o* Publication. Lc TIOGA CODNTY AGITATOR i. pub p , Thursday Morning, and mailed to sub L nl'tho very reasonable price of Ow.Dol r 6 at 1 m invariMy Inadtwnec.' Itmntend r tifrev’cry subscriber when the term for 1"A paid shall hare expired, by the stamp F m B h OaU" on the margin of the last paper.' r then be stopped until a farther re received. By this arrangement no man K e be M in debt to the printer. E Ao.St » is the Official Paper of the Coun K A . „nd steadily increasing circulation Slh a larg #vel y neighborhood in the K nil >^t’ u ° f PfW. t 0 any Post-Office limits, and to those living within P, Hole most convenient postoffies may r anine County. r" c s J J Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, paper in jd, Si per year- _ r- For the Agitator. lAW ird sirs* ar Masts; but OEACB AOT [IICAiU Bl tecs Chkist. — John, I : XVH. , old Judea, many years ago, ancient records and traditions show, micbly prophet io the land arose 0 save the people from their many woes, o him were given wisdom, strength and pow’r 0 aid them in captivity's dark hour; D d through the dreary wilderness, his band He led in safely to the Promised Land. rime ran to riot in those early days; eW learned to walk in wisdom’s pleasant ways. || undeveloped were the many, then — race of barb’roua. unenlightened men. uch natures and such passions to restrain— lid such a people order to maintain, couired a law relentless in its course— Severe, inflexible—the lawof/orce. be lapse of ages brought a wondrous night, iben came a vision from the world of light; then spirit-voices holy anthems sang, 1 liile heav’n’sown arches with the music rang; Phen shone the star of Bethlehem on high, ,sd worshippers with reverence drew nigh fo Jesus: then the reign of peace began, »«cc to this tronbled earth, • good will lo man*’ U whom the angels sang on that glad night became, as year* sped on, a shining light: icek and forgiving, pure and undefiled, Vise beyond all, yet gentle as & child, leturmng good lor evil, love for wrath, tod blessing who daily crossed his path* |m loves not soon arose, iround the Heav’nly Teacher, bitter foci; 3y friends betrayed, by bigots crucified^ Jtics of Nazareth bow'd down and died. Oh, why are we not like him ! why, to-day. \V[ico eighteen centuries have rolled away. Are they who call themselves bis followers, true, Who claim his precepls.and his will to do, fo spiritual hopes and duties cold ? Harsh, unforgiving to an erring brother. Instead of loving, aiding one another I Wby, in this land of liberty and light, Does (he red g allows rise, a ■ick t niog sight! Why, on the soil where patriots fought and bled, And gave lo Freedom all the blood they shed. Should Slavery rule? and men be bo’l and sold— Utlymg spirits, trafficked in for gold ! Jd ill these wrongs the truth is plainly seen: Ift folkw Moses, not the Nazarenk 1 Oh, let us grow more like him day by day I Oar earthly hie will quickly pass away, Adg other scenes and other glories rise To glad our souls when death unseals our eyes. On, may our thoughts and actions here below, Fit us for that abode to which we go; For we shall see in that blest home above [The law of Force change lo the law of Love. ! April. 1858. Virginia. “The Wife’s Mistake.” BY GREY MARION. Il is very beautiful, the history of the 'Wife’s Mistake,” and I have no doubt such ases are and such an example may be profit ■ble. But let me tell a tale on the other side. My friend Merle Vernon was a bright, at raciive girl, well educated and intelligent, tnd as good as she was intelligent. She narried according to her choice. I might, f I had the power, and were inclined for a omance, instead of a straight forward story, ell of the first meeting, and the first im ttessions, and the mutual attraction, and the inclusion to which she and Henry Dale rare irresistibly drawn, that they were made or each other, and could not by any possi lility go through life except together. I saw beta when they met, twice accidentally, and' ohim unexpectedly, and I built a whole ro nance on his start and blush of pleasure, and tis snimaied greeting. (I wish I could have ireo the same thing ten years later.) Well, ime went on; they were married, and every me augured the most sunny life for them, doth well educated, cultivated, and with simi larity id taste, even their religious feelings in birmonr; on one point only was there any hflerence. His early lifo had been a hard discipline, and he had never known the charm of a pleasant home and social inter course. . his desirable in married life, in order to harmony, that the education and Wiis of life of each should have been sim ilar. Well, as I said, ihey were married, the bedding journey was over, ibe wedding visits teeeived and paid, and then Henry threw maself into his profession, with the more for the time he had lost;' His wife en. jeted into his pursuits and interests, devoted sr evenings to him when he could be at °me, helped him to look for authorities, Ipr w her work or book, and sat quietly by, *hile he knotted his brow over knotty cases. one had expected some sympathy in her pursuits also; not much lime given to her, m some help now and then, advice as to •a mg, refreshing discussions on topics of 'erest. Evening after evening, week after ® e k, she watched and wailed, but there was 'rajs something of more importance, or .7, °" en engagements out, in which she o not share. There were always the reasons in the world; no one could itsson 11 S P ro P r * el y» hut there were always hew/v 6 ' earned 10 pl°d on by herself; then "V knshand still when she could, and she Is 88 6 * le m 'Sht, turning over what svmn'a 7 ad ‘ n * ler OWD nnind, for want of f a ny in the communication. "next S^e Baid 10 me ’ “ nexl year,’’ and hard.^ e<r ’ Henr y s ays. he will not work so 0s d >he will have more ttme.” end * m -j inwardly at her woman’s faith, Jeer „ J° m yaelf, “next year, and next iy* aear child, will never come,** Id a ca n break a few threads easily, but Tears Tr aroun d you the habits of many ttrenJiW L Wear y arda >) and it will taka more in than you have to break them. folds w ® r , ew renow ned in his profusion, ti>tens mSelffatnous -: but he paid dearly for "'ey h»d D ‘ X eata gathered on his head ; home, „P 0S ‘ l >°n. eminence, wealth, but no °u* Mn ' uch engrossed, and gradu read’hl" W| *® was m *“7 when he their aad writing. So they apenl ' “foe asunder. S °fociiL g sl UaUy wilhdrew ftom social life. 0168 81)8 W£ nl out alone; but she grew THE AGITATOR. BehotcU to m mxtmniw of the atea of iFteehom mp the S»mh of healths a&efovm. WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WHONG UHBIGHTED, AND UNTIL “ MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE, VOL. IV. tired of that. Sometime* she invited friend* to her bouse; btit when he either excused himself entirely, or submitted to the inter* ruption with a very bad grace, she gave up even that. The fact is, that, like many an other, he mistook the means for the end, and made that which should have been the means of supplying his want*, the aim and object of life. While Merle was still nursing the delu. sive ‘ hope of the “next year,’’ his locks whitened wiib his toils, and the silver threads grew more and more plentiful among her dark locks. By that time she had almost learned to live alone, and it had been wise had she learned the lesson earlier. I heard a friend say one day, in her hearing, “I don’t be lieve in polygamy ; a mao who is wedded to his profession ought not to take any other wife.” Merle looked as if she understood it— “But not a word she spake.” One day the secret came out. A friend said to Henry, “You ought to give yourself more time; you work too hard at your age.” “Ah,” said he, io reply, “There is noth ing else for me. The fact is, my habits are fixed, I am not good for anything else, I don’t know anything else, and I suppose I shall work on till 1 die.” There was the end of all my friend’s beau tiful hopes. He had unfitted himself entirely for domestic and social life, and so'chose to live and die. Quite too common a case. Merle also had made a mistake; or rather, if she had made a mistake, it was early in life, and one not easily rectified. The Sheriff’s Story. In the summer of 185—, while (traveling on business in the wilderness of Northern Maine, we stopped one afternoon in the little village of P , which nestles cozily in the shade of Saddleback mountain. After sup per, while enjoying our cigar upon the porch, we noticed a peculiar looking scar upon the landlord’s cheek. Thinking “thereby hangs a tale,” we asked him to inform us of the cause of so unusual a mark. He professed himself willing to relate the story, and draw ing a chair close to our side, commenced— “ln my younger days I was a sheriff in the county in which I then resided. In the spring of 1829 a murder was committed in u neighboring town, under circumstances of unusual atrocity. The deed was done by a Frenchman, whose name was Liste. He, with his wife, lived in a log cabin in the woods, some ten miles from where the deed was committed, and had long been -suspected as a thief and secreler of stolen goods. I was sent to secure him, and you may be sure I did not relish the job much, but go I must. As I had ten miles to ride, 1 started early, and arrived at the cabin about noon. Tying my horse to a tree, I went up to the doot and knocked; after considerable delay in unfast ening more than was necessary, the door was opened by his wife, who demanded, in no very pleasant tone, what I wanted. ' “Is your husband at home ?” I asked. “No, he has gone to the village, and will not be back till night,” she answered. “Then I will wail till he comes home," said I; and, without giving her time to reply, stepped into the room. One glance around convinced me that the murderer was at home. A rifle stood in the corner of the room, which be had been clean ing, as I up, for the water was even dripping from the lube. I said nothing, however, but down, and began to take a survey of the room. He could not have left, while I stood at the door, without my seeing him; so that he must either have left before I came, or else, which I considered more likely, was concealed about the cabin. My eye fell upon 1 a rag mat, lying on the floor, and taking that up the mystery was explained. A trap door was underneath, which proba bly led to the hole or cellar in which he was concealed. I lifted the door up, and was looking for some means of descending, when X push from the “gude wife” sent me down without the use of a ladder, and the door was suddenly <( ehut. I tell you sir, I was in no enviable’ position, in a dark cellar with a murderer —for he was there, as I very soon after found out. Thinking I heard him move, I took a step in the direction of the sound. In an instant there was a flash, a loud report, and I felt a burning pain in my cheek. I saw him by the flash of the pistol, crouching in the further corner of the cellar. My bipod was up, and I made a spring and closed with him. We had a sharp tussle, for a few moments, but at length I managed to get the bracelets on his wrists, andt then it was all over.— Meanwhile his wife was above, standing on the door, and asking every now and then — “Have you fixed him, Jeml” Putting my hand upon the man’s mouth, and imitating his voice as near as 1 could, I told her I had,, and ordered her tojead the sheriff’s horse into the shed. My ruse suc ceeded perfectly, and, as she left the room, I ordered him up thejadder, and by using the argument of a pistol persuaded him to go.— Once up, the rest was easy. His wife was somewhat astonished when she came in, but seeing 1 was welljumed, made no resistance. The man was sullen, and refused to speak, but I did not care for that. I pul him on the horse, and led the horse two miles through the wpods, to the nearest neighbors. Se curing the assistance of one .of the “men folk,” I had him securely lodged in the jail that night, and he is now in the Stale Prison serving bis sentence, imprisonment for life. But that was the hardest fight 1 ever had ; and 1 shall carry a mark of it to my grave. So ends tb» sheriff's story. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY DOMING. JULY 1, 1858. Cotioiis Discovery in the Atlantic. The following is the copy of a letter writ ten by Captain Cubin*, of the Caribou, be longing to this port, to the Secretary of the Admirably, relating to a cluster of islands not laid down in the chart, and which lie in the direct track to Australia. The attention of the ownera aod masters of ships ought to be called to the subject, as many vessels of which no tidings have been heard may bare been wrecked on them : “Ship Caribou, Hobson’s Bay, March 18, 1658. I Bailed from Liverpool on the 6lb December, 1857, bound to Port Philip, in Australia. On February 22d, wind wester ly, brisk gale with snow squalls. In a clear between the squalls, I fancied 1 saw land to the southward ; took in studding sails, short ened sail, and stood towards it. Hove to abreast the island, lowered a life boat, and sent her to the land. I afterwards stood in to about nine miles off shore, and got no ground with one hundred and twenty fathoms of line. The island appeared to be in aS. G. and N. W. direction, about twenty.live miles, its southern extreme trending to the S. VV. The greater part of the whole island was covered with snow; there was a remark able group of high rocks lying off to the N. E., and on the N. VV. extreme an iceberg aground. The island was cloud-capped, but I think that its greatest elevation could not be less than four hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea. While hove to awaiting our boat's return, I was astonished to see vessels at anchor in a bay, we having opened it by drifting to the S. B. One of them got under way and stood towards us; it proved to be the American schooner Oxford, of Fair haven. They pul out a boat, and the mas ter came on board ; he told me they called it Kurd's Island, and that it was discovered by them eighteen months before. He seemed annoyed' that my boat had landed, and ad vised me to go and leave her behind, saying she would never return ; but I told him I would never leave her while I had another boat to seek for her. I was very anxious, for it was then sundown, and darkness com ing on fast; but while speaking, the lookout at the mast head reported the boat in sight. He then became more communicative, and told me they were after oil; that the shores swarmed with sea elephants; and that they had sent to America from the island since the discovery, twenty-five thousand barrels of oil. The island was bold on the N. G. side, and no hidden dangers; and the bay where the lay was a fine bay or natural har bor, with good anchorage; no sunken dan gers, with twelve to twenty fathoms all over, and sheltered from all winds except a north easterly, with a fine river of fresh water at the head of it. My own officers confirmed his statement of the sea elephants, and the island being well watered. Thera were pen guins and other birds in myriads, and on an island about a mile apart from the main ap peared to be a great mound of guano. While lying to I went to look at my abstract, and it made me shudder to think that only twelve months before I ran past the island at mid night in a heavy gale of wind, not more than four or five miles distant, ignorant of its ex istence. My greatest wish on sending a boat to (he island was to find out if there were any shipwrecked persons on it whom I might relieve. I send, inclosed with this, a sketch of the island, in the execution of which I was very much assisted by one of the pas sengers. It was entirely of volcanic origin, my six officers having found on the surface ashes and stones, like the specimen enclosed. —Liverpool Daily Post. Forly-ninb prices. —ln lha early times of California, the immigrants nearly all used immense quantities of saleralus, in the man ufacture of bread. There was no yeast to be bad in the country, and unless we could get saleralus to lighten our slap-jacks they were, to say the least, “heavy lum.” On the 29th day of August, 1849, our company arrived at Weberville. We were all amply supplied with flour, pork and other eatables, but (here was a great dearth of that most indispensable article—saleralus. One of our parly, (Colonel P , who is now a respectable and wealthy citizen of Sacra mento county,) had at the time, one-quarter of a dollar left, which was, to be candid, about all the cash to be then found in the train. The Colonel determined to invest his last two bits in the purchase of saleralus, and with that intention proceeded to the little log grocery, (the only establishment of the kind then existing in the diggings,) and addressing the business man of the concern, inquired if he had “any saleralus?” Thk storekeeper made answer affirmatively, and the Colonel at once asked fora quarter’s worth. “Stranger,”' said he of the grocery, “I donl’ know how to weigh that quantity." “Why,” said the Colonel “how do you sell it mister ?” “Only sixteen dollars a pound,” was the calm reply. With a look of unutterable amazement, the Colonel pocketed 'his quarter, and va mosed the ranch. —Piacemille Index. ]/-, A Wag in New York seeing a man driving a tack into a card through the letter in the word “Boston” printed on It, seized the card and exclaimed, “Why, what are you about; Don’t you know that laying tax on tea in Boston once raised a thundering muss .there ?” We have heard a great many expressions of filial affection, but none equal to the fol lowing, which a Western man really gave .vent to not.long since:—“My father was the only man 1 ever allowed to be sassy to me without licking him like thunder.” Girls at Home. There are two kinds of girls; one is the kind that is abrogd-r-the girls that ace good for parties, rides, visits, balls, dpc., and.whose chief delight is in such things ; the other is the kind that appears best at home—the girls (bat are useful and cheerful in the dining room, the sick room, and all the precincts of home. They differ widely in character.— One is often a torment at home; the other is a blessing. One is a moth, consuming every thing about her; the other is a sunbeam, in spiring life and gladness all along her path way. Now it does not necessarily follow that there shall be two classes of girls. The right education- will modify both a little, and unite their characters in one. Girls are not made altogether for home, any more than boys are. Society would be of but little worth, without girls, without women. The first pleasure and duty of every woman should be at home ; her next should relate to the refinement and well being of society. But in-order that she may benefit and adorn society, she must first know bow to benefit and adorn home. Hence all girls, whether rich or poor, should be early and well in structed in all the duties and cares of home. From the parlor to the kitchen, she should be complete mistress. All the interests of home should be familiar to her as household words. Neither idleness, folly or indiffer ence, should prevent her from engaging heart ily in all the concerns of home life. This will be to her a school more valuable than the seminary or .the ladies’ college. It be hooves mothers, therefore, to feel that they are teachers of the first dignity in position. Their daughters will £e much what they make them. The home education will lay the true foundation of character. It will fix the true principles of life in the young girl’s mind. It will givo her an insight into do mestic duties, and leach her that to be useful is one great end of life. Book education can easily follow a good home training ; but good home training is not apt to follow the education of the schools. Girls well taught at home, are the girls that abpear well every where. Give us the well read girls, and we shall have no need of any other. They will make the true woman. By Experience in Teaching. Ye», Mr. Editor, it is veritably f, who write these words. Your friend Nelly has really been engaged in the foolish enterprise of teaching. “What 1” I hear the teachers .exclaiming, “do you call if a foolish work V’ Then you did not enter upon it with a right spirit; for we can’t help liking to leach. — Well, to you I would say, that I wager a bright penny that you never taught school in Paradise. There was where 1 spent three months in instructing the “young ideas” of the curly headed angels of those very Para disaical regions which way to shoot. I am sure! my romantic notions about having a blissful Eden in my school were fanciful enough to please any one. I was certain of success and went to work cheerful ly. But to show you my school in its true state, I will tell you about one of (he classes. One of them, the most interesting one too, was the history class. “You may read,” said Ito a lad of twelve or thirteen. He commenced, “Mr. Bennett who resided near Forty Grisly wolves was —“That word is Fort Griswold, James,” interrupted I. He corrected his mistake and finished the verse, and the solemn Mary Jane rose. “About this time the people were thrown into great gloom by the death of the father of his coun try.” “Who was the father of bis country” asked the County Superintendent who was present. “God” replied the pupil seriously. “And did God die about this time 1” was the next question. But I forbear to relate any more. It would weary your patience and tire my An gers, besides, it really is sad to think of Par adise.—Nelly.—Honesdale Herald. The Kansas Women. — A young lady some time since, went from her home, in New York, to Kansas, to meet her affianced lover for the purpose of marrying him. She trav eled all the way from Rocheslet to Ossa wotamie alone, making the trip pleasantly and safely. Immediately on her arrival she was married to her “beau,” who is a steady farmer named Merrit, and went to house keeping inslanter. A week after she writes back to a lady friend at Rochester, giving an account of her trip, situation, &c. She says: “Merrit is plowing, and when he gets through with his spring work, we are going to take a trip to Missouri to buy cows, chick ens, and such other “fixings” as 'we may need. Please give my love to all the girls, and tell all who are in want of a husband to come out here, and they can readily find good ones. Also, please give my love to the boys. How does Mr. B. survive my loss? I hope he won’t commit suicide as in that case all the young ladies who are now shed ding such “sweetly sentimental tears” over Stout, will be drowned in grief. I would not give my M. for all the boys in York Slate, not even excepting Mr. H. M. sends bis love to you and Dr. die., &o.” The husband and sons of such women as the above will never submit to be tyranized or oppressed. Welcome evermore to gods, and men is the self helping man. For him all doors flung wide; him all longues greet, ail honors crawn,.all eyes.follow with desire—Emer ton. The last excuse for hoops is, that the •tweaker.vessels” need much hooping. / Communications, ’ ?or the Agitator. MARY: A LEAF FROM MEMORYi i The fragrant breath of early spring is abroad, and as I sit here in (he deepening twilight, it wafts to me the perfume of jopen. ing buds and flowers, and the soft notes of the ever welcome songsters, who with man, seem to hail the coming spring with a burst of welcome. And come there no other) notes to my earl Ah! there is a whispering of the night-winds, which brings to my heart a tone dearer than the music of birds.! It is the voice of memory. It speaks to me of other days—of the absent but upforgotteh.— Methinks l.see (hem sitting in the little, porch as when-1 was with them; their wordsiand looks of love ate all unchanged. And !per chance~asrtheir eyes wander away to, the quiet churchyard, they think of one whojWas beloved by us all, who now “sleeps that sleep which knows no waking.” The is green, and the flowers bloom above her head. But Mary is not forgotten ! Her and sufferings are recorded in many hearts.! I shall never forget my first visit to her dwelling. It seems blit a little while since that evening, and yet, lime has counted months, and even years. 1 had procrastina ted my long-promised visit from day to, day, until the news of her increased and alarming illness, came like a reproof for myi selfish tardiness. I prepared for my walk with a saddened heart, and accompanied by a friend, set out, just as the sun was nearing its west ern bed. We walked silently along, |until we reached the summit of the hill, and then paused to look back upon the scene! below, ere an angle in the road hid it fro.m our view. There was our quiet, happy home, nestled amidst the trees, and half hidden by their fo liage. To me, that place had always looked beautiful, for it was the abode of loving hearts, and there I had spent some of life’s happiest hours. And now the rays of the setting sun fell upon it with such a flood of goldenjlight, and the soft murmur of voices blended with the notes of instrumental music, was wafted to my ears, and I involuntarily exclaimed, “How hard it must be- to die and leave this beautiful world !” I forgot, in that moment, when I was bound by so many strong lies to the world, where the beauties of nature and the smiles of affection wooed my heart !into a willing captivity—l forgot; fora moment, that better world which lies beyond. But when f stood in that sick room, and listened to the words of humble trust which fell fromfsaint. ed lips, I felt indeed, that the favor of God is better than life. , | I returned from that visit with a chastened and grateful bean. The summer, waned, and still Mary lingered, and often did I sit_ •beside her bed and receive instruction from one w'ho seemed so near the “spirit' 1 land.~ When the frosts of autumn changed the woodlands to a richer hue, I badeiadieu to the friends around me, and left Ihe scenes of happy home, with the thought that 'it would be perhaps forever. But when the g orious spring returned again, it found me there, amid the haunts I loved. There wasj music once more under the old oak trees which sur rounded the little rustic school house—the music of childish voices welcoming mb back again to their midst. i My first inquiry was for Mary. Glad was I to learn that she was now able to be,seated in her easy chair, and sometimes drawn to the open window, where she might; catch a glimpse of the sunshine, and inhale the fra grance of the opening flowers. N ot ! many days were allowed to pass before I visited her. What a long, happy afternoon wel passed, talking of all that had transpired during my absence, and how cheerful she was! notwith standing all her sufferings. How my heart smote me for ever repining at my lolj, when I looked upon her, so patient amid her multi, plied afflictions! There, resting upon the stool before her, was_one little fool Mils felt low Jong since an inmate of the cold grave, i and she, who loved the beautiful iworks of nature with a fervor amounting to enthusi asm, was denied the happiness of Walking abroad in the glorious sunshine—w;as doom ed to pass through life, a cripple, j , She did not allude to her misfortune, until our acquaintance had ripened into intimacy. (Jne day our conversation turned (upon her recovering When youjchlled to see me the first time,” she said, ‘fljhought. my journey was nearly closed. spirit longed to quit this worn out jtehement. But lam spared to suffer on. 1 'do ( not re pine. ‘The spirit truly is willing, [but the flesh is weak.’ Oh! my friend, you know not what it is to be cut off from jibe bright and beautiful world without, in the bloom of youth, and doomed to forego so jmany de lights, which make life a blessing’—never more to walk abroad in the glorious spring time—never more to enter the sanctuary, but to sit here day after day—oh I you know not the value of health !’’ j ; Her words affected me more, because I had already learned from others her touching life history. A fall when a child, had-been the cause of her becoming what she now was— a cripple. By skillful treatment she. was en abled to retain the weakened limbjuotil she had grown to womanhood. It then became apparent that she must either suffer amputa tion or lose her life. The persuasions of friends overcame her reluctance lb submit to the fearful operation. Long, wearisome days and nights followed, and after months of suf fering, she began to recover. Kind friends ministered to her wants, but there; was one hand missing- for which she sighed. How she yearned for a mother’s lovelj Ere she* could fully appreciate that priceless gem, she had lost it. In early childhood W mother Advertisements will be charged SI 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 ta a equate. The following rates will be charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising:— . 3 months. 6 months. 13 mo’s Square, (14lines,) . $3 50 84 50 86 00 3Squares,- . . . 400 600 600 | column 10 00 15 00 30 00 column 00 30 00 40 00 All advertisements not having the dumber of in sertions marked upon them, will be kept in until or. dcred out. and charged accordingly. Postcis, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads,and all kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, executed neatly and promptly. Justices’, Consta! bles’ and other BLANKS, constantly on hand and printed to order, NO. XLYHL passed away, leaving her dying blessing for bar only child, and bequeathing her no inher itance except her own beauty and fragility. Her father soon took another to fill his home and heart, but even a careless observer could discern in her an unsympathizing nature.— A part of Mary’s girlhood bad been passed with a judicious aunt, who had given her an education which tended to the development of a mind! rich by nature.- The talents which had been cultivated were not permitted lo re main inactive. When her health permitted, she gave instruction to her own sex in fancy work, and also in drawing and painting, of which she was passionately fond, or instruct ed the little pupils who were intrusted to her care, She remembered how her own heart in its childish loneliness had yearned for kindness and love, and she cherished that memory, os the secret incentive to acts of love towards others. She eagerly sought means for self-improvement, but the mental labor, with the heart yearnings for that sym pathy, which is so sparingly extended to the sensitive ones of earth added to the want of physical exercise, were slowly, but surely developing that, disease which was her birth right—consumption. Often, when the evening shadows length ened, f turned my steps through the little gale which opened into the orchard, a few steps from her dwelling; and in my evening rides, I sometimes compelled the impatient pony to wait long for me, for the time always passed so pleasantly that 1 wished to linger. But a change came, as is always the case in this changing world. I paid my last visit—un knowing it was the last. I parted with her, promising to come the next week and spend a few days with her. The full moon of autumn shed a flood of light around as we turned our steps home waid, and the trees cast strange shadows across our path. A feeling of sadness stole over my spirits, and my friend Lizzie had caught the same, and we walked along in si lence, or conversed in tones that betrayed what we could not account for. Was it pre sentiment 1 One week, and 1 was far away. Unexpectedly I had been called lo leave.— No time was left for parting visits. I looked back, as the bright Ohio, the distant hills, and all the objects which had become so fa miliar to me, faded from my sight, aod felt that it was, perhaps, the last time I should look upon them. And so it may be. The first news I received after my depart ure, told me Mary was dead ! The flattering disease had fanned up the last spark of vital energy, and when her friends called her bet ter she faded, “as the flower fadeth when the over it.” L. A Letter foe Dennis.— “Hillo, Mislher Postmaster, and is there iver a letter here for Dennis O’Flaherly ?” “I believe there is,” said the postmaster, stepping back and producing the letter. “And will you be so kind as to lade it to me, seein’ I had the misfortune to be edicated to rade niver a bit ?” “To be sure,” said the accommodating postmaster. He then opened and read the epistle, which was from the “old country,” concerning his relations there, &c. When he had finished, Dennis observed : “And what would you beaxlo for the post age on that letter?” “Fifty cents.” “And its chape enough, yer honor, but as I niver think of axia ye to trust, just kape the letter for pay ; and say, Mislher, if I’d call in, one of these days, would ye write an answer to it A Smart People. —Not long ago an at torney with considerable “swell,” but not much brains, came to -C , Ohio, to “locate.” One day when : the post office was full, awaiting the distribution of the mail, a half-witted fellow stepped up to him in the crowed, and said : - “Mr. S—— I’m told you have come here to practice law.”' “Yes, I have.”- “Well you will find it a first rate’Jocation. I had not lived here four months before 1 hud been sued ten times.” “Well it seems to me I could live here for years without being sued at all.” “I presume you could,” said our half-willed friend. “People here are pretty darned smar, they don’t sue a fellow without he’s good for the cost I” A lady' tells this story : “I have been out in Indiana on a visit, and while there I found a kitten, which I bought and brought home for a plaything for my two children. To prevent any dispute about the ownership of pnss I proposed, and it was agreed that the head of the kitten should be mine, the body should be the baby’s, and Eddie, the eldest, but only three years, should be the proprietor of the long and beautiful tail. Eddie rather objected at first to this division, as putting him off with an extremely small share of the animal, but soon became reconciled to the division, and quite proud of his ownership in the graceful terminus of the kitten. One day soon after, 1 heard the poor puss making a dreadful mewing, and I called out to Ed die : ‘There, my son, you are hurting my share of the kitten. 1 heard her cry.’ ‘No, I didn’t mother; I trod on my part and your part hollered.’ ” A correspondent in the Crescent City writes as follows: Here is something I saw myself. A few days'since a verdant youth with his blushing bride arrived at one of the principal hotels jn this city. Tlie head of the family immediately registered his name as “S. B. Jones and lady, Alabamy, on a bridle tower.” Bate* of Advertising-
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers