The Tioga County Agitator: BT M. H. COBB. ■o .Wistioierery Wednesday morning and mailed to pipjrianant postage free to county subscribers, , w r mir receive their mail at post-offices 10-tei -tei is counties immediately adjoining, for conven- S 'xj£* A aITAT33 IS cil 6 ©moial paper of Tioga’Co., j circulates in every neijjhborbqod therein. Sub fjtiplio'tu being on the jdr.mce.pay system", it cirou- Isles among )' cIiSS a,it t 0 tha interest of advertisers to reach. farms to advertisers as liberates those of fered vy jjnr paper of equal circulation in Northern Pennsylvania. tst?~ A cross on the margin of a paper, denotes lbs* . ne snbscriptioa is about to expire. r t’.'por; ’.Till be stopped rrhen the subscription jiJ,-spires, unless the agenturders their continu trec. _ _ fiS, LOIVREY & St P. W.IXSOI9, . 1 rORNEYS & COUNSELLORS*? LAW, Ji. itUI attend the Courts of Tiogs, Oct. 5, 1864-rly. - _.j F[ HUGH YOUMG,; ; , Bookseller. & statiosl^b, AND SEA LCD IK r^'{ fe 1 ?" 1 Clicks. American, EngUah, and. (wiaa r‘, ■ 5! J.walry, Silver Plated Were, Spe* jfflc«, Ffficiof. PliotogrcpMc Albamt*, Stereo* &pc?, ?*‘[? ,5 'P es ’ Perfumery, Yankee Notions, £ ting -Mp and Flies, and Fancy and Toilet Artif* I? SCHOOL BOOKS of every kind jr the constantly on Land and sent by joth ‘^ v£fi j to erdor. • i -/!< ■£°- y C'.N'/G.V BLOCK, TrELLSBGRO,':[ U. REVENUE STAMPS, *hf- A l ~ ASSCETMEXX of Revenue ;$ imps sns minat\ons, jast received at tli» First '• C°i &4 t °f Wellsboro, in the Store, bu'&ng * t ,.’ * L> Robinson. Persons wanting Btats£ % are r? 1° get a supply. y ? May 25, 1864-tf. j —""hereas, my, tvife, CAROLES/ > Iras [ !t ted end board without just ca. |a cr 5 1 tereby forbid #ll peisons ngg* c } 'J ter cn my account, for I shall pay ,Ob |?6ts !! "otatUng after ttie date. %} I-,,.. „ CHARLES V BWtM. ‘• IE -«*. Soy. 23,18 _ By the flash of his eye, and his resTnostrih play, He Seemed to the whole great army to say : u I bavo brought you Sheridan all tho way From Winchester down to save tho day !” Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man I And when their statues are placed on high Under the dome of tho Union sky, The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There with the glorious General's name Be it said in letters both bold and bright: “ Here is the steed that saved the day ' By carrying Sheridan into the fight. From Winchester—twenty miles away !” li&fgcelXsiig. THE PERSE. OF HARTHA WARREN, a stout or the amonoosuck biter. “ Good bye, Martha. God help you! I shall be back in three days, at the farthest.” The hardy "White Mountain pioneer, Mark "Warren, kissed bis young wife, held his two year old boy to his breast for a moment, and then shouldering the-sack of corn which was to be converted into meal at the rude mill, for ty miles away trudged off through the wilder ness. Martha Warren stood at the door of the log cabin, gazing out after the retreating form of her husband. An angle of the dense shrub bery bid him from view, but still she did not return to the solitary kitchen; It looked so dark and lonesome there, she shrank from en tering ; or perhaps the grand sublimity of the view spread out before her, held her attention and thrilled her soul with that unexplained something that we-all feel when standing thus face to face with the works of His fingers. • The finest and most satisfactory view of the White Mountains is that which presents itself froijn what is now the town of Bethlehem, on the rood to Littleton and Franconia. Mount Washington, the king among princes, is there seen in his proper .place—the centre of the rock-ribbed range, towering, bald, blue and unpaproaobable. Far up in the wild clearing, close by lbs tur bid waters of the Amonoosuck, was the cot tage situated—a place wild and eyrie enough for the nest of an eagle, but dear to the heart of Martha Warren, as the home where she had spent the happy days of her young wifehood. When she had turned from jmany a patrician suitor, in the fair old town of Portsmouth, to join her fortunes with those of the young set tler, it was with the full and perfect under standing of the trials that lay before her. She would walk in no paths of roses for years to come; much of life must be spent in the eternal solitudes, where silence was broken on ly by the wild winds of the forest, the shriek of the river over the sharp rocks, or the distant howl of thered-montbed wolf afar in the wil derness. The necessary absence of her husband she dreaded most. It was so very gloomy to close up her doors at night and sit down by her lonely fireside, with the consciousness that there was no human being nearer to her than the settlement at Lord’s Hill, ten miles away through the pathless woods. There was little to fear from Indians, al though a number of scattered tribes yet roamed over these primeval bunting grounds. They were mostly disposed to be friendly, and . Mrs. Warren’s kind heart naturally prompted her to many acts of friendship to wards them, and an Indian never forgets" a benefit. The purple mist cleared array from the scarred forehead of the dominant old moun tain, the yellow bud peered over the rocky wall, and Martha turned away to the perfor mance of her simple domestic duties. The day was a long one, but it was toward eve ning, and the gloaming comes much sooner in these solitudes than in any other places. The sunlight faded out of the nnglazed win dows, though it would illumine the distant mountains for some time yet, and Martha went out in the scanty garden to inhale tho odor of the sweet pinks on the one meagre root she had brought)from her old home. The spicy perfume carried her back in nmroory to those days away in the past, spent with kind friends and cheered by bright, hopes. But though the thought of home and kindred made her sad, not for a moment did she regret.the fate she had chosen. Absorbed in thought, she bad not observed the. absence of Charlie, her little boy; now she saw with vague uneasiness that he had been and was hot to be seen. She called his name, but only echo and the roar of tbe swollen river replied. ; She flew back to the-houw,- the- faint hope remaining that he might have returned thith er for his pet kitten; bnt no, the kitten was mewing at the window, but no signs of Char lie. With frantic haste she searched the clear ing, but without success. Her next thought was the river I black as night, save where it fleckered with spots of snow-white foam—it flowed on but a few rods below her. She hur ried down the brink, calling out, “ Charlie! Charlie!" The child's small voice at some little dis tance replied. She followed the sound, and to her horror saw her boy—his golden hair and rosy cheeks clearly defined against the purple twilight sky—standing on the very edge of the huge, drenched rock, some ten feet from the shore, but in the sweeping current of the riv er 1 This rock', called by the settlers “ The Pul pit,” was a good situation for casting fishing lines, and Mark Warren had bridged the nar row chasm between it and the shore with a conple of hewn logs. Allured by some clusters of flaming firweed growing on the side of tbe Pulpit, Charlie had crossed over, and now stood there, regard less of danger, laughingly holding out the flo ral treasures to his mother. Martha flew over the frail bridge, and the next instant held her child in her arms.— Joyful because she had found him uninjured, and mentally resolving that the logs should be removed to prevent further accident. She turned to retrace bet steps, but the sight that met her eyes froze hbr with horror to the spot. Confronting her on the bridge, not six feet distant was an enormous wolf, gaunt and bony with hunger, his eyes blazing like live coals through mirk and gloom, his hot, fetid breath scorching the very air she breathed. A low growl of intense satisfaction stirred the air, answered by the growl of fifty more of his kind, belonging to the pack ; in another moment they would bo upon her 1 Without an instant’s thought of the conse quence,, -Martha obeyed her first impulse, ami Btrack the log, with her foot, exerting all her mad strength in the blow. The frail fabrio tottered, the soft earth gave way, there was a breath of awful suspense, and then the bridge went down with a dull plunge into the waters beneath 1 The sharp claws of the wolf had al ready’fixed on the scant vegetation of the rock, and he held there a moment, struggling with a ferocious strength to gain a foothold; the next he slid -down into the chasm, uttering a wild howl of disappointed rage. Martha sank on her knees and offered up a fervent prayer-of thanksgiving for her escape ;. simultaneously with the heartfelt “amen” came a dread reollection. The bridge formed the only connecting link between the Pulpit and the main land, and that was sever ed 1 True, she was not more than twenty feet distant from the shore of the river, but she might as well have been thousands of miles out in the ocean. The water was deep, and it ran with almost inconceivable rapidity, forty or fifty feet below her, over rocks so sharp and jagged that it made her skiver to look over the brink. Her only, hope was in her husband. Should he return at the expected time, they might still be alive: but if by any accident he should be detained beyond that time 1 She closed her eyes, and besought God for protection and help. Cold and hungiy, and drenched by the mist of the river, Charles began to cry for home. She could bear anything better than that. She took off her own garments to fold around him, and held him to her breast and sang him the sweet cradle songs which had so often soothed him. But the fierce howls of the wolves, ?nd the sullen thunders of the river, filled her little heart with terror, and all the long dark night through, he olung to her neck, sleeplessly cry ing to go home to papa. Day dawned at last, the pale snn swimming through a sickly sky, the pallid forecast of a storm. Weak and faint from hunger, and suffer ing intensely from cold—for summer is no bearer, of tropical smiles in that inhospitable clime —Martha paced back and forth the nar row limits of the rook. Noon came—the faict gun declined—it was night again. A cold fog sank down over the mountain, followed by a drizzling rain, which befote morning changed to a perfect deluge. The river rose fearfully, foaming milk-white down the gorge, filling the air with a thundering roar, like the peal of an imprisoned earthquake. The day that followed was no better—only gray rain, and ashen white mist—not a ray of sunshine. A new fear rose in the heart of Martha War-, ren. The turbulence of the stream must have swept away the bridge over which her husband would cross on his return, and he would be de tained —for days, may be for weeks. She gave up all for lost. Strongly and fear fully was she tempted to fold her child in her arms and plunge into, the cauldron beneath, and thus end all her fear and doubt. It would be better; she thought, than to suffer that slow, painful death of starvation. But something held her back—God’s curse was on those who, do self-murder. Towards night a lost robin, beaten about by the storm, stopped to rest a moment on the rock; Martha seized upon him and rent him in twain, with almost savage glee, for her child to devour raw—she, who three days before would have wept at the sight of l ,a wounded sparrow. Another night ahd day—like the other, only more intensely agonising. Martha Warron was sullenly indifferent now ; suffering had every noble feeling. Charlie had moaned for 'supper —too weak and spent to sit up, he was lying on the kook his head in her lap, his great eyes fixed on' her face. She tors open a vein in her arm with her scissors, and made him drink the blood ! Any thing, she said to herself, to calm the wild, wistful yearning of his eyes. The boy. raised—he sat up, and peered through the darkness. " Mamma,” ha said, “ papa is coming! I felt him touch met” She wept at the mockery, and drew the child ‘frantioally-t-6fher4>c3oci. — '—. The night was fair—lit up by a new moon. Overcome by a deadly exhaustion, against which she could make no resistance, Martha fell into an aneasy slumber, which, toward midnight, was broken by a startling cry. She sprung to her feet and gazed around her. Noi her eye* did not deceive her—there on the shore stood the stalwart form of her hus band, and he was calling her name with the energy of despair. §he conld only cry out, “ Oh, Mark i Mark!” and fell senseless to the earth. When she woke to consciousness, she was ly ing on her own hed in the cottage, supported by her husband’s arms. It was no dream. She and her darling boy were safe, and be had come back. Many weeks passed before she grew stoat again, but Mark tended her as a mother would an infant, and by the time tbe autumn frosts fell, she was the blithe Martha Warren of old. At the time of the freshet, the bridge over the Amonoosuck had indeed been swept away, but Mark, impelled by an uncontrollable fear— almost presentiment—bad crossed the river at the risk of bis life, on a log raft, and reached home only to find it vacant. The descendants of Mark Warren and his wife still dwell among tbe fertile valleys of Amonoosuck, and the old menl still tell their geandchildren the story of Martha Warren and her child. VODEOOX MYSTERIES AND CRIMES. Among the ancient superstitions imported with the black race from Africa, none hag re tained snch a fixed impression upon the mind of the negro as Vondouxism. Here, in Cuba, in Jamaica, and in Bayti, it has always pre sented more or less of its old characteristics ; though cannibalism and the sacrifice of human victims to the Fetisoh god have, in a great measure, been superseded by less revolting rites and ceremonies. On hundreds of occasions, within the last quarter of a century, the police or the city have interrupted Toudonx orgies, and thousands of our inhabitants, both white and colored, have believed themselves to be the victims of Voudoux spoils. It is particularly in affairs of tbe heart that the New 'Orleans followers of Voudoux have woven their charms and incantations, and but for the degradation involved, their ceremonies might be looked up on as interestingly ridiculous. A nude dance around a central altar, in presence of the Fe tisoh queen ; a caldron boiling and bubbling in tbe decoction of virtues from more varied ingredients than those used by the weird sis ters of Macbeth’s blasted heath; the'excite ment caused, by the wildly-intoxicating fumes of the strange distillation : the distribution to tbe faithful of charms and conjurations rife with mighty magic—all these are features in the rude ceremonial, which imposes the igno rant and inspire awe in bosoms of believers in Fetish orthodoxy. Almost every ancient Creole family had its Voudoux worshiper in its list of family servants, and sometimes my “ young mistress” was half indoctrinated into the be lief by her faithful nurse, and the spells were woven to bring lovers to her feet. Occasionally strange deaths were attributed to Voudonxism, and whispers of foul play were not wanting; but generally, the ceremonies were looked upon as a comparatively harmless vent for the gas of Congo superstition. Curi ous things of various kinds confidently believ ed to be of Fetisoh manufacture, are frequently found in pillows or matresses, and how they get there no one can tell. These ere held to mean mischief, and on weak minds they often produce imaginary ailments, till countercharms are invoked to exorcise the first nnholy influ ences. Recently, in Hayti, eight Voudoux de votees were tried and executed for the murder or sacrifice, as they called it, of a young De press. By command of the President, and un der an order of the council attaohed.to the civ il tribunal of Port-au-Prince, it was . declared that there was sufficient cause to proceed against Juana Pells, Floreal Apollon, Guerrier Francois, Congo Pellie, Jullien Nicolas, Nere ina Francois, Roseida Sumera, and Beyard Prosper, for murder committed on the person of a young girl named Clarina. The trial took place in due form, when it appeared that the aunt and uncle of the deceased had a hand in the butchery. Congo Pellie, the uncle, sta teed that the god of his worship had ordered him to offer up a human sacrifice. He commu nicated tho fact to his sister Juana, and they agreed together that their niece, Clarina, sho’d be the victim. After making all the arrange ments the girl was led to the slaughter by Congo. She was first placed in a mysterious sort of box called the “ Humfort,” with her limbs closely bound to her body. There she was kept for four days, a peculiar description of sacrificial food being daily administered to her, and as soon as she was sufficiently prepar ed by .suffering, Juana strangled her by vio lently compressing her throat;’ while Floreal pressed in her sides and Guenifir held her by the feet. Thus,"in fearful convulsions, the poor child died. Floreal then took a knife, and, after sep arating the head from the body, skinned the latter while it was yet warm. This done, they quarreled over the carcase, each contending for choice portions os the material for a hellish feast; and after the first part of the diabolical banquet was over, they cooked the girl’s head with yams, of which each fiendishly partook. Subsequently the skull was placed npon an al tar, and Juana, taking a bell in hat hand. cir cled round and round, followed by others, all chanting a mysterious song. When this cere- Rates of Advertising. Advertisements will be charged $1 per iqaare of It lines, one or three insertions, and 25 cents for every subsequent.insertion» Advertisements of lenthan 10 lines considered- as a square. The subjoined rates will be qbarged for Quarterly. Half-Tnrl; and Yearly advertisements: \ 3 JCOXTHS. 6*OSTB3. 12JfOKiH» .....5-1,00 $5,75 1T,50 I I | o 8,00 8,25 30,00 ? „ “» •••■• 8,75 10,75 12,50 1 Column, 10,00 12.00 16,75 4 do 18,75 , 25,00 81,50 1 dor 30,00 42,00 80,08 Advertisements not having tho number of inters tiona desired, marked upon them, will be published until ordered out and charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads, Better-Heads, and all kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, executed neatly and promptly. Justices’,Constable's and other BLANKS, constantly on band. NO, 15. mony was finished, the skin and entrails were buried, and the bones, which had previously been burnt, were, with the blood, placed ia earthen vessels and carefully preserved. Part of these facts came out by the confess ion of some of the parties, and more were elic ited from a girl named Losama, who had been kidnapped and kept in confinement as the next victim. This girl had been obliged to carry food to Clarina during the four days of prepa ration. At the execution of the eight Voudonx mur derers, the people cried out, “ Long live the Emperor of Hayti 1 Long live civilization 1” The mysterious-Quarter of Mutton, The following' incident, said to have occur red “ Out 'West” proves that it is not always safe to judge from appearances. In a district adjoining a large forest, wolves were so plenty that it was impossible to keep sheep, and only now and then a “ cosset” was raised as a pat, A good Deacon had reared one with much troub le, and as it had become rather troublesome, ha killed it. Mutton . was a great treat in those parts, so he reserved one quarter for himself, one for the minister, and- divided the remainder into small portions and distributed it among his few neighbors. The minister's portion was placed jn an out-building for safe keeping until the next day, but in the morning it was nowhere to be found ; some one bad sto len it, and the pelt in which it was wrapped. Greatly disappointed, the Deacon and hia wife resolved tcjl make some amends for the loss to the minister, and therefor* selected their nicest chseie, placed it into a covered bas ket, and sent it with a polite note by their two boys. It was berrying time, and the boys made frequent stops both going and coming. When they returned, great was the surprise of the deacon to find a note from the minister cordially thanking him for the present of a quarter of mutton, and asking him to accept the gift contained in tho basket as an expres sion of his regard. “ Mutton 1 Mutton 1” said the Deacon, "he was probably thinking of the sheep I killed yesterdy, when I wrote the note; but let ns examine the basket.” He opened it and there was a flat stone 1 The Deacon was a good man, but this aroused his indignation, and he oonld not refrain from speaking harsh ly of such treatment from one he had always oonsiderared his friend. By the advice of his wife, in the afternoon he called on the minister for an explanation, taking with him a small out of mutton for a peace offering. The minister and his wife had just gone oat, and as the deacon was talking with their little girl,. he happened to look into an open pantry, and there spied the very quarter df mutton stolen from him the night previous—be knew it by the marks he had made in dressing it.— Without another word he seized it. and went home in great wratb, convinced that the minis ter was a thief, and determined to have noth ing more to do with him. The minister oa his return was equally indignant at the con duct of the Deacon, but prudently resolved to say nothing of the matter. For three weeks after, the deacon and his family were absent from tbs church. Everybody wondered why, but he would make ho explanations, neither would the minister. Finally a meeting of tbs church members was called, with the deter mination of having the strange actions qf the deacon explained, and he resolved to leit the whole story out. He told the circumstances, and expressed great grief at what he consid ered the shameful conduct of the minister.— The latter gentleman then made his state ment. He said that the deacon’s boys had brought him a quarter of mutton in a basket, and that in return he had placed there a neat Family Bible. Everybody now looked at hia neighbor wondering what it could mean ; soma thought them both crazy, others thought of witchcraft. All was still as the grave-for some minutes, when there arose a man former ly known as Wicked Will, who had lately re formed and joined the church. " Brethren,” said ha in a trembling voice, “I stole the quarter of mutton. On my way home in the night, I was chased by wolves, and climbed a tree for safety, where I had to stay until they went away in the doming. Being afraid to take the meat home |jy daylight, I hid it in the woods, but to make cure of it, I stayed near the place, intending to carry it away ear ly in the evening. While there, the Deacon's boys came along, and from my hiding place I heard them speaking of what had happened. I also found that it was too warm for the meat to keep through the day, and so when they were busy gathering berries, I slipped the cheese out of the basket, and put in the meat.- When they returned they stopped again, and hearing them speak of a present for the Dea con, I examined the basket, and finding a nice package there, I thought it might be valuable, so I took it out, and put in tho stone. But that is not all. On reaching home safely, I opened my package to examine tho prize.— While carelessly turning over the leaves, my eye fell on tho passage, “ Thou shaft not steal,” and from that moment I found no peace until I became a changed man.” Thus the whole mystery was solved, and the Deacon and the Minister were not only reconciled, hut they both heartily rejoiced together that their tem porary loss of peace had resulted in so great a good as the reformation of Wicked Will. Deplorable. —About three 'weeks since, a child two years old, in Huron township, Canada, strayed from its home and got lost in'the wood*. Although upwards of two hundred nejghpors turned out to search, it was not found until! a week-ago, when it was discovered suspended by its clothing to a snag, with its head downward* and one foot and a portion of its leg gone. It appears to have been climbing over the log, when it fell_ off and caught by its clothing. It was in a thicket not over a hundred yards from the house, and was passed a number of times by those in search. —Hiqh blood, like the finest wine, nay be kept so long that it shall entirely lose its flavor. Hence tbs last man of an old family may be like the last bottle of a famous vintage—a thing, to talk of not to use.