7 "" <r er ms of Publicfltloii* . COUNTY AGITATOE is published IliE doming, and mailed to subscribers price of “ DOLLAE PBft. ANNUM,-Ssf . at i c „ n ce. It is intended to notify every ~ieii»wy( he term for which he has paid shall *“ lhe st amp— “ Time Obt,” on the mar- S 1« cS r lr f' -jper. The paper will then bo stopped pi of ltc “T / remittance bo received. By this ar ttil > f“ l mnn can be brought in debt to the tstp o ® l “ i 1 ® i-TTiionis the Official Paper of the County, Tee , aD d steadily increasing circulation reach triib a neighborhood in the County, It is seat • tQ aD y p 0 Office within the-county se mosfc convenient post office may be S, n iDg'Connty. * n^. s c&&s, not exceeding 5 lines ; paper inclu ■ f^wryear- From The N. Y. Tribune. A sniP SAILED OUT TO SEA. Orer the pathless deep A thousand miles away, Where spicy breezes sleep Xo wake at shut of day: A gallant ship went down— i A thousand fathoms down, ' Beneath the waters blue— Ship, passengers and crow! y 0 eye beheld the wreck * Save the All-seeing Eye; But, from the crowded deck B'ent up a fearful cry. Ere to their nameless graves Beneath the pitiless waves, five hundred and a score XJjat foundering vessel bore. - “Xo tidings!” rang the press; "Xo tidings of the ship!” city paused in mute distress. And wbitenened, every lip: Xo tidings? can it be, - A 'hip went down to sea And shall return no more To homeward port, or shore! “Xo tidings!” day by day The clanging press rang out; Thus sirept the months away; A 'ear of awful doubt •Xo tidings!” nevermore Tu purt ou homeward shore, Will that good ship return. To comfort those who mourn! And thus for many a hark. With its immortal freight, In chill suspense and dark Shall men in anguish wait, The while they sadly say— •• Alas! they sailed away Over the pathless main, And came not back again!” Lost—lost at sea! and yet, I see their phantom shapes With gleaming sails all set, Doubling the shadowy capes; The capes that fade away, Like shades at shut of day,' Into the waste of Night! into the utter Night! T.’Uuro. Pn. M. H. C. THE JOURNEYMAN GEN 1 BV GEORGE ARNOLD. JcOmwav was an oddity. He especially delighted in mysteries, disgul unexpected denouements, intrigues, ami rzanccs generally. Consequently he was always getting into bad •ate?, and— superfluous assertion—there was LTavs a ‘-lady in the case.” This made him a bit of a misogamist—an woman hater. Vet, for all that, he could not let the sex L.ne I A profound love of nature and dissipation, "•meted Joe and myself to the little village of :l , on the banks of that charming stream, -sErchwon. AVc went to fish, to sketch, to the scenery, and to drink, for as Joe re :arked, the waters of the Erchwon possess eculiar refreshing qualities—when mixed with i little cognac. The afternoon of the second day of our so , '-rn found us seated upon a flower spangled o.pe, skirted by willows, whose gnarled roots T ue bathed in the pellucid Erchwon, We had 1 ught the spot, to smoke, converse, and digest somewhat elaborate dinner, in peace and -*d, with the nature before our eyes. 1 it is very apt to_ he the case, when two : U 5 men get together, our talk was of woman, "dman !_ what an inexhaustible subject for ■deisplatioD, conversation, writing, oratory, : t-stiog, sculpture, and matrimony ! "It< all gammon,” said Joe Conway, “wo ■iJ toa’t appreciate cultivation, intellect, or ""■’l fellowship. All they look for is wealth “I position when they love. If they don't those amiable qualities, they won’t love, ' “ 1 Wkw hasn’t got them, he had better '■ike sex alone. It takes a gilded key to un ■ t l«ir precious little hearts. That’s so!” tea are sadly mistaken, Joe,” said I, ’’and -■ worst of it is you know it. You are angry ■la tie husband hunters that have given an d revenge yourself by damning ~ ' t l*°le institution of dimity. You are r *S- A man like you, young, rich, and— ■jes, without flattering, I think I may say -jrably good looking, has no chance. You ■ the designing ones, who are bound to J OUI hank account in spite of yourself, CIr c h arms upon- you, ad But where are the artless ones, who don’t . _ money who are willing to sacrifice them '2aV’ Ur Sa^o * en<^®r c-? J t ara mo^ ost - ■ The brazen-faced for • ’ u , D . ers crow d about you, and accustom ”"2 nought. The really good girls re an(l as that isn’t in your line, t"t W(irld’> ° W n ’ ce ,T(>meil there are in :• ill tC *l ?° U w ' lat do •” cried Joe—start i I n '- T ’ !lnd half choking himself with ir, ,', of d ? ar smoie ~-“ i ’ 11 test that ■•tirn 1 1! d ? *' orc ' n t* l * B very place, rn , ec^an ' c > ignore my money and my s it« eU P to the prettiest, proudest girl sirrt 0 '„ a ®°’ aDd show you that she won’t tltts, Phcn I’ll come out in my true 0 iolhat* i •°"' ou ,that my cash is puissant n»ts “y conversation and acquire l^Uegintodol”, marry her?” H ! .ii Illucll ~ m;i he her ask me to, and laugh hoped that Joe would ! rich in 2 ( * ueit '°. D - was a capital fellow, '■Jtr “ COm and cultivation, as t! r c ' r l ‘r W * new t *’ at ® contained S; Scjt caa i r ming girls—daughters of re ■s;j,,lia.|lla ’ ns ’ merchants, &c., who, how it hirn I le y wight love a mechanic, would ■< nnlrj-- e^ore they would marry him. '■ f a r ° un S gentleman of wealth i, would probably prove very accep- Bin ! the citv^f 5 and when I returned its of’ a ' ew da J B . I left Joe arranging s Pair r./u “ter’a tools, and getting hira . ~ hii , ue overalls and a paper cap. “ d .n rful ‘ ale ? tfor doin S every . 4He P la J ßd u P° n a hal f a ■ :: H£ ne “ ents ’“ uld survey, and dabbled ’ : ? f j mo n , ersto °d short hand, a little wedicmc, was a finished jockey, THE AGITATOR 33tboteq to tfte jgytengiew ef the Mvtn of jFmhom atih the Sprcnti of ©eaXthg Reform. ! WHILE THESE SHALL BE A WRONG UNRIGHTBD, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. YOU. Y. a fair gardener, had built a stone .bridge, writ ten an epic, and half-soled a pair of boots! With these somewhat varied accomplish ments, he had no fear, of course, hut what he could get on very well as a carpenter. No one knew him at D— , and when he introduced himself to the “boss” carpenter of the village, he succeeded in persuading him that he was a journeyman of unusual talent. He received several commissions, during the first fortnight of his experiment, but on the whole, it was rather lucky that he was not com pelled to subsist on the proceeds of his labors. Otherwise, he might have found it difficult to pay his board—especially as he commissioned me to send him some five dollars’ worth of se gars every week. One day after he had nearly exhausted his patience, and had done no end of plotting and planning in vain, the village carpenter asked him to undertake the restoration of a cornice on one of the oldest and most aristocratic houses in D . Joe agreed, and in a short time was mounted upon, a scaffold, and about the level with the third story windows of the mansion of the old Commodore Hulkipgton, dexterously making his measurements and plans for the new cornice. It was not an easy task, for the work was elaborate, and the weather warm. Two days elapsed and, Joe had only got ready to com mence putting up the brackets which sus tained the heavy mouldings. Lunch-time came, and the amateur carpenter getting into the shade, unpacked his little tin dinner pail, and began a repast at once simple and nourishing, when he saw the window nearest him was open, and that some papers, lying on an escritoir in side, were disposed to blow away. “Z-know it is a trespass,” he meditated, “but it is for the proprietor's good—l'll step into the room, and save, perhaps, some valuable documents.” A little gymnastic exercise brought him down from the scaffold, through the window and into an elegant chamber. “Hem,” said he, “a woman's room.” There were paintings—statuettes, ormolu or naments—and forty other luxurious nothings, such as women of taste love to gather around them. A guitar reposed upon the bed, with some books in French and Italian. The couch itself bore the impress of a form, as if telar deity of the chamber had been lying down, and passing her time with literature and music. There was a portfolio open upon the table, with a very pretty little water color sketch, half fin ished ; a well stocked library in the corner, bore evidence to the cultivated tastes of occupant, and everything about the chamber, from the bed, with its showers of snowy curtains falling from a massive gilt ring, to the canary bird in the window, bespoke a refinement and delicacy on the part of whoever had arranged the apart ment, seldom found, except in young and beau tiful women, who aspire to have the surround ings like themselves. “Something elegant about this,” said Joe, gathering up the scattered papers, and placing them beneath a paper weight on the escritoir, “I must investigate this—here's an opening for a splendid romance—poor young carpenter, and rich, lovejy woman, eh ? Lord bless me, there have been bushels of novels written on the very same plot.” After a hurried examination of the room he regained his scaffold, and consuming his lunch, set once more about his labors, a little more hopefully than before. Thus passed a week. Joe got into the very imprudent habit of entering the chamber almost daily, in hopes of meeting the occupant of so charming a temple. He became familiar with all the hooks and music, whistled the canary bird into a convulsion of song, and drove him self half crazy with speculations on the fair unknown. He had heard her sing very sweetly of a morning when she opened the window, and just caught a glimpse of her form; but she see , ing him, had withdrawn suddenly, and he had not been able to discover whether she was beau tiful as a rose, or ugly as a camel. lie had found upon a half finished sonnet, on the table, several long, brown hairs, appa rently plucked out in a fit of abstracted medi tation. Evidently, this girl was a blonde. He had found gaiters, of delicate color and wonderful smallness—gloves of corresponding delicacy—tasteful and artistic dresses and sacques. What will you say, oh, my matter-of-fact and practical reader, when I tell you that my friend, Joe Conway, fell in love with a woman whom he had not yet seen, of whom he knew next to nothing. Yet he did. Quite naturally the erecting of the cornice progressed but slowly. The master-carpenter wondered at it, but Joe assured him every morning, that it would only take a day or two longer. One fine afternoon, Joe found, lying on the escritoir, an essay upon music, written in the same beautiful band which he had so often seen and admired on the margins of books, and the papers in the chamber. Grown impertinent to an alarming degree he laid down the saw which he had unconsciously brought with him, and perused the essay carefully. It was well writen and powerful, but there was an error in the philosophy. It would be dull for me to explain here, the mistake which Joe saw at once—it is enough that the fair writer had confused the laws which govern melody and harmony, and Joo devoutly wished an opportunity to point out the error to her who made it. He was just meditating an epistle, to be left with the essay, as the door opened, and his deease inconnue entered! Figure to yourself a young girl—say of nine teen or twenty—whose every line and contour spoke of grace and health—whose peach tinted cheeks, bright eyes, and lips like the inner fold of some tropic shell, told of vivacity, freshness, and purity. Her hair was of that peculiar pale brown—almost a wood color—which may per haps ho best described as a mingling of ashy and golden tints, and fell in' tangled masses— half ringlets, half disordered—on each side of WELLSBORO. TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. FEBRUARY 3, 1859. a neck white and delicate asthe petals of the camelia. She did not scream when she saw the carpen ter sitting coolly in her arm chair, making him self objectionably at home. She only opened her large gray eyes, hesitated a moment, and said: “Well sir I” with an accent between surprise and disdain. Joe arose, and bowed politely. “What do you wish, sir ?” Joe was put somewhat to his trumps. “I wished to see what kind of a fairy inhab ited so delightful a domain!" Truly, a nice speech for a journeyman car penter to make to commodore Hulkington/s only daughter. “Possibly you are not aware that you are intruding, sir. You will oblige me by depart ing," “Certainly," said Joe, now in the full enjoy ment of the romance of the thing, “certainly I will go, but you must pardon me one thing— I wish to explain a little question, on which you have doubts. ' Harmony, in music, appeals to the intellectual, or reasoning portion of the soul—melody, to the passions ahd feelings." The young girl looked a little alarmed, and drew back a few steps. “No!” said Joe, divining her thoughts, “I am not insane. In your essay on music, you say that ‘education refines and intensifies our preceptions of melody.’ You should have said ‘harmony,’ for that rules the brain, which or gan is susceptible to the influence of education. Melody is lord of the heart alone, and you, mademoiselle, ought to be well aware that the heart cannot be taught—either in music or in love!" Miss Hulkington was astonished. “Sir,” she said, “I do not know what to make of your conduct. You are very 'impru dent) and very —very —” “Audacious ! Yes, I acknowledge that,” in terrupted Joe, “but you must pardon me. I first entered your room to place some papers in safety, which the wind was about to blow out of the window. Once inside, the air of ele gance and refinement exhibited here attracted me. Doubtless, you have noticed one’s sur roundings become permeated, as it were, with something of one’s sphere—so in your room I experienced an emotion of pleasure, a con sciousness of the presence of some invisible but charming spirit, and I have made bold to enter often, believing that, if you knew my motives, you would forgive me.” The young lady was beginning to feel pleased. All women like admiration, even from their (so called) inferiors, if it is delicately expressed. The conversation proceeded. Joe proved to the fair essayist that she was in error, and as tounded her by the depth of his thoughts, the variety of his knowledge, and the elegance of his diction. On leaving, he held out his hand—almost as soft and white as her own—and she, stifling the last traces of a false prejudice, gave it a cordial pressure. ; “You have not long worked at your trade?” she said. “Since my boyhood,” unblushingly answered Joe, “but—” and be glanced, at his hands—“l have generally done the nicer: kinds of work— joinery, and the like.” This excuse passed very well with a woman who had never had the honor of the acquaint ance of a mechanic before. The next day, when Joe. heard the window opened, he presented himself, and after ex changing salutations, the twain again fell into a discussion, which became so earnest that Joe was compelled once more to enter the room. Alas, for the progression of the new cornice 1 For two weeks this state of affairs continued, and at the expiration of that time Louise Ilulk ington was compelled, maugre her pride, to ac knowledge to herself that she loved Joe Con way—-the journeyman carpenter. He would not believe it. It contradicted his theory of the mercenary character of woman. And, I notice that we never believe anything which contradicts our theories. Finally when the cornice liad to be finished, Louise petitioned her father! to have an orna mental wardrobe put up in her chamber. Of course, Joe had the task, although the old Com modore grumbled terribly about employing such a slow workman. It took Joe six weeks to make the wardrobe ! By the time the job was done —very nicely done it was, too, Joe’s theory was quite done np, and the sweet Louise Hulkington had promised to become his bride, in spite of her father —in spite of Joe’s blue overalls and paper cap—in spite of the notions of the world. Sensible girl! There was only one thing left, for Joe to do —to reveal to her his true position, which I was very happy to corroborate. Three months afterwards, I said good-bye to a newly wedded pair just starting for Europe, a honey moon trip. As I held the tiny, white-gloved hand of the bride, and saw her charming face beneath the gossamer tissued veil, depending, from her “love of a bonnet,” I said to the proud and happy bridegroom— “ Well, Joe, if you remember our conversation on the banks of the Erchwon, last summer, you can tell me what you think now, of the senti ments you then expressed." “My dear George,” said the Journeyman Gentleman, “there are exceptions to all rules." “How are you Smith ?” says Jones. Smith pretended not to know him, and answered hesi tatingly, “Sir, you have the advantage of me.” “I suppose so, and everybody has that’s got common sense.” Many women are beloved without knowing it, but more women think they are beloved when they are are not. They generally dis cover their mistake after marriage. It costs more to revenge wrongs than to bear them. Learning makes a man fit company for himself. Wise men make more opportunities than they find. You never lose by doing a good turn. Stephen Girard, the Money Maker. About the year seventeen-hundred and fifty, in the environs of Bordeaux, in France, there lived an old sea captain, Pierre Girard, with Madame Lafargue, his wife. They had already four children—no matter whether male or fe male, for they lived and died in the obscurity in which they were horn. But in the year sev enteen hundred and fifty, on the twenty-first of May, another child came into the world—a boy, named Stephen Girard. Up to the age of ten or twelve, there is no record of the life and progress of this boy.— At that time he was found, with one eye, em barked as a cabin boy, with no other acquire ments than an imperfect knowledge of the ele ments of reading and' writing, on board a ves sel bound for the West Indies. His one eje was made the subject of ridicule amongst his companions, and his temper was thus early soured for life. With this physical* deformity, without friends, patronage, or money, he was thrown upon the world. He did not remain long in the West Indies, but bound himself apprentice to a shipmaster, in whose service he first set foot in the port of New York, about the year seventeen hundrei and sixty-four. Morose as Stephen Girard was, he gained the confidence of his employer, and he was made mate of the vessel in which he sailed, and afterwards captain, when his master left the sea. He voyaged several times success fully to and from New Orleans. In this posi tion he first began to accumulate means, and to trade on his own account, and he soon became part owner of the ship and cargo which he com manded. A large gap in the minute progress of his history now occurs, but in seventeen hun dred sixty-nine we find him an obscure, plod ding, quiet, thrifty trader in Water street, Phil adelphia. At this period he took a liking to one Mary, or Polly Lum, the daughter of an old ship caulker, who lived in a water-side house down amongst the vessels that traded to that city.— The girl was plain, but comely, and employed as a domestic servant in a neighboring family. Stephen Girard does not appear to have been looked upon with favor by the parents of the girl, for they forbade him the house for some time. They were eventually married, but the union was not a happy one. She was neglect ful of her duty; he was morose and austere. — At length he applied to the Legislature of Penn sylvania for a divorce, and obtained it. He still continued to rent the small house in Water street, to which ho had taken his wife when they were married, and he industriously pursued his combined occupations of sea-cap tain, ship-owner and merchant. About this time he entered into partnership with one Isaac Ilazelhurst, of Philadelphia, and purchased two vessels in which to trade to the Island of St. Domingo. The brigs were captured by British men-of-war, and sent to Jamaica: a misfortune which dissoVed the short partnership. There is another gap in the story of Stephen Girard, extending from seventeen hundred and seventy two to seventeen hundred and seventy-six. It is probable that during this time he continued his old business, trading as ship-master and merchant to New Orleans and St. Domingo. The war put an end to the sea enterprise of Stephen Girard, and he was compelled to turn his attention to the land. He opened a small grocery store in Water street, joined with a bottling establishment, where he worked hard with his own hands at the occupation of bottling claret and cider.— About the year seventeen hundred and seventy seven, upon the alleged approach of the British to Philadelphia, he purchased a small tract of land from his former partner, Mr. llazlehurst, on which there was a house, to which he re moved his business ; employing his time early and late, in preparing claret and cider for the market, and selling them at a large profit to the American army, encamped near his residence. . Here he remained until seventeen hundred and seventy-nine, sometimes making a voyage in a boat as a water-pedlar to Philadelphia, to dis pose of his wares. His appearance was not | much in his favor. His skin was dark and dingy; his form was short and thick; he was coarse, rough, vulgar and ungainly; and his one eye glared ominously on his customers. — He mot with Jeers and taunts from every side, which he bore with groat taciturnity and com posure. He had but one object in view, which i he followed with all the steady energy of an iron will. That object was to make money. When Philadelphia was evacuated by the British in seventeen-hundred and seventy-nine, Stephen Girard was again found in Water street, this time occupying a range of frame stores up on the east side. He was no more than twenty nine years of age, but so plain, grave and re pulsive in appearance, that he was known as “Old Girard.” His business could not have been very prosperous at this period, considering the disturbed and depressed state of the coun try. He was quietly biding his time. His store was well-fillen with old-blocks, sails, pieces of cordage and otter materials useful for ship building. In seventeen hundred and eighty, Stephen Girard again commenced the Vow Orleans and Saint Domingo trade. In two years he had progressed so far as to be able to purchase a ten years’ lease, with renewal, of a range of brick and frame stores, one of which ho occu pied himself. The rents were low at the time, and the purchase very advantageous—perhaps the turning point in his fortunes. In seventeen hundred and eighty, his wife, Mary Girard, from whom he had been divorced, was admitted an insane patient into the Penn sylvania Hospital.- Herefbe remained shut up, twenty-five years and one month, while her husband was busily pursuing bis one object in the world; at last she died in the year eighteen hundred an d fifteen. On being told of her death, Stephen Girard selected her burial-place, and requested that he should be called as soon os all the arrangements for her funeralj were completed. She was buried in the manner of the Friends. Her husband was there, glaring with his one tearless eye, silent and unmoved; after taking one short look at the remains, he departed saying, “all is well." He returned home, and began to give largely, to ths local charities and hospitals frog) this day. A circumstance occurred at this period vf hich materially aided Stephen Girard in his cher ished determination. He was engaged in the West India trade—particularly in the Island of Saint Domingo—and at the moment of thejwell known outbreak of the slaves, he had two ves sels lying off the port. The affrighted planters rushed to the docks, and deposited theirjmost valuable treasures in those ships for safety, re turning to secure more. They were nearly all, with their families, massacred. Stephen Girard advertised liberally for the owners to the prop erty, but very few claimants ever appeared, and it was transported to Philadelphia to swe 11 the store and increase the power of the one-eyed capitalist, who commenced the building of those large-Ships engaged in the trade with China and Cklcutta, which were, at that tim!, the pride o'f America. In seventeen hundred and ninety-three, a fear ful pestilence broke out in the city of Philadel phia. The yellow fever left whole street j ten antless ; the hearse was the vehicle most fre quently seen in the streets; those who wore the badge of mourning on their arms, were avoided even by their friends ; and the fumes of 1 obac co and camphor filled every house in the city. While the pestilence was at its height, a square repulsive man boldly entered one of the most crowded hospitals, and bore out in his arms a victim in the last saffron-colored stage if the disease. For days and weeks, this man contin ued to perform the same terrible office of attend ing upon the sick and dying, discharging the most painful and dangerous duties of the lowest servant in the place. This repulsive looking Samaritan was Stephen Girard, with his t trong will, his bodily energy, his stout heart, and his one eye. The hard, griping trader was rot so selfish after all. When all the paid attendants, all the visitors of the poor were either dead, dying, or had fled; when no offers of noney would purchase that labor which was required for the re-organization of the pest-house lospi tal at Bush Hill; two men nobly volum eered for the forlorn task—Stephen Girard and Helm. On the afternoon of the same which he offered his services, Stephen Git foreigner, with no ties of country betwee and the afflicted city, entered upon his d| ous task with all the perseverence and de of his character. He soon established and cleanliness; provided accommodations, and procured supplies; and for sixty days con iuued to discharge his duties at the hospital. . In eighteen hundred and twelve, Steph :n Gi rard, one-eyed cabin boy of Bordeau;:, pur chased the banking premises of the old Bank of the United States (whoso charter was not re newed,) and started the Girard Bank: a large private establishment, which not only conferred advantages upon the community greate ‘ than the State institution upon which it was founded, but, while the public credit was shaken, and the Government finances were exhausted by war, the Girard Bank could command large subscriptions of loans, and put itself in Hie po sition of the principal creditor \if the comtry. In eighteen hundred and fourteen Girard sub scribed the whole of a large Governmer t loan from patriotic motives, and in eighteen he ndred and seventeen, he contributed, by his unshaken credit and undiminished funds, to bring about the resumption of specie payments. In eight een hundred and thirty-one his operation i were so extensive, that when the country was daced in extreme embarrassment from the scarcity of money, by reason of the balance of trade being against it, he was enabled by a single trmsac tion with an eminent English firm, to turn the exchanges, and cause specie to flow into the States. Stephen Girard began his remarkable t -adfug , -career with one object, which he steadil/kept in view all his long life—the making of money for the power it conferred. He was content, at’ starting, with the small profits of the retail | trader, willing to labor in any capacity tc make those secure. He practiced th( most rigid personal economy; he resisted all the al- ; lurements of pleasure; he exacted tl e last farthing that was due to him ; and paid t!i? last farthing that ho owed. He took every idvan- ' tage which the law allowed him in resitting a ■ claim; ho used men just so far as they would , accomplish his purpose; he paid his servants | no more than the market prices when r, faith- j, ful cashier died, ho exhibited the utmost indif-1 ference, making no provision for his family, | and uttering no sentiment of regret for his loss. | He would higgle for a penny with a huckster in the streets; he would deny the watch nan at his bank, the customary Christmas present of a great-coat. To add to this singular and defi cient character, ho was deaf in one ear, could only speak broken English, never conversed up on anything but business, and wore the same old coat, cut in the French style, for fiv j years together. An old rickety chair, remarkable for its age, and marked with the initi ils “S. G.” drawn by a faded horse, was used when he rode about the city. He had no sense o ' hospi tality, no friend to share his house or his table. He was deferential in appearance, to rt nk and family. Violent and passionate; only to one I man—an old and faithful clerk named Rober-! get. His theological opinions were heterodox in the extreme, and he loved to name his splen-j did vessels after Voltaire and RoUssec u. -. He; was devoted to the improvement of his idopted; city and country; he was a determined follow er of ostentatious charity. Xc man ever ap plied to him for a large public grant in vain,! while the starving beggar was invariably sent from his gate. He steadily rose every morning before the lark, and unceasing labor was the daily worship of his life. 1 Thus he attained his eighty-second year. In eighteen hundred and thirty, he had! nearly lost the sight of his one eye, and usled to be seen groping about his bank, disregarding Bri ery offer of assistance. Crossing one! of the Philadelphia roads, ho was knocked down by a passing wagon, his face was bruised and his right ear was nearly cut off. His ’one eye, which before opened slightly, was now entirely closed; he gradually wasted away, and his health declined. On the twenty-sixth of De cember, Stephen Girard expired in a back-room on the third floor of his house, leaving the bulk of his large fortune, upwards of a million ster ling, to found charities, and to benefit the city and country in which he had acquired It. j Rates of Advertising. Advertisements will bo chargedjSl per square of U lines, one or three insertions, and 25 cents for every subsequent insettiom Advertisements of less than 14 lines considered as a square. The subjoined rates wilt bo Charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad vertisements Square, 2 dol i column, i do- Column, - . - 18,00 30,00 40,00 Advertisements not having the number of insertion# - desired marked upon them, will be published* untU or dered out and charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Latter-Heads and all kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, ex ecuted neatly and promptly. Justices', Constables",, and township BLANKS : Notes, Bonds, Deeds, Mort gages, Declarations and other Blanks, constantly oa hand, printed to order. NO. 27, He left hie monument in the “Girard Col lege ithat marble-roofed palace for the protec tion and education of the orphan children of the poor, which stands, the most perfect model of architecture in the New World, high above the buildings of Philadelphia, visible from ev ery eminence of the surrounding country. — Every detail of the external and internal ar rangement of this Orphan College were folly set forth clearly and, carefully in his will; show ing that the design-upon which he had lavished the mass of-his wealth, was not the hastily de veloped fancy of a few hours or days, but waa the heart-cherished, silent project of his whole life. —Household Words. i A- Visit to the Prce Lovers* The! following letter from Artejius Ward, the jolly correspondent of the Cleveland Plain dealer, in the show business, will be appreciated, we think, by most of our readers: “Here i am at Berlin Hites among the Free- Luversl I arrove here last Toosday & bitterly doo I cuss the Day i ever sot foot in this retched plais. i I hearn tel of these Free-Luvirs for sum timo &fl thawt ide cum & see what kind of krit ters they was. I pitcht my tent in a field near the Luy Cure, as they call it & unfold my ban nir to the Breese. Bimby the people kommen sed fut- to pour into my show & i begun fur to kongratulate myself on dooin a stavin bisness. But they ur a ornary-lookin set, i must say.— The niens fuses was all kivered with hair & they lookt halP starved to deth. The wiramen was wus nor the men. They wore trowsis, short gownds straw hats, with fadid green rib bins into them, & they all kerried bloo kottou umbrejlers in there hands. Bimeby'a perfekly orful lookih famaile presen tid hersel to the doar. jHer gound was skanderlously short, & hur trowsis wus shaimful tu behold. Sez she, ‘Ah, k|n it be ? yes, tis trou, o tis trou ?’ Sez i, .Ha sents raarm.’ Sez she, ‘& so ive found you at larst—at larst, oat larst.’ Sez i, ‘Yes yu has fmlnd me at larst & yu wood her found me at fustj ef yu had cum sunner.’ Sez she, ‘Ar you a man ?’ Sez i, i think i ar, but ef yer dowbt it yu may adres Mrs. A; Ward, Baldins yillo, injianny, postadge pade, & she wii dout liss giv yu the required infurmashun.’ Sez she, ‘then yu ar what the wurld cawls married ?’ I sed, -‘Yes marm, i air.’ The eksentic femaila then gyabd me bi the arm & sez she, in a lowd voise; jYou air mine, oyu air mine!’ ‘Scarce ly,’ sez i, as i relecscd miself frum her irun grasp, i She agane clutched me by the arm & sed, ‘Yjou air my affinerty.’ Sez i, ‘What upon arth is;that?’ ‘Dost thow not know ?’ sez she. No marm,’ sez i, ‘i dostunt.’ Sez she, ‘Listen man, & ile tel ye. Fur years ive yearned for thee. Jl knowd thow wast in the wurld sum whare,- altho i ■ knowed not thy name or thy plase of residence. My hart sed he wud cum & i tuck fcurrigo. He has cum—ho is hear—yu air him—yu air my affinerty! 0 tis two mutclii—two mutch!’ and she bust out a cryin. ‘Yes” sez i ‘i think it is darif site two much.’— Has thou not yearned fur me?’ she yelled, ringing her hands like a femaile play-actor.— Sez i, fiiot a yeern.’—Bi this time a grate krowd of free] lovirs had kollectid around us ; & thay all konimcnced fur tu holler shame, ‘brute,’ beast, jetsettery, etsettery. X wus jest as mad as a Martch hair. Sez i, ‘yu pack of ornery go away frum me & taik this rechid woomun along with yu. My name is Artimeus Ward Jfc ime in the show bisness. i pay my. bills &’ mind my own’ fairs, ime a married man & my childrun all look like me if i am a show man ; ji dont go in fur setting the laws of my country at defiance. I aint in favur of priva tearinior nothing else illegal. I think yure affinerty bisness is cussed nonsense, besides bein oiitrajusly wicked. I pored 4th my indig nation! in this way until i got out of breth, when ,i stopt. I took down my tent & i shall leev this evening. Yours til deth. A. Ward. If :iman faints away, instead' of yelling out like a Ravage, or running to him to left him up, lay him at full length on hia back on the floor, looshnf-the clothing, push the crowd away so ■as to allow the air to reach him, and let him alone.; Dashing water over a person in a sim ple fainting-fit is a barbarity, and soils the clothing unnecessarily. The philosophy of a fainting-fit is, the heart fails to send the proper supply of blood to the brain; if the person is erect,ithat blood has to be thrown up hill, but if lying;down, it has to be projected horizontally —which requires less power, is apparent. If a person swallows a poison, deliberately or by chance, instead of breaking out into multitudinous and incoherent exclamations, dispatch some one for a doctor; meanwhile run tb the kitchen, get half a glass of water or anything that is handly, put jnto it a teaspoon ful of salt and as much grou'nd mustard, stir it in act instant, catch a firm hold of the person’s nose.J the month will soon fly open, then down with !the mixture, and in a second or two up will come the, poison. This will answer in a of cases better than any other.— If by this time the physician has not arrived, math the patient swallow the white of an egg, followed by a cup of strong coffee (because these nulify a larger number of poisons than any-pther accessible articles,) as antidotes for remdining in tho stomach. Iff a limb or other part of the body is severe ly cqt, and the blood comes out by spirts, or. jerks, per saltern, as doctors say, be in a hurry or the man will be dead in five minutes ; there is no time to talk or send for a physician ; say nothing, out with your hankerchief, throw ir, around the limb, tie the two ends together, put a stick through them, twist it around, tighter, andjtighter, until the blood ceases ’to flow.— Bufestop, it does no good. Why? Because on ly a severed artery throws blood out in jots, and'the arteries get their blood from the heart; hence, to stop the flow, the remedy must be applied between the heart and the wounded spot —in other words, above the wounded. If a viin had been servered, the blood would have flowed in a regular stream, and slow, and, on thej other hand, the tie should be applied hclom thej wound, or on the other aide of flje from the heart, because the blood in the vcimj flows towards the heart and there is no neetj of sqch grc.it 1-fijrry -// J-,. a y if. I’J.h. 3 MONTHS. 6 MONTHS. -12 MONTHS*. $2,50 $4,50 $O,OO 4.00 6,00 8,00 6.00 8,00 10,00 10,00 15,00 20.00 Forethought.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers