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■ 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.
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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.