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No paper discontinued, until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the proprietor. ADVEIITISEMENTS, making not more than one square, will be inserted three time's for one dol lar and for every subsequent insertion twenty. five cents. Larger advertisements, charged in the same proportion. Those not exceeding ten lines will be charged seventy-flee cents, and those making six lines or less, three insertions fur 50 cents. 13:•et liberal deduction will be made to those who advertise by the year. Or Office in Hamilton 'St., one door East of the Heiman Reformed Church, nearly opposite t he ..Friedensbote" Office. Millers' Boot and Shoe Store In .11lenlown. The subscriber takes this method to in form his friends, and the public in general, that he has lately established a new • BOOT & SHOE • Store, .4110 1 4 in the fourth frame shop, east of the Allentown Hotel, on the North side of Hamilton street, No. 9. Where he has 'fitted up a splendid Store Raotn, and. will be, prepared •with a large assortment of finished: work to accomodate his cUstomers eyery branch of his busi ness. The folloyving are named among some of his prices; Fine Calf Skin Boots, from $3 50 to $5 25 Coarse stout , do-; 2, 50 to 350 Boys', - do:; ,; . ,; do., _ ; :, 1 oo ' to 2 25 Ladies7lVlorocco.Slippera, -- 70 to 125 Misses, and Childrens according to quality, and sizes. • He will soil at Philadelphia prices. Whole sale and RetsiLand to Country Merchants, will, make . a very liberal deduction. As he always employs the best of work- Mint, mid vvorks up the beskmaterials in the market,,he is enabled to stand for any work turned out by him, and' feels Confident that the same will prove- satisfactory to his customers. • Persons therefore will - see to their advan tage, and call on him before purchasing else where.: • • . He retells his sincere thanks for the many favors , he• has. received from a kind public, and - bymoderate , prices;iood work, and due Meentionito , husinessi.hopes to merit a con in uance of the•eame.:;. -DANIEL MILLER. P - -8m March 23..1853. -1191111 L * lit the Court of Common Pleas of Lehigh courtly , the ,, matter of the Account of. David 14 , 1. ,Kistler and Elias Mantz, AssignuctotJacob Mtlntz Wet under a voluntary lassignment:•- • And now, May 3; ifis3; the Court appoint ed Samuel J. Kistler, to audif;reeettle the ac count and make distribution according to law. • From the Records. Tearr.---F, E. SAMUELS, Proth. The Auditorappointed in the above order, will meet for the purpose of his appointment on Saturday thellE•th day of June next, at 10 o'clock in'the, forenoon at the house of Peter .11101er, ,ta Heidelburg township, where all those i nte rested can reste attend if they • see proper. • ,Juno 1,1863. mann MAUL iii' In the o:phans . Court of Lehigh - , County. -•. In the matter of the Account Of , - ,:- David &nib and Samuel J.-Kist ler, Adminietrators of John Smith dec'd. And now Mai 8; 1858, the court appoint ed John SaegerikeptiGerman and Samuel Camp, auditors bandit and iiisettle the ac count and make distribution ticcording to law, and make. report ;thereof- ,to :the, next stated , Orphans Court:including all,the evi dence, which maybe submitted before them. .riem stige.Reeordi. ' ...',.. .: ~ Tatt'xs—ll 51EItGER • - dlerk. The: Auditors in the above nr der, wilrateralor the purpose of their-ap poiadrient3OkSaturday the 18th dayofJune next,at:loi4lOck; in the forenoon at the bout!) orPgef Welter, in Heidelburg town ship, where;allitlitise interested can attend if they see prOtaii; June 1, 18513:•y -. ; :... 300 'lliozeitEtififilivo' The lindeisiglied !lava net received Three Hundred 120:ien0 with Tin and Winlter.fiicii'ilikt IPOleititle'auct at - liar/le* -` PRFO.7 4 ; GUTh &Co. Allen!e)tl), February 28, 'IL-4w Poetical 313cpartment. The Life Guage. They err who measure life by years, With false or thoughtless tongue; Some hearts grow old before their time ; Others are always young! • 'Tis not the number of my lines On Life's fast filling page 'Tie not the pulse's ad ded . throbs Which constitutes their age. Some souls are Serfs among the free, . While others nobly thrive; They stand just where their fathers stood , . Dead, even while they live Oihers, all . spirit, heart and sense— " Theirs t he mysterftius power To live, in thrilll of joy or we, A twelve month In an hour! Seize, then, the minutes as they pass— The woof of life is THOUGHT ! •W arin colors—let them glow, * By fire or fancy fraught. Live to some purpose—make thy life A gift of use to thee! A Joy, a good, a golden hope, A heavenly argosy! 'rhe Graves of a Household They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one house with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide, O'er stream, and, mound, and sea. The same found mailer bent at night , O'er each fair sleeping brow, She Had each folded flower In sight— .Whcre are those dreamers now 3 The sea, the lone blue sea halls one; He lies where pearls lie deep; He, was the loved of all, yet none O'er'his lone grave may weep. One where Spanish vines are dressed, ' Above the noble slain; He rapped his colors round his breast, In a biood-rcd field of Spain. One- 'midst the forest of the west, 13y a dark stream is laid; The Indian knows his place of rest, Far in the forest shade. And one o'er her the myrtle beds Its leaves by soft winds fanned; She faded' midst Italian flowers, The last of that fair band! - - . The Dying Atheist. I have looked my last on the glorious earth, And the golden light of day ; For the sun that rises to•morrow morn Will shine on my lifeless clay: The beings above me still will act The drama of life and ticath, While I shall be sleeping a dreamless sleep In the damp, cold ground beneath. I have trod the earth but two - score years, Yet I find it a weary path : I have borne with the scorn and hate of fools, And the biggot's fiery wrath, • Because I would not be (heir slave, And could not stoop to bow Asp meek and humble suppliant To a Glob I do not know. But that is past: it matters not ; 'I care not now for that ; • I've paid them back with acorn for scorn, And ten-fold hate for bale ; I envy not their coward fear Of their tyrant-(ion's decree ; And the Heaven they would revel in ~ Would be a Hell for me., .• • • --3 w But oh ! that the friends ,that loved me once, And shrank from my side in fear, When wakened thought first urged•me on To my dark and lone career— That only one were here, to soothe .b My fearful aoguitib now; That the gentle bend of love might wipe The death-damp from my brow ! But it may not be:l have lived alone,. And alone I fain would die: I would have no biggot here to mark My dying agony ; To welt with curious ;eel. to mitch . My last wild, faltering breath, And read. in thepraug of the• parting soul, • A Graven fear of-Death. Afraid of DIILTH !..4111311/1 . joy to see " His ghastly form by my side; And I long to chap elreleton-band As a lot!er clasps Isis bride: ror lit i oomlne will end theweariness Of a eorrow-bardentl , biepst, And lead me awarfrom a /nylon life: wtTo along amtdreamiess rest: *•.-8w etreeto of LOUOtotter•one Dean pwkit wee accosted :6 . 3.A diuukerk,wea.• staggering oitunetlia, l ,royerettee said: beep epinhing it out"' • 2 iiYesiet ee you ' , and POW' you are reeling it horne.'' ALLENTOWN, LEHIGH COUNTY, PA., JUNE 8, 1853 ,ffligiellOntous ,etlettiono. Affecting, but True Story of N. York. It was past•mtdnight on a wet, chilly night in November lash when a good natured son of Erin rings at the door of a handsome three story house in Nintb street. The oc cupant of the dwelling, a jaded, worn-out doctor, is just in his first nap. He has had a hard day's work of it, and only an hour ago returned, after bidding.a final farewell to the last patient on his list. But he hears the tinkling of his door-bell by intuition, and ri ses mechanically to its summons. 'A head, comfortably capped for the night, looks down from the second-story window upon the per spiring messenger below. "Who's there f„ docthor, are ye there ? Sure you're wanted." "Who wants me ?" ..Th s 3 woman, sir." "'What woman my friend ?" "Sure' docthor, it's the'widdy—the ppor widely that lives forenonst our house, up the alley in Aist Broadway." "Is it Mrs. 'l'nrnley you mean ?" "Yis ; sure ye might know that with half the palaver." "Ah, poor soul Very well, my friend, I will go to her directly." The good man has no hope of a fee in this ' case. It is a call upon his humanity, and his humanity responds to it religiously.— There are many -such in • the ranks of our medical men, and many an act of Samaritan • charity is perfomed like this, in the still hour of midnight, without the aid even of a street-limp to glorify it in the eyes of the world. While the 'doctor is throwing on his cloth eS, lighting his lantern, and performing his journey of charity, lot us look into the house of the poor vviclow. It is a small room, in rear building occupied by several poor fami lies ; but this room is the home of Mrs. Turtiley and her little daughter—a child three years old. - 'l'hey have lived here to gether for a year past, ever since the hus band and father died. Being alone, they were too poor then to live in better apart ments ; but in this place the mother had sup-. ported herself and child by sewing, until her health gave way, and then they still lived together on public and private charity. She had known Dr. Galen when her hus band lived; and once or twice since, when severely ill, she had made bold to trespass on his friendship by calling in his profes sional skill—nor had she ever called in vain. In this little room we see by the gleam of a feeble lamp the wasted form of its principal tenant lying upon a miserable bed. The fire that hail been built in a small stove has died out, and there is no more coal to renew it. The room does not contain a chair, but, seated upon an inverted box near the bed, is a woman who has come in from an ad joining tenement, and on. her lap sleeps the child, unconscious alike of its loneliness and its poverty. On a small shelf over the fire place stand two or three glass vials that have been used for medicines, and by them lies a sealed packet directed to Dr. Galen. Beyond this, the room is bare. The physician arrives, and as he enters the room, the kind woman who has kept watch by the bed rises silently and moves aside. He takes the seat that she has just left, and tenderly places his finger upon the wrist of the patient. Hp can scarce discov er a motion of the pulse. • He examines her features. They are calm and placid as sleep ing infancy, but sharp and ghastly. Death has set its seal there, and her lingering breath is so faint Abut it is hardly to be per. ceived, tre administers a stimulant, and she revives_a little. He calls her by name, and he feels the responsive pressure of her hand. She is sensible. ' She knows his voice, but she cannot speak ; yet her faint, fluttering heart seems full with emotion.— She tries to utter a word—she struggles— but the effort has ended with a piteous groan—and with that man her breath has ceased, The poor widow is no more ! "Broken-hearted !" murmured the sym pathetic doctor, as a tear rolled froni hisseye. "That woman died 'broken-hearted."' "Here's a letter she bade me give you," said. the woman. reaching towards hirn'tbe packet that had lain on the shelf. at woe to give it you after she died." Surprised. the doctor took,' the paper from her hand, and adjusting his , spectacles, ex amined the superscriiiiiii* the light of the lamp. It was dilicteil• ins beautiful hand my friend, Doctor Galero2 l - • - Assured that itwas iti'ttuth intended for him, the good - man brok e the aiOal. He read but a few worati, when, with.' , a look of as tonishment, and alraosi of horror, he turned again towards the lifelestaerm by his aide. Eagerly ho sought 'lot one remaining operk of 'vitality. „Oa:pressed 4thailcold_.wrist4' placed his ear cloae JO her hearti,aqd ed—bui in vain .: ; all was mill, - 14104- and. death-like. • • 1, "s 1 good waniati . .', l, said : the' dockari • pla cing e unperred letter in hießocket, stet, assistance, and' prefinre , bodY-91 - thtirpoor lady for the coffin. You shall be' pal&•ter your trouble. Let no one remove the body; I will see to her funeral, Good night." "But the child," said the-woman,-nrrest ing his attention as he was leaving - the room—"what's to be done with the child ?" "True, I had forgotten ; I will take care of that, too," said the doctor, lifting it from a bundle of rags where the _woman had placed it. The child thus disturbed, and half dreaming, murmuringly pronounced the word "Mamma." "Poor thing l" said the doctor, "you shall see your mamma once more, in the mornin g ." Then wrapping it carefully in his cloa k, he set forth home ward: It was no small task that the worthy physician undertook to perform—to carry a . child three years old, a lantern, and a stout walking-stick, a whole mile through the muddy streets on a night of Egyptian dark ness. But he accomplished it; and havjiw •seen his little charge safely deposited in a warm and comfortable bed, he retired to his library, and lighting the gas, sat down to peruse at leisure the story of the poor widow. It began thus : kind and true Friend : Pride alone has hitherto sealed my lipstgainst your im perative request to know something of my history. ; but now that I know that the hand of death is near, and that very soon I must pass beyond the influence of all human pas sions, I look with trembling to the future of one that I must hiave behind—my precious child—my adored innocent, an orphan, friendless and unprotected—to the cold vi cissitudes of an unfeeling world. Take her, my dear friend, and entreat for - her,- in the name of is neglected and heart-broken moth er, the care and protection of her haughty kindred. You will do this—l know you 1 will, when . you have learned by brief; sad story. um the daughter of (here appeared the name•of a wealthy. and well-known citizen of New Yorlc, who is now livieg„) and un der... his princely and aristocratic roof I was reared and• educated a child of luxury: This is enough to tell you who I was how . I became what lam you shall know. About five years ago _(l was' then•sixteen years of age.) while on a short sojourti with my pa rents in Rockland county, by an imprudent act of my own, my life was placed in instant jeopardy, from which, at the risk of his own, was relieved by the strong and willing hand of one who till then had been to me a perfect stranger. I knew not his station or connections, having never seen him before ; but at that torment, in the fullness of my heart's gratitude, he deemed a creaturo of superior mould, in contrast with the tremb ling, pallid flatterers who looked on, yet aided not his efforts. Well formed, well at tired, and just in the spring-time of man hood, he appeared to my agitated mind an embodiment of true nobility. Sad so he was. My soul overflowed with thankful nass, yet I could not thank him. I could but lean on him, and weep, and listen to his voice, as with words of gentleness andsym &thy, he assured me again and. again, of Safety and protection. The• danger past, there were hands willing and officious, rea dy to escort me, and the noble stranger re spectfully essayed to leave me in their care. But to my mind it seemed that to dismiss ,him thus abruptly would be but a poor re turn for so great a service, and I still clung to the arm of my preserver, resolved that he, and be only . , should deliver me into the hands of my grateful parents. This was soon done, for the news of my disaster and rescue had reached them before we arrived at the house, which was near, and they both met us on the road. They were grateful, • and my heart bounded with gladness as they poured out the measure of their thanks upon the youthful and diffident stranger. I was their only daughter, and, as they said, the pride of their house, Alas ! * * * * * Well, the brave youth responded to my fa ther in words as noble as the deed ho had jnst,,performed. He said-4—iWe'should all be thankful, and, for his part, he did thank Heaven that it had made him the instru• mint of my preservation.' Enough of this, my good friend. It is sufficient for me to add, on that day the germ of a true affection was-planted in our joint hearts. As he took my hind tenderly and respectfully at part ing, it trembled with a sensation till then to me unkßown, "The abort period of our stay 'soon drew to a close, but : furing that time our new ac quaintance, George Turnley, was often at .our tetfiporary residence. Indeed, he be came almost .the 'sole companion of my walks, much, as it seemed, to the chagrin of those who approached but to flatter and dis gust me. To be brief, dear doctor, finding their arts ininfficient to win my preference to themselveirthe Mina of my parents were poioned against try peace. Young as It was, and deeply as I felt that My nflectiOnti: had b e mt given, as it were by instinct, to the , preserier of I maintained prudence' enough' to assure myself that the object of my thofights:wae, : tto thing .in pr inciple and charadeettiat. bo:seern4d•sci be in action.— I This, was easily katiwn.:' The eircurnstan cel-sifhich,threkuctegether,naturally crea tt3sl the inquiriea tefidinglijtliat result, We , found -liimto be a,,yotiiig:.njan_oftighly. re ± ,tipeelttble; theuglf not fashion'able'family4sro e . siding in the a mechanic , ettalent..xnd promise, of unimpeachable character; and possessing a sound practical education. FOR FARMER AND MECHANIC, 1 -That- herwas,-kind,-nobleiand—V3tre-ro-fiEVII ' well knew, and with these qualities I hesi tated not in my decision. I encouraged his. acquaintance. I loved-him with an earnest love, and he gave me in exchange the meed of a true and earnest affection. There was but one objection that could.be urged against him—he was a mechanic ! i.llly parents, I blush to say it, listened to their artful. wicked detractions, and forbade his visits to our house. He !--the preseiver of my life, the object of my earthly adora tion, was thrust scornfully froni the . door of my dwelling. Oh, how my poor heart swelled within me then ! I dare not dwell 1 on the contending passions that possessed. my soul. It seemed to me that my parents had become my.tyrants, and that tho milk of human kindness—nay, even the tender est sympathies of parental love—had been frozen up in the cold coffers of their hoarded gold ? Their very presence became repul sive, loathsome to me. I could not bear to look, even, on these who gave me existence, for they had become tho' destroyers of my young hopes—they had blasteclall the nnti cipations of my ardent soul I I left them--I fled from the mercenary roof and became his bride, sweetening with.his dear love the bitterness which parental austerity had poured into the cup of my existence. • - "I ditlhope,r-alas ! it was 'but transient -- I did hope that the stern pride which drove me from my dear parents loye—fc- they are yet dear in my memory—would relax in its severity, and claim me once again. This was the boon I prayed for daily, hourly—' This was all my eager heart thirsted for to make full my cup of earthly joy: Their smiles alone were lost to me, their blessed forgiveness was all I sighed for. But all was in vela ! ~Y ou know the rest, my friend. Pros perous,in his honorable vocation, my dear, dear hnsband labored on, each year but add ing_new triumphs and increasing hope, till sickness came, and—death It was. four o'clOck in the morning when the worthy doctor again laid his head upon the pillow, where; notwithstanding the ex citement his sympathies had undergone, he dreamed quietly till startled with a sum mons to breakfast. Two days after, a sump tuous funeral cortege moved from the resi bence of-- in Fifth avenue; and the remains of Alice Turn ley were deposited in the beautiful seclusion of Greenwood. A marble monument, elegant and costly, now marks the spot, testifying the affectionate re membrance of a bereaved father Little Alice, now seven years old, has taken the place of her 'mother, not only in the mansion, but in the hearts of her self-condemned grand parents. Indian Desperation. The following narrative is communicated o the Southwestern American, in a letter dated April 7th, 1853, from a gentleman con nected with the government service at Fort Crogan, on the Texas frontier. it presents a vivid picture of that desperate spirit which induces the Indian to perfer self-immolation rather than fall into the hands of his ene mies. The narrator had nine of his finest horses stolen, and as soon as lie discovered the loss, started, with seventeen men, in pur suit of the thieves. Arriiing at an Indian agency, they came to the conclusion, upon consultation with the agent, that the robbery had been committed by the Witcherits.— While here, a party of that tribe, with their chief, came in, on the pretence of restoring some horses which had ,been stolen some time previously, It was evident they were acting in bad faith, and it was accordingly agreed to ,detain the chief and the principal portion of his party—consisting of nine war riors and several women, as hostages, until the whole of tho property recently' stolen should be brought in. The 'writer Bays:— ~a ir. Stein, the agent, then announced to them our determination, and I- told them in pretty plain terms that I meant to carry them into Belknap. and hold them as prisoners, permitting two of their number to return to their tribe and convey the , talk'we. had given them. Though I fully expected 'a breik' on the announcement, which would result in the death ofilllr. Stem or myself, or both—indeed, I would not have insured eith er of our lives at 100 per cent.—we were compelled totlace the danger with apparent indifference:. Any manifestation, of fear or suspicion would have increased the chances of their restoring to the desperate alternative. of % rush' for.fibeity, plunging their knives into whomsoever 'fiaterrupted their passage. The sequel proves the desperation' with which they would lave acted. - .48°o - dais ll , lniti told them they were - Prieoners; I rose' r froth, the - bear akin upon which I been, sitting facingthemfand 'mounted my horse; it the same time drawing my piistol, arid mo tioning them to go to their ' camp.- The chief requested that liihardilldkiriniunt,:that he wished' to speak. I did,finOrin,l`.tocik.i' Sear on a stool nearbv. 'Hein:ll l o6d ins to . siiin'my - forinii i • -• po4itiorf , (Kthilintilti.-L -I:did soeartkilanktinitf O raWitfip 03Y knife under preie4e - of,cuttinetobitcrio td strioke.. 1-le:rosts,, addiessed :a 'kW 'reinarks to:•me, , about the difficulty of restraining. hie young men from stealing, drc., and suggested "that it would be better that•he should return to his tribe. This I refused. Hp then seem , ingly yielded to his fate, approaching me and seizing my hand, lifted me 'from the ground, and embmcing me, first pointing to Heaven and to ourselves, to indicate' that the !Great Spirit witnessed the proceeding. I told them that 1 would not hold them as close, prisoners, but merely guard against their escape, by placing sentinels around their camp. Meantime I•encamped my com mand near theirs, and took - from them all the arms I could find. They retiredquielly to tents at dark, manifesting not the ; , elightest intention of an attempt to escape.%- _ • "The moon shone as brightazday: - I . had posted two distinct guards - civet them of nix men each. with their sentinels. I had been up and moving about camp until about twen ty minuets:before• twelve. At• twelve the sentinels Worp:.-ielieved. - The sentinel pose ted More imitiediately over their camp, had gone near ono of the, tents. _Suddenly one of the - Indians rushed forth tr - thit his tent to, wards the sentinels, and presenting a pistol, fired i ehooting hint.thronglt the heart. • 'Mlle ieemedto bethe,,signal for a i general break:''; As the sentinel tdrned to retreat up the slope' towards his coMpanions, the chief, Ko-we ska, rushed freiri the. tent - like a demon, threW himself upon the back of a retreating sentinel, and with his reeking knife inflicted several 'Wounds before he was shot down by the oldaentinel. .The rest succeeded in et , fecting their escape, running in different di-' rections, answering the shots fired at them with yells ordefiance.. • “The-chief, as•was discovered on search ing the tents, had purposely sacrificed him self, his wife, and boy, seven years old, to secure the escape of his companions. The wife and child whom he had requested on the evening before to talk to, and gave them ' assurances of their safety, were found lying in their tent side by side, as if in deep:deep,. • but slapped to the heart. The wife, at least, had consented to her fate, as we were in , formed:by two old women , who bad not at , tempted to escape. 4! She seemed to have received the fatal bloW/Without a struggle—boil were care , fullYS'qovered up to the breast, the child ly ing upon its •mother's arm. The chief's moccasins were found near the heads, a sign, the Indian told us, that they did not: mean to leave the spot alive. Nothing in romance or history that I have ever road ap-• proximates to this act of devotion and self-. sacrifice, Cooper never could have ven tured to paint such a scene. :The bright moon lighting up the beautiful countenance. of the mother—for she was beatitiful and young—with her innocent boy by her side,. and toe blood still oozin g from their ghastly wounds—the husband, father and Waktior .still streehed upon the sod :, the bloody knife.still grasped in his hand, looking ter , rible even in death ; the sentinel not five feet from him, his cold blue eye looking to• heaven, while the figure of the soldiers hur-• rying hither and thither. in settick. of they knew now what, with occasional' but mista ken cries, indicating some discovery. The whole seemed more like a dream than sad reality, and made an enduring impresison• in: my mind. I had witnessed every des , cription of death and suffering on the battle field, but no combination like this, of pride. courage, self-devotion, self-sacrifice and re , vonge. "What a•striking illustration of the prin.: ciple imbibed by these tribes (roar the* mother's milk, never to yield themseliqs tr: prisoner. The brave chief would go '• • spirit land "of his father's. the still unisuli.' dued warrior ' 'and his wife and child freely accompanied him to'his last 1106)4 grocind.. . I have his shield in my possession.. It, iss: quite a curiosity and orturnint,••bedecltkat with feathers and wampum. This, , the bow and quiver of the little boy, I shall - • preserve sacredly., as mementos of one of the most interesting scenes hi story , has re-. corded." • ' ' • • IVeu2s from Semta A.—By an, arrivilafr Independence, Mo., we have.advices frode; Santa Fe, New Mexico o to the,lst of &fay.' The most gratifying: feature of thiiiin,telllf gence is the announcement /hat the Siiigie can boundary excitement had greati l yten6; sided, owing- probably ~t o the : facf'thats'the warlike correspondence bet Ween Coy. Lane and Gov. Tries, of Chibtiahua, had beet, withheld.frcint the PeePle. .deV.:Laaa ia now spoken of as a candidatefer,C i rOpees• The Indian) were quiet, and the e ref "as pect of aille was peaceable.' Illitch:tilitietif . prevaitid'A;vith regard to the iselectOofijher, route fortheTicific Railroad, and, tiOitlPa7.., nyinid?been 'formed for the, purphiserfigiin r meeting Corni::rnillion ' dollars to 7 ..thif4koi ~„o,` should OP' roti'dle'run'thrimOhAke Orritgry. The Nev:llteiitutti . are iitzo;lo:: r ti,tifer P: 1 0 - ioute rhiotigli Wilker'e t pinti, 7, : %',2. - . . 1211*Ifie in'disputes.as jn - tirtnies ; where ithe Weaker Bide "tietS.4ip' tale° lights, : and tianliti a great noieitOtilnake the eneti4, he- Hove thettimore , nurnirotie and strong„464o `they really are. ."f- •- • Pr 4 smile ielike'the birstinentibereun , frornbiihind a cloud,,to hint whn.lhikate litte , tio'lrienda in the wide world. 4 EirA forward and talkative young inset is not likely over to become a great mita, M NUMBER 36
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers