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.For the Agitator.
frHEX SHALL VTB MEET AGAIN ?
by u. l. Dom.
rrvn .tall we meet again ? Not till the passing years
Jj” re silver’d o’er our heads, and dimmed our eyes with
y flowers,-whicji how hrcwtnd jpqr patb-
w6 y bloom, * » ; . - .
flare folded their bright petals up and withered in the
tomb.
frien shall we meet again ? Not while our hearts are
i j tope is singing in our ears her songs of minstrelsy;
\ot with youth’s bloomqpon our cheeks, its light vith
‘ in the heart,
jlay we e’er hope to meet again, thwgh now in faith
ire part.
frben shall wo meet again ? Oh, oft when sad and lone,
Winery bring kind faces back; the well remem
bered tone
Qf friends, whose accents were more dear than music's
witching strain,
frill wake the longing wish to look on them yet onco
again. ;
frben shall wc meet again ? Oh! could wo draw -the
rail
\Hiich hides the future from our eyes—how might our
spirit' quail:
p cr broken ties, and blasted hopes, and eyes whence
light has fled, - - <
Might be the way-marks in the path our several feel
must tread.
If here we may not meet, —Oh, in that glorious Heaven
Where pure affections chain is linked, to never more
be riven,
jlav r,ur freed spirits find the bliss to mortals here dc-
- Died,
ind drink from life’s eternal fount, where death can
not divide !
From Dickon’s Household Words.
The Haunted Bed.
BY MAUK LKMOJT
"Why, Betty, if there isn’t Mr. Ponsonhy at
ik’rioor with his baggage, I’ll be whipped!”
cried the head waiter at the hotel, on
-the evening preceding the regatta.
‘■Mr. Ponsonhy, you don’t say so ! and I’d
riven him up, and just put that weak-minded
p-nt as come at ten o’clock in Forty-two—Mr.
I'ensunhy’s room as I call it; and there’s not
iU to be bad in Cowes for love or money.”
‘lVliat’s that you say, Betty? said the new
erner: “not another bed but mine, eh ?”
“Ihas’s it, sir,” replied Betty; “I kept it
ftyou till the last train ; now as that has been
in an hour, I gave you up, sir. What will you
c j ?’
‘ Awkward,” exclaimed Ponsonby ; “the old
deck in the room will break its heart; but I
must sloop on a sofa.”
“Not ope disengaged, sir,” said the waiter.
“Xfo, tir,” added Betty, “not one, sir. There
are lour small children put to bed in a chest of
drawers now in Twenty-four. We let every
thing before we would let Fbrty-two.”
“That’s the gent that’s got your room,” whis
pered John, as he ushered Mr. Ponsonby into
the coffee-room.
The person alluded to was a very mild, milky
looVinj young gentleman of twenty-one. His
present position was evidently a new one, for
be was constantly employed in pulling up his
shirt collar and using his toothpick.
“John,” said Ponsonby, “I must have a bed.
Bring me a broiled bone and a glass of brandy
and water, and put them on the table next to
the young gentleman, whilst I speak to Betty.”
Mhat the nature of Mr. Ponsonby’s commu
nication to Betty was I don’t mean to reveal;
ktshe “laughed consumcdly,” and was shortly
afterwards seen entering No. Forty-two with a
varraing-pan, and then returning without it.
The bone and brandy and water were duly
Htred, and Mr. Ponsonby, took his place at the
hi!'!. The mild gentleman pulled his collar
E re frequently and plied the toothpick with
increased energy.
“Waiter, ” pried Ponsonby, “Here—take this
thing away.”
'Capital hone, sir,” said John, somewhat
’m-eidied.
“Bnn't tell me a capital hone !” exclaimed
P iwinby. “The ’bus driver was complaining
tl the mortality among his horses. Take it
wav.’’
Tlie mild gentleman looked alarmed, and
ln the act of pulling up his left collar.
“M retched house, this, sir,” said Ponsonby,
onfidentialjy; “never come here if I can
itfid it; but at regatta time glad to get in any
where
7 Slr i” said the mild one.
“ I hey served me a rascally trick once, and I
• all never forget it. I wonder who sleeps in
„ ruom to-night—poor devil!”
,' ‘ a J inquire what the trick was, sir?”
) V 1! certa,n ly.” said Ponsonby, “though I
.* • ‘ko to tell the story, in case you should
c '- u yt my veracity.”
“!ih! sir—”
a 7 seems absurd to talk of haunted
•am ,| p rs j n t ] )e n i netent k oen p ur y atl d Pon
*■"•'7 paused.
, ll :it ul l. sir,” said the mild one, cneour-
that there is one in this house I am
Jtu swear;” exclaimed Fonsonby; a room
-yi lariro, old-fashioned cluck in it.”
m,‘:‘ gasped the mild one;
l^ at s niv room
o,^ 1 ’ f" r heaven's sake!” said Ponsonhy;
t. " J known that, I wouldn’t have said a word
, "-erld.”
fir. "/ ear Slr > don’t say that; pray go on,
„u ■ m mit superstitious, neither am I fool
r. rl ( ] 811 B II1 | 1 ' or ® u l ou ' s ,” and the mild one wiped his
'W n ' cm p!' e< l his tumbler at a gulp.
’a* you desire it, I will narrate my
t 6a: d I’unponby. “It was exactly throe
1 : tin, very day, that I and ray luggage
, ~ aui> sehcs in No. Forty-tw T o, the last room,
1 c * lan >hermaid told mo) unlet in the
what s h c me — a ooc k a trice!”
the mild one.
i j? 88 *' re d by my day’s journey, and wont
as the clock struck twelve. —
j ”, 1 fatigued I felt no disposition to sleep,
gt, m y candle on the bed-steps and be-
Sr,. n f had read about live minutes,
t [j " u -yk.l received a most violent blow
* fiartcj 0 ™ 110 * 1 ’ c f°°h struck a quarter.
' )j. U P! there was no one—nothing to ac
ded i( J”' phenomenon. At last I conolu
-r,other UB ” aVe h cen a fancy. I read on for
Uow? U f rter ° f an hour, w-hen I received
Cfic. j • 0 ft violence than the former
jumped out of bed, resolved to secure
THE AGITATOR
BebotcSf to ttje mtimnion of tfce area of jffm&om nntt lift Spseab of ©taitbs lUform.
WHILE THERE SHALL BE A WRONG UNRIGHTED, AND UNTIL “MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE.
VOL. V.
my assailant. No; there was no one! the
clock chimed the half-hour.”
• “Another glass of brandy and waterl” cried
the mild one.
It was brought and Ponsonhy proceeding;
“I seized the hell-rope, hut a sense of shame
would not let me proceed. I therefore resolved
to keep watch for a short time. As I sat up in
the bed my eyes fell upon the face of the old
clock in the corner. I could not help thinking
that was in some way connected with the an
noyance I had suffered. As I looked the min
ute-hand gradually approached the IX on the
dial, and the moment it arrived there, I re
ceived three distinct and, particularly sharp
raps on the crown of my bead. The clock
struck the three quarters. I was now convinced
that there was something wrong. What was I
to do ? If I disturbed the house and told this
story, I should be laughed at, and set down
as drunk or dreaming. I resolved to brave the
worst. I got out of bed, and, gently opening
the clock case, stopped the vibration of the
pendulum.
“ ‘Come, that must prevent the striking,’
thought I, and laid myself down with some
thing like a chuckle at my own brilliancy.”
“A chuckle!" murmured the mild one.
“I had not been in bed above five minutes,”
resumed Ponsonby, when I heard the ,door of
the clock-case open slowly. I felt, I confess, a
tremor ——”
“I should think so!”
“And 1 saw the pendulum throw a somer
sault on the floor, and deliberately hop—hop—
hop —towards the hod. It paused fora moment,
and bending its round, brazen face full upon
me, said ”
“Spoke?” gasped the mild one.
“Said, (continued Ponsonhy; not heeding
the interruption,) ‘Sir, I am very much obliged
to you for stopping my labors. People think I
never want any rest, hut that I can stand being
perpetually wound up and kept on the go.—
With your permission, I’ll get into bedand
without waiting for an answer, into bed it got."
“I suppose,” continued the pendulum, “you
arc not aware that this is our room.”
“Our room !” said I. -,
“Yes; mine and the rest of the works. The
man who made us, died in this bod, and left it
to us as a legacy. You found something rather
unpleasant, didn’t you ?”
“Yes,” I answered, “very unpleasant.”
“Ah! that was the striking-weight; he al
ways serves intruders that way when we are
going. When we are not, and I come to bed,
he is quiet enough. But as I am likely to be
set going again in the morning, and it’s now
nearly half-past one, I’ll wish you a good
night.”
“Good night, sir,” I replied, quakidg from
head to foot. So, thought I, whoever sleeps in
this bed must either submit to be thumped black
and blue by the striking-weight, or accept of
this horrible monster for a bed-fellow. At this
moment the pendulum, I suppose, fell asleep,
for it commenced an innocent ‘tick-tick,’ ‘tick
tick,’ that rendered all attempts at forgetfulness
on my part impossible.”
“Another glass of brandy and water!” cried
the mild one.
“No, no,” said Ponsonby, “I would advise
you not. Have your chamber candle and go to
bed.”
“Go to bed in No. Forty-two 1” exclaimed
the mild one. “Never!”
“My dear fellow, matters may have changed
since the period I have been talking of. Go to
your room, and if anything occurs it is easy to
ring the hell- Come, I’ll see you to the door.”
And taking their candles, the pair proceeded to
No. Forty-two.
“Here we are,”"said Ponsonby; ‘good night.’
The mild gentleman could only wave his head
in valediction as be entered the haunted cham
ber. In a moment he uttered a shrill cry, and
rushed into the lobby, his hair literally on end
with terror.
“What’t the matter?” said Ponsonby.
“It’s there!—in hod—fast asleep—l’ve scon
it—the pendulum !—l’d not sleep there for a
thousand pounds If
“Good gracious! What will you do ?”
“Sleep on the stairs—lf I had but my carpet
bag out of the room 1”
“I’ll fetch it for you. I don’t mind the pen
dulum ; he’s an old friend of mine.”
And in another minute the mild one was
traveling down to the coffee-room, humping his
carpet-bag from stair to stair, to the probable
disturbance of the whole house.
“Betty’ Betty! said Ponsonby in an under
tone, “tell the porter to bring my baggage to
No. Forty-two. Ha! ha! Capital, Betty I”
roared Ponsonby, as ho saw the cause of tho
mild one’s terror.
It was the brazen warming-pan comfortably
put to’bed in No. Forty-two, and which the M.
G. in his terror had taken for a pendulum.
In the morning the mild gentleman did not
show himself. lie had drank three bottles of
soda water, paid his bill, and gone off by the
first train.
Forgiveness. —Amongst all the proverbs,
maxims, and apothegms, which the poets have
furnished, there is none more useful than tho
fapailiar lino,
y To err is humnn, to forgive divine.”
The context of this conveys such admirable
advice, that it deserves equal familiarity, run
ning, as it does, thus:
‘‘For every trifle scorn to take offence—
That always shows great pride or little sense:
Good nature ami good sense must always join—
To err is human, to forgive divine.”
■\Vc commend this string of pearls to our rea
ders. Its truths cannot be too familiarly or
strongly impressed upon their minds. There
is nothing more beautiful than forgiveness of
real injuries. And, as for imaginary ones—the
trifles spoken of by the pool —it should require
no effort to overlook them in our erring fellow
beings.
The Kev. Sydney Smith, whilst preaching a
chajrity sermon, frequently repeated the asset*
tion that, of all nations, Englishmen were most
distinguished for tho love of their species. The
collection proved inferior to his expectations ;
v and he said that he had evidently made a mis
take, for he should have said that they were
distinguished for a love of their “specie/'
WELLSBORO. TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. APRIL 21, 1859.
In a Balloon with a lYladman.
A French paper tells the following relative
to the last galloon ascension of M. Goddard:
Monsieur Goddard took with him on that
day, as his compagnon du voyage, a wealthy,
private gentleman, who paid 1,000 francs for
the privilege of sharing in the perils of the ex
pedition. The weather could not have been
more propitious, and the balloon shot up rap
idly to a considerable altitude.
“What effect does that produce upon you ?”
asked M. Goddard of his companion.
“Nothing !” said the latter, laconically.
“My compliments to you,” said M. Goddard.
“You are the first whom I have ever seen arrive
at such an altitude without betraying some
emotion.” i
“Keep on mounting,” said the traveler, with
a gravity supreme.
M. Goddard threw over some ballast, and the
balloon ascended some 500 feet higher.
“And now,” added M. Goddard, • “does your
heart beat ?”
“Nothing yet!” replied his companion, -with
an air which approached closely to impatience.
“The devil !” explained SI. Goddard; “you
have really, my dear sir, the most perfect qual
ifications to be an aeronaut.”
The balloon still ascended ; when 1,000 feet
higher SI. Goddard interrogated a third time
his companion.
“And now ?”
“Nothing, nothing; not the shadow of a fear
whateverl” answered the traveler, with a tone
positively discontented, and like a man who
experienced a profound deception. ,
“Goodness me ! so much the worse, then,”
said the aeronaut, smiling; “but I must re
nounce all hopes of making yon afraid. The
balloon is high enough. We are going to de
scend.”
“To descend!”
“Certainly ; there would be danger in moun
ting higher.”
“That does not make the slightest difference
to me; Ido not choose to descend.'’
“You what?” asked SI. Goddard.
“I say I wish to ascend higher; keep on
mounting. I have given 1,000 to experience
some emotion ; I must do so, and I will not de
scend before I have felt some emotion.”
SI. Goddard commenced to laugh; ho be
lieved at once that it was all a joke.
“Will you ascend, once more?” demanded
the traveler, seising him by the throat and
shaking him with violence. “When shall 1 feel
some emotion!”
SI. Goddard relates that at this moment he
felt himself lost. A sudden and dreadful rev
elation broke upon him in regarding the
strangely dilated eyes of his compagnon, de
voyage; he had to do with a madman ! ,
If even the unfortunate aeronaut had had any
defensive weapon he would, after all, have been
capable of defending himself: but it is not
usual for people to furnish themselves with
pistols for a voyage in a balloon, and certainly
one would not dream of meeting with a war
like encounter in the stars. The earth was five
thousand feet beneath—most horrible depth ;
and the least movement of the now furious
madman might cause the car to capsize.
“Ah ! ah ! you are mocking me, my fine fel
low,” continued the madman, without loosen
ing his grip. “Ah I you think to rob me of
1,000 francs, as well as emotion. Very well,
be quiet. It’s ray turn to laugh. It’s you now
who ate going to cut a caper.”
The madman was possessed of prodigious
muscular force.
M. Goddard did not even attempt to defend
himself.
“What do yon wish from me ?” asked he*
with a calm tone and submissive air.
“Simply to amuse myself in seeing you turn
a summersault,” answered the madman, with
a ferocious smile. “But first (the madman ap
peared to bethink himself) I have my idea. I
wish to see if I can't find some emotion up
there. I must put myself astride on the semi
circle."
The madman indicated with his finger the
upper part of the balloon. Just in speaking
he commenced to climb along the cords which
held the car attached to the balloon.
M. Goddard who had not before trembled for
himself, was forced to do so now for the mad
man.
“But miserable man, you are going to kill
yourself. You will be seized with vertigo.”
“No remarks,” hissed the madman, seizing
him again by the collar, or “I will at once pitch
you into the abyss.”
“At least,” observed M. Goddard* “allow
mo to put this cord round your body, so that,
you may remain attached to the balloon*”
“Be it so,” said the madman, who appeared
to comprehend the utility of the precaution.
This done, furnished with his cord of safety,
the madman commenced to climb among the
ropes with the agility of a squirrel. He reached
the balloon, and placed himself astride the
semicircle, as he had said. Once there, he rent
the air with a shout of triumph, and drew his
knife from his pocket.
“What are you going to do 1” ashed M. God
dard, who feared that he might have the idea
of ripping open the balloon.
“To make myself comfortable forthwith.”
Uttering these words, the madman cut slowly
the cord of safety which M. Goddard had at
tached to his body. With a single puff of wind
to shake the balloon, the miserable creature
must roll over the abyss 1
“And now,” yelled forth the madman, bran
dishing his knife, “wc arc going to laugh. Ah,
robber, you thought to make me descend! Very
well. It is you who are going to tumble down,
in a moment, and quicker than that!”
M. Goddard had not time to make a move
ment or put in a single word. Before he was
able to divine the infernal intention of tbe-mad
man, the latter, still astride of the semicircle,
had cut—oh, horror!—four of the cordiges
which suspended the car to the balloon. The
car inclines horribly—it only bolds -by two.
“A word, a single word,” cried M. Goddard.
“No, no pardon,” vociferated the madman.
“I do not,ask for pardon, on the contrary.”
“What is It you wish, then?” said the mad
man, astonished.
“At this moment now/* continued the aero-
naut, hurriedly, “wo are at a hight of 5,000
feet.”
“Stop,” said the madman, “that will be
charming, to tumble down from such a bight.”-
“It is still too low,” added M. Goddard.
“How so ?” asked the madman, stupified.
“Yes," said M. Goddard; “my experience
as an aeronaut has taught me that death is not
certain to ensue from a fall from this elevation.
Tumble or no tumble, I must prefer to fall from
such a bight as to be killed outright, rather
than to risk being only lamed—have the char
ity to precipitate me from a hight of 9,000 feet
only.”
“Ah ! that’ll do!” said the madman, whom
the mention of a more horrible fall charmed
amazingly.
Mons. Goddard follows heroically his purpose,
and throws over an enormous quantity of bal
last. The balloon makes a powerful bound,
and mounts 500 feet in a few seconds. Only—
and whilst the madman surveys this operation
with a menacing air—the aeronaut thinks to ac
complish another, in a sense quite contrary.
The quick eye of M. Goddard had remarked
that among the cords spared by the madman
figured the one leading to the valve. His plan
is taken. Ho draws t£is cord, it opens the
valve fixed in the upper part of the balloon for
the purpose of allowing any excess of the hy
drogen gas to escape, and the result which ho
hoped for was not long in making itself appa
rent.
Little by little the madman becomes drowsy,
asphyxiated, and insensible by the vapors of
the gas which surrounded him. The madman
being sufficiently asphyxiated for his purpose,
M. Goddard allows the balloon to descend
slowly to the earth. The drama is finished.
Arrived on terra firma, M. Goddard, not
bearing any hatred to the author of his perilous
voyage, hastened to restore him to animation,
and had him convened, hands and feet hound,
to the neighboring station.
Speak Gently to Sack Other.
“PlcJso to help me a minute, sister.”
“O, don't disturb me, I’m reading,” was the
answer.
“But just hold this stick, won't you, while I
drive this pin through ?”
“I can't now, I want to finish this story,"
said I emphatically; and my little brother
turned away with a disappointed look, in search
of somebody else to assist him.
He was a bright boy of ten years, and “my
only brother.” He had been visiting a young
friend, and had seen a windmill, and as soon as
he came home his energies were all employed
in making a small one; for he was always try
ing to make tops, wheel-barrows, kites and all
sorts of things, such as boys delight In. He
had worked patiently all the morning with saw
and jack-knife, and now it only needed putting
together to complete it—and his only sister re
fused to assist him, and he had gone away with
his young heart saddened.
I thought of all this in the fifteen minutes
after he left me and my book gave me no pleas
ure. It was not intentional unkindness, only
thoughtlessness, for I loved my brother and was
generally kind to him; still, I had refused to
help him. I would have gone after him and af
forded the assistance he needed, hut I knew he
bad found some one else. But I had neglected
an opportunity of gladdening a childish heart.
In half an hour they came bounding into the
house, exclaiming, “Come, Mary, I've g?t it
up, just see how it goes I” Histones were joy
ous and I saw that he had forgotten my petu
lance, so I determined to atone by unusual kind
ness. I went with him and sure enough, on the
roof of the woodhouse was fastened a minia
ture wind-mill, and the arms were whirling
around fast enough to suit anybody. I praised
the wind-mill and my little brother’s ingenuity,
and he seemed happy and entirely forgetful of
my unkindness, and I resolved as I had many
times before, to be always loving and gentle.
A few days passed by, and the shadow of a
great sorrow darkened our dwelling. The joy
ous laugh and noisy glee were hushed, and our
merry boy lay in a darkened room with anxious
faces around him, his cheeks flushed and his
eyes unnaturally bright. Sometimes his tem
ples would moisten and his muscles relax, and
then hope would come into our hearts, and our
eyes would fill with thankful tears. It was in
one of those deceitful calms in his disease that
he heard the noise of his little wheel, and said,
“I hear my windnpll.”
“Does it make your headache?” I asked.—
“Shall wo take it down ?"
“0 no,” replied ho, “it seems as if I were
out of doors, and it makes me feel better.”
lie mused a moment, and then added;
“Don't you remember, Mary, that I wanted yon
to help me fix it, and you was reading and told
mo you could not? But it didn’t make any
difference, fur mama helped mo.”
0, how sadly those words fell upon my ear,
and what bitter memories they awakened !
How I repented, as I kissed little Franks’s
forehead, that I bad over spoken unkindly to
him. Hours of sorrow went by, and we
watched his couch, hope growing fainter, and
fainter, and deeper, until one week
from the morning orf which he spoke of his
childish sports, wo .closed the eyes once so
sparkling, and folded his hands over his pulse
less heart. He sleeps now iu the grave, and
homo is desolate; but the little windmill, the
work of his busy hands, is still swinging in the
breeze, just where ho placed it, upon the roof
of the old woodshed: and every time I see the
tiny arms revolving I remember the lost little
Frank—and I remember also the thoughtless,
the unkind words!
Brothers and sisters be kind to each other.
Be gentle, considerate, and loving.— Examiner,
One of the saloons in Chicago, has underta
ken to raffle off a watch, a tankard, and a
lady’s hoop skirt. ‘A bachelor has taken a
ticket for the skirt, as lie believes it is the near
est approach he can make to a female.
A New Doxoloogy.— =-One of the illiterate
who “had a call to preach,” recently set his
congregation on a broad grin, at the close of a
hammer-and-tongs sermon, by requesting them
to “Sing the Sockdologcr.’’ «
COMMUNICATIONS.
I For the Agitator.
Leaves by the Wayside.
"What excruciating pictures of pnxadisiacal
bliss are poked under the nose of the old bach
elor : White arms encircling his neck—warm
lips meeting his own—pleasant good-mornings
over cosy breakfasts—blissful reunions at noon
—provident meetings at night, where the slip
pers, dressing-gown, books, sewing, apples, nuts,
pug-nosed baby and wife await his coming.
What seraphic forbearance is pictured to him
of angels in calico, who with bumping hearts
and smilingi brows sit by their own fireside lis
tening to the clock which tells of the small
hours of the night, as their delinquent spouses
lean against lamp-posts, with their eyes fixed
upon shining stars which seem all moons to
them.
What diplomatic whisperings among ‘‘the
friends” as some day he meets a feminine visi
tor at their houses. How indifferently it is
mentioned that she is an angel (awaiting the
wings that the tailors make to waft her through
life) good, pure, seraphical—a very General in
the culinary department—a Solomon in bring
ing up young children—a nightingale in sing
ing away dull care—an angel in mercy in prop
ing up sick heads, and making hot broths.
At noon, at night—at concert, at play—in
•daily promenades—in carriage rides—atchurch,
at home—by moonlight, by starlight—in tem
pest, in sunshine —in hours of occupation,, in
of leisure —in joy, in grief—at all
times is our bachelor made the.companion of
“our visitor.”
But all things in this mistaken world of ours
have an end. The day of parting comes, a
gloved hand lies within his, “good-bye” is said,
he is left alone.
As he stretches his feet out before his own
fireside , and smiles the cat in the face, feels of
old Pluto’s silken cars, admires his hoot-jack in
the corner, which has never yet been put in
some dark closet, out of the icay; he yawns,
and feels like a released cat from a dangerous
trap. But as his eye falls upon the newspaper
why does the blood forsake his check? Why
starts he in mortal terror? Look at the denun
ciations of wrath and indignation which are
poured upon him by enraged feminines and dis
appointed friends.
Here flies a murderous misslc, striking away
the white arms that they once wished might
encircle his neck; another weapon flies striking
awry the lips that they once wished midlife press
his moustache. Then comes a liost of wishes,
that no hand of gentleness may smooth his
brow when racked by pain and sickness —that
he may starve for a drop of porridge—that the
sun may put his eyes out —no sweet flowers to
meet his gaze as hcfcebly looks around his den.
Again, that his neck-tics may strangle him,
shirt buttons desert him, his food be always
scanty, dust and mice embellish his house, —
lightnings, tempests .and hailstones demolish
him entirely.
“There was one very dear to me who died.”
How quiet, bow white, and cold gleam those
grave stones. I love to go among them, and
dream of those whose hearts once beat as wild
ly as our own; who laughed, toiled and hoped
as fondly as We do; who grieved and faltered
and despaired as we sometimes do. Koto they
sleep! so shall tee /
Whose grave is this,, and who now kneels
by its side? It is'one who although in the
crowd, walks alone in life; who in early youth
plighted his vows to a maiden beneath the har
vest moon, as all earth filled wrth the song of
gladness, and full cups of blessings for man,
glowed in rich beauty, “Trust not to earth!
upon whose sharp point peace bleeds and hope
expires.
The moon is shining now, hut his night of
brightness is gone. The thrill of music is felt
in the whisperings of nature, but his heart is
hushed to silence. Agnes.
For tbe Agitator.
Time's Changes,
0, swiftly each passing moment glides away !
How soon arc all life’s golden dreams and bright
visions of earthly bliss forever flown 1 Time,
ever rolling time, writes the fadeless impress of
change everywhere, and reposd everything we
behold in this beautiful world of ours. There
is nothing of earthly bcouty, or of earthly
grandeur that can bid defiance to the storms of
time; nothing too sacred or holy to elude the
destruction of his fatal blast,
‘•I saw him grasp the oak, it foil: the tower.
It cnimlilci; suul the ftoms the t-rulptnivil monument,
Tlwt mark**! the gnuo of fallen gruatnu&i ce.'tucd it* pom
pon* strain,
As time raine slowly hy.”
Flowers that fill the ambient air with sweet
odors and ambrosial incense, bloom, fade, die 1
Our earth at one season of the year is clad in
her beautiful dress of living green, and the
bright rays of a vernal sun enrich, expand and
beautify every scene in nature. The soft,
warm air is filled with sunshiue and perfume;
the woodlands are gay and beautiful; the bright
stream dances and ripples along, or curls with
its silver eddies glad, sparkling in the sunbeam ;
and all nature shines forth in unrivalled beauty
and splendor.' But how soon does the wither
ing breath of a few revolving months, rob the
fields of their blooming verdure and loveliness ;
the forest and trees of their magnificent foliage
and drapery, and cause the green clad earth to
“lay her glory by.”
In youth’s rosy morn, life seems a fair, un
sullied page, with but here and there a sentence
which hope has traced in golden letters. Wc
believe life, love and friendship, then, to he
what we wish them. But by and by there fulls
suddenly or perhaps steals slowly o’er the page
a darkening stain. Yet, cheerily live on. The
page is not all black; the golden letters still
beam forth, beaming more brightly for the shad
ows. To hearts full of hopes yet unblighted,
how real scemeth earthly bliss. But when ad
versity blights our fairest prospects, and the
cold frowns of the world sink deep into our
souls, when friends that are nearest and should
be still the dearest, change and turn from us,
how it wrings the bleeding heart. Yet youthful
dreamer, dream on; there is much to love still.
But let thy fancy take heaven for its field; it
may be that earth will thereby wear a heavenly
hue. Frank Haiulr.
Rates of Advertising.
Advertisements wiH be charged $1 par square of 14
lines; one or three insertions, and 25 cents for every
subsequent insertion. Advertisements of fcsv thsrt 14
lines considered os a square. Jhe sHbjoined rateswill
be charged for Quarterly. Half-Yearly and Yearly ad
vertisements :
3 jcoxrns. 6 jioxths. 12 moxths.
Square, - - . $2,50 $4,60 $0,03
2 do. - , 4,00 «,00 8,00
1 column, - - - 0,00 8,00 10,00
i do. - 10,00 15,00 20,00
Column. - - 18,00 30,00 40,00
Advertisements not having thenumberof insertions
desired marked upon them, will be published until or
dered out and charged accordingly.
Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Letter-Heads and all
kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, ex
ecuted neatly and promptly. Justices’, Constables',
and township BLANKS: Notes, Bonds, Heeds, Mort
gages, Declarations and • other Blanks, constantly on
hand, or printed to order.
m 3s.
EDTJ C ATIONAL.
Of the Superintendent of Tioga Co. for 1863,
School Houses.—rlst class, none ; 2d class,
improvable, 131; 3d class, unfit, 5 9.
Material of School House. —Brick, none J
stone, none ; log, 5 ; framej 185.
School Furniture. —lst class, none; 2d class,
medium, 54 ; 3d class, unfit, 136.
Schools.-—lst class, graded, 6; 2d class,
classified, 196 ; 3d class, neither graded nor
classified, 20. 1
Teachers. — Ages of Teachcrs.~t!niet se
venteen , 47 ;• between seventeen and twenty
one, IGG ; between twenty-one and twenty-five,
110; between twenty-five and thirty, SO; be
tween thirty and forty, 21; between forty and
fifty, 2 ; over fifty, 4,
Birth place of Teachers. —Bom in Pennsyl
vania, 283 ; bom out of Pennsylvania, 111.
Experience in Teaching. —Tanght less than
one year, 219; from one to three years, 140 ;
from three to six years, 27; from six to ten
years, 11; from ten to twenty years, 3; over
twenty years none.
Professional Reading, —-dumber-who have
read books or periodicals on teaching, IGS;
number who have not, 235.
Permanent Poachers. —Number who intend
to make teaching a permanent business, 107 ;
those who do dot, 293.
Grade of Poachers. —lst class, qualified, 5-1;
2d class, medium, 251; 3d class, unfit, 95.
In marking the “Experience in teaching,” 1
have called three terms Of actual teaching, ona
year. This will probably account for the diff
erence between the above report and that of
the preceding year.
General Kemarks. —The statistics of this re
port have been made with great care, and 1
think are correct. is some disparity be
tween them and'those of last year. This is in
part only apparent, and in part beyond my
comprehension.
School Rouses. —During the past year thirty
five new school houses have been built. They
are mostly substantial, and on improved plans.
This is what I call progress. At this rate in
four years the old' houses will all be removed
and their places occupied by new ones, This
progress is much greater, however, in some
townships than others. Butland, Tioga, Mid
dlebury, Richmond, Gaines, and' some others,
have now a good proportion of new houses;
while Brookfield, Deerfield and Nelson still hold
to the wretched policy of building by subscrip
tion. They cannot or will not "see that this
policy has been in operation for thirty years
without furnishing even one good school house.
Deerfield is the wealthiest township in the coun
ty in proportion to its population, and yet re
tains in a conspicuous and central position a
log school house built thirty-five or forty years
since, a house worth less by half than the pig
pens of many of the patrons of the school.—
The fact is'it is impossible to furnish good
schools on the voluntary plan, and the sooner
it is abandoned the better.
School Furniture. — ; No Loose is yet famished
■with suitable apparatus, as inapt, globes, &c.
Many, however, lack only these to bring their
furniture into the first class. There are not
tep houses in the county destitute of black
boards, pail, cup and broom. -Most of the
houses recently built have well arranged seats,
desks and closets. The one at Bartt settle
ment, Charleston district, is perhaps the best
of those built during the last year.
Schools. —Pupils have always been classified
in reading and spelling. Three years ago but
few were classified in orthography, arithmetic,
geography, grammar, alphabet, &c. But now
there is scarcely a school in the county where
they arc not classified in all these.
Teachers. —Those teachers who are marked
in the first class as regards "grade/ n are such
as would hate received county certificates if I
had granted any. The ninety-five marked as
those whose service had better be dispensed
with, are snch as received trial or one term
certificates, with the promise of a refusal on a
reexamination if there was not strong indica
tions of improvement.
Tioga district has tho hotter of securing tho
best teachers for the very good reason that they
receive the best pay. Charleston, Delmar and
Union furnish the greatest number of teachers
at the regular-examination.
There is not a more wide awake and enter
prising set of teachers and directors in the coun
ty than those of Union. The township insti
tute has been carried on during the entire year,
vacation and all, with a regular attendance of
from twenty to thirty teachers*
The one hundred and seven who are marked
as intending to make teaching a permanent
business were many of them young girls.—
There may be, perhaps, thirty-five of the num
ber who will live up to their intentions in this
respect*
I regret exceedingly to report so few wlio
have rend works on education. I hope in tho
next report this item will look a little belter.
Institutes. —Our county institute organized
last fall ftjas highly successful. The teachers
returned' to their homes with gladdened hearts,
and a higher appreciation of the responsibility
and dignity of their profession. The time and
tho weather wore unfavorable in tho spring,
and many of us anticipated a failure, but were
happily disappointed. So large a number of
teachers never before assembled in the county.
Township associations have been organized
and conducted by the teachers themselves, in
some ton districts, with marked success.
School Visitation.—V* uring the winter session
I visited nearly every school in the county.—
The order of examination was as follows; To
sit quietly and watch the movement of the
school for ten or fifteen minutes, then request
the teacher to call the most advanced class in
reading. The teacher conducting the recita
tion as usual, except that the pupils read only
once. Having previously taken the names of
the class in a large book, I mark the quality of
the reading opposite each pupil’s name, and tho
merits and demerits of the teacher on the op
posite page. Then the next lower class is called
and examined, and so on down till I have heaid
every pupil of the school read, and have marked
bis degree of advancement, by which I m"an
how fur the pupil has been, and how ueU his
ANNUM. REPORT