighten me, by running off for a day or two,” he said ; “he will find that he is mistaken.” So that day and the next passed, and the deacon said nothing more, but Ellen, who was his adopted child, and the orphan.daughter of his wife’s most intimate friend, noticed that he began to look restless, and to start anx iously at the sound of a foot-fall; but still Ellsworth did not come. At last a strict search was instituted, and it was discovered that Ellsworth had gone to sea, in a ship bound for somo part ot the western coast of Asia, on a three years’ voyage. “I hope he. will come back a better boy than he left,” was the deacon’s solitary com mentary, but in the long nights, Ellen used to hear him walking restlessly up and down in his room, and his black hair began to be thickly scattered with grey. Bui the worst was not yet come. One November night, when the winds clamored and stormed fiercely among the old apple trees in the garden, Deacon Grant and Ellen sat by the fire in the old kitchen, when the former removed the wrapper from his weekly newspaper, and the first passage that met his eye was (lie one that told him how the ship , the one in which Ellsworth had sailed, had been wrecked off the coast, and every soul on board had perished. Then the voice of the father woke up in the heart of Deacon Grant. He staggered toward Ellen with a white haggard taco, and a wild fearful cry, “My boy I my boy !” It was more than his proud spirit could bear. “O Ellsworth I Ellsworth I” and 1m sank down restless, and his head fell into the lap of the frightened child. After this, Deacon Grant was a changed man.' I did not know which was the most to blame, the father or the son, in the sight of God who judgeth righteously. But equally to the heart of many a parent and many a child, the story has its message and its warning. Eight years had passed. It was summer time again, and the little hills were green; and the fields were yellow with their glory. It was in the morning, and Deacon Grant sat under the porch of the great, old, ram bling cottage; for the day was very warm, and the top was wrapped round thickly with a hop vine. These eight years had greatly changed the deacon. He seemed to have stepped suddenly into old age, and the light wind that stirred the green leaves, shook the grey hair over his wrinkled forehead, as he sat there, reading the village newspaper, wilh eyes that had begun to grow dim : And every little while, fragments of some old-fashioned tune floated out to the old man, soft, sweet, stray fragments; and flitting back and forth from the pantry to the break fast table, was a young girl, not handsome, but with a sweet, frank, rosy countenance, who smiles seemed to hover over the household as naturally as sunshine over June skies. She wote a pink calico dress, the sleeves lucked above her elbows and a “checked apron.” Altogether, she was a fair, plump, healthful looking country girl. And white the old man read the paper under the hop vine, and the young girl hum med and fluttered between the pantry} and the kitchen table, a young man opened the small, front gale, and went up the Barrow path to the house. He went up very slowly, staring all about him, with an eager, wistful look, and some times the muscles of his mouth worked and quivered, as one will when strong emotions are shaking the heart. He had a firm, sinewy frame, of middling height; he was not handsome, but there was something in his face you would have liked; perhaps it was the light away down in the dark eyes ; perhaps it was the strength and character foreshadowed in the lines about the mouth. 1 cannot tell; it was as intangible ns it was certain you' would have liked that face. The door was open, and the young man walked into the wide hail. He stood still a moment, staring around the low wall, and on the palm-leaved paper that hung on the side. Then a thick mist broke over his eyes, and he walked on like one in a dream, appa rently quite forgetful that this was not his owq home. I think those low fragments of song uncon sciously drew him to the kitohen, for a few moments later, he stood in the doorway, watching the young girl as she removed the small rolls of yellow butter from a wooden box to an earthen plate. I can hardly tran scribe the expression of the man's face. It was one of mingled doubt, surprise, eager- “ THE AGITATION OF THOUGHT IS THE BEGINNING OP ’WISDOM.” NO. 47. Reading one’s own Obituary. The tenure of the Major Generalship of Massachusetts, like that of a good many other offices in that,ancient Commonwealth, is for life or during good behaviour. The Boston Transcript says that ope of them lived so long that a wicked wag, at his reported death,- gave, as a sentiment at a public dinner. “The memory of our late Major General—may he be eternally rewarded in Heaven for his everlasting services on earth.” Judge of the surprise of the author of this toast, on learn ing, the next day, that the report was false, and that the veteran officer was still alive. This reminds us of an occurrence that took place in the same State some years ago. In the days of old Mycnll, (he publisher of the Ncwfcurypprt Herald, (a Journal still alive and flourishing,), the sheriff of old Essex, Philip Bagley, had been asked several times to pay his arrears of subscription. At last he one day told Mycall that he would cer tainly “hand over," the next morning as sure as he lived. “If you don’t gel your money to morrow, you may be sure I am dead’’ said he. The morrow came and passed, hot no money,' Judge of the sheriff’s feelings when on the morning of the day after, he opened his Herald , and saw announced the lamented decease of Philip Bagley, Esq., High Sheriff of the county of Essex ; with an obituary notice attached, giving the deceased credit for a good many excellent traits of character, but adding that he had one fault very much to be deplored ; he was not punctual in pay ing the printer. Bagley, without wailing for breakfast, start, ed for the Herald office. On the way it struck him as singular that none of the many friends and acquaintances ho met?seemed to be surprised to see him. They must have read their morning paper. Was it possible they cared so little about him as to have for gotten already that he was no more ! Full of purlurbation ho entered the printing office to deny lliqt- he was dead, in propria per sontß. “Why, Sheriff!” exclaimed the facetious editor, “I thought you were defunct!” “Defunct I” exclaimed the Sheriff. “What, put that idea into your head ?” “Why, yourself?” said Myoall. “Did you not tell me— ’’ “Oh! ah! yes I I see” stammered out the Sheriff. “Well there’s ,your money ! And now contradict the report in the next paper, if you please.” “Thai’s not necessary, friend Bagley,” said the old Joker; ‘t lt teas only printed in your copy. The good Sheriff lived many years after this “sell,” and to the day of his real death always took good care the printer.— iY. O. Picayune. Be Sure of your Sweethearts Name. —lf you wish to have a bustling, fly-about wife, you should marry one named Jenny, for every cotton-spinner knows that jennies are always on the go. If yon marry one named Margaret, you may fear for the man ner in which she will end her days; for all the world knows that “Pegs” were made for hanging. The most incessant writer in the world is he who is always bound to Ad-a-line. You may adore your wife, but you will be surpassed in love when your wife is a Dora. Many men of high moral principles, and who would not gamble for the world, still have refused to take a Bet, We have heard of a Mr. Rose who, in a fit of ecstatic delight over his small addition to his weekly expenses,'in sisted on having the child named “Wild.”— It was, doubtless, a very pretty conceit, and as she expanded into womanhood, with the glowing color of youthful beauty on her cheeks and clustering ringlets of glossy au burn playing about her neck, and her slender form moving as gracefully as a river-reed in> a southern wind, those who gazed on her dwelt with admiring; approval on her happy name of “Wild Rose but alas ! and olack a-day ! at some fatal polka she danced with a gentleman who enjoyed the patronymic whiclt typifies the “people’s” representative of Old England, and within six months she had to sign all jeotitiienlal, affectionate, and polite missives with “Wild Bull.” “Oh, what a falling off - was there?” Full Length Fainting Prevented.— The new invention of steel frames Car ladies’ Jupons to rest upon, is. of such enormous weight for the hips, that it is hardly likely to become general, yet for those who are liable to faint it has a certain advantage. There is no possibility-of falling! The solid dome of metal which surrounds the lady so effectually sustains her that she can only faint from the waist upwards—or, at least, the conscious ness of the remainder is of no particular con sequence. At one of the most elegant balls of the sea son, in the Rue St. Honore, Paris, there was a great alarm among the guests occasioned by the falling df a chandelier in the reception room. Fortunately no one was immediately under it, at the' moment, but there was some screaming with the surprise of the crush, and a genial laugh followed the discovery that no one was hurt. . But, an instant after, an exclamation drew all eyes into a corner of the apartment, and there stood the stout Baro ness da , her head fallen back and her arms hanging' nerveless at her sides, but otherwise apparently on her feet. The steel petticoat sustained her as completely as the' semi-pumpkin sustains the candle on the husking floor. She had fainted—but only in bust. How do you know there were railroads in the days of Solomon ? Because it is stated that when the Queen of Sheba veiled him, sjia came with a train. ~ | Rules of Advertising. Advertisements will be charged 81 per square of fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions, and 25" cents for every subsequent insertion. All advertise ments of less than fourteen lines considered os a 'equate. The following rates will be charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising: 3 months. 6. months. 12 mo’s 1 Square, (14 lines,) .82 50 T $4 SO 86 00 2 Squares, 4 00 6 00 8 00 I column, - - . . 10 00' 15 00 20 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 not, 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. The Bobolink, •‘Oriolee.olee-olee, oriolee, oriolee, toodle linkum come again I Crookerinclum—gih gle gingle—how are ye old boy, by Jingt f Toodlelinkum linkum, oriolee, jassee, knip. perangum, doodleinclum. sheet! sheet!” Well, well! This is a pleasant surprise, Our old friend Robert Lincoln, for all the world, and his first appearance. Clear, dis-> tinct, and as liquid with melody, as the gush of water, (hat torrent o( bird music bursts and swells loclb from that liny throat. It seems to come from the clouds, and after looking long we see a dainty and tremulous shadow of black blue poised recklessly, as if a cloud waif of song had been caught up and lingering in the air. It is joy tp' see thee again. Bob—joyous to hear thee. How fashionable the close fitting pants—what a love of a shiny coal and waist, coat, and how jauntily the while cap sits on the head, .while Ihe jetty eye is aglow with the light qf unfettered fun and dare-devil rnischief. There isn’t a sign of age about Bob. He is the same spruce little chap as of yore, and as young as five and thirty years ago, in the meadow. Wonder if he—^“Orio. lee, oriolee !” He is so full ol fun and song that he can't keep it in. With a dainty flut ter of the wing, he goes skimming into the meadow, and cpcking his eye mischievously towards us from fais perch, breaks out; — “Oriolee, lnodleiiob-le-link-te.de, squiaale—- come to see you—see you—see you—how ye do sir—wife and babies—chief and chief —olee, linkura —sucker—sucker-ee—Tiger catchtwn—euchre skinum —rinklum, pumpy diddle, diddle, by jinta !" Down he pops, leaving a, wave of song to murmur and die out anting the golden dandelions, and the bright green of the sward. Bob is foppish, and sometimes saucy, but he is always so cheery and good tempered, and so punctually comes with the odor and jhe bloom of the first flowers, that his little foibles are always forgotten, and he warmly welcomed. His song has all the, silvery richness of an earlier day. His annual com ing annihilates a broad waste of years, for he sings us back to the homestead ; the old meadow with its broad reaching butternuts, elms and ihornebushes while with blossoming, the early,dandfflions, starring the soft green velvet of lha swnrd, or the dasies dancing like golden spray in the wavy grass; the deep clear spring, below the nursery) tho brooklet between the house and the barn ; and in the lowlarids,.the dark hemlocks where at twilight, there was an evening song, so clear and. pure that it lingers still in the mem ory of cherished things Those spring and summer limes are drifting in the past like silver tinged clouds, all aglow with a beauti ful haze, while he who watches them is near ing the later summer ol life, and already finds the driftings of winter in the locks.— But the brooklet sings as sweetly, the mead ow is as green, and the dandelions and dai ses of the old homestead are blooming as beautifully while he writes as though no years had flown. And the bobolink sings as sweet ly, his “Oriolee, toolee—diddle umptee—doodle um—Mrs. Lincoln, Lincoln—shanlce—lhorn tree in the meadow—little Bets and Bobby junior—happy family, rifler cider through the meadow while the summer's going—come and see us—see us—see us— good lime coming, by jings! sheet! sheet!’’ With a train of song behind him he slow, ly, as if on a tide, drifts, over the ridge, out of sight, and twitters soft things to Mrs. Lin. coin. Sunny skies to them and their nests, —Cayuga Chief. Oft Sight and Dehand. —One of “Por ter’s’ staff is responsible for this anecdote - , Judge , a well known, highly res pected Knickerbocker, on the shady side of fifty, a jwidower with five children—full of fun and frolic, ever ready for a joke—-to give or take, was bantered the other evening by a miss of five and twenty, for not taking an other wife; she urged that he was hale and hearty, and deserved a matrimonial mess ma’te. The Judge acknowledged the (act; admitted that he was convinced by the elo quence of his fair friend that he had Thus far been remiss, and expressed contrition for the fault confessed; ending with offering himself to the lady, telling her she should not certain ly reject him after pointing out the heinous offense. Tha lady replied that she would be most happy to lake the situation so uniquely ad vertised, and become bone of his hpne and flesh of his flesh; but there was one} to her, serious obstacle. "Well,” says the Judge, "name'it. My profession is to surmount impediments.” "Ah! Judge, this is beyond your powers. I have vowed if I ever marry a widower, ha must have ten children.” “Ten children. Oh 1 that’s nothing,” says the Judge, "I’ll give you five now, and my notes on demand in instalments for the'bal - ance.” Fact. Silling on a pile of lumber yesterday, a couple of yawning loafers were talking poli tics : "Well, Joe,” said one, “when a fellow runs for Governor ho gets aw/ully abused don't he?” “Yes," replied rJoe. “I wonder what they would say about me if! was running; I expect they’d say I stole horses, and didn’t pay any board." "Yes,” answered his comrade, "and iflhey should ask me about it, I would say it is iruei” Joo was showed off thp lumber by the oth er, antj they both started dowq street tq ring in for a lunch and a glass of the 'be-joy.fql,’ PUBLISHERS & PROPRIETORS
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