The Tioga County j BY M. H. COBB. ! j Published every Wednesday morning oil JnaUedto Eubcribersat ONE DOLLAR AND FlT'.' ‘-GENTS' _p er year, always IN ADVANCE. ■' The paperis sent postage free to county sf iseribers, though they may receive their mail at j bet iffioes lo cated in counties immediately adjoining, i( ■ cobtcd ience. The Agitator is the Official‘paper of ' (oga Co., and circulates in every neighborhood tber*. in. Sub scriptions being on the advance-pay systen 'it circu lates among a class most to the interest of a Ivertisers to reach. Xerms to advertisers as liberal a- those of fered by any paper of equal circulation in Northern Pennsylvania. gSr A cross on the margin of a pape ,-denotes •that the subscription is about to expire. ♦ { Papers will be stopped when the su' icrlption time expires, unless the agent orders their continu ance. :■ SAB. LOWEBf & §. F. wii Sson, A TTORNEYS & COUNSELLORS » t LAW, •Ai- will attend the Courts of Tioga, R tier and McKean counties. [Wellsboro, 1883.] SOMN S. REANN, ; fi TTORNEY & COUNSELLOR, ll LAW, Condorsport, Pa., will attend the ay 1 ‘er i Courts an Potter and McKean counties. All ins ;ess en /trusted to his care will receive prompt atltc ionl Ho has the agency of largo tracts of good settling land mnd will attend to the payment of taxes oa any lands •in said counties. Jonl 118, 1863,* DICKINSON HOtSE,, CORNING, N. Y. 4. Mat. A. FIELD, I‘fiprictor. GUESTS taken to and from the free of charge.— J [Jan. 1, 1863.] PEMIfSIXVANIA HOI SE, . COESEE OF MAIN STBEBT JIND THE Wells boro. Pa. J. W. BIGONY, THIS popular Hotel*' having been v'e-fit* 6 '! and re-furnished throughout, is now tip’ll to the public as a first-class house.T [Jan. 1, 18634 IZAAK WALTON. HOlteJS, Gaines, Tioga County, Pa 11, C. VERMILYEA, THIS is a new hotel located withiff easy ac cess of the best fishing and banting in -Northern Pennsylvania. No pains will be s ared for the accommodation of pleasure seekers and , tlie trav elling public. £Jan: 1863-3 -o WATCHES, CLOCKS . AMD W* , JEWELRY! i • atpaired at BULLARD'S A CO'S. STOLE', by tbe subscriber, in the best manner, and at as lot J prices as the same work can be done for, by any first inte prac tical workman in the State. ' . * IVellshoro, July 15, 1863. A. R. I iASCY. . WELLS 8080 IIOTEV.. B. B. HOLIDAY, Pinprietor. THE Proprietor haviDg again taken poM«s>ion of tbe above Hotel, will spare no pains -to Insure •the comfort of.guests and the traveling public, At tentive waiters always ready. Terms reasonable. Wcllsboro, Jan. 21,1863.-tf. - A. FOLEY, Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, &c.,'&c., REPAIRED AT OLD PRICES,*;-’ POST OFFICE BUILDING, NO. 5, UNION BLOCK. v IVcllsboro, May 20,1563. E. K. BLACK, . i JJARBER & HAIR-DRESfIER, SHOP OVER C. L. "WILCOX'S STOt 3, NO. 4, UNION BLOCK. TYellsboro, June 24, 1803. ' \ FLOUR AND FEED STfiltE. WEIGHT & BAILEY - HAITI had their mill thoroughly repaired and are receiving fresh ground fir ur, -feed, aical, «tc., every day at their store in town. Cash paid for all kinds of grain. . - ■ IVEIGHT & baJxrY. Wcllsboro, April 29,1563. Wool Carding and Cloth Dressing. THE subscriber informa his old customers and the public generally that be is to •card wool and dress cloth at tbo old stand, tbj 4ofhing •season, having secured the services of Mr. <. •a competent and experienced workman, am? al§o in tending to give his personal attention to he wnl warrant all work done at his shop. ' - Wool carded at five-cents per pound,jvSV' Cloth dressed at from ten to twenty cents per y&*ias per color and finish. !• IVelltboro, Slay 6, 1863-tf. MARBLE SHOP. | ’ TAM dovt receiving a STOCK of MAN A and RUTLAND MARBLE, (bought and am prepared to manufacture all kiuda,si ■ T-O MB-S T ON E|S sad MONUMENTS at the lowest prices. « ; , , UARVET ADAMS is my- authorized it and 'Will 5-11 Stone at the same prices ns at the -;}< i. ■WE SAVE BUT ONE PIUCiS_ Tioga, May 20, IS6S-Iy. A. D. i.-1 LE- JOHN A. RO¥, 'PiE&LER IN DRUGS AND MEDIUNES, JJ Chemicals, Varnish, Paints, Dyes, Per fumery, brushes, Glass, Putty, Toys, Taney Goods/ Pure Wines, Brandies, Gins, and olher for tnedical use. Agent for the sale of all Pat •snt Medicines of the day. Medicines warranted.gen uine and of the ■ BEST QUALITY., Physician's Prescriptions accurately compe. pded. The best Petroleum Oil which is superior to other •jr burning in Kcroslno Lamps. Also, all other Jtinda Oils usually kept in a first class Drug Store. - ' ZSr~ FANCY DYE COLORS in packagesul /eady empounded, for the use of private families* Also, ure Loaf Sugar for medical compounds* ~ i Wellsboro, June 24, 1563-ly. - Insurance Agen^ THE Insurance Company of North Amef UN have appointed the undersigned an agent '■ o' 'd'io£u Guilty and vicinity. ’t As the high character and standing of thpt ompa ly j.i vc the assurance of full protection to (triers of property against the hazard of tire, I Solicit iti 'h con vince a liberal share’ of the'business of thu iimnty. fins company was incorporated in 1794. Xla capital •s $500,000, and its assests in 1851 as per statement -id Jan. of that year was $1254,719 81, y . CHARLES PLATT, . .. Sec\*tary. AHtULKg. COFFIN, . . . Proident. ‘Office of the Company 232 Walnut S treet Philadelphia. 'W'm.Buchlcr, Ceulral Agenlfllar risbnrs. Pa.' ; . JOHN W. GUERNSEY, v : Agent for Tioga County, Pa, 1863. - : stati!; nobmal schocc [For the sth District, Pa.] AND * Mansfield Classical Semina; y. W. D. TAYLOK, A. M.....'.....-Princi pi i “ r Assist id Mrs, H. S. Taylor, _Prece|ilr is. Miss H, A. Faexswobth Atsisuh . l ~~ Assistant, and Teacher in Model Sish pi. i ~ Assistant, and Teacher of,Music.; ! Term of this Institution will oplh iept. V "’inter Term, Dee. 2d. The Sprit g 1 Jarm, *eeks 18 **’ Each tenn to cont t° ue th rtecn tmk^ ormal School Courts of*»tndy for graduation, two yeart.it adopted. ' • ■ctl n <Bl * for l^e Normal Connie, and for ttatCl**Bi "epartment, are tolicited. J - • Stld T Partlculari! > uAdrett Bot.W. D.TavtaAßinnt > tioga County Penna. Send for a Circi It 1 . 'Vf. -cocim I?;, TVw — Pretident of the Board of Tp ailM, . "M. HfTLLAKD. Secretary. , Mintfield, A-uguet 5, 1868. THE AGITATOR. VOL. X. I aawono start from Ms repose. His muscles knit with labor's thrpes, His pulses beat like hammer-blows. His brow -was wet with beaded sweat; file words who heard shall ne'er forgetj— They thrill me to the marrow yet. “ Men of the Western World 1” cried he, *•'The right is might—truth, victory 1 * God givetb opportunity! ** I charge ye—tak© and nse the gift; ! So earn; when war's red murk shall Hit, His everlasting peace, and thrift. u Events crowd thickly. Marvel vies, With marvel. Mightier changes rise And ding their shadows on the skies. “ God's purpose waits not Bead the past; States grand* but truthless, false as vast, Into the outer darkness cast. .Fr( prietor. “ For this : Against the shies they spat, And fine-span theories begat To show that * this’ could not be ‘ that/ u And in their schools they glibly taught The gods indwelt in mystic thought; That nought was all, and all was nought, j ....Proprietor. w Made ornate speech of equal right; ' Of brotherhood, yet groped in night; Darkness enthroned, and crowned in lighfc “Ignoring man, the sentient fact; Giving the lie to speech in act; * Preserving form’) alone, intact. "Thus, wrong to giant crime was wrought, And men, like beeves, were sold and bought. Then God passed by, .and they were naught ! M “ Men of the West! mine eyes descry Omens of warning in the sky; Stand firm, for God is passing by! Stand firm. Let this your legend bo; The right is right—truth, victory! God giveth opportunity V* Washington, Feb. 17, 1864. M, XT. C. THE PROFESSOR’S ADVENTURE. Between eight and ten year’s ago, I engaged in a long vacation among tbe Alps of Savoy. I was slon.e. My object was not amusement, but study. I occupy a professor’s chair, and I was. engaged in tbe collection of materials for a work on the Flora of the higher Alps; and to to this end, travelled chiefly on foot. My route lay from the beaten paths and passes, -t often journeyed for days through | regions where there were neither inns nor villages, I.often wandered from dawn till dust, among sterile steeps unknown even to the herdsmen of the upper pasturages, and- untrodden save by the chamois and tho hunter. I thought my self fortunate, at those times, if, towards eve ning, I succeeded in steering my way down to the nearest chalet, where, in company with a half s’avage mountaineer and a herd of milch goats, I might find the shelter of a raftered roof, and a supper of black bread and whey. On one particular evening I had gone further than usual in pursuit of the Senecio unifloris, a rare plant which 1 hitherto believed indi genous to the southern valleys of Monte Rosa, but of which I hete succeeded in finding one or two indifferent specimens. It was a wild and barren district, difficult to distinguish with any degree of on the map, bat by lying among the upper defiles of the Val de Bagnos, between the Mount Fleneur and tbe Grand Combin. On tho waste of rock-strewn moss to which I had climbed, there was no sign of human habitation. Above me lay the great ice fields of Co'tbassiare, surmounted, by the silver summits of the Graffeniere and Combin. To my left the sun was going down rapidly behind a forest of smaller peaks, tbe highest of which, as well as I could judge from Ostwaid’s map, was the Mont Blanc de Cfaellou. In ten min utes more'those peaks would be crimsoned; in one short half hour it would be night.' To be benighted' on an Alpine plateau to wards the end of September is not a desirable position. I knew it to!"be by recent experience, and had no wish to repeat the experiment. I thereforehegan retracing my steps as rapidly as I could, descending in a northwesterly di rection, and keeping a sharp lookout for any chalet that might offer a shelter for the night. Pushing forward thus, I found myself present-1 ly at jtbe head of a little ybrdant ravine, chan- , neled, as it were, in the' face of the plateau.: I hesitated. It seemed, through the gathering 1 darkness, as if I could discern -vague traces of a path trampled' here and there in the deep grass. It also seemed as if the ravine tended down towards the upper pastures which were my destination. By following it I could scarce ly go wrong. Where there is grass there are generally cattle and a chalet; and I might possibly find a nearer resting place than I had anticipated. At all events 1 resolved to try it. The ravine proved shorter than I had expect ed, and instead of leading immediately down ward, opened upon a second plateau, through which a well-worn footway had struck, off ab ruptly to the left. Pursuing this footway with what speed I might, I came, in the course of a few minutes, to a sudden slope, at the bottom of which’, in a basin almost sur rounded Jjy gigantic limestone cliffs, lay a small, dark lake, a few fields and a chalet. The rose tintij bad by this- time come and gone, and the snow bad pat on that ghostly grey which proceeds the dark. Before I could descend the slope, skirt the lake, and mount the little eminence bn which the house stood sheltered by Its back ground of rocks, It was already night, and the stars were in the sky. I went to the door and knocked ; no one au sdergd. I opened the door; all was dark; I paused, held roy breath, 1 listened, fancied breathing. 1 knocked again. My second knock was followed by a quick noise, like the push Of a chair, and a man's voice said hoarse ly. ... • - <* \yho j g there f” “ A traveler,” I replied, “ seeking shelter for the night.” A heavy footstep 'crossed theHoor, a sharp flash shot through the darkness, and I saw by the flickering of tinder, a man’s face bending over a’ lantern. Having lighted it, he said, with scarce si glance towards the door, “£n;ep, Sebotei? to ti)t of tf)t Mvtn of JFm&om antf t\)t Spread tjf ©eaXtljp Reform. WHILE THERE SHALL BE a WRONG UNRIGHTED, AND UNTIL "MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN" SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. Select Jloetri?, [From the Daily Morning Chronicle.] THE RIGHT [ IS MIGHT. Select Stotg. WELLSBOEO, TIO6A COUNTY. PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING; MARCH *, 1864. traveler,” and went back to his seat beside tbe empty hearth. . I entered. The chalet was of a better sort tban.tbose usually found at so great an altitude, consisting of a dairy and bouse place, with a loft overhead. A table, with three or four wooden stools, occupied the center of the room. The rafters were hung with bunches of dried herbs and long strings of Indian corn. A clock in a corner; a kind of rude pallet upon trestles stood in a recess beside the fire place ; and through a lattice at tbe farthest end I could bear tbe cows feeding in tbe out bouse beyond. Somewhat perplexed by the manner of ray reception, I unstrapped my knapsack and spec imen box, took possession of the nearest stool, and asked if I conid have supper. .My host looked up with the air of a man in tent on other I repeated the inquiry. “ Yes,” he said* wearily ; “ you can eat, traveler.” With this he crossed to the other side of the hearth stooped over a dark object which until now I bad not observed, crouching in the corner, and muttered a word or, two of unintelligible patois. The object moaned, lifted up a wilder ed woman’s white face, and rose slowly from the floor. The herdsman pointed to the table, and went back to his stool in his former atti tude. The woman, after .pausing helpless, as if in the effort to remember something, went out into the dairy.came back with a brown loaf and a pan of milk, and set before me on the table. As long ns I live I shall never forget the im pression of that woman's face. She was young and very pretty, and her beauty seemed turned to stone. Every feature bore the seal of un speakable terror. Every gesture was mechan ical. In the lines that furrowed'her brow was a haggardness more terrible than the haggard ness of age. In the locking of her lips there was an anguish beyond the utterance of words. Though she served me, I do not think she saw me. There was no recognition in her eyes; no apparent consciousness of any object or cir cumstance external to the secret of her own de spair. ' All this I noticed during the few brief moments in which she brought me my supper. That done, she crept away, abjectly, into the same dark corner, and sank down again, a mere huddled heap of clothing. I As for her husband, there was something unnatural in the singular immobility of' his at titude. There he sat, with his body bent for ward, bis chin resting on bis palms, his eyes staring fixedly at the blackened hearth, and not even the involuntary quiver pf a nerve to show that he lived and breathed, I could not determine his age, analyze and observe his fea-' Cures as I might. lie looked old enough to be fifty, and young enough to be forty; and was a fine, muscular mountaineer, with that grave cast of countenance which is peculiar to the Valusian peasant. I could not eat. The keenness of my moun tain appetite was gone. 1 sat, as if fascinated, in tbe presence of .this strange pair, observing both, and, apparently, by both as mush forgot ten as if J had never crossed their threshold,— We remained thus, by the dim light of the lan-' tern and the monotonous ticking of the clock, for some forty minutes or more, all profoundly silent. Sometimes tbe woman stirred, as, if in pain; sometimes the cows struck their horns against the manger in the out-hoase. The herdsman alone sat motionless, like a man cast in bronze. At length tbe clock struck nine. 1 bad by. this time become so nervous that I al most dreaded to hear my own voice interrupt the silence. However, I pushed my plate nois ily aside, and said, with os much show of ease as I could master: “ Have you any place, friend, in which I can sleep to-night?” He shifted bis position nneasily, and, without looking round, replied in the same form of words as before: “ Yes, you can sleep, traveler.’ “Where? In the loft above?” lie nodded affirmatively, took- the lantern from the table, and turned toward* the dairy. Aa we passed, the light streamed for a moment over the crouching figure in the corner. “Is your wife ill?” I asked, pausing and looking back. His eyes met mine for the first time, and a shudder passed over bis body. “ Tes,” ho said, with an effort. “ She is ill.” \ I was about to ask what ailed her, but some ibing in hfs face arrested the question on my ips. I know not, to this hour, what that some thing was. I could hot define it then: I can not describe it now; but I hope I may never see it in a living face,again. I followed him to the foot of a ladder at tho further end of the dairy. “ Up there 1” he said, placing the lantern in my blind, and be strode heavily back into the darkness. | I went up, and found myself in a long, low granary, stored with corn sacks, hay, onions, rock salt, cheeses, and farming implements.— In one corner were the usual luxuries of a mat tress, a rug,: and a three-legged stool. My first care was to makeasystematro inspection of the loft and ail that it contained. My next, to open a little unglazcd lattice with a sliding shutter, just opposite my bed. The night was brilliant, and a stream of fresh air and moonlight poured in. Oppressed by a strange, undefined sense of trouble, I extin guished the lantern, and I -stood looking out upon the solemn peaks and glaciers. Their solitude seemed to mo more than usually aw ful—l-their silence more than usually profound. Il could not help associating them, in some vague way, with the mystery in the house. I perplexed myself with all kinds of wild con jectures as to.what the nature of that mystery might be. The woman’s face haunted me like an evil dream. Again and again I went from the lattice, vainly listening fur any sound from the rooms below. A long time went hy thus, until at length, overpowered by the fatigues of the. day, I stretched myself on the mattress, took my knapsack for a pillow, and fell asleep. I can guess neither how long my sleep lasted, -nor from what cause I awoke.' 'I only know that my sleep was dreamless and profound— and that I started -from it&uddenly, unaccouot- ably, trembling in every nerve, and possessed by an overwhelming sense of danger. Danger 1 Danger of what kind ?• , From what ? From whence ? I looked round—rj was alone ; and the quiet moon was shining in as serenely as when I fell asleep. I got up, walked to and fro, reasoned with myself—all in vain. I could not stay the beating of my heart. I could not master tho horror that oppressed my brain. I felt that I dared not lie down again ; that I must get out of the house.somehow, and at once; that to stay would be death * that the instinct by which I was governed must at all costa be obeyed. I could not bear it.' Resolved to escape, or, ot all events, to sell life dearly, I strapped on my knapsack, armed myself with my iron headed alpenstock, took my large clasp knife between my teeth, and began cautiously and noiselessly to descend the ladder. "When I was about half down, the alpenstock, which was studiously keeping clear of the ladder, encoun tered the dairy vessel, and sent it clattering to. the.ground. Caution, after this, was useless. I sprang forward, reached the outer room at a bound, and found it, to my amazement, de serted, with the door wide open, and the moon light streaming in. Suspecting a trap, my first impulse was to stand still, with my. back against the wall, prepared for a desperate defence. Ail was silent. I could only hear the ticking of the clock and the heavy heating of my own heart. The pallet was empty. The bread and milk were still standing where I bad left them' on the table. The herdsman’s stool occupied the same spot by the desolate hearth. But he and bis wife were gone—gone in the dead of night—leaving me, a stranger, in the sole occu pation of their home. While I was yet irresolute whether to go or stay, and while 1 was wondering at the strange ness of my position, I heard, or fancied I heard, something—something -that might have been the wind, save that there was no air stirring something that might have been the wailing of a human voice. 1 held my breath; beard it again; followed it, as it died away. I had not far to go. A !'ho of light gleamed under the door of a shed at tho back of tho chalet, and a cry, more bitter and piercing than -atiy I bad yet heard, guided me direst to the spot. I looked in—recoiled with horror—went back, as if fascinated, and so stood for some moments, unable to move, to think, to do any thing but stare helplessly upon the scene before me. To this day 1 cannot recall it, without something of the same sickening sensation. Inside the but, by the light of a pine torch, thrust into an iron sconce against the wall, 1 saw tbe herdsman kneeling by tbe body .'of his wife; grieving over her, like another Othello; kissing her white lips, wiping blood stains from her yellow hair, raving out inarticulate cries of passionate remorse, and calling down all tbe corses of heaven upon his ojvn bead and that of some other man who bad brought this crime upon him I I understood it all now—all tbe mystery, all the terror, all the despair. She bad sinned against him, and be bad slain her. She was quite dead. The.very knife, with its hideous testimony fresh upon the blade, lay near the door. I turned and fled—blindly, wildly; —like a man with bloodhounds on bis track; —now stumbling over stones; now torn by briars; now, pausing a moment to take breath ; now rushing forward faster than before; now bat tling up hill with straining lungs and trembling limbs; now staggering across a level space; now making for tbe higher ground again, and casting never a glance behind 1 At last I reached a bare plateau above the lino of vegetation, where 1 dropped, exhausted. Hero I lay for a lung time, beaten and stupi fied, until the dense cold of approaching dawn forced upon me the necessity of action, I rose and looked on a scene, no feature of which was. familiar to me. The very snow-peaks, though I knew they must be the same, looked unlike the peaks of yesterday. The very glaciers, seen from a different point of view, assumed new forms, ns if on purpose to baffle me. Thus perplexed, I bad no resource but to climb the nearest height, from which it was probable that a general view might be obtained. I did so, just us the last belt of purple mist turned gold en in the east, and the sun rose. A superb panorama lay stretched before me —peak beyond peak, glacier beyond glacier, valley and pine-forest, and pasture slope, all flushed and palpitating in the crimson vapors of the dawn. Here and there I could trace the foam of a waterfall, .or the silver thread, of a torrent; here and there, tho canopy of faint blue smoke, that waved upward from some hamlet among the hills. Suddenly my eyes fell upon a little lake—a sullen pool—lying in the shade of an amphitheatre of rocks some eight hundred feet below. Until that moment, the night and its (errors appeared to have passed away like a wicked vision—but now the very sky seemed darkened above me. Yes, there it all lay at my feet.— Yonder was the path by which X had descended from the plateau, and, lower still, the accursed chalet; with its back ground of rugged cliffs and overhanging precipice. Well migbt they lie in shadow! .Well might the sunlight refuse to touch the ripples of that lake with gold, and to light up the windows of that house with an illumination direct from heaven. j Thus, standing, thus looking down, I became aware of u strange sound—a sound singularly distinct, but far away—a sound sharper and moro hollow than a fall of an avalanche, and unlike anything that I remember to have beard. While I was yet asking- myself what it could he, or whence it came, I saw a considerable fragment of rook detach itself from one of the heights overhanging the lake, bound rapidly from lodge to ledge, and. fall jwith a heavy plash into tho watet below. It was followed by a cloud of dust, and a prolonged reverberation, like the rolling, distant thunder. / Nest moment, a dark fissure sprang into sight, all down the face of the precipice ; the fissure became a chasm—-the whole cliff wavered before my eyes—wavered, parted, sent up a cat aract of_ earth and atones —and slid slowly down, down into the valley. Deafened by the crash, and Winded by the dust, I covered my face with my bands, and as- ticipated instant destruction. The echoes, how ever, died away, and were succeeded by a so lemn silence. The plateau on which 1 stood remained firm and.unshaken. I looked up. The sun was shining as serenely,the landscape sleeping as peacefully, as before. Nothing was changed, save that a wide white scar now de faced one side of the great limestone basin be low, and a ghastly mound of-ruiu filled the val ley at its foot. - Beneath that mound lay buried all record of the crime- to which I had been an unwilling witness. .The.very mountains bad come down and covered it—nature had oblite rated it from the face of the Alpine solitude.— Lake and chalet, victim and executioner; had disappeared forever—the place thereof knew them no more. Japanese Ideas of Europeans. The Japanese Ambassadors have published at Yedo theif impressions of America and Eu rope. They say: “ Of French women, some ore very handsome —for example, the. Empress. They are, how ever, in general, less so than in America. Their noses are sometimes higher than those of the men. They walk like men, taking long steps ; look men in the face, and laugh a great deal, sometimes very loud. In order to make them selves look taller, they make the bonnets stick up.above their beads. Even the modest women dance a great deal. They hang on to the.arms of the men, and there are days when every man has a woman hanging on to his arm. Are they their own wives? We think so. In general, the women enjoy great liberty. What we say of the women of France, applies to those of all Europe. The latter, with the exception of the Dnfeh, ore inferior to the French. We will not ‘ speak of their costume. It is impossible to un derstand it; —in the evening it is not always decent. The men arc stiff, and a little proud or rough. The shopkeepers are haughty, and saluted us only in very middling degree. They did not like ns to derange the articles in their shops much, 4nd doubtless reckoned on our buying a great deal from them. We were ex tremely disgusted at Paris and elsewhere, to ago hoof and mutton, still bloody, exposed in thejnust public shops.. To eat beef is often medicinally useful, but why present it in- the 1 ' eyes of the world ? It was trply shocking to several of our party. The dress of the men ap pears at first sight ridiculous add curtailed however,' it must be convenient ind economical. In Paris, as,in London, every dne walks very fust, as with us when there is a fire. Their houses are so high that they mast fall on the first earthquake.” Wonders op the English Language. —The English language must appear fearfully and wonderfully made to a foreigner. One of them looking at a picture of a number of vessels, said : “ See, wbat-a flock of ships.” lie was told that a flock of ships was called a fleet, but that a fleet of sheep was called a flock. And, it was added, for his guidance in mastering the inaccuracies of our language, that “ of girls, is called a bevy ; that a bevy of wolves is called a pack, and a pack of thieves is called a gang, and a gang of angels is called a host,' and a host of porpoises is called a shoal, and a shoal of buffaloes is called a herd, and a herdof chil dren is called a troop, and a troop of partridges is called a covey, and a. covey of beauties is called a galaxy, and a galaxy of ruffians is called a horde, and a horde of rubbish is called a heap, and a heap of oxen is called a drove, and a drove of blackguards is called a mob, and a mob of whales is called a school, and a school of worshipers is called a congregation, and a congregation of engineers is called a corps, and a corps of robbers is called a band, and a band of locusts is called a swarm, and a swarm of people is called a crowd, and a crowd of gen- j tlomen is called elite, and the elite of tbe city’s thieves aud rascals are called the roughs, and tbe miscellaneous crowd of the city folks is called the community or tbe public, according as they are spoken of by tbe religious commu nity or secular public.” Economy in a Family.— There is nothing which goes so far towards placing young peo ple beyond the reach of poverty, ns economy in the management of household affairs. It matters not whether a man furnishes little or much for his family, if there is a continual leak age in his kitchen or parlor ; it runs away be knows not bow; and that demon Waste cries “ More '.”l like the horse-leech’s daughter, until he that provided has no more to give. It is tbe husband’s duty to bring into the house ; and it is the duty of tbe wife to see that none goes wrongfully out of it. A man gets a’wife to look after bis affairs, and to assist him in bis journey through life; to educate and prepare their children for a-proper station in life, and nut to dissipate his property. The husband’s interest should he his wife’s care, and her greatest ambition to carry her no further than* his welfare or happiness demands, together with that of their children. This should be her sole aim, and the theater of her exploits in the bosom of her family, where she may do as much toward making a fortune us be can in the count- 1 ing room or the workshop. It is not the money earned that makes a man wealthy ; it is what !he saves from his earnings. Self-gratification in dress, or indulgence in appetite, or more company than bis purse can well entertain, are equally pernicious. A letter from out West from a pious indi vidual says: “ Dear Brother; I have got one of the handsomest farms in the State, and have it nearly paid for. Crops ore good and prices were never better. We have had a glorious re vival of religion <in our church, and both of our children {the Lord be praised!) are con verted. Father got to be rathe* an incumber ance, and last week I sent him to the poor house.” “Who is he?” saida passer-by to a police man, who was endeavoring to raise an intoxi cated individual who had fallen into the gutter. “ 'Can’tsay, sir,” replied the policeman ■; “ be can’t give an account of himself.’’ “Of co’orse not,” said the other, withjm expression of much surprise, “how can you expect an account from a man who has lost bis balance?” Rates (if Advertising. AdrerUsements will be charged SI per square of 16 lineal one or three insertion-, and 25 cents lor every subsequent insertion. Advertisements of leas than 10 lines considered as a square. The subjoined rates will be charged for Quarterly, Haff-XearfyacdTtarly advertisements: 1 Square,—, 2 do. 3 „ do. - 7.00 s’,so 10$8 1 Column,™ 8,00 9,50 12 ,60 i do. 15,00 20,00 25,00 I do 25,00 35,00 40,08 Advertisements not haring the number of inser tions desired marked upon them, will be tmhliahed untii ordered out and charged accordingly. ” Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Letter-Heads, and all kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, executed neatly and promptly. Justices', Constable’! and other BLANKS, constantly on hand. , NO. 27. [From tbs Brooklyn Dafly Tfmes.J Romantic History and Death of a Brook* Jya GirL J It is now about a year since a young lady, nineteen years of age, residing in Willoughby street, Brooklyn, beautiful, educated, and ra fined, became possessed of a singular monoma nia. She bad taken a great interest ia the progress of the war, read with the greatest arid ity all the accounts in the newspapers of bat tles, sieges, “'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach," and could think and talk of nothing but glorious war. Soon her actions showed that, ia this particular at least, her brain had been turned with military enthusiasm, and sho announced to her astonished and grief-strickea family that she was a second and modern Joan of Arc, called by Providence to lead our ar mies to certain victory in this great civil con test. Her friends, who are wealthy and highly respectable, in vain tried to combat her delu sion. Medical advice was called in, and a change of scene was recommended by the fami ly physician. In conformity with his counsel, the young lady was removed to Ann Arbor, in the State of Michigan. Why she was taken to so great a distance is not known, hut it ia surmised that her family had near relatives in that vicinity. Her mania, however, continued to increase until it was found necessary to con fine her to her apartment. She, however, sin?-, ceeded in making her escape, repaired to’De troit in male clothes, and joined the drum corps of a Michigan regiment, her sex being known known only to herself. Her regiment was sent to the Army of the Cumberland, and the girl continued to do her duty as a drummer boy, though how she survived the hardshrps-of the Kentucky campaign, where strong men fell in numbers, must forever remain an inscruta ble mystery. The regiment to which she was attached had a place in the division of the gallant Van Cfe'vo, and during the bloody battle of lookout Mountain, the fair girl fell, pierced in the left side by a Minis hall, and when borne to the surgeon's tent her sex was discovered. She was told by the surgeon that her wound waa mortal, and he advised her to give her name that her family might be informed of her fate - . This she finally, though reluctantly, consented to do, and the colonel of the regiment, although suffering himself from a painful wound, be came interested iu her behalf, and prevailed up on her to let him send a despatch to her rathes- This she dictated ia the following manner i ‘Mr. , Xo. Willoughby Street, Brooklyn. “ Forgive your dying daughter. I have but a few momenta to live. Myjnative soil drinks my blood. I expected to deliver my country, but tho fates would not have it so. lam con tent to die. Pray, Pa, forgive me. Tell Ma to kiss my daguerreotype. Emily. “P. S. .Give my gold watch to little Eph." (The youngest brother of the dying girl.) The poor girl was buried on the field on which she fell in the service of her country, which she fondly hoped to save. A lady who signs herself “ A Martyr to Lata Hours,” offers the following suggestions to young men: ■ . “ Deslr gentlemen between the ages of ‘eigh* teen and forty-five,’ listen to a few words of gratuitous advice. When' you make a social' call of su evening, on a young lady, go avay at a reasonable hour. Say you coma at eight o’clock, an boar and a half is certainly as long as the most fascinating of you in conversation can, or rather ought, to desire to nse Lis charms. Two- hours, indeed, can be very - pleasantly spent, with music, chess, or other games, to lend variety ; but, kind sirs, by no means stay longer. Make shorter calls and come oftenet. A girl—that is a sensible troe-hearted girl will enjoy it better, and really value your ac quaintance more. Just conceive the agony of a girl who, well knowing the feelings of father and mother on the subject, hears the cluck strike ten, and yet must sit on the edge of her chair, in mortal terror lest papa should put bis oft repeated threat into execution—that of coming down and inviting the gentleman to breakfast. And we girls understand it all by experience, and know what it is to dread tho prognostic of displeasure. In such cases a sigh of relief generally accompanies the clo sing of the door behind the gallant, and one don't get over the fooling of trouble till safe in the arms of Morpheas. Even then sometimes tho dreams are troubled with some phantom of an angry father ahd[distressed (for all parties) mother; and all because a young man will make a longer call than he ought to. Now, young gentlemen friends, I’ll tell you what we girls will do. For an hour and a half we will be most irresistibly charming and fascinating; then, beware, monosyllabic responses will bo . all you need expect. And if, when-the limits sh&ll have been passed, a startling query shall be heard coming down stairs, “ Isn’t it time to close op V you must consider it a righteous punishment, and, taking your bat, meekly de part—a sadder, and ft is to he hoped, a wiser man. Do not get angry; but the next time you come bo careful to keep within just hounds. We want to rise early those pleasant mornings, and improve the shining hours; but when forced to be up at such unreasonable hoars at . night, exhausted nature will speak, and, as a natural consequence; with tho utmost speed in dressings we cun barely get down to breakfast in time, to escape a reprimand from papa, who don’t believe 4n beaux—as though he never was young—and a mild, reproving glance front mams, who understands a little better poor daughter’s feeling, but must still disapprove outwardly, to keep up appearances. And now, young men, think about these things and don’t —for don’t—throw down your pa per with a 1 * pshaw I’ but remember the sofa side of ten.’’ An officer, who was inspecting his company one morning, spied dbe private whose shirt was sadly begrimmed. “ Patrick O'Flynn!’’ called out the Captain. w Here, yer honor," promptly responded Patrick, with his hand to hiscap.—* How long do yon wear a shirt ?" thundered the officer. “ X wenty-eight inches,” wek An rejoinder. 3 hoxibs. SaoxTna. 12 iiosißl 53,00 $4,50 $6,00 3,00 6,50 <OO Advice to Young Men.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers