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OVER THE RIVER.
Over llie river they beckon lo me—
Lov’d oneswhoVe cross’d to the other side;
The gleani| of their snowy rpbes I sec,
But their voices are lost in the dashing tide.
There’s one with ringlets of sonny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heav'n’s own blue;
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angel that met him there—
The gate of the city we coaid not see;
Over the river, over the river.
My brother is waiting to welcome me.
Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pel;
Her brown cnrlfcwarcd in the gentle gale—
Darling Minnitrt I see her yet i
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We watched it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark.
We know she is safe on the farther side,
Where all the ransomed angels be;
Over the river, the mystic river,
My childhood’s idol is waiting for me!
For none return from those quiet shores
Who cross with the boatman cola and pale;
We hear the dip of the golden oars.
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail,
And 10, they’ve passed from the yearning heart;
They cross the stream and are gone for aye.
We may not sunder the veil apart
That hides from our vision the gates of day;
Wc only know (hat their barks no more
May sail with us o’er life’s stormy sea.
Yet somewhere, I know, on (he unseen shore,
They watch, and bepkoo, and wait for me!
And I sit and think, when the sunset’s gold
Is flushing river and bill and shore,
I shall one day stand by the water cold.
And list for the sound of (he boatman’s oar.
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale,
To the belter shore of the spirit land.
I shall know the loved that have gone before.
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
Wbsn over the river, the peaceful river,
The angel of death shall carry me.
Oh! The Drink!
The following word picture is an extract
from the temperance lectures of John B.
Gough :
There is no power on earth that can make
a fiend like the power of drink. One cir
cumstance in my own reminiscencss I will
give you. I was asked by an individual to
go and see the hardest case in town. I said :
“1 have no right to go and see him ; he
(till say to me, “Who sent you to see me?—
Who told you I was a drunkard 1 You mind
your own business, and I will mind mine, you
wait till you are sent for I have no right to
go to him,” I said.
“Well," said he, “he is a hard case, he
beat a daughter of his, fourteen years of age,
with a-shoemaker’s strap, so that she will
carry the marks to her grave.
Said I “he’s a brute.”
“His wife is very ill now with the fever,
and the doctor says he thinks she cannot gel
over it, the man has not been drinking for
some days, and if you can get at him now, I
think you might do him good.’’
I thought 1 would go. I knocked at the
door; he came to open it. He had been at
one or two of our meetings. The moment
he saw me he knew me.
Said he, “Mr. Gough, I believe?”
“Yes,” that’s my name; would you be
good enough 10 give me a glass of water, if
you please ?”
“Certainly,” said he, “come in.”
So 1 got in. I sal on one side of (be table
and he on the other. There were two chil
dren in the room playing together, and a door
half. tray open, that led into the room where
the wife was ill. I sat and talked with him
about everything I could think of but the
subject, I talked of trade and crops, rail
roads and money matters; and then I got on
Ine public houses, and then drinking, and he
headed me off again. I looked, and thought
saw a malicious twinkle in his eye, Ss much
m to say, “Young man, you are not up to
your business yet.” 1 was about to give it
up, but 1 think, providentially I saw the chil
dren.
1 said to him, “You’ve got two bright look
lnB children here, sir.”
“Oh! yes, yes, bright little things !”
Jou?” * ou * ovo > our children) don’t
Bless the children 1 to be sure I love
them”
Said I, “Wouldn't you do anything to ben
etii your children 7”
He looked at me as if he thought some
“w'u 6 " aS comin g a *” ,er
, e tQ be' sure, sir,” said he, “a mnn
dren'”* 0 evEr Y'B' n 6 to benefit his chil-
(i. , en s,ood U P so that I might get out of
"D 88 s P eedl ‘y as possible, and said.—
asVv'k 6 an o7 with me; lam going to
P^ a ' n and s ' m pfe question ; you
g,j g 0 i am. therefore you won’t be an
loji" . u PP°se you never use any more in*
dren ln S''quQr, don’t you think vour chil
..V; uld better off!’’
■lime "* 1 sa ‘d he, “you have me this
Soul” ’ "^ ou ave 6 0t a g° od wife havn’t
UV .
hart r 8 tlr ’ M B ood s woman as ever a man
ns “ lor a wife.”
And y ou i ove y OUr w j(- e
ti *o be sure 1 do.”
pWte h/r W ° U ' d do anything you could to
,'g^ 11 .1 ought to.”
PledJ!^ 088 ou were lo sign « temperance
«| e . would that please her 1”
, “ nder ’ I rather think it would; I
wife ° , a 'king thal would please my
»ame [ 1 WM t 0 pot my
be un «nH D il here ’ W^y , * le °* d woman would
lick >, tbe^i! 1 * >er u *' Dess to two weeks,
Said I, “Then you will do ill”
E > l guess I will do it. And he at ouce
THE AGITATOR,
Bebotear totbeSytenflCan of tfte Htea of iFmJJom airU tt)t Spreafc of f&ealtfts Reform.
WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WBONG UNSIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ HANV INHUMANITY TO MAN 1 * SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
YOL. IV.
opened a closet, took out a pen and ink, ana
I spread out the pledge, and he wrote his
name.
The children had been listening with eyes,
ears and mouths wide open, while we were
talking about temperance. They knew what
a drunken father was ; they knew what the
principle of abstinence would dofot him; and
when he had signed, one said lo the other:
“Father has signed the pledge!” “Oh, my !”
said the other, “now I’ll go and tell mother!”
and away he ran into the other room. "But
she had heard of it; and I listened to her
calling : “Luke ! Luke! come here a mo
ment.” He said, “come in here along with
me; come in and see my wife.”
I went in and stood by her bed side. The
face was ghostly pale, the eyes large and
deep sunk in their sockets; and with her
long, thin and bony fingers she grasped my
hand, and with the other took the hand of her
husband, and began to tell me what a good
husband she had. “Luke," said she, “is a
kind husband anjf a good father; he lakes
care of the children and is very kind to them ;
but' the drink ! Oh ! the drink makes terrible
difficulty.” That difficulty ! God only and
ihe crushed wife of the intemperate man
know anything about it.
The man shook like a leaf; he snatched
the hand from the grasp of his wife; tore
down her night dress from the shoulders, and
said “Look at that !”• and on the white, thin
neck, close lo the shoulders, was a blue
mark. Said he, “Look at that, sir I I did
it three days before she was ( taken down up.
on the bed, and she has told you that she has
a good husband. Am 17 Am I a good hus
band to her 7 God Almighty forgive me I’’
and he bowed over that woman and wept like
a child, gripped the bed clothes in his hands,
and hid his face in them. And she laid her
thin hand upon his head, and said, “Don’t
cry, Luke; don’t, please don’t, you would
not have struck me if it had not been for
drink. Mr. Gough, dont believe him ;be is
as good a man as ever lived ! Don’t cry,
Luke!”
Heroism.
Five hundred men on the lost steamer Cen
tral America, stood, without flinching—one
hundred of them riskingjlheir lives and four
hundred actually losing them—while every
woman and child was passed to the rescuing
vessel. They did this when many of them
were returning from California laden with
wealth, the cabin and deck of the vessel be
ing filled with gold thrown away as useless
in the struggle for life. Not an infant even
was lost. They stood and watched boat after
boat carrying Jts few women end children—
but few could go at a time. They walled
with an impatience beyond all words, the
lime, long in itself, and magnified a hundred
times by the circumstances, of the return of
the boats, life hanging in imminent suspense
at every moment. They could, any dozen
of them, have overpowered the feeble women
and children, seized the boats and saved their
lives. But they did not do it. They stood
quietly until every woman and child was
saved.
VVe have no language to describe the im
pression that this makes upon us. The brav
ery which fights a battle we consider as noth
ing compared to it. The very noblest action
of human history, the very forlorn hopes of
humanity, the Thermopylaes themselves of
nations, were the only fit parallel. We have
always said that chivalry towards women is
the brightest gem in the American diadem.
We say now that we know not whether any
other people in any age could have afforded
five hundred such men. But we are proud
to believe that these are only samples,of
Americanism. Five hundred thousand more,
we rejoice to believe, would have acted as
they did. The Romans gave a civic crown
of oak leaves to him who saved the life of a
citizen. What reward do these noble men
deserve.
It strikes us that enough mention has not
been made of this magnificent heroism. —
The papers should vie with each other in
praising it; the pulpit should thrill with it as
likening man in his nobleness to his tylaker;
the eloquent orator should speak to listening
crowds of it, ond the poet should pour a tide
of melody, to preserve its memory forever
fresh. This has hardly been done. This
incident is passing away without a suitable
glow of enthusiasm. We would fain believe
that it is only because every American feels
that he would have done the same, and that
the risking of life, and death itself, are only
the duty of every man when danger awaits
women and children. If it be so—and it
will be remembered that these were not ladies
of special rank, or.family, or wealth, or in
fluence—then surely our nation has reached
in one respect, a height of nobleness never
before attained by man. If every American,
the rudest as well as the cultivated, will risk
his life freely for any woman or child, and
consider that he has done no special set of
heroism, surely the nation (hat produces such
men must have within its heart some germ
more grand and generous than ever nation
had before. We will hope and believe it,
and it shall nerve us to any and every effort
for our native land.— Amer. Presbyterian,
A domestic, newly engaged, presented' to
bis master, one morning, a pair of boots, the
leg of one of which waa much longer than
the other. “How comes it that these boots
are not of the same length ?” “I raly don’t
know, sir, bothers me most is, that
the pair down stairs are in the same fix.”
Among the “Notices to Correspondents,”
in a journal not remarkable for its regard to
propriety, there appeared the following:—
“Decency came too late to have a place in
our paper this week.”
WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 22, 1858.
“You’re a scoundrel!” said a fierce look
ing gentleman, the other day, coming up
with great wrath to a Yankee who was stand
ing quietly on the sidewalk; “you are a
scoundrel!”
“That’s news to me,” returned the Yankee
quietly.
“News, you scoundrel! Do you call that
news 7”
“Entirely so.”
“You needn’t think to parry it off so
easily ; I say you are a scoundrel, and I can
prove ii!”
“I beg you will not, 1 shouldn’t like to be
proved a scoundrel.”
“No, I dare say you wouldn’t, but answer
me immediately—did you, or did you not say
in the presence of certain ladies of my ac
quaintance, that 1 was a—
"Calf 7 Oh, no, sir, the truth is not to be
spoken at all limes.”
“The truth I Do you mean to call me a
calf?”
“Oh, no, sir, I call you nothing.”
“It’s well you do, for had you presumed
to call me a—
“A man, 1 should have been grossly mis
taken.”
“Do you mean to say that I am not a
man 1”
“Thai depends upon circumstances.”
“What circumstances 7”
“If I should bo called as evidence in a
court of justice, I should be bound to speak
the truth 7”
“And would you say I was not a man,
hey 7 do you see that cow skin 7”
“Yes I have seen it with surprise ever
since you came up.”
“What surprise? Why do you suppose I
was such a coward I dare not undertake to
use the article when it was demanded 7”
“Shall I tell you what I thought?”
“Do it, if you dare.”
“1 thought to myself what use has a calf
for a corn's skin 7”
“You distinctly call me a calf then.”
“If you insist upon it, you may.”
“You hear him gentlemen, speaking to the
bystanders, you hear the insult. What shall
I do with the scoundrel?”
“Dress him I dress him I shouted the
crowd with shouts of laughter.
l’ll do at once.”
Then' turning to ( the Yankee, he cried out
fiercely.l i
“Come on, step this way, you rascal, and
I’ll flog you within an inch of your life.”
“I’ve no occasion.”
“You’re a coward.”
“Not on your word.”
“I’m a liar, then, am I?”
“Just as you please.”
“Do you hear that gentlemen?”
“Ah !” was the response, “you can’t help
flogging him now.”
“Oh, heavens grant me patience, I’ll fly
out of my skin.’’
“It’ll be so much the better for your pocket
—calf skins are in good demand.”
“I shall burst.”
“Not here in tho street, I beg for you. It
would be quite disgusting.”
“Gentlemen, can I any longer help flog
ging him.’’ '
“Not if you are able,” was the reply. “Go
at him.”
Thus provoked, thus stirred up and en
couraged, the fierce gentleman went like
lightning at the Yankee.
But before he could strike a blow, he found
dimself disarmed of his cow skin, and lying
on his back under the spout of a neighboring
pump, whither the Yankee had carried him
to cool his rage, and before he could recover
from his astonishment at such unexpected
handling, he was as wet as a drowned rat
from the cataract of water which his antago
nist had liberally pumped upon him.
His courage had by this time, like that of
the valiant Bob Acres, “oozed out at the
palms of his hands,” and he declared, as he
arose and went away dripping from the
pump, that he would never trust to appear
ances again and the old Harry himself might
undertake to cow-hide a cool Yankee for all
of him.
One of Nature’s Wonders - —The Bot
lomless Pit in the Mammoth Cave of Ken
tucky, is suspected by many to run through
the whole diameter of the earth. The
branch terminates in it, and the explorer sud
denly finds himself brought upon its brink,
standing upon a projecting platform, sur
rounded on three sides by darkness and ter
ror, a gulf on the right and a gulf on the left,
and before him what seemed an interminable
void. He looks .aloft ; but no eye has yet
reached the lop of the great overarching
dome; nothing is there seen but (he flashing
of (he water dropping from above, smiling as
it shoots by in the unwonted gleam of the
lamp. He looks below, and nothing there
meets his glance save darkness as thick as
lamp-black, and he hears a wild, mournful
melody of water, the wailing of the brook
for the green and sunny channel left in the
upper world never more to be revisited.—
Down goes a rock, tumbled over the cliff by
the guide, who is of the opinion that folks
come here to see and hear, not to muse and
be melancholy. There it goes—crash ! it
has reached the bottom. No—hark, it strikes
again ; once more and again, still falling.—
Will it never slop 1 One’s hair begins to
bristle as he hears the sound repealed, grow
ing less and less, until the ear can follow it
no longer.
A western editor expresses his delight at
having been nearly called “honey” by the
girl be loves, because she saluted him as
“old beeswax’" at their last meeting.
Taking Things Coolly.
Homan Health.
Pew persons think or care much about
'health while they possess it. No one can
ever perfectly regain it when once lost.—
Thousands there are who would give a for
tune—all they possess of earthly goods—if
ihfey could have health for the balance of
their lives. Health is the parent of innu
merable blessings. Without health, no one
cap be happy ; with it no one can be misera
ble. Health is the great, the primal necees
sity of human beings.
Without health in every department of the
fearful and wonderful machinery of life, the
man-being can never be developed. If he
does not acquire it in this life, he must in
some other sphere of existence, or remain
forever be-dwarfed, imperfect, or deformed.
No one can achieve his destiny, no one can
perceive correctly his relation to external
thinks, no one can feel, or think or act so as
lo keep himself in harmony with the laws of
universal order, on which his highest welfare
depends, without health in every part, struc
ture, and organ. Humanity can never be
embodied and individualized, in the form of
a complete and perfect man or woman with
out health.
’ No problems can possibly be more intelli
gible in themselves than those which concern
human health. Nature has made them all
matters of instinct and observation, so that
none need err. Health depends on due at
tention lo a few simple conditions. The
most important of these relate lo air, food,
and exercise.
Plain, natural food, pure air, and abun
dant exercise express the essentials of health,
development, vigor, long life, and perfect
manhood and womanhood.
With all the tribes of animated nature
below us, health is the rule and disease the
exception. It requires no learned doctor or
profound philosopher to tell us the reason of
this. They follow pure instincts instead of
perverted appetences. With the human fam
ily as a whole, disease is the rule, and health
the exception. Nor need we explore the
mysteries of science to discover the rationale
of this. Our eyes and our ears are all the
channels of information we need to fully
comprehend the subject. But we most use
them. There is such a thing as having eyes
and seeing not ; having ears and hearing
not. —Life Illustrated.
What is Silica?
In articles on Agriculture the word Silica
IS often mentioned, and many of our young
najlers^perhaps .would like to know whaf it
is, and whnl it has to do with wheat or corn,
or the soil. Silica is a mineral substance,
commonly known as flint ; and it is one of
the wonders of the vegetable tribes, although
flint is so indestructible that the strongest
chemical aid is required for its solution,
plants possess the power of dissolving and
secreting it. Even so delicate a structure as
the wheat straw dissolves silica, and every
stock of wheat is covered with a perfect, but
inconceivably thin coaling of this substance.
This is what gives the wheat straw its gla
zing, which looks so much like glass.'
Amid all the wonders of nature which we
have had occasion to explain, there is none
more startling than that which reveals to
our knowledge, the fact that a flint stone
consists of masses of mineralized vegetable
matter. The animals were believed to have
been infusorial with silicious
which compose flint may be brought under
microscopic examination. Geologists have
some difficulty in determining their opinions
respecting the relation which these animal
culae bear to the flint stones in which they
are found. Whether the animalculae, in
dense masses form the flint ; ot whether the
flint merely supplies a sepulchre to the count
less millions of creatures that, ages ago, en
joyed each a separate and conscious exist
ence, is a problem that may never be solved.
And what a problem I The buried plant
being disentombed, after having lain for ages
in the bowels of. the earth, gives us light and
warmth ; and the animalculae, after a sleep
of ages, dissolves into the sap of a plant,
and wraps the coat it wore probably “in the
beginning, when God created the heavens
and the earth, and when the earth first
brought forth living creatures,” around the
slender stalk of waving corn !—The Reason
Why.
Among the many singular anecdotes which
Lord Mansfield has been accustomed to re
peat of himself, he used to speak of the fol
lowing with the most unaffected good humor:
A St. Giles’ bird as an evidence before him
in some trial concerning a quarrel in the
street, and so confounded his lordship with
slang, that he was obliged to dismiss him
without getting anything from him. He was
desired to give an account of all he knew.
“My lord,” said he, “as I was coming by
the corner of the street, I slagged the man.”
“Pray,’’ said Lord Mansfield, “what do
you mean by slagging a man?”
“Slagging, my lord ? why, you see, I was
down upon him.”
“Well, but I don’t understand ‘down upon
him’ any more than ‘slagging.’ Do speak
to be understood.”
“Well, an’l please your lordship, I speak
as well as I can—l was up to all he knew.”
“To all he knew ? lam jdsl as much in
the dark as ever.” |
“Well, then, my lord, I’ll just tell you how
it was.”
"Do so.”
“Why, my lord, seeing as how he was a
rum kid, I was one upon bis tibby ?”
The fellow was at length sent out of the
Court, and was hoard in the hall to say to
one of his companions, that be had “glori
ously queered old Full Gottorn.”
no. xxxvm.
From the Atlantic Monthly.
MARE RUB RUM.
BT OLITZR WENDELL HOLITCS-
Flash out a stream of blood-red wine!—
For I wonld drink to other days;
And brighter shall their memory shine.
Seen flam ing through its crimson blaze.
The roses die, tbe summers fade,: I
But every ghost of boyhood’s dream
By nature’s magic power is laid I |
To sleep beneath this blood-red stream.
It filled the purple grapes that lay’
And drank the splendors of the no
Where the long summer’s cloudless day
Is mirrored in the broad Garonne;
It pictures still the bacchant shapes
That saw their hoarded aunUghtj&hed,—
The maidens dancing on the grapes,
Their milk-white ankles splashed with red,
Beneath these waves of crimson lye.
In rosy fetters prisoned fast, ; i
Those flitting shapes that never die?
The swift-winged visions of the past
Kiss hot the crystal's mystic rirai {
Each shadow rends its flowery! chain ;
Springs in a bobble from its brim, !
Ard walks the chambers of the train.
Poor Beauty! time and fortune’s wrong -
No form or feature may .withstand, —
Thy wrecks arc scattered all along,
Like empty sea shells on the sand;
. Yet, sprinkled with this blushing;rain.
The dost restores each blooming igirl,
As if the sea-sheila moved again; I
Their glistening Ups of pink and pearl.
Here lies the home of school boy life,
With creaking stair and wind-swept hall
And scarred by many a truant knife.
Our old initials on the wall; j
Here—rest their keen vibrations mote —
The shout of voices knoy-n so Veil,
The ringing laugh, the wading Ante,
The chiding of the sharp-tongued bell.
Here, clad in burning robes, are laid
Life’s blossomed joys, untimely shed;
And here those cherished forms have strayed
We miss awhile and call them dead.
What wizzard Alls the maddening glass?
What soil the enchanted clusters : grew,
That buried passions wake and pass
In beaded drops of fiery dew ? .
Nay. take the cup of blood-red wine,—
Our hearts can boast a warmer, glow,
Filled from a vintage more divine,-4-
Calmed, but not chilled by winter’s snow
To-night the palest wave we sip,;
Rich as the priceless draught shall be
That wet the bride of Cana’s lips,~
The wedding wine of Galilee! ,
A Kind Act Reciprocated.
Nearly hair a cenlury ago, wheh a coach
ran daily belween Glasgow andj Greenock,
by Paisley, one afternoon, when a lliltle past
Bishpptown, a lady in the Coacjt noticed a
boy walking barefooted, seemingly jiired, and
struggling with tender feet. Shq desired the
coachman to lake him up and Igrre-bim a
seat, and she would pay for it. j i
When they arrived at the inn in Greenock
she inquired of the boy what was his object!
in coming up there. He said he Jwished to|
be a sailor, and hoped some of t(ie| captains!
would engage him.. She gave 'him half a |
crown, wished him success, and charged him
to behave well. j j
Twenty years after this, the coachwas re
turning to Glasgow, in the afternoqn, on the
same road. When near a sea
captain observed an old lady on [the road,
walking very slowly, fatigued and jveary.—
He ordered the coachman to put her in the
coach, as there was an empty seal, and he
should pay for her. ; j ;
Immediately after, when changing the
horses at Bishoptown, the passengers were
sauntering about, except the captain and the
old lady, who remained in the coach. The
lady thanked him for his kindly! feeling to
ward her, as she was now unablej to pay for
her sent. He said : “He always had sym
pathy for weary pedestrians, since; he him
self was in that slate when a hoy, twenty
years ago, near this very place, when a len
der hearted lady ordered the coachman to
lake him up, and paid for his seat.’’
“Well do I remember that incident,” said
she. “I am that lady, but my lot. in life is
changed. 1 was then independent.! Now I
am reduced to poverty by the doings of a
prodigal son.” ; J
"How happy I am,” said the! captain,
“that I have been successful in my enterprise,
and am returned home to live on my fortune ;
and from this day I shall bind myself and
heirs Ip supply you with twenty-five pounds
per annum, till your death. —British Work
man. ' ’
A Hakd Witness. —The following dia
logue, which occurred several years ago be
tween a lawyer and a witness, in a justice’s
court, not a great many thousand!miles from
this place, is worth relating. ;
It seems that Mr. Jones loaned; Mr, Smith
a horse, which died while in histpossession.
Mr. Jones brought suit to recover the value
of the horse, attributing his death to bad
treatment. During the course ofi t be'trial,' a
witness (Brown) was called to the stand to
testify as to how Mr. Smith treated [horses.
Lawyer—(with a bland and confidence in
voking smile) —“Well, sir, how [does Mr.
Smith generally ride horses?” | i
Witness —(with a very merry twinkle in
his eye otherwise imperturbable) “Al-slraddle
sir.” j i
Lawyer—(with a scarcely perceptible flush
of vexation, but speaking in his smoothest
tones—“ But, sir, what gait does-he ; ride ?”
Witness—“He never rides any [gate, sir,
his boys ride all the gatea.” I ;[
Lawyer—(his bland smile gone and his
voice slightly husky)—“But hoiwi does he
ride when in company with others?”
Witness—“ Keeps up if his horse is able;
if not he goes behind.” t t-
Lawver—(triumphantly and in! perfect fu
ry)—“How does he ride when altjme, sir 7”
Witness—“ Don’t know—never was with
him when he was alone.” I i
“Lawyer—"l hire done with vou.”
i
r
i 'j
Bales of Advertising.
Advertisements will be charged 81 per square o{
fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions, and 25
cents for"every subsequent insertion. All advertise
ments of less 'than fourteen lines considered as a
square. ■ The. following rates will be charged for
Quarterly, Half-Yearly turd Yearly advertising.
3 months. 6 months. 13 mo's'
Square, (14 lines,) - $2 50 84 50 86 0O
SSquares,. . . . 400 600 8 oft
5 column, .... 1000 1500 3000
column is 00 30 00 40 OO
All advertisements not having tbe namber of in
sertions marked upon them, will be kept in onlU or.
dcred onl, and charged accordingly. !-
Posters. Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads.and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments,
executed neatly and promptly. Justices’, Const. *
Wes’ and other BLANKS, constantly on band and
printed to order.
Little Pitcher with Great Eats.
“Mother,” 1 said little Agnes, “what raatfe
you marry father ? You (old aunt Charloita
you had all the money.”
“Hush, child ! what are you talking about ?
I did not say so.”-
“Why, yes, mother, you be was
poor; and had you thought op being bur
dened with so many) ‘country cousins,’ as
you call them, you never would have had
him. Don’t you like aunt Phtsbe, and aunt
Polly, and aunt Judy ? I’m sure I do.”
“Why, Agnes, you are crazy, I believe I
When.did you ever hear your mother talk
so? Tell me instantly.”
“Yesterday, ma, when I sat in the back
parlor, and you and aunt were in I lie front
one. I’m sure you did say so, dear mother,
and I pity you very much ; for you told aunt
.there was a lime, before 1 was born, when
father drank 100 much, and then, you know,
you spoke of the ‘pledge,’ and said how glad
you were that the temperance reform saved
him.”
“My dear, I was talking of somebody else,
I think. We were speaking of uncle Jethro
and his family.”
“But they have no Agnes, mother ; and
you know you told about father’s failure in
business. Uncle Jethro never failed. And
you said, too, when you moveddn this house,
your money paid for every thing, but the
world did not know it, and—”
“You have told quite “enough, my child.
What do you slay listening in the back par
lor for, when I send you up stairs lo study 1
It has come to a pitiful pass, if your aunt
and I must have all our privacy retailed in
this way. I suppose you have already told
your father all that you have heard J"
“No, mother, 1 haven’t, because I, thought
it would hurt his feelings. I love m|f father
and I never told him anything to make him
unhappy.”
Agnes sal looking at the fire, and asked
—“Mother if people really love others, do
they ever talk against them ? Didn’t you
tell me never to speak of any home difficul
ty ; and if Edward and I say wrong words,
you tell me never lo repeat them, and 1 never
do?”
“Agnes,said the rebuked mother, “listen
ers are despicable characters. Don’t you
ever let me know of your doing the like
again. You don’t hear right, and you make
a great deal of mischief in this way."
Benefits of a Good Hearty Laugh.—
If people will believe tough stories with a
good moral, we think the following, from an
English paper, cam be recommended as one
of the very best of its class:
“While op a picnic excursion with a partv
of young people, discerning a crow’s nesl on
pa rocky precipice, they started in great glee
to see who would reach it first. Their haste
being greater than their prudence, some lost
their bold, and were seen rolling and tumb
ling down the hillside, bonnets smashed,
clothes torn, postures ridiculous, but no one
hurt. Then commenced a scene of most vi
olent and long-continued laughter, which, be
ing all young people, well acquainted with
each other, and in the woods, they indulged
to a perfect surfeit. They roared out with
merry peal on peal of spontaneous laughter;
they expressed it by hooting and hallooing
when ordinary laughter became insufficient
to express the merriment they felt at their
own ridiculous situations and those of their
males; and'ever afterwards the bare men
tion of the crow’s nest scene occasioned re
newed and irrepressible laughter. Years af
ter one of their number fell sick, became so
low (hat she could not speak, and was about
breathing her last." Our informant called to
see her, gave his name and tried to make
himself recognized, bu[ failed till he mention
ed the crow’s nesl, at which she recognized
him and began to laugh, and continued every
little while renewing it; from that time she
began to mend, recovered, and still lives, a
memento of the laugh cure.”
Honorable Conditions. —Many years
ago in what is now a flourishing city in this
Stale lived a stalwart blacksmith, fond of his
pipe and his joke. He was also fond of his
blooming daughter, whose many graces and
charms had ensnared the affections of a sus
ceptible young printer. The couple, after a
season of usual billing and cooing, “en
gaged” themselves, and nothing but the con
sent of the young lady’s parent prevented
their union. To obtain this, an interview
was arranged and Typo pjrepared a lilllo
speech to astonish and convince the old gen
tleman, who sat enjoying his favorite pipe, in
perfect content.
Tjyto dilated upon the fad of their long
friendship, their mutual attachment, their
hopes for the future, and like topics, and
taking the daughter by the hand, said : “I
now, sir, ask your permission to transplant
this lovely flower from its parent bed—” but
his‘phelinks’ overcame him, he forgot the
remainder of his rhetorical flourish, blushed,
stammered, and finally wound up—“from its
parent bed, into my own!" The father
keenly relished the d scomfiture of the suitor,
and after removing his pipe and blowing
away a cloud, replied : “Well, young man,
I don’t, know as I have any objections, pro
vided you will marry the gal first
“Charles, do you know what people are
saying about us?”
“No, dear, what is it?”
“Why, that—that—you and I are going
to be mar—married !’’
“Fudge! let them say so. We know bel
ter. We are not so foolish as that, ate we 1”
“I say, sonny, where does that right-hand
road go to?” “It ain’t been anywhere since
we’ve lived here,” was h n b;->,’s ivp'v.