Terms of Publication. THE TIOGA COUNTY AGITATOR is pnh lined every Thursday Morning, and mailed to sob «rihetsat the very leaaonable, prioe.of On* boLi w e perannumiiawnwWyinadwnee. ed to notify eaery eubewibee when the term for which he has paid shall have expired, by thp stamp —“Time Oot,” on lhe margin of the last paper. The paper -will then be stopped. tmtiU further re. miltance be received. By tins arrangement no man can be brought in-deht to the printer. - •; ‘ ' The Agitator is the Official Paper of the Coon ty with’a large and steadily increasing circulation reaching into nearl f « VOT y neighborhooil iii the County. It is sent free of paatogt toany Pasl-offica tie county limits, and to those living within the limits, bat whose most convenicntpoatoffice may Be in an adjoining Coooty. ■ Business Cards, not exceeding 5. Hues, paper in. oinded, H p«t yean. •. -For-the Agitator. z o,s : • -She isi fadiftgi slowly r l' ! ;■ Jionrby.ondr.nnd day by dayy wefeellhat,she From par .lenderjipsß.a.Wby; B.uf.aholy beauty lingers ‘ ; On hersnowirnheekandbroiv, And though, dear in yoqih’sfiest blooming, Shu isrieai)or,dearer now, ■ ■ ■ ■ She Is leaving, sadly leaving, '■ . .Many a trno and earnest friend ; • Oh, how sweet is the conirauuiqg That must quickly have an end 1 But, when over silent graveyards Sbinetb down the silvery' moon— Well she knows they will remember v Her who went to rest too yoon. ■ She is thinking, fondly thinking, Of the long departed years; . And, as memory paints each, picture, Oft her eyes are dim with tears; Bat her faith and trust grow stranger, And her spirit hopes unfold, - As her life is passing from her, "Like a tale that hath beeu teld.” She is sleeping,calmly sleeping; Mining comes,—site will not.mice! One soft lock of hair we sever— Treasure it for her dear sake. In the home that has received her ; -- She will feel bo pain or care. While oor bitter tears are foiling And we miss her everywhere. Bet we know that in onr household Dwellelh now an angel guest. And that tenderly she watches Over those she loved the best; And when comes to ns the slumber Which shall palsy heart and hand, She will welcome us so gladly To the happy Spirit Land. THE MILLS FARM, ft was ihefixsi day pf July ; the hot, dusty city had grown almost intolerable, and yet the inhabitants lingered and suffered, While the far-off breezes were wooing them to cool haunts by the sea-side, and the deep forests were inviting them to their delicious shade. The sultry air was full of dusty particles, and above the city hung the great, burning duly sun, through the long, long .day. Gliding along under the shadow of the fall building where the sidewalk was less burn ing to the feel, went the little feet of Rose Hayward on'her way to see her friend Ed hah Hamilton. ' Running up stairs, into Ed : hah’s room, where’ she was at all limes priv ileged to enter; she found her friend lying an the couch, looking as if she had been weep ing. Rose heoi over and kissed her cheek. “What is it, darling?” she said, in a lone such as one would use to a grieved child, “has anybody been hurting her?” “Don’t, Rose ! I can not bear it ihis morn ing. I don’t feel at all well ; and besides—” “Besides what ?” “Nothing now, dear—don’t teaze me. I am not in a humor to bear it.” “Why, Ednah, this is not at all like you. What has happened? Has your pet bird es caped, or has one trodden on Juno’s tail, or pinched her ears? lor I cannot imagine any greater calamity happening just now to dis turb the rich Mr. Hamilton’s daughter.” “Yes, Rose—Mr. Hamilton’s daughter has just waked up to the fact that she has a part lo perform in life, above pelting canaries or Up-dogs, or even wasting lime on those equally insignificant dandies who favored us with their weak and frivolous conversatiop (bat set me to thinking. The question .came tip, 'What is Ednah Hamilton doing with her immorial nature?' And you may believe •me, Rose, I was shocked to find I could only answer ‘Nothing,’ I fell that I was passing away my youth without a single object, ex cept to swell the tide ol fashionable beings that float around the ball room or promenade the streets. I felt that, in common with the: rest of our class, (you too, Rose!) I was worshipping gold instead of God; gazing at the flash of diamonds, instead of the glorious slats; admiring the tints of satins and vel vets, instead of the beautiful array of colors which nature displays—inhaling the artificial Jtreatb of perfumes, when I should be breath ing that of the fresh flowers; and to short, Bose, I can not tell you all I felt, but one thing I know, this life of ours is all- wrong.” “In ebon, Ednah—don’t be offended, but let me finish your catalogue—in short, Ste phen Crosby has been gazing on Isabel Har rison, when he shop Id baveJfeeo looking only .at Ednah Hamilton I Now don’t deny it— you know that is true.” “Well, Rose, Twill not deny if. The first put me to thinking—'and then I began to feel how sad a life is' that which has po higher pursuit iha a the admiration—mind, 1 don’t say love, for that would be worth living fer tile admiratioaof human beings j and then 1 thought how good ii would be for one like me to be transported suddenly to a different sphere, where the chain of fashion and the fas'riot ions, of society .(such society as we av e) should be taken off 1 , and we should for a have freedom 16 aet naturally without asking the world if we might be permitted to travel out of the prescribed life.” , ."^ ave you thought of any plan whereby this freedom may be attained I” 1 8° a w ay, I only carry my block ond chain with ppe,ay I remember a poor oraay woman did once, in my childhood.— ror wfaat.are our watering places but cheap auuions of our vapid city fife 1 I would shun etn as a pest, did 00l rpy father insist on f going to one or another, as punctually as August sew in;**- ■ * ; “Well’dpyr.l .kpow, of a place, a long *here -primitive .manners andcus fows are nof yet absolutely rooted out, and ' h ere > us yet, no attempt has been made to Ingraft XaphiapaUe vanities on solid 'wprth. Js not of consequence .enough to have a name, for three farms comprehend its whole silent; and, as it is' ye t innocent of a rail- •-ff v-v « A VOL. IV. load .track or'A factory, no name ia r needed lo designate it." On one Of these farms live? Sold and highly v.s|upd friend of my has written 'bftCtf to have roe pass the there, .but I have hot been there since I wora child. If you can get' your father’s Consent, I will engage'to havb mine, and 1 Will write to Mr. Mills to-day. What say— Shall we go ?” < " ■ '■ ’ “Go ! it will be delightful I But let us go privately—that is, without a soul knowing our destination except our own families, and we tnuSt enjoin them all to secresy.” “Well; EdnSh, don’t fall back now, for I have set', my heart- upon it. And another thing I If you are not very particular about being known as the rich Mr. Hamilton’s daughter, I shouldprefer keeping it secret, as our good Mr. and MrsJ Mills would feel much more at-ibeir ease.” "The very thing I should like best, Rose. That would be the most delightful pan of it; and the moment we. get consent, we will go and' buy our dresgea; for none of these we now wear will answer at all.” ■ “I’m off, ’’ said Rose, “and will come back as soon as I know certainly what we can ex pect.” - Half an hour later, she was again in Bdnah’s room, planning their simple dresses. No jewelry, not even a ring, was to be worn. Not'a particle of silk not- lace; but their gingham dresses were of excellent quality and made beautiful. Busy hands were put in requisition, to make them up speedily, and on the - morning of the “Glorious Fourth,” when pop guns, oratory and crackers were loudest, our two city ladies, transformed into very pretty country damsels, were on their way to Mills Farm. . ■ • VIRGINIA. No.announcement was needed, Rosa said. They would be just as glad to see them, as though they had a month’s notice. The cars carried them withiafcfpurteen miles—then a stage to the middle of the nearest town—and lastly, Rose chartered, a great, clumsy Al bany wagon, with an old roan (it was haying time, and no “able-bodied’’ man could be spared) for driver, to lake them to their des tinatioo. ■ Their way was through thick woods on either side; no dust, no annoyance in the road, no person to be seen, except an occa sional foot passenger, and one solitary trav eler on horseback. The glimpses of sunset between the trees, the perfume of wild roses by the wayside, and the refreshing calm of the deep forest through which their road wound, were delightful to the senses of the two young travelers. As the sun sank be hind th,e hill, they burst out into a glad song, such as the old man had never heard, and which lie begged and entreated them to re peat. No loud encore to an opera singer was ever more sincere. No prima donna ever received a bouquet more gracefully than the girls took the branches of sweet brier and woqd laurel that the old driver insisted on ga.lherjng for them. jSodn they came in sight ol the farm house. Such hay fields ! such orchards ! and such a dear old brown, roomy house I The open windows and doors gave them a sight into the large room, where a long table was set with the evening meal. No need of putting op more food I there was enough al ready there, to have satisfied all.the passen gers on railroad that day. ..No need of apologizing fpr the quality I. \Vps not such food—cream, real, .fresh cream, and butter like lumps of shin|ng gold. end those large loaves of brown bfea'd and while bread, arid sweet cake, and those delicious strawberries, enough ? . And what a cordial welcome from Mr. Mills .and. his wife? And than they sat down to the table. “Tea or milk, Miss Hayward?’’ “O, milk, by all means, but don't call either of us Miss—wp left opr titles in Boa ton. We are plain Rose and Ednah.” “Ah, that is a great deal better, and now you are fairly sealed, let me introduce ‘Rose and Ednah’ to my family. Here is little Susy, the youngest. She rules the family— that is, she rules-her mother, and her mother roles me, and I rule the family. This little fellow is Wally. His true name is William Wallace, but we call him Wally. This lar gcr one is Mark—you met him driving the cows.- Here on my left is Alick; and riding home on brown Bess, is Lyman, and I hope lo see him here before it is quite dark ; and let me whisper, it in yoor ear, my little Rose, Lyman, is worth all the rest.” The whisper was quite loud, and was heard all over Ihe table. ‘ ■ Afier tea,’ to which they bad insisted upon the company of the “ancient” driver, who brought the ladies, they adjourned- to the front yard, where seats were provided under the trees. Alick brought out h(s flute, ami Mark’s noble bass voice was put in requi sition, and with the clear, beautiful voices of Rose .and Rdnah, a very tolerable concert was performed, which lasted till the great kitchen clock told nine.' The little Susy wailed upon the new com ers to the large and handsome chamber, with its cool straw matting, white quilt and cur tains, and even its bathing tub ; a thing not hoped for. But Lyman connived it all, Susy said, and she turned a shower of water into it from the wall, to,show how nicely he had fixed it. On each side of the dressing-table were pretty glass shades! within which burned im mense candles made of some kind of per fumed .tallow, while large vases of flowers occupied the mantel and bureau, and the wide fire-place. Id an old-fashioned open book-case,.Rope found further room for wonder. Not only I&iltoD and Shakspeare were there, but many of the modern poets, as well ps the novelists, and one or two French and German books- mi: A him OH. Zjeijoteij to tfjc of o t iFmfcom tt>e ©raXtftj) s&cform. WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WEONG UKBIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN”. SHALL CEASE, .AGITATION HOST CONTINUE. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING APRIL 8, 1858. All these had “Lyman Mills” written beau? tiTully on the fly leaf. They.wete’ up bright and early on the' fol lowing morbing, paid a grateful 'tribute lo Lyman Mills’ ingenious faaihingapparalus, and weqe out on the. green, with their clean dresses and shining hair, before the sun rose. At breakfast they were introduced to Ly man Mills. They had expected to see a different person altogether from, the one now presented to.them. Their idea of him was of a country boy; aping city manners, yet falling far short of his aim—a clever youth, perhaps, hut clumsy and - uncouth; or worse still, an under-bred student, with Byron col lar,and talking out of his depth on subjects that he could not.be acquainted with. “But the Preach and German books, Rose!” . “Poh! bought from soma pedlar at the door, probably.” “The fine and beautiful hand writing?” “Written by the district school teacher, doubtless.” This was said while dressing—but the breakfast hour showed Lyman in bis true light—that of a cultivated scholar, a loving son and brother, a gentle, unpretending com* panion, and yet wearing a look that told strongly that he need but to stretch forth his hand for the gifts of fortune or fame, and they would be his. The sudden rain which had driven the girls into the house, prevented the anticipated haymaking, and the farmer, therefore, did not mind prolonging the lime at the breakfast table. It was the true farmer’s table—abun dant in its quantity, good, relishing and health ful in its quality. What struck the city dam sels particularly was the delicate cleanliness of everything pertaining to the house and fam ily. Th.e clothes were cparse enough—suit able to the work they were to perform'—but they were spotlessly clean, and the linen was as white a» snow. Mr. Mills, in hisstrong homespun suit, apd his sons all dressed alike in linen blouses, and.straw hats, looked the very picture of health and cleanly habits, while the mother in her nice morning gown and cap, looked far more respectable than many ladies in their, shabby genteel finery. It was beautiful to see the sons go up and give her the-morn ing kiss, and shake hands with their father. Lyman set them the example, and then turn ing to the visitors, he greeted them kindly and courteously. “My son Lyman, Cousin Rose and her friend,” was the simple introduction which Mrs. Mills gave them; and they were soon talking gaily together. Alter breakfast, Rose tplked with her host and his wife alone; and told them that she and her friend Ednab wished to obtain board there for the season, if they could do so without incommoding them, and if they could be left to run about at their own pleasure without being waited upon. Mr. Mills at first refused any payment, but Rose convinced them both that it would not be pleasant to either party ; and they agreed to receive a suitable compensation. Thus they were all established on the best of terms —independence and equality. , How much they lived in those summer days! Out of door exercise they enjoyed to jthe lull. With little Susy, they followed 'round after Mr. Mills, who did but little now of the actual farm work. . He left it mostly to his a few day laborers who went to their homes at night,; .while Mrs. Mills en trusted her butler and cheese solely to Mrs. Martin who bad lived with her ever since Susy was boro. Mr. Mills patronized news papers extensively. He wished to know and have his children know, what was passing in the great world, but had no wish that they should enter it, as long as they could be con tented with their own quiet home. He had expected that Lyman, with his active and in quiring mind, would see a broader field, but as yet he had shown no such desire. In addition to the newspapers, Mr. Hay ward and Mr. Hamilton, finding that the girls were really carrying out their project, had sent large boxes of new publications, direct ed to Mr. Mills; and the genuine pleasure which the family derived from these, repaid the girls richly for their share in procuring it. Never did summer pass so quickly. Never ■ had the city girls passed one so rationally.— If the hue of their cheeks was browner, and their hands had lost something of their lily whiteness, it was aptly atoned by the health ful look end the added spirits. Nature had proved a kindly mother, as she ever does to those of her children who seek her. Bui the evening came, whose morrow was to separate them from the friends to whom they had become so tenderly attached. Far mer Mills could not speak of (heir going, without complaining of a cold which had sud denly seized his eyes; and the “boys” and little Suay bad an unusual hush upon their voices which betrayed deep emotion. They lingered long under'the old trees, and parted with the children there —for Ly man was to drive out with them to meet the stage, at three the next morning. Despite the excitement of going home, the spirits of Hose and Ednah were subdued' almost to the gravity which appeared in Lyman’s face.— Contrary to their express injunctions, the farmer and his wife were both up, and wait, ing breakfast; but no one could taste it. The light which had been shed over the old brown farm house for the last ten weeks was about to be withdrawn, and they could not think of it without emotion. The soft, gray light of morning was appearing, and they must be off: and with teats and prayers and blessing, they departed. ‘‘Ednah,” said Rose, after they had enter* ed the huge, lumbering stage, in which they were thankful : to find themselves alone, ‘'l have been looking for the last three weeks, for a different..termination lo this visit.” “Indeed—what did your wise head'fancy?” ‘‘Nothing less, dear, than , some violent, demonstration of passion on the pan of that highly respectable youth, who has just left ua with such a wo-begqne, countenance.” “Ah I, you expected an offer, did you?” “I certainly expected he would make an offer to one of us. I leave it to your vanity end your friendship for me to divine which of us. Bnt, Edoab ? dear Ednab I you are weeping‘l have I said anything wrong ? O, do forgive me ! I did not know that you felt so !” Rose’s words had stirred her tears. She had sometimes dreamed of a life in that quiet vale, with one who seemed lo her so infinite ly above the gay butterflies she had hitherto known. But her dream was over, and she would think no mote of it. A few “natural tears she shed, but wiped them soonbut she inwardly resolved that, having lasied of life's rational and heart-worthy pleasures, nothing should tempt her back into the idle world she bad emerged from. Fortunately, their portion of the “world” were still traveling, and for two or three weeks, the friends could meet quietly, and talk over their summet life, and try-to make plans for future happiness and usefulness.— They passed whole mornings together for this purpose, and on one of these' a letter was handed to Ednab. Rose mischievously watched her countenance, while reading it, and her friend, who had no concealments from her, pm it into her hand. Rose read as follows—it boro the date of their return: “If I parted from 'you this morning with less emotion than I could possibly have hoped for, it was not the effect of indifference, but of a feeling I tried to encourage—that this difference between our country life and that which you have always led would prove a lasting obstacle to your happiness. I fan cied that you liked bur retired home, when summer increased its attractions, and lessened those of the city; but I have .asked myself if such would be your feeling when winter came, and shut out from you those sources of enjoyment which that season gives so abundantly, in town. As I could not resolve that question, I decided to lay it before you,, boldly and frankly. First, then, let me say, that I know noth ing of your birth, station, nor family. Rose will tell you that I have never inquired of her; and I had no other source to which I could apply. From your gentleness, your simpli city, and the genuine pleasure with which you engaged in our unpretending country iife, I have no reason to think you devoted to wealth or fashion; but from the evident su periority of your manners and education, I fear that I shall find you too far above any pretensions of mine. But the second part is to ask you if there is anything, either in the circumstances I have spoken of or in your own heart, which would prevent you from sharing my home? the home which my two hands must become rough and hand in rearing, but which will be a happy home to me, if I may but see it light ed by your smile. I will not say that it has nut cost me pain to write this to you ; becaue it would be vanity in me to think that one like yourself could like to be a farmer’s wife; nor can I tell you that I will-resign my occu pation, if that would induce you; to marry me. I have chosen my path, and must abide by it, even if I must abide alone. You could not respect me, yourself, if 1 did otherwise. I wait your answer, aiyl will have hope and faith, until you bid me give up both. ‘.‘A truly noble letter !” said Rose, “I am afraid I shall never have a letter like that, Ednah I Some fop, who has more money than brains, will, some day, be fluttering around me, because he knows papa is rich— and woo me after the style, and I have fine clothes and diamonds, and a grand house—and I tell you, Ednah, that one word from that noble hearted man who wrote you this, would be wot;lh a thousand times more than all the happiness I could expect from such a marriage as that. Why don’t he like me, I wonder V’ she asked, as tears and laugh ter struggled together. “It wa? top bad of you, Ednah, when it was really poor dear 1, that planned all this. See how ungratefully ybu have used me!” Rose’s apprehensions of her own misery were not realized; for she married within a very few months, a teally noble, high-hearted man whose greatest pleasure was to make his little wife happy. And every summer she goes down to Mills Farm*i spending a season alternately with the old people, nod with Ly man and Ednah at their beautiful new farm house. A young friend of ours tells the following story of himself: “When young he read the well known story of George Washington’s love of truth, and his father’s [ove of the no ble principle of his son so well manifested on the occasion we refer to, of George’s cutting down the cherry-tree, acknowledging his transaction, and received a full and free par don, besides praises and kind caresses from his father. So Jim, actuated by a noble ex ample, thought he would try the experiment on. He supplied himself with the hatchet, and going into his father’s orchard cut down several choice fruit trees. He then sat down coolly to await the old man’s coming, and as soon as be made his appearance marched up to him with a very important air and ack nowledged the deed expecting the next thing to be tears, benediction and from the offended parent. -But, sad to relate, in stead of this the old gentleman caught up a hickory and gave him an ‘all-fired laming.’ ” Jim was do Washington. •' Last evening in attempting to snuff the candle ! cut the wick too short, and of course extinguished the light. My friend sitting by, said, “There, you will be disappointed.”— •‘Why? I ’. “Oh, it’s a sign you will ifjyou snuff out the, candle.” I had heard it times enough before, but happening now to think that a saying so often repealed might perhaps have some reason beyond mete whim, I set to work to see if I could discover any. I im agined.it might have originated in this wise: Papa had promised his little boy that on con dition of good behavior he should go riding with him to-morrow. But ip the evening, in his eagerness to be good and useful, he snufls out the light, and papa being interrupted in the midst of sqme interesting occupation, de clares Charley shall not go, and being a man of his word, keeps his promise. Charley be wails his disappointment, and being of a re flecting turn of mind, when he sees a com panion accidentally pm out the light, tells him be will be.disappointed., And from this it might easily enough spread, and become so generally known. There) ip not every time so clear a connection between the sign and what is alleged lo follow it, but I thought there might in this case be traced a connec tion between the carelesness,that would snuff out .the candle, and that which would suffer opportunities to go by unimproved, or which would blunder and stumble ;when attempting to improve them. So, viewed in this way, I found my friend had not: said so foolish a thing as 1 at first imagined. Some people cry “whim,” “foolishness,”lwhen the house wife prophesies a storm because the water boils out of the pot sooner than usual. But the philosopher knows it is| no whim, but a philosophical fact, capable'of being accounted for on aoupd principles. Since we are told there ip such a thing as “old wives’ fables,” I suppose there are whims that cannot bp made lo appear so reasonable, so for the sake of our nobility of mind, let us throw them aside as fast | as possible, and what we do retain, we will ‘dignify by show, ing the “why” and “beeahae.” A lawyer of Ithica, N.j Y., recently ad dressed a letter to the editors of the Golden Era, San Francisco, to ascertain the pros pects df doing well, should I he remove with' his family to the gold Stdtel His letter con cluded thus : I } “1 have been in the profession since 1830, have a large library, and jvould like to be assured of business enough for a fair living. You can doubtless inform me— Ist. Whether the business is flourishing or otherwise, and whether the profession is overstocked 7 2d. VVhat board is at; first class hotels or boarding houses ? j ; 3d. What would bo the rent of a dwelling house and office 7 i j 4th. Any in formation generally that would ha appropriate. j Your attention to thislwill oblige, Very truly, yours, &c. The editor handed his; note to a facetious Lycurgus, who, like himsfelf, was once the owner of a “gqo.d library,?, but now a porter in Front s(ree|,and in three days received the fpllpwipg in return, covering very satis factorily all the points of inquiry. Inquiry First.—Thanks: to the three thou sand lawyers in San Francisco, "the busi ness is flourishing.” Some twenty-five of the profession manage all [the legitimate legal business in the city, while the remaining twenty-nine hundred and seventy-five live by treating strangers to "fighting whiskey,” su perintending their conveyance from the gut ter to the station-house, |and defending them before the police court the; next morning, for two dollars and a half. I One such case per month js considered a “flourishing” practice, although some of the more energetic have been known to secure as high as two in a week. I I Liman Mitts.” Second.—Board for a (amily of five or six at a first class hotel may be had for three or four hundred dollars per.month. This infor mation can be of little importance, however, to a lawyer. Such of the profession as do not take (heir chances at the lunch tables, or "ranch” themselves, ; invariably “board round,” like a country school master, and are kicked out at the end of the week upon refusing to settle. This is practiced for the double purpose of living without cost, and prosecuting landlords fbr|assaull and battery in booling them out of ithie house. Third.—This question! need not be ans wered. If a lawyer cannot swindle a land lord out of a year’s office rent, when once in the possession of the tenement, he is ignorant of the first principles of his profession, and cannot do otherwise than fail in San Francis- Fourth. —The only items of general infor mation to be imparled are, that the idea of a lawyer paying board or office rent is an ab surdity ; that instead of a library, he must provide himself with ah armory of bowie knives, pistols and slung-shots; that the safest way for a lawyer to proceed in San Francisco, who expects a “fair living,'” is to commence practice with twenty thousand dollars in cash, and leave the country as soon as hie reaches the bottom dollar. The Springfield (Ul.)Jourfldihas received the following conundrum from a correspond ent; “Why-ia James'Buchanan like a harp struck by lightning ?” “Because he is a blast ed lyr,e." ■ ~ • ; _ “ The best capital for a young man is a cap ital young wife. j i NO. XXXVI ©ommuntcations. - the Agitator. Slgnaand Whims. BY MELANIE, A Good Show. Rate* of Advertising. Advertisements will be charged 81 per square oi fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions,and 2S cento-fur every subsequent insertion. All advertise ments of less than fourteen lines considered as a equate. The following rates will bo charged tor Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising!— 3 months'. 6 months.,, 12 tho’s Square,(l4lines,) . §2 50 34 50 86 00 2Squares,- - ... 400 600 80$ i.colomn 10 00 15 00 2,0 00 column, ■ . . . .18 00 30 00 40 0(> All advertisements not having the number of in. settions 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’, Coasts* hies’ and other BLANKS, constantly on hand add printed to order. The Somebodies over the Way. Across the way from our window lives * most’marvelous family. All of ’em every soul of ’em—and such siogihg, btesst ’em! Old Mr. Somebody sings, his wile sings, and the little Somebodies swell the rus. Listen at our window almost any hour between sunrise and midnight, and yon are morally sure to hear some individual of the Somebodies. They attack music as measles do a family, and never leave off till the slock is exhausted. When you hear ’em you think of all the music in repertoire; of Casseila warbling to Dante in the pale gloom of pur. galory; or Amphion fiddling on his fiddle till the gouty oaks and nimble willows went waltzing to his melody ; of Orpheus thump, tog his sonorous shell so bewifchingiy that Sysiphus stopped rolling “that stone that gathers no moss’’ and Ixion ceased grinding knives for Pluto on his ever-revolving wheel; of St. Cecelia dropping, like a star from heav en to immortal harmonies. A terrible family are these Somebodies.—• They must believe Appollo has shut himself op in a castle and will not surrender to a “concord of sweet sounds.”' They beseige it as the Jews did Jericho ; they baiter it with ponderous dynamics; they let fly whole quirt ers of arpeggios at the port holes; they spring sudden mines of basso; they make desperate assaults upon it with symphonies ; they run up all the scaling ladders of the gamut with the ntmbleness of acrobats ; they storm it with chorusses; they try to bribe the guard with sweet arias, and toss little bon* bons of melody at them; they summon a surrender in valorous majors, and mourn re* pulses in dolorous minors. These Somebodies are indefatigable ; they don’t know when they are whipped; like a great many sermonizers, they don’t know when they are through. The Maid of Saragossa was nothing compared to (hem in endurance. You can hear ’em pommeling at (he gales of Song, bellowing across tho moats, shouting at the drawbridge, and howl, iog in all directions from dawn till dark.— They .have the pluck and wind of a quarter horse, and are never “blowed.” . The Somebodies have an extensive arsenal of musical weapons. They have a regular seventy-six in “Old hundred,” a Paixhan in “Dundee,” a Lancastrian in “Majestyand they discharge them at the ears of the whole neighborhood at regular, intervals. They bombard you through the window incessantly with “Pleyel’s Hymn.” “Martyrs,” “Boyls* ton,” “Uxbridge,” “Ariel,’’.and a hundred others. There isno end to their small arms ; they fire ’em at you in platoons, in squads, or helter-skelter. The Battle of Prague has been desperately fought over and over, on rickety pianos, by marshal misses; but the din the Somebodies keep up renders that bat tle' utterly insignificant in point of noise.— You are certain to hear ’em whenever you enter into that bailiwick. The rattle of ’bus ses, the rumble of drays and wagons,l the patter o I multitudinous feet, (he whirr of in numerable spindles, the clatter of ma.chioeiy —the Somebodies are equal to them all, iodt* vidually or collectively. Sunday, however, is the great (estival day with the Somebodies. They are in full feath er then ; they exult in their glory; they raise their Ebenezer ; the horn of their singing is exalted, - They bring op all their reinforce ments— their reserve corp? of kith and kin all into active service—can’t say how many there are of ’em; but they must be a legion. We hear ’em—that is enough. They “blow great guns” then ; (hey lash the quiet of the day into foam; they roll up mighty seas of sound, that come thundering and surging up on you as the surf does at Nahanl. Then it is that they lift up their heads and voices most proudly, like young robins, agape for food ; the caverns of their mouths, threaten ing to divide the continent of their counte nances and make islands of their crown pieces. They rush into ecatacies about standing op “Jordan's stormy banks,” and you devoutly wish that they did stand there; they assure they have “a charge to keep,” and you hope they will not be so indiscreet as to fire it; they cry out for “a thousand longues to sing,!’ but you are morally positive one tongue apiece is amply sufficient in such a family; they insist that you shall hark to a “doleful sound” from the tomb,,but you ate quits sat-' isfied with harking to the doleful sound Traps the Somebodies ; they languish for “the wings of a dove” to fly away, and you second the aspiration with an amen; they electrify you with the intelligence of their intention,“to sing in heaven to harps of gold,” but you hope they will first place themselves under instructions for the improvement of the voice. There is neither a rat nor a mouse to be seen in the neighborhood of the Sombodiea. They have expatriated them. We have all read the! legend of St. Patrick, and under stand why there are no snakes in Ireland.— The Somebodies are fully equal in their way. They have effectually banished the long tailed quadrupeds from their neighborhood; there is “nary” a Norway that will venture within the bailiwick. Consequently, we have no cats there, which is a blessing; for between the cals and the Somebodies there would be no peace for the wicked “tharor tharabouts.” The people in that precinct live in hopes, however, of “a good time coming.” They have read of Torn the piper, who. piped (or good Queen Bass, and how he piped so in dustriously and incessantly (hat he at last piped himself away, and a verdict of “died for want of breath” was returned. The peo ple hope the Somebodies wifi “pipe out” some day .—Pittsburg Dispatch. Why do chickens have nofuturestate ? Be cause they have their necks twirled (next thjs. •
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers