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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