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5 lines, paper in. VOL. IV. WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. JULY 22, 1858.
|uded,s4peryear;
For th# Aptttor.
ORNA'H'S DEATH.
Far in a shady deli I grew.
And the wild fawns ?ouud me played;
A little brook went purling by
Beneath the grateful shade.
For lofty beeches all around
Their mingling branches spread,
And formed a pleasant canopy
Far np above my head.
The mossy bank on which I grew
Was spangled o’er with flowers,
Which breathed their perfumes on the air
\ Through all the summer hours.
Oh, it was sweet in that fair spot
Where all alone I stood;
My thorny arms a safe retreat
For the wild bird’s nestling brood.
A merry Jaogh came floating by,
As once I dreaming stood ;
An instant, and an Indian maid
Came forth from out the wood.
My flowery stalk quick caught the eye
Of that fair forest child;
The loveliest one that ever bloomed
Far in the western wild.
Her raven tresses backward thrown,
Her eye with glance eo soft,
Her voice, the wild bird’s merry lone—
Warbling so sweet aloft,
Her bow across her shoulders thrown,
Her quiver in her hand,
She roamed the forestall alone,
Proudest of alt her land.
And thus she stood—a wild.wood queen,
And culled tny blossoms fair;
A wreath she quickly formed of them
And bound her flowing hair.
A wild deer, scudding swiftly by,
Tiie maiden turned to chase;
A banter near had twanged his bow,
The arrow missed its place.
The deer sped onward, still unharmed,
To seek a place of rest;
The cruel arrow found its sheath
!□ that lair maiden's breast.
She sank, a stricken flower, to earth;
Her cheek close by my stem.
My blossoms lived but for an hour—
Her life more short than .them.
Thus closed the life of Ornah, meek—
That gentle forest maid;
The red men look me too with her.
And placed me where she laid.
SWEET BRIER,
For the Agitator.
Leaves by the Wayside,
BV AGNES.
‘ilnsli my child lie still and slumber,
Duly angels guard tby bed,"
So sang Maud Varnum, as weary and pale
she walked the floor with ihe baby. “There
darling, what does ail you 1" Still baby
cried and kicked, and refused to be comforted
upon any terms.
“I think baby must be sick. I believe 1
wilt send for the doctor. Hush-a-bye, dar
ling.”
Either baby had a foresight of the bleach
ifying, as well as ihe vivifying effects of pow
ders and blisters, or was satisfied that the
Elorm of its own gelling up had raged suffi
ciently, il slopped crying, and opening ils
eyes in wonder, watched a humble-bee in its
frantic attempts to escape to the fields through
the window glass. The young mother sank
into a chair, exhausted in mind and body.
Edward, 1 am so weary ; baby has been
such a naughty boy !” exclaimed Maud as
her husband entered the room.
“Are you ?” coldly responded the husband,
vtho had just returned from a ride. With
what pleasure had Maud two hours before
watched her husband gather the reins in his
Lands, and with the new harness and new
carnage flashing in the sunlight, pass rapidly
from her sight; the pure, fresh air sweeping
his locks from his brow and sending the blood
dancing with renewed life through his veins.
These words “are you ?” were simple in
themselves, hut the cold tone in which they
»ere ul'ered jarred strangely upon the heart
ofthewife. ’Twas but a trifle; yet the ef
on of a gentle word and kind smile would
have been but a trifle to him, but a gleam of
sunshine which alone could gladden her
breast.
The baby now lay in sweet sleep. As
■ land looked upon ils holy beauty in repose,
the tears came 10 her eyes and she breathed
a ervan ' prayer to heaven. But as the baby
''as la ' d on ns bed the angel left the heart of
e mother, and with a cold, haughty air she
‘f .pf.o 10 arrange the tea-table, and then
called,
Ed, come to your supper I” Witli a lazy
husband made his appearance, and
01 proceeded to eat in silence. Neither
mug't of quarreling in so many words, but
sal ™'' n g around their own table which
don! ■ Ve l)een made a happy reunion of
urn | b lC . corn P an '°nship, proved the cold,
O n"T S ""S Sphering together, which 100
„u lms 'he brightness of domestic life.
W m ° W c r onr ° unde dly ill-natured a woman
'he a *' er s b e is married!” soliloquised
“dovviii * l6 P ut k ' 3 at on or a
musi j OWn ' n 'he pleasant moonlight. “I
mall. Jif a new dress i I guess that will
As h hmgS risht! ” ’
Maud i„ 6 j' sa PP eaf ed around the corner,
bena n , n rDea aiva y from watching him and
“1 «i-h e p^ er ' ence a feeling of loneliness,
eight'r?* ard had stayed at home to
erfloating r '" Came Ihe words “Cher molh
cljJ r. ”, rom 'he old homestead—the dear
* W^ere ske h ad stood one eve
of JV h J h°me my daughter, the Eden
and i and 5 s . oul 5 'hen the angel of
Dess loreve° V ” W 1" k ‘ nt * our h row with glad
•reath nf aud ,“my brow wears ho
CoD ’‘I d oeve r y vl h°‘ n ' glU! , Why is ''®oJ—
•o'! Jsn'i a ,' n £ *° make my home nleas
c“PWd a we ,| we | l ke P'. aD <3 my
Sicil as ltd “ ,! * Bn 1 ‘he rest of my
11 ’ Then J BB sk ' l^u l hands can make
011 my husK ßn e i. nol , lhe B h' rt buttons always
8 shirts? and the old coats,
the plague of >tt woman’s life, always well
mended ? Then don’t 1 always “stay at home
just as bis mother used to ll And don’t* 1 !
always take, care of my own baby, and do
the Washing, baking and churning, besides
looking after the field hands, just as that iden
tical ‘mother used to V ' Then don’t he come
home with a face as sour as a vinegar cruet,
and grumble because ‘our baby’ makes ‘such
a racket 1” Then don’t he remember all o(
a sudden what Solomon says about ‘sparing
the rod and spoiling the child,’ and when a
perfect babel of sound fills the house, walk
off as coolly as if nothing had happened ?
Then when his Wife asks him what is going
on in the business world, does’nt be reply,
“Nothing!” although Cotigress has just start
ed a perfect stampede, and some of its fat
members are groaning about for their wigs
in the struggle for freedom? Doesn’t he
call for beef when his wife cooks mul'on, and
for motion when she cooks beef? And when
the dinner is finished, doesn’t he inquire in
tones of thunder where his hat aod his boots
are? and when asked where he left them?
declare that be don’t know, but wonders that
she doesn’t, ‘seeing he got her to wait on
him V Then, when he sees the tears upon
the cheeks of his wife, doesn’t he call her ‘a
fool,’ and wonder what she is crying about ?”
“Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!” came
floating from the distant woods. Oh! how
those notes of the night-warbler thrilled her
being! How far back in life they carried
her I A dark-eyed man held her in his arms,
and as she bounded away from him into the
grass after the fire-flies and he had again res
cued her, and her cheek lay against his own,
he said, “My little daughter, the bird should
say, “whip-poor-Maud” for going into the
wet grass!
“And now that father is dreaming,
Where little Sowers are gleaming,
And the tall green grassJs streaming
O’er the gone—forever gone.
As these memories swept across the soul
of Maud like the whisperings of angels, her
spirit turned by a sudden wrench from all the
biller thoughts that haunted it one short hour
before, and stood before her with a new pict
ure ; and yet il was not new. She sees her
self a bride, and feels all of that new born
happiness and pride in the consciousness that
a loftier intellect than her own, bows to her
love and winds around her being ils worship,
while she, like a vine, clings to him and
floods his pathway with the sunlight of her
smiles. Then, how bright their home!—
Garth knew no fairer! How careful was
each in every lone of voice, in every glance
of the eye, and in every little home attention,
to make each other happy. But a change
has come over their Gden. And as Maud
presses her hand more tightly to her brow,
she sees the trail of the serpent over the
flowers of their early love, in the form of
hastily spoken words in moments of trial and
weariness; a neglect of bright looks, and
those little winning attentions which Ihe lov.
er is sure to pay to the maiden who is chosen
as his companion in (be walks of life.
Then she sees, as years have come and
gone with their joys and sorrows, hopes and
disappointments, how steadily and patiently
he has battled with life to secure to herself
and little ones, a home—tho’ humble it may
be; and when he has returned wearied in
body and mind, to iheone green spot in life,
where dwells his treasures for whom the dust
of hard toil rests upon his garments, has she
met him with that devotion and given to him
those winning attentions which made the first
years of their married life so happy ?
“Whip-poor-will! “Whip-poor-will!’’ a
gain floats upon the night air, as the flowers
sparkle in the grass with a coronet of dia
monds which the night queen has given them.
“Maud, how much dearer is the wife than
the bride I” exclaims a low voice at her side,
as she (urns to meet a pair of glad, beaming
eyes resting upou her.
“And how much happier is the wife to
night than she was last year this time ! For,
dear Edward, I was then in some danger,
like too many of our sex in this age of pro
gress, of believing that man is a tyrant, and
woman a down-trodden, ill-used slave. But
by a little sober reflection, I saw if there was
any slavery, it was generally woven about
the souls of one or the other by the strength
of their own wills and evil passions. If every
man and woman would but remember daily,
that life is but a short journey and endeavor
to make it a bright one by measuring with
our Savior’s golden rule every action, how
brightly would the lights beam from domestic
altars, instead of the thick, black clouds
which too often come between husband and
wife, until they are almost lost to each other.
When Death some day throws ils pall over
one or the other, and then, as the haunting
memories of neglect even in the little courte
sies of life, come with a sweeping bitterness
through the chambers of our souls, how we
shall mourn ! ave how bitterly !
Lawrenceville, Pa.
“Thy Kingdom CopiE.” —At Damascus,
at one gate of the Great Mosque, is a spacious
ancient doorway. Over the door is a cross,
with the following verse in good Greek let
ters :
‘•Thy kingdom, 0 Christ, is an everlasting
kingdom, and thy dominion enduretb through
out all generations.”
In the very heart of a city, wholly given
up to Mohammedanism, there is thus a testi
mony, and has been for twelve hundred years,
ever since the Mohammedans seized the city,
ay, over the portal of a mosque withm which
no foot of a Christian dare enter.
Snooks says, the prettiest sewing Ma
chine he ever saw was about seventeen years
old, with gaiter boots.
The Stolen Knife.
Many years ago, when a, boy of seven or
eight years, there was one thing which 1
longed for more than anything else, and
which I imagined would make me supremejy
happy. Itwasa jack-knife. Then I would
not be obliged to borrow father’s every time
I wished to cut a string or a stick, but could
whittle whenever I chose, and as much as I
pleased. Dreams of kites, bows and arrows,
boats, &c., all manufactured with the aid of
that shining blade, haunted me by day and
night.
It was a beautiful morning in June, that
ray father called me, and gave me leave, if
I wished, to go with him to the store. I was
delighted, and taking his hand we started.
The birds sang sweetly on every bush, and
everything looked so gay and beautiful, that
my heart fairly leaped for joy. After our
arrival at the village, and while my father
was occupied in purchasing some articles in
a remote part of the store, my attention was
drawn to a man who was asking the price of
various jack-knives- which lay on the coun
ter. As this was a very interesting subject
to me, I approached, intending only to look
at them. I picked one up, opened it, exam
ined it, tried the springs, fell the edge of the
blades with my thumb, and thought I could
never cease admiring their polished surface.
Oh ! if it were only mine, thought I, how
happy I should be I Just at this moment,
happening to look up, I saw that the mer
chant had gone to change a bill for his cus
tomer, and no one was observing me. For
fear that I might be templed to do wrong, I
started to replace the knife on the counter,
but an evil spirit whispered, “Put it >n your
pocket; quick !’* Without stopping to think
of the crime or its consequences, I hurriedly
slipped it into my pocket, and as I did so,
fell a blush of shame burning on my cheek ;
but the store was rather dark, and no one
noticed it nor did the merchant miss the
knife.
We soon started for home, my father giv
ing me a parcel to carry. As we walked
along, my thoughts continually rested on
'he knife, and I kept my hand in my pocket
all the lime, from a sort of guilty fear that it
might be seen. This, together with carrying
the bundle in my other hand made it difficult
for me to keep pace with my father. He
noticed it, and gave me a lecture about walk
ing with my hands in my pockets.
Ah ! how different were my thoughts then,
from what they were when passing the same
scenes a few hours before. The song of the
birds seemed joyous no longer, but sad and
sorrowful, as if chiding me for ray wicked
act. I could not 100k 1 my father in the face,
for i had been heedless of his precepts, bro
ken one of God’s commandments, and be
come a thief. As these thoughts passed
through my mind, I conld hardly help cry
ing, but congealed my feelings, and tried to
think of the gbpd times I would have with
my knife. I could hardly say anything on
my way home, and my father thinking I was
either tired or sick, kindly took my burden,
and spoke soothingly to me,-his guilty son.
No sooner did we reach home, than 1 re
treated to a safe place, behind the house, to
try the stolen knife. I had picked up a stick,
and was whittling it, perfectly delighted with
the sharp blade, which glided through the
wood almost of itself, when suddenly I heatd
the deep, subdued voice of my father, calling
me by name, and on looking up, saw him at
the window directly over my head, gazing
down very sorrowfully at me. The stick
dropped from my hand, and with the knife
clasped in the other, I proceeded into the
house. I saw, by his looks, that my father
had divined all. I found him silling in his
arm chair, looking very pale. I walked di
rectly to his side, and in a low, calm voice,
he asked me where I got the knife. His
gentle manner and kind lone went to my
heart, and I burst into tears. As soon as my
voice would allow me, I made a full confes
sion. He did not flog me, as some fathers
would have done, bufreprimanded me in such
a manner, that, while I felt truly penitent for
the deed, I loved him more than ever, and
promised never, nevbr to do the like again.
In my father’s company, I then returned to
the store, and on my knees, begged the mer
chant’s pardon, and promised never again to
lake what was not my own.
My father is long since dead; and never
do 1 think of my first theft, without blessing
the memory of him whose kind teachings
and gentle corrections have made it, thus far
in my life, and forever , my last.— Moore's
Rural New Yorker.
Delicate Questioning. —ln one of the
larger country towns of Massachusetts, a few
weeks since, a young gallant invited some of
his lady friends to go with him on the Sab
bath to a small gathering of worshipers of
the Episcopal persuasion, and while standing
in the entry with one of his friends, one of
the “pillars of the Church” came along, and
wanted to know if they were the couple that
were going to have a child baptized 1 This
was 100 much for human nature, and the
young spark left the church, and went into a
Catholic chapel near by, where no better fate
awaited him ; for be had scarcely arrived,
when an official stepped up and asked him if
he was the young man that was going to be
married 1
These questions would certainly indicate
an extraordinary amount of “interesting”
business on hand at the churches alluded to.
—Salem Gazette.
Affections like the conscience are rather to
be led than driven ; and it is to be feared
they that marry where they do not love, will
love where they do not marry,— Fuller.
The Assassinator’s Bombs.
Thee bombs or. hand-grenades made use of
by the conspirators of the Rue Lepellelier
were of the most perfect and deslruclive'char
acterever invented. They are very many
times more powerful than those made use of
in the Crimea, Which at the lime were claim
ed to be the most powerful in existence. One
of the bombs found on the ground in front of
the Grand Opera, and near it a revolver, and
one was found as already mentioned, on the
person of Pierri. These have been examin
ed by two of the best armorers of Paris, and
by several army officers. From the report
of these gentlemen I am enabled to give a
correct , description of'these terrible engines
of destruction.
They: are entirely new in their model.—
They are made of turned steel, and filled
with aqiowder that had not yet been tested at
the time of making the report, but which is
supposed to be fulminating mercury, the most
powerful of all explosive materials. To form
an idea of these projectiles, imagine a cylin
der four and a quarter inches long by two
and a fourth in diameter, and terminated at
each of its extremities by a spherical cap or
calotte. One of these calottes is armed with
twemy-five chimneys, disposed divergently,
adjusted with a screw, and covered each one
with a fluted percussion cap, similar to those
in ordinary use for guns and pistols. The
shock of these caps against the pavement
conveys the fire to the interior ol the bomb.
The cylinder, for some reason uol very clear,
was covered with a light envelope resembling
bronze.
In examining the calotte which covered
the other extremity of the bomb, it was found
that the envelope was formed of two parts,
and that at about an inch from its extremity,
a part of the cylinder could be removed,
which acts by friction on the fitst. There>Js
no doubt that the inventors of this terrible
machine wished to avoid, in filling it, the di
rect screwing of the two parts one on the
other, and the horrible explosion which might
result therefrom. So that, in all probability,
the part of the cylinder filled with the fulmi
nating powder is closed by means of a cover
placed simply in a groove. The outside cap
is then adjusted on this cover, and recovers
it, while a strong steel screw, the head of
which is two-thirds of an inch in diameter,
appears on the outside, presses on this last
covet, and closes tfle bomb hermetically.
An examination* of pieces of the bursled
bombs shows that in the pan where the chim
neys were placed, the cylinder had a thick
ness of three-fourths of an inch. It is prob
able that the upper pan on the contrary, is
very much thinner. This, indeed, would be
necessary in order that the part which con
tains the chimneys and percussion caps, by ,
being heaviest, should strike the pavement
first, and thus determine the explosion.
The fearful effects produced by these
bombs exclude the idea that their interior is
filled with ordinary powder. The explosive
matter is almost certainly fulminate de mer
cure, a substance of which the projectile force
is at least fifty limes more powerful than or
dinary powder. It is this substance that is
used to charge percussion caps, and its terri
ble power may be judged when ,we say that
a pound of it suffices to charge twenty-thou
sand infantry caps.
It is probable that the effects of these bombs
would have been more disastrous if there
had been a larger proportion of metal to the
powder, for a very considerable portion of
each bomb was blown into fine atoms like
grains of sand. One girl, who had two or
three tolerably severe . wounds, received in
her dress more than a hundred fine particles
that had not force enough to penetrate the
skin. The side of the Emperor’s carriage
has twenty-three holes and abrasions from the
bomb that burst at the side, on the under sur
face of the marquise, on the front of the
theatre, and on the houses opposite, you may
count five hundred holes and abrasions. In
a large pane of glass in the cafe Rossini, a
considerable distance from the point of ex
plosion, a small fragment has passed through,
leaving a round and clean orifice which is
just large enough to admit a finger.
The public were evidently wrong in sup
posing that the bombs were charged with balls
and nails. The noise from the explosion was
perfectly terrific, in view of the size of the
bombs, and there is every reason to believe
that the amount of metal was badly propor
tioned to the enormous explosive force of the
interior.
The Top of Sinai. —The extreme diffi
culty, and even danger of the ascent was
well rewarded by the prospect that now
opened before us. The whole plain er-Rahah
lay spread out beneath our feel, with the ad
jacent Wadys and mountains; while Wady
esh-Sheikh on the right, and the recess on
the left, both connected with, and opening
broadly from er-Rahah, presented an area
whien serves nearly to double that of the
plain. Our conviction was strengthened, that
here, or on some of the adjacent clifis, was
the spot where the Lord “descended in fire,”
and proclaimed the law. Here lay the plain
where the whole congregation might be as
sembled ; here was the mount that could be
approached and touched, if not forbidden ;
and here the mountain brow, where alone the
lightnings and the thick cloud would be visi
ble, and the thunders and the voice of the
trump be heard, when the Lord “came down
in the sight of all the people upon Mount Si
nai.” We gave ourselves up to the impres
sion of the awful scene, and read, with a feel
ing that will never be forgotten, the sublime
account of the transaction and the command
ments there promulgated, in the original
words as recorded by the great Hebrew leg
islator,
TEACHER’S COLUMN.
Mb. Editor; A-'report, assailing our
honor, as teachers, has obtained currency ;
which with your permission I will {correct
through the medium, of your paper. It is
said, that the closing exercises of pur late
County Institute consisted in our having a
dance! We dancing I Did you ever I
We are proud to say that we did!' not, do
not, and will not dance. I
We are teachers, and as such we Consider
this practice entirely incompatible with the
high responsible duties which our. profession
imposes upon us. j
We are conscious of the magnitude of our
noble calling, and are fully aware {that to
perform’effictently its sacred we must
elevate the tendencies of our own!mind and
character, an end, which this “lifp destroy-,
ing,” “time stealing" “soul killing {amuse
ment” must ever lend to defeat. Akgie.
Lawrenceville. Pa. '[
Mr. Editor: lam informed that a col
umn of your paper is open for communica
tions from teachers, and J conclude our
subjects may consist of anything pertaining
to our profession. Am 1 right 1* IP so, the
following questions are admissible.! How
should this difficulty be settled ?
A Ijttle boy five years old comes in crying.
Teacher.—What is the matter Eddie 1
Eddie. —Joe Jones (13 years old)‘jhas the
new buckles off roy suspenders and he wont
give ’em up. f
Teacher. —How is this, Joseph ? .
Joseph. —Why he kept coaxing me, and
at last I did it to please him. lj
Teacher.—Well, now you must trade
right back again. ' ’ i
Eddie.—(crying) I’ve broke besides
they wasn’t worth nothin’ and he’s!| got (o'
give mine up. ![
Joseph.—l’ll give his up when lib gives
mine up. |
Case 2d. —Contrary to a legislative act
passed in our school on the “gum question’’
little Henry accidentally exposed [a quid
which he had in his mouth, “henry is
chewing gum I’’ “Oh no, I aim, I didn’t
think of such a thing. 1 only put it in my
mouth to take care of it till noon.” |
Question. —Shall Henry be acqutted on
said testimony or shall he be “pul ( trough”
to the full extent of the lawjfr- [
Some teachers, while answering these
questions, will please give us in addition, the
best manner of exciting interest jo small
leading classes. jj A,
' - i. (I -
*Yes. We do not expect teachers|jo write
about the same things. Give us a fair vari
ety.— Ed. Agitator. i f
A Word to Young Teachers.
Repealed observation has proved j iconclu
sively, that 100 much ardor is a hommon
fault with young leachers, more particularly,
perhaps with lady teachers. The; young
lady has looked forward through mani'years,
to the era when she may be preparedito take
charge of a school. The happy time has
come, and her dearest wish is to be la good
teacher, —to gain a high place. She engages
in her duties eagerly—laying many fine
plans, without even dreaming that she may,
not with resolution make them effectual ■—
IShe must be a first-class
jess will satisfy her ambiiion, and ioiher in
nocence, she deems that all is pendingj on her
“first school what will decide her [reputa
tion. So she commences, ardent and hopeful,
and if the improvement of her pup js were
proportionate to her ardor, in one shdrl term
they would pass almost from the alphabet to
fluxions, or through what it has taken her
many years to acquire. But very soon ardor
becomes impatience because her scholars do
not learn. She is anxious to see their im
provement from day In day, and as s ( he can
not, she tires of her employment, andj perhaps
abandons it after one or two terms,Jthough
she may have possessed all the elements of
a good teacher save patience and iperseve
ranee. Now to such teachers we would say
—Let your ardor be well tempered Iwith pa
tience, and perseverance be united jyviih en
ergy, remembering that it is steady, perse
vering effort that will ensure success.! Look
for the improvement of your pupils back
through weeks, in some instances ’ through
months of lime, if you would have impercep
tible. The All-wise has so ordered that edu
cation enters the mind slowly, veryl slowly
it seems to our short-sighted vision but it is
good th&l it should be thus. And off! leach
patiently, constantly, and the reuthtd will
certainly come. The improvement !will be
evident after many days. r
Learn a lesson from the rain of heaven.
The soil of the earth is dry and parched, but
the sun’s rays are now Absorbed, and the
darkening clouds promise rain. But comes
it down violently—at oncel Oh, nd. The
shrouding mist first comes, then very small
drops, so finely and gently that you can
scarcely see that the dusty sniltis evdn dam-'
pened; but look again after some hours—
the surface is so thoroughly impregnated with
moisture, that it will absorb large quantities
of water—the heavy rains fall. So with the
youthful mind. After much gently falling
instruction it is prepared for deep draughts of
knowledge.
Let your leading motive be, then, a sincere
desire to benefit your schools. Seek for
them the gentlest, plainest, pleasantest path
way up the rugged hill ; and be assurpd your
reputation will not suffer in consequence.—
And be not discouraged though you may
repeat the same to a school for forty-nine
times ; at the fiftieth hearing it may be in
delibly impressed. Will you then, have la
bored in vaiq ? / •
Advertisements will be charged 81 per square of
fourteen lines, for one, or three insertions, and 25
cents lor every subsequent insertion. All advertise
ments of less than fourteen lines considered as a
square. The following rates aflll be charged ibr
Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly advertising:—
Square,(l4lines,) . 82 50 $4 50 86 OO
SSqpares,- ... . 400 600 800
i column 10 00 15 00 20 00
column 18 00 30 00 40 OO
trm.
All advertisements not having the number of In
sertions marked npon them, will be kept in Until or
dered onl, and charged accordingly.
Fosters, Handbills, Bill,and Letter Heads,and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments
executed neatly and promptly. Justices!,' Consla *
bles’and other BLANKS, constantly oh. hand and
printed to order. •
NO.; LI.
Trim well your lamp of patience from day
to day, and, by its true and constant light,
you may effect a world of good, and win a
desirable place in many hearts.
Do good for own sake—so that
ihou have a belter praise, and reap a riches
harvest of reward. —Elmira Gazette.
For the,Agitator.
Blary Etaloney’a Idea of a Lover.
“Whnt are you singing for?” said I to
Mary Malortey.
‘‘Oh, I don’t know, ma’am, without it’s be
cause my heart feels happy.”
“Happy, are you, Mary Maloney. Let
me see ; you don’t own a fool of land in the
world.”
“Fool of land kit?” she cried, with a
hearly Irish laugh. “Oh, what a hand ye
be afier joking ; why, I haven’t a penny, let
alone the land.”
“Your mother is dead ?”
“God rest yer soul, yes,” replied Mary
Maloney, with a touch of genuine pathos,
“may the angels make her bed in heaven.”
“Your 'brother is still a hard case, I sup.
pose ?”
“Ah, you may well say that. It’s nothing
but drink, drink, drink, and beating bis poor
wife, that, he is, the creature.”
“You have to pay your little sister’s
board ?”
“Sure the bit of a creature, and she’s a
good little girl, is Hinny, willing to do what
ever I axes her. 1 don,’t grudge the money
what goes for that.”
“You haven’t many fashionable dresses,
either, Mary Maloney I”
“Fashionable, is it ? O, yes, I put a piece
of whalebone in my skirt, and me calico
gown looks as big as the great ladies. But
then ye sas true, I hasn’t but two gowns to
me back, two shoes to me feet, and one
bonnet to me head, barring the old hood ye
gave me.”
“You haven’t any lover, Mary Maloney ?”
“O, be off wid ye—ketch Mary Maloney
celling a lover these days when the hard
times is come. No, no, thank Heaven, I
ain’t got that to trouble me yet, nor don’t
want it.”
“What on earth, then, have you got to
make you happy T A drunken brother, a
poor helpless sister, no father, no mother, no
lover; why, where do you gel all your hap
piness from?”
“The Lord be praised, miss, it growed up
in me. Give me'a bit of sunshine, a clean
flure, plenty of work, and a sup at the right
lime, and I’m made. That makes me laugh
and sing, and then if deep trouble comes,
why, God helpin’ me, I’ll try to keep my
heart up. Sure it would he a sad thing if
Patrick McGrue should lake it into his head
to come and ax me, but the Lord willin’ I’d
try to bear up under it.”
The last speech upset my gravity. The
idea of looking upon a lover as an affliction
was so droll. But she was evidently sincere,
having before her the example of her sister’s
husband and her drunken brother.
Piuuant Anecdotes. — A spice merchant
of Conslantinople, carrying a piece of fine
clolh 10 a tailor, desired lo have a cloak made
of it, and inquired if there was enough. The
artist having measured the stuff, declared it
-sufficient, and then requested lo know the
cost of it.
“Five sequins,” replied the customer, “was
the price ; and, considering the quality, that
is not at all dear.
The tailor paused a moment,
“I am but a beginner in the trade,” saidite
to the spice dealer, at length, “and money is
an object to me. Give me two sequins and
I will show you how you may save three in
this affair.”
“I agree, said the other, and the money
was produced and paio.
“It is well said the man of the needle.
‘‘l am a person of my word. This clolh has
cost five sequins, and I have promised to save
you three. Take it lo some other tailor, and
Allah duect you to one of more experience—
for I have never made such a dress as you
wan', and if I attempt it, it will be spoiled.”
' This reminds us of an anecdote related of
Sheridan, who went to a hair dresser lo or
der a wig. On being the barber
who was a liberal soul, invited the orator, to
take,some refreshments in an inner room.—
Here he showed so much genuine hospitality
that Sheridan’s heart was touched. When
they rose from the table and were about sep
arating, the latter, looking the barber full in
the face, said:
“On reflection, I don’t intend that you
shall make my wig.”
Asionished, and with a blank visage, Ihe
other exclaimed— J
“Good Heaven! Mr. Sheridan, how can I
have displeased you 1”~
“Why, lookyou,” said Sheridan, “you are
an honest fellow ; and I repeat it, you
make the wig, for 1 never intend to pay for
it. I’ll go to another less worthy son of the
craft.”
A Practical Idea. —A lady in Boston
suggests a cure for connubial infatuation.—
She proposes that young men and women be
set up io housekeeping before they are al
lowed to be engaged ; that the young woman
shall wash and mend, and dust, and that a
new-born infant be procured from the hospi
tal, and that she have the charge of it in ad
dition to the rest of her duties. She is of
opinion that this process would “disenchant”
the young couple.
t'Clever men,” said Lady Selina, “as *
general rule do choose the oddest wives!
The cleverer a man is, the more easily, l.do
belfeve, a woman can lake him in."—Bulmr
Lyttor f.
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