ADVERTISING RATES O 6 I mo . Szt Moo. f . co . Ado it= MA 03 11. a) 4E2 15.00 a 10,03 yo., 200 10.03 10.03 3 „,„ • ?AZ na° , atu u " °9 Attu 110.03 One Square, PAN4tt r ig , V,i Sir tiquarop; Quarter Column . Half Column . One Column Professional Cards ikl.co per lino per year. Administrator'. and Auditor'. Notices, pm. City Notices, 20 cents per line Lt Inaertion, !Arent. per line each subsequent inser*ln. Ten lines agate constitute a , WILLS 8; \IREDELL, PuumenEus. ALLENTOWN, PA' ifinandal UN/ON PACIFIC RAILROAD CO. CENTRAL PACIFIC R. R. CO. FIRST MORTGAGE BONDS Thi. great enterprise is approaehing,eortibletlon with a rapidity that aelonlehee tho wdrid. Over Afferta hundr . ed WWI miles have been built by Iwo (2) powerful worn pante.: the Union Patine Railroad, beginning at Omaha, building west, and the Central Pardee Railroad, beginning at Saeramento, and building mot, until the two made abut meet. Leet than two hundred and fifty Wien remain go be built. The greater part of the Interval In now graded, and It le reasonably expected that the through connect. between Ban Frauelseo and New York will be completed by July 1. AN the amount of Government aid e'en to saah In de pendent upon the length of road *sett nbnll build. both , twoupanles are prompted to great efforts to secure the eon sUltetlon and control of what. when eompletad, will be .ens and the only grand Railroad Line connecting the Ate/mak and Pacific roasts. One Rnudred and Tow Million Dollar. 111110.(110,O10t In money have already been expended by the two powerful somparde ed In this great enterprise. and they will -speedily somplete the portion yet to be built. When the United Plate. government found it neeeeeary to ',enure the eonstruction of the Penile Railroad, le develop and pro• Met Its own Interest, it gave the compaule& authorized to build it such ample all as should render its speedy com pletion beyond a doubt. The Oevertiment aid may be briefly summed op no Mica's:— Pint. Tho right of way and all NOM RRRRR tirobar and dono from publis domain. Ramon& It make.. &males of IVA) airs. of land to the mile, which when the road is template& will amount In twanly-three million C33,(11k0M) earn, and all °fit with in twenty (20) mile. of the railroad. Third. It loans the companion fifty million dollar. (170,. 000,000), for which it taken aaneond lien. The Government has already loaned the Union Pantile Railroad twenty-fonr million and fifty-eight thousand dollars (101.059,(00,1 and to the Central l'anifle Rallrond nventeen million nix hundred nod forty-eight thousand dollars ($17,003,1XX)), amounting in nil to forty-one million 011T011 hundred and six 'hominid &Harm (I 111,700,000). The Companies are permitted to issue their own First Mortgage Bonds to the same amount as they receive from the United Slates, and no more. The companies have sold to permanent Investors ebout forty million dollars 1.40,000,00) albeit. First Mortgage Bonds. The ru inant. have already paid In (including net earnings not divided, grants from MAIO of California, and Sacramento ally and gan Franey.), upwards of (625,000,0(0) twenty-five mil- Ittna dollars of genital stock. WHAT IS THERE YET TO BE DONE ? In eonsidering thin question it must be remembered that •alt the retnalning Iron to finish the road Is Imminent (or, and the lergost portion paid for and now delivered on tho line of tho Union Profile Railroad and the Central Paoli. .Rallroad;and that the grading Is ainioet finished. WHAT RESOURCES HAVE THE COI PANIES TO FINISH THE ROAD ? First: They will moire from the government S. lb. Toad program. about 111,000,000 additional. &mud. Thor can Natio their own Pint Mortgage Dowd fur about 10,030.000 additional. Third. The companies now hold almost all the land they lave up to tide time received from the Governmeltl upon the goinplolton of the road they will have received In all 11.011,000 sere.. whieb et ♦1 50 per aere would be worth 101, 300, OM In addition to the iboes the net earning. of the roadc and additional eapitel, If nee. ..... , could be sailed in to fin ials the road. WAY BUSINESS-ACTUAL EARNINGS No one has ever expressed • doubt that as seem as the road Is completed Its throneh buena*s will be. abuedantly ;treatable. Gross earnings of the Union Pacific Rail road Company for its month*, ending January Ist, 18e0, were upwards of 81,(111,000 The earnings of Central Pacific Railroad, for six mouths, ending January lst, were 11.pensea Interest '3311000 gold 50,000 " Kat profit of Central Paola° flatiron& after paying all interest and expenses for six months .150,0)0 gold The present gross earnings of the Union and Central Pa' sine Railroads are C3n0.000 monthly. LIOW LARGE A BUSINESS IS IT SAFE TO PREDICT FOE THE OREAT PACIFIC RAILROAD would give the following feels derived from Ship wilng Made. Ineuranee Compaulee, Railrlds and genera Mihips going from the Atl►utic &rotted Cape Horn, 1W W,OOO to] .nametape connecting at Panam• with Call• (omits and China, .53 Overland Trains, Stain, Horne, etc., etc. tiara we Lava two hundred and thirty thousand tom • mulled westward, and experience has shown in tho las few years the return passengers from California haw hem nearly a numerous as then going. 110)Y MANY PASSENGERS ARE THEME? We make the following estimate:— 110 Steamships (both ways) ^3O) Vessels Overland Present prime (averaging half the Cost of tho eteatnahlpe for both passenger. and tonnage, gives the , following re .all 1T4,1300 paaaeogera at SICO WU) toil, rated at $1 per suble foot rri. 0 1 0 .(00 • Basing caleulatioas upon the above figures, without for the large increase of business, which can safely ho looked for, then estimate the running expense a at one half and we have a net Income of 416,3A000; which, after paying the interest on the First Idortgageßonds and the ad ' wanton made by the Oovernment, would leave • net tuna- al Income of $9,03(1,000 . over and above all expense. and 132113 The iirst Mortgage Beads of the Union Pacific Railroad Company and the Pint Mortgage Bond: of the . Centred Pacific'lt►llroad Company aro both, principal and Inter est, payable in gold cola; they pay nix per cent. Intelsat In gold coin, and run fur thirty years, and' they'eunnut bo paid before that time without the consent of the holder. Pent Mortgage Gold Bonds of the Union Pacific Railroad for salettt par and accrued interest, and First Mortgage Gold Bonds of the Central Pacific Railroad at RS and ac aruad Intmat. DE HAVEN & BRO., DsiaAss IN GOVIRXIIIVITS•ctmynas, GOLD, Nro No. 40 S. THIRD ST., PHILADELPHIA. [Jon 2? VOL. XXIII MY (MUM'S STOICS.' When I was in college I roomed with—well, never mind his name now, for you will hear of him in his own way before long. He was remarkable in college for three things —quick wit, laziness, and story-telling. Of the three, laziness was rather his strong point. His stories, of which he had nn inexhaustible fund, made him a favorite in all circles among the students; and his wit helped him out of many a corner in which his laziness would otherwise have surrendered him to discipline. "Don't hesitate so," said the Professor of Metaphysics to him, encouragingly, in one of our first recitations in "Locke on the Under standing." "Speak out.; I think you are cor- 12ZSI "The fact is," returned Churn, who had only glneed over the lesson in his quick way, "the author is very abstruse, and I feel ns if I had aSock-jaw of the Understanding." Chum was not pleased, second term of Ju nior, year, when we were required to write compositions once a month. I always liked to write, when I had:any ideas ; and I studied short-hand in order to write other people's ideas when I had none of my own. Chum, who was full of Ideas, hated to write. " You might as well ask inc," said he, "to dispense all the dews of a broad summer evening through the nozzle of your garden watering pot as expect me to condense my thoughts, by the point of a mean steel pen, on a sheet of note-paper. Why, I think all over, and I can't write it." After sitting silent at his writing-table he eked me if my sister had a sewing -machine. " Yea, site has. Why do you ask t" " Because I wish you would take her needle out of the shank, and put n pen in instead, and see if a fellow can't write by working the treadle ! But oh, hum ! the girls have got ahead of us on the labor-saving machines, I am afraid." With this he threw down his pen and went off; and I believe it was the last time he thought of his composition until the Saturday when we were going to the lecture-room to read. He then begged a half-quire of paper from my port-folio, and confessed that he had not written a word. When he was called on in turn to rend he rose, to my great amazement, faced the Pro fessor, unrolled his half-quire of white paper, holding It up between him and his preceptor as if it were a hardly legible manuscript, cast upon me n confidential but grne glance, cleared his throat, and in a steady voice com menced a story which ran substantially as follows : Many years ago nn unfortunate woman, who ad married a foreign gentleman of elegant but dissipated habits, and followed him with fidelity to the end of his downward course abroad, found herself, upon his sudden death in a duel, left a widow, far from her native land. Her few relatives at home were wealthy, but she bad been Mug estranged from them by er husband's course She had now one son, a bright lad of twelve, whose waywardness constantly reminded her of the waywardness of her unhappy husband. Etienne's growing resemblance to his deceased father enhanced her affection for the boy, while it doubled her solicitudes as to. his future, by continually awakening the tender but painful memories of the past. A little money and a few Valuables were left to her out of the wreck of her fortune ; and in this wretched state she counted herself happy that she was able to return to her own land, with her alien-born son, and bearing the re- nains alter alien husband Boon after landing she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The nearest relatives of this sad widow, Mrs. Merprise, were two brothers, of the name of Krebb, one of whom, Louis, paid some attention to her wants. Louis Krebb was a wealthy gentleman who resided in the city of New York. He was unmarried, but maintained a considerable establishment, and divided his leisure between his home and his club. Among a large circle of acquaintance he was well spoken of out of respect to his wealth, and on the same account many little eccentricities of character, which would have provoked criticism if exhibited by a." small fellow," as a man of moderate means is called, by some others, were unnoticed in him. This brother assisted the widow to obtain a small cottage in a quiet village on the banks of the Housatonic ltiver. She chose this situ ation because she desired to live economically ; and herd She might, without great discomfort, even labor with her own hands, if that should be necessary, for the welfare of her children. To avoid such a necessity she would gladly have accepted further assistance from her wealthy brother if it had been offered : but the aid which she hesitated to ask lie would not volunteer to give. Perhaps, knowing her pride, he satisfied himself with assuring her, in general terms, and not in the most cordial manner, that if slie wanted any thing inure she must ask for it. .lie went back to the city leaving her pleasantly ensconced in a comfort able little home, but without inquiring too closely into her resources for the future. Mrs. Merprise struggled successtblly for life, 41,73:k0(10 gold 1,000,000 111,000 30.000 and brought up her children with such teach ing as her own fireside and the village school afforded. When the elder son, Etienne, was grown a 7(X000 (actual fur 1838. 4,0110 estimated •• 100, 000 •• •• andsome, tall, and Blender fellow of twenty and Stephen and Susie, the twins, were stout children of eight or aide, Miss Margaret Maid. stone came to the village to take charge of the district school. Her arrival was a great event in the village. She was a mature and well educated woman, who had chosen teaching for her profession, as it were. She was prepos sessing in personal appearance, and every one wondered why she should remain a teacher at thirty years of age. Etienne at this time was a lending spirit among the young people of the village, yet not a favorite with them. Others were more thor oughly taught, snore practically trained than he ; but he was more apt and more fastidiobs, and had a superior address and adroitness, which gave him precedence of them. He had a good degree of that power of self-adaptation which enables its possessor to make himself agreeable to persons of the most opposite char acteristics, and even to exert a fascinating in fluence over minds of stronger qualities; but his feelings, though deep, were narrow and Selfish. lie had not those broad, common sympathies which, better than anything except the passion of love, call that fascinating self adaptation into exercise. and make the pos sessor universally agreeable. Ho was con scious of his superiority in manners and tastes, and this consciousness tended to repel the affec tion of those who followed his lead. But as t yet lie was unconscioue •of the power of self adaptation, which gave him this superficial su periority, because he lacked hitherto the mo tive force of a strong affection which should set it in play. Etienne soon made an impression upon the 517,400.000 /5.6i0,C00 Vrblob Vi/toittf. 1.-MY CHUM ALLENTOWN, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 24, 1869. mind of the new teacher that led her to a strong though a mixed interest in him. She possessed a good share of those ready sympa- hies which he lacked, and to the force of these were soon added a personal interest in his character and a warm wish for his welfare He was headstrong, and constantly resisted the control of his mother ; but he soon found him self yielding his own will, with pleasure, to Miss Maidstone,nad oven seeking from her good counsel he would haVe laughed at if an otlier person had offered it. In this way an Intimacy sprung up between them such as a Junior in college ie supposed to know nothing about. It is said, however, by those who do know, that two hearts do thus sometimes ef fect a telegraphic union, the tie being, in ex- tenor appearance, nothing but a commonplace, non-conducting, scholastic, Platonic affection ; while within, concealed and protected by this flexible insulator, is An interior core of elet.tric cord. Before she was aware of it Margaret Maid stone was more than half in love with Etienne, and had almost half-acknowledged it. She refused to enter into an engagement of mar riage with him, pointing out the disparity of their ages, and asserting the sisterly nature of her interest in him as the sole ground of their intimacy. She was, however, too much fusel- nated by the young man to relinquish an ac quaintance which aroused the most interior and deepest affections of her soul. Her pru dence sufficed to deter her front accepting him as her betrothed, but it did nee:Suffice to with draw her front his agreeable companionship. She indirectly encouraged a fruitless passion, which she vainly thoughtshe could control for her own peace of mind, and could use for his I= Little Stephen and Susie, walking to and front school, often carried some little message or note between these loving friends, and with out knowing what they were about, promoted the progress of a passion which determined the future of their brother. At about the time when Margaret began to feel the Inevitable struggle that wee approach ing she first met with Mr..Krebb, the uncle of Etienne. This gentleman, well advanced in years but well preserved in conditon, visited the town, partly at the request of Mrs. Mer prise, who was in failing health, and partly to look at a new mill property he was urged to buy. It happened that Miss Maidstone was returning from New Turk in the same train, at the end of a short vacation, and they met as fellow-travelers, accidentally discovering that they were going to the same place. Mr. Krebb addressed himself with much courtesy to entertain her. He drew out the mental resources of his fair and womanly com panion, and gazed with much pleasure on her handsome and expressive face, as she convers ed with her own animation upon the topics of the day. Ile pressed her with questions about the village mid the flintily of Mrs. Merprise.. She spoke warmly of Mrs Merprise, who was now an invalid, and praised the twins, who were her best pupils. She made an effort to speak of Etienne frankly and without embar rassment. lint she found in so doing that her own tongue revealed to her a sober estimate of his character which she had not acknowledged to herself before. She spoke no ill of him ; but that which she did say was so guarded and qualified that she was startled at her own words. This conversation 'on her own part, made an impression on her mind which she could not efface. She felt now, in the pres ence of Mr. Krebb, that she had never before deliberately measured Etienne's \V (nth. She had regarded him with a pure sympathy under the influence of his fascinating manners, and in solitude had cherished the charm which his companionship possessed for her. But now, when she strove to give the best account of him that she could,-she was alarmed to hear herself speaking so much in the tone of apol ogy or excuse. When she was secluded in the rural scene where she met Etienne he tilled arge spade in her little world ; but a visit New York, and converse with men and women who were full of the grave activities of life, enlarged her horizon ; she became more con scious of her own innate ambitions, and in Etienne's absence a gulf appeared between her own assidious habits and tastes and his unset tled mind and purposcleSs life. The most favorable estimate which her tongue could put forth in definite words entered her eors again as a condemnation. So quickly does it sometimes cool , the heated vapors of the brain to make a little circuit in e outer air. That which we hear our own tongues say it does not confirm us, convicts us. Mar prat, after this conversation, felt that slit was' sclf•convicted. What she had said about Etieoue,_py its kindly silence and omissions, defined the negative limits of his character, and enabled her judgment, for the first time, decisively to condemn the false position into which her sympathies and the luxury of his affection had led her. Such are the contradictions of judgment and affection that as they approached the village station her newly-formed judgment began to waver before the rising emotion of expectancy. She wondered if Etienne would come to meet her, and both hoped and feared that lie would. Mr. Krebb courteously assisted her, to alight from the car, and offered her his arm to lead her through the crowd. Followinghim thus, she saw Etienne awaiting them just without: A flush of pleasure on her face answered for the moment to the ffash of delight his counte nance showed at the recognition ; but the next moment he discovered that she was hanging on the arm of a stranger. His brows fell ; lie gazed at her an instant; and then, turning, disappeared before she could approach him. He was siezed with a jealousy which was the more sharp because he knew lie had no right to be jealous. His unreasonableness rebuked the pleasurable emotions she had indulged ; and her judgment asserted itself again, and she condemned Lim more strongly than be fore. Front this time Margaret Maidstone WI drew from her intimacy with Etienne. She was wounded by his expostulations, and half repented her determination ; but this feeling was superseded by regret to see him abandon the good resolutions he had formed under her influence. Ho became as wayward as ever before, and she was sorrowfully confirmed in her judgment. She was subsequently surprised by the at tentions which Mr. Krebb paid to her, and soon by his proposals of marriage. Flattered yet disappointed, half pleased and half indif ferenti- she tried to arouse In favor Of Mr. Krebb the emotions that Etienne had awakened. She passively received ids addresses, and re ferredhlm to a Papa," as even an independent young lady of thirty years may well do in a case of short acquaintance. . . "Papa'and Mr. Krebb soon arranged the matter ; the wedding took place ; and in due season Mas. Margaret Krebb assumed her new position at the head of the establishment of the elderly capitalist whose name and fortunes she had prudentially consented to share. Poor Etienne,'who had never consented to take No for an answer from Margaret, declar ed he would not remain to witness such a match, and on the eve of the wedding he broke his mother's heart by suddenly disappearing. His hat was afterward found on the bank of the river ; and after the lapse of years the opinion that he had drowned himself became fully accepted by all the family, and his death became a legal fact. His mother died lament ing her lost son. She committed the care of her remaining children to a kind neighbor, In whose family they proved industrious and useful. Stephen adopted the trade of a mason, and shortly before he became of age he removed with Susie to New York, where he found em ployment, He neither sought nor received attention from Mr. and Mrs..Krebb, but in his own sturdy way set about working out his own fortunes. Mrs. Krebb, at the head of her city estab lishment, found many hours in which she conld not but fondly think her lot might have been different—more humble and yet more happy. Yet she could not, in all her reveries, decis ively conclude whether she wished it bad been otherwise with her or not. At this point Chum ceased, and took hie scat. The Piofessor at In his desk, with his chin thrust forward, and his eyesclosely set, look ing at (Thoth. Chum rolled up his white paper tightly, put it in his pocket, and tried very hard to look unconcerned. We could not tell whether the Professor was disappointed at this lame conclusion of what had promised to be a romance, or whether he was dissatisfied that a love-story should be in troduced among the grave essays which Juni ors are wont to produce. Ile tapped on his desk, and said : "Young gentlemen, you may hand me your manuscripts for corrections. I will return them next week." Chum was evidently . shocked ; but he but toned over his pocket, nnd, after the others had banded in their sheets, he rose and said, re spectfully : "If you please, Sir, mine Is not yet finished. It will be concluded next time, so it will be necessary for me to keep it; and. I will hand both parts in together." Saying this, lie ant down and folded his arms as If there was nothing more to be said. " But I shall assign you.a subject for next session," said the Professor. looking askance at Chum. " I NOM' you all to take the same subject ; say—say Heroism." "Heroism 1" said Chum.. " That's exactly what the next port of my composition is about." Before his last word was uttered the class broke up. Chum, sitting next me, near the door, was the first to escape. " There's your paper," said lie, tossing own the half-quire. " Much obliged." = After our Professor of Rhetoric, in second term, Jimior year, had given us a subject for composition, instead of leaving us each to choose his own, Chum seemed more disin• dined to write than ever. He is certainly a fellow of ability, and, listening to his conver sation, you would think him NB of intellect ual wealth. But he never would work. This, however, relates to what he used to be. I hear recently that he has at last set up in life for himself, has married a good, sensible, New England girl, and got a place on the ed torial staff of a New York daily paper. I have no doubt that, between them, he'll get bravely, over his college indolence. Chum seemed to make no more preparation for liis second composition than for his first. He is quite incapable, I know, of deliberately planning a deceit ; and I doubt whether he gave a thought to his appearance in the class without a manuscript until the other boys be gan to read. As his turn approached he whispered to me, " Where's toy paper ? Give me sonic." " I have none," replied I, laughing at his anxiety. I thought lie richly deserved to be caught 1,. .f0r presuming so far on the Professor's ignorance or indulgence as to tell one' of his rambling stories instead of writing a compo sition. He shrugged his shoulders and sat back com posedly. When I finished my reading, and the Professor occupied himself in marking his estimate of its merits upon his record of the class, Chum took up my manuscript curiously, and turned over the leaves. In a moment his name was called, and he was on his feet, hold ing up my paper before him, and with his pre possessing effrontery actually reading the title of -my own grave essay as the name of his 'story. The boys were naturally more inter ested in one of Chum's tales than in their own homilies, and even the unsuspecting Professor settled himself comfortably in his chair, as if enjoying a sort of gratification in this variation of our routine.. •' Ileroism is not, us has been well said by an able wliter"—and here, with mock gravity, Chum gave a glance at me, as if to mark the compliment, and acknowledge that he was reading the first sentences of my own essay— " heroism is not confined to the lofty and the great. It is often found in its purest state among those who, by reason of their humble circumstances, the world will never recognize as heroes." These were my very words ! I thought it was a fine sentiment When I originated it, and I think so still. I did not know whether to be vexed or gratified by his stealing my work ; but It sounded so well, as he rolled out the roundedperiod, that, instead of snatching my manuscript from his hands, I sat still to hear more. But although his eye seemed to follow my lines, and lie turned over leaf after leaf as he went on, that was the end of hie extract, and he commenced his own "composition," as I suppose he called it, in the following tenor :' UPON the deck of a small trading-vessel on the Atlantic, about midway between New York and Liverpool, two young women sat in a crouching posture against the bulwark, the better to evade the violent motion of the vessel, which was riding over the huge waves of a subsiding storm. They were dressed in thick, dark, short skirts, each with a handker chief pinned over the shoulders. The elder wore a white cap much disheveled and stained by the weather, while the fair hair of the younger was drawn tightly back each side of the forehead, and half hung, half fell, in neg lected locks behind. At their feet lay a large - Newfoundland dog, who, not being .able to bold on where be lay, as the girls could by tbe bulwark, seemed in danger of eliding away, from them across the wet and slippery deck as the vessel rose steeply tato the air alter every doWnward plunge. From time to time, as the vessel thus careened more than usual;be looked up Into the face of the younger girl with an expression which seemed to say that ho would not leave their feet if he could help it ; and she rewarded these, duAb assurances f fidelity with an affectionate caress or some native Irish words of praise, which, doubtless, Newfoundland dogs understand as well as any other language. Other groups of wretched, weather worn passengers crouched here and there about the deck. " Well, Mary," said the elder of the emi grant girls, "we can't go on, and we must go back. It is no use talking o' Thomas now, Heaven help hint I Here we are going home, for they say this crooked track is the straight road to Liverpool. And it's the hand o' the Lord or the Blessed Virgin" (crossing herself), "and you ought to praise her for it this min ute, as I mean to do if I ever set foot on dry shore again. " And I always thougiffr7the continued, as her sister was silent, "that it was fooling business for us two girls to set off alone, and leave mother lone and lorn." " Ah, Biddy dear," said the younger, turn ing up a ruddy, tearful, smiling face to her sister, and kissing her, " never mind what you thought and said ; for when Thomas sent us a letter that he was hurt and in the hospital, didn't he tell us to come to hint if we Could, and bring mother too, if she would come, and —but she wouldn't and couldn't ; and weren't you a dear good girl to come with me, who would have had to come all alone of my own heart if you hadn't ; and didn't mother tell us to go, and give us her blessing ; and what will she say, to usif we come back without him, and he sick and dying, and nobody—" This sentence, begun so cheerily,sank a! its close into sobs ; and the poor girl hid her face in her sister's lap, crying aloud. "There now, Mary dear," resumed her , sis ter, assuming in her turn the tone of consola tion, "don't vex your soul with what we've gone to do, for we'll soon be back again. In- deed, we meant no harm if we did leave poor mother, and she consenting to it for Thomas' good ; and I can't sleep o' nights on the water for thinking of her, and who is to take care of her, and being sea-sick and homesick all at once." " Well," . said Mary, resolutely, lifting her head. "Thomas ts hurt and sick in America, and we were sent for, and we were sent ; and we would have gone if we weren't ; and what if we have been wrecked ? We're saved ; and I say we ought to go on to Thomas the very first chance we get." " The first chance you get !" cried Bridget ; "and isn't the first chance we've got just to go straight back home ? There we were in that horrid, sad steerage, when the great ship took fire in the storm. Steerage people can't. , fight against the Lord's storms and fires and wrecks, and can't run away front them, what ever the cabin folks may do in their boats and life-preservers. And don't you think the Lord sends us chances as well as changes, and life as well as death 4 and here is this chance, bless the Lord I for *just a handful of us, and all the rest burned and drowned and lost ; and you saved by the hair of your head by a strange dog after I bad seen you go down with the salt-water in my own eyes ; and it's just chance to go straight home. Come, come, now," she concluded, in a tone of gentle au thority ; "away with your foolish talk about America, and thank the Blessed Virgin you arc just where you are, and you are going just where you're going." , To this the younger sister made no reply, but in silence threw herself upon the neck of the noble dog to whom she owed her life, as if she were, thanking him anew ;. or, perhaps, as if, unable to secure her sister's concurrence in her sense of duty to her sick brother, she was throwing herself upon Rover as her sole com panion, and meditating upon the possibility of launching off with him to swim to America. While the two wrecked and rescued emi grants were thus discussing their condition upon mid-ocean, and contemplating the sud den change which had reversed their destina tion, the mother sat alone in a plain but com. fortable cottage among the hills in ono of the central counties of Ireland. She looked out upon the sunshine and said to herself ; "Aweel, the girls must now be safe over ; and Thomas, God help him they're with him now. Oh, when will tiny bring him home ?" Thomas, in his cot-bed in the hospital in New York, three Umusand miles from home, asked the attendant if the weather was fair. "And what are you always asking after the weather for ?" retorted the attendant. "Ne'&er mind the weather. You'll never need an um brella again unless you lie stiller than this;" and she gently spread over the restless sufferer the clothes which he had thrown off. " Tell me," said he, moving as if he would, but could not, raise his orm to detain his inter- locutor—" tell me, i;ry,it fair ? Does the sun shine? Is there a fair wind l" " Come, come !" was the reply, " don't •ex. ourself about the :weather. They told me he was a mason," said the old woman to herself ; " and here he is a raving about the weather, just as if he had been off work in the storm and must begin again first fair day. "Come, come, deary," said she. " It's not the weather for such as you to go to . work again yet. It's been very bad, and you needn't get up yet. The boss won't expect you." The poor boy tried In vain to raise himself to get a glimpse of the sky from the window, but fell back upon his pillow and turned his head to the wall, and the tears trickled clown his cheeks. Ile made no attempt to raise his covered arms to conceal these silent signs of emotion ; and lie only said, in a low tone, " But motherwill come; she'll conic—she'll come I Or Mary will. Mary will, I know. Mary will come. Oh, Mary, Mary I" Mary, crouching for shelter from the spray upon the deck of the vessel that was carrying her and her sister back toward Ireland, was as fully possessed with a sense of her brother's wretchedness as if she had heard the words which thus escaped his lips a thousand miles away. She reached forth and took from her sister's bosom a letter which was deposited there, and, although she knew it by heart al ready, commenced to read it again. It ran thus: MY DEAIt MOTHER AND SISTERS: 1)0 not be troubled when you read this, which is to tell you that I have been badly hurt, but am alive, thank God I and getting on bravely. I send you twenty pounds, which I have saved of my wages, so that you might come out here.' Mother, you'll never regret conning to be with your boy here. It Is the country for us. If a man pays his way, and' behaves himself, he is treated like a Man. It was a wall that fell on my legs, and l'ns in the hospital.. I don't lack for a friend, God bless him I who sees to all I want. But I want my mother and sisters. Give my love to Mary, and tell her she must come. Como all of you. As I can't move, this letter is written for me by my friend, and your well-wisher, • STEPHEN MERPIUSE. Upon the deck of the vessel half a dozen other little groups of passengers appeared, who had also been saved 'from the wreck of the emigrant ship. The captain who had rescued them stood a little aloof, scanning nod• ids en- cumbered deck and then the horizon. Ile was a tall, handsome man, but regarded them with an ill-favored eye, out of humor because this unexpected addition of hungray voyagers was too much for his stores, and he would have to put his.little ship on short allowance. Ile was therefore greatly relieved when he saw a bark of American build and rig on the bow ; and he made all haste to alter his course so as to hail the stranger. Soon every one was eagerly scanning the approaching vessel. Sad and pallid counte nances were enlivened by curiosity, and those who had been silent exchanged animated con jectures. The ships crew prepared t &lower a boat. The captain hailed the-bark, and, after some shouting which seemed to Bridget and Mary hoarse.and inarticulate, he turned to his passengers and told them to tumble into the boat. When the passengers learned that they were to be transferred to the outward bound Vessel they hastened to the gangway. Bridget alone, holding Mary fast by the waists retained her position. " We're not going;" said she, ap pealing to the captain. "We want to go back home." " Well, you're nice girls, pretty, and don't eat much. I don't care if you do stay with us." " No," said Mary. " Let me go, Biddy dear. I must go on. Give my love to mother, and tell her the last word I said to you was that." " You'll not go on alone," said the captain: " Yon're a young lass to venture that." "No, Hover will go with me," she replied, running to the gangway, followed by the dog. As she awaited her turn to be lowered Into the boat she looked back at her sister, who was sobbing upon the deck, while the captain stood looking at her. " Rover," said Mary, looking at the dog through her tears, "you shall stay with her; can spare you better than she." Mary hurried back to her sister, made Rover lie down at her feet, and fastened him by slip ping a rope through his collar and placing the end in her sister's hand. " There hold him him fast," she said " Don't you let Rover go. You need him most. Rover, lie still. Good by, again ;" and with a kiss to both, the bare headed girl ran to the gangway, and in an in stant disappeared over the side of the vessel. The cries and shouts of the sailors indicated that the boat was cast off. Hover barked and struggled to get free, turned and seized Bridget's arm in his huged jaws, and shook it till the rope dropped from her hand, when he ran to the gangway, tripping up the captain as be passed, leaped upon the traffrail, where he ballanced himself fir a moment, and then plunged into the water after the retreating boat. Bridget raised herself in time to see the boat, followed by the dog, rise into view and disap pear again among the crests of waves, showing her Mary looking back and waving her hand. The brave girl reachld New York in due season, accompanied by Hover, and found the friend of her brother who had written to them of his accident, our old friend Stephen Mer prise, who was now, although a very young man, a mason's foreman. He took her to the the hospital, where she incessantly watched over her brother, and when he was well enough to be removed, 'Stephen found a home for them with himself and sister. Bridget, notwithlitanding her fears, reached her home iu safety, and, resisting the urgent requests of her brother and sister, she never consented to try the ocean again. "Is that the end of your story r asked the Professor, who had been observed rubbing his spectacles when Chunk was describing the pa tient in the hospital. "'That is all, Sir," replied Chum, rolling up my manuscript and pocketing it, just as if it were his own. " Well, well," said the Professor, nodding Lis head in his own meditative way, and paus ing. " But I don't see what that has to do with the other story ; last month you said this would be a continuation. I don't see the con nection.'' "The connection between this sic ry and the• first one I." said Chum, interrogatively, as if to gain time to answer a puzzling question. "Oh that will be all made plain next time. I have not finished it yet." "Now, young gentlemen," the Professor began, tapping to silence the merriment of the class at this reply. "Now, young gentlemen, you've had pretty good scope for your imagin ation, and I will give you a dryer subject for your next compositions. You have been read ing in Political Economy, and I will give you, for your subject, ;Wiley. You may treat it in an economic point of view, and discuss the pre cious metals ; or in a financial aspect, and eluci date the currency ; or In its social or moral bearings, as a power for good or evil—' the love of money is the root of all evil,' you know —there's a text for you.• Or the popular phrase, : the almighty dollar,' will suggest a line ofthought ; and I should like to have some of you, who can give time to the necessary reading, discuss the relation between the cir culating medium and the origin and progress of civilization. In short, young gentlemen, you see that the subject is inexhaustible, and you may treat it in any way you like, so long as you treat it seriously. It is a beautiful sub ject fin essays, Money, Money I" "Could you give us a little, to look at, Sir ?" asked Chum, in a low tone, intended for the class only. The boys laughed, and the Pro' fessor rapped on his desk. At the end of the lessoh and on the eve of dismissal conversation often took some such license. " What was that inquiry I heard r said tile 'rulessor, looking around the class. Chum said, hj the same under-tone, " Its no use to repeat the question. Ile hasn't got A.general but very silent laugh was the only response to the Professor's demand, and he was both too good-natured and too judicious to press it. " Chum`, l ' said I, ns the class broke up, "give me my manuscript. You'll hare to write next time. Why, you're positively im posing on the Professor. It's a shame. You'll catch it yet." "'that's true," said Chum. "Itis a shame. Pll go and tell him now." • So he put on a grave expression and walked up to the desk. I followed to hear the con imrsation. How he could have the face to make the avowal I could not imagine ; but he proved to have more impudence than was ne cessary, for he commenced by asking, in a most respectful and innocent tone : " If you please, Sir, will you• tell me how much you have marked me for .my composi tions ?" The Professor, whose merit.marks were al ways a great secret, looked, aghast at such a question. " I beg your mirdon, Sir, if It's not proper for rne'to ask. But all I wanted to know was whetlier my course had been approved, for—" " Oh, yea," Interrupted the Professor, smiling—" oh yes ; very good story ; only I thought you didn't quite finish IC You ought 'to have written n little more. Now—" WIl & MEDELL, • Vain anti ffattcp . 3ob thintero, No. 47 EAST HAMILTON STREETS ELEGANT PRINTING, NEW DESIGNS, LATEST STTLEE Signified Chcks, Cards, Circulars, Paper Bonkir, l Consti h ol Catalo es Bill rads tu" re . ril a opl B ri - r i tt7t :lid: Bill. 0rL.a,.. t .w., E.„,.. snigs and Shipping Cards, PosteLs spy else, eto., etc., Printod at Short Not ice. NO. 12 "But," interposed Chum, " I haven't writ .19 BM " You see," persisted the Professor, "in a thing of that kind—in fiction, that is to say— the art of Rhetoric requires that you should satisfy the expectations that you have raised ; and if I were to criticise your story I should say that the fate of the hero and the heroine, or the heroes and the heroines, have been left, rather—well, rather undefined." " What I was going to say," interposed Chum, " is that I have not yet committed my compositions to writing." " What I haven't written them 4" "No, Sir, not yet. Writing is very hard for me, and I thought I would begin the same way as Homer and Demosthenes did." " But you read them from your paper." "No, Sir. I couldn't stand up and recite without something before my face ; but I have not written them out yet." " Well. Sir I" said the Professor, "you must write your next one, and must write on the subject I gave the class." (To BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.) MY EXPERIENCE WITH CORN. Your favor requesting the result of my ex periments for the last year was duly. received and should have had my earlier attention, but for.the Interference of other business. As your inquiries seem mainly directed to my experi ments with corn I will Just allude to them. Many of your readers as well as yourselves, have often noticed that there will be spots in their born fields where for a week or two, and sometimes more, during the early part of the season the young corn will remain stationary as far as growth is concerned ; and that these plots seem to have well defined boundaries. Having had my notice several times directed to the above phenomena, I have for two or three years past given it more than usual at tention. Observation convinced me that it was caused by unusually deep planting, and this idea was'further strengthened by the fact that these plots are universally fOund where the ground is best worked, and whore there is "good covering." In order to move or test the matter more fully, 1 last spring instituted the experiment to which you have alluded. The seed was taken from the same car and. as nearly as possible from the same portion of the car, and divided into seven equal portions, which, under the different• circumstances hereafter alluded to were planted So that there should be the least possible difference in soil and situation, and all were treated alike as the circumstances would REM The different lots were planted at different - depths, varying from three-fourths to four and one-half inches deep. The result was as fol lows—That planted three-quarters of an inch deep came through in six and one-half days ; one inch deep in seven days : one and one half inches in nine days ; two incites deep ift ten and one-half days ; three inches deep in fourteen days; and less or greater depths in the same or a like proportion : that planted deepest was nearly three weeks in coming through, and all died in front two to live weeks afterwards. except one stalk, which• Went through the season without any show of an ear. By carefully watching my experiment, I noticed the same effect in the corn which was planted over one and one-half incites deep, which I have alluded to above, viz., for. two weeks after it formed its first two leaves it made no apparent growth : on investigating into the matter I found the cause under ground; the growth had proceeded as usual until the miniatures corn stalk Came to foimi the first joint : in every case where this joint was formed under file surface of the ground a new lot of roots were thrown out at the joint, and during their formation, which required about two weeks, the plant made no growth above the ground : as soon as . these secured roots were perfected, the old or original ones decay ed, and the , growth went on as before. By experiment I found that by watching the growth of the plant and drawing up fresh t\ eartl very time a new joint was being form ed, I c uld check its growth until its energies seem to become exhausted, and death would ensue, le ving the dried up leaves on top of a mound a foot or more in height as a monu ment of the effect of a disregard of nature's unalterable laws. You ask whether it is true that the grains from different portions of the same ear will produce corn arriving at maturity at different times? I would answer unhesitatingly that it does make a difference in the maturity of the corn, whether the seed is taken from the point, butt or middle of tlie ear. Last season I select ed what I considered to be a well formed and perfect ear, from a pile of two hundred bushels selected for a seed dealer in Philadelphia: commencing at one end of a row, awl the butt of the ear, it was planted as it was shelled off in a strip two inches wide up the ear: when the outer point of the car was selected the next row was planted back in the Mine manlier: in both cases the perfect grains from the butt and middle of the ear produced the largest amount of mature coin, and in some cases the seed from the point of the ear failed to perpetuate Itself at all. The product of grains from the butt and near the middle . of the ear produced the earliest ears, while the others produced a much larger percentage of "nubbins," or Im mature corn. - To any of your readers who arc disposed to verify, the above experiments or institute others, I would say that too much care cannot be taken to prevent the restiltfrom being in fluenced by local causes. A friend of mine once undertook to try the above experiffient, and in the fall informed me that the grains from the point of the car had produced the beat stalks and the most corn, and requested inc to call and be convinced : this I did and was convinced—that he had come about as near proving the point as if he had left his seed in the crib. Starting on the side of his field he planted the first two rows with seed from the point, the next two with seed front the middle, and a third pair with seed taken front the butt of the car: of course the two outside rows were, as they always will be, the best, forthey received more titan their share of air, light and cultivation, and were almost entirely free front weeds. Even with the utmost care it is very difficult to prevent the result from being more or less influenced by local Circumstances, and without this particular care the result will almost invariably mislead the one making the experiment. Your queries as to the comparative benefits of drill and hill culture are so convertible that it is very difficult to answer them ds I would like to. If I were to be guided by theory alone, I. would say that drill culture with a stalk every fourteen and fifteen inches in the row would produce the heaviest yield per acre, but when you ask "which Is practically the best for the farmer," my answer would be, the form' of hill dulture, though I know that in so answering I run contrary to popular opinion, as expressed by our agricultural journals. If it were possible with a reasonable amount of labor, to obtain a stalk Just ivltere' you wanted, and to obtababands who would thin out drilled corn to the best advantage, then drill culture will do best, but under our own present circumstances, I would still hold unto the old style of hill culture for corn.—O. Yoke in American Stock Journal. MITA 11111. ALLENTOWN, rl/.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers