Hlf ft fT (It THE BLESSINGS OF GOVERNMENT, LIKE THE DEWS OP HEAVEN, SHOULD BB DISTRIBUTES ALIKE UPON THE HIGH AND THE LOW, THE BICH AND THE POOB. JEW SERIES. EBEXSBURC. Pi. WEDNESDAY, AUG. 7 1861. VOL. 8 AO. 35 TERM S: TVE3IOCRAT & SENTINEL IS PUB 3 lished every Wednesday Morning at Osb Dollar and Fifty Cents per annum, payable in advance; One Dollar and Seventy Five Cents if not paid within six months, and Twe Dollars if not paid until the termination th year. No subscription will be taken for a shorter . . . - i 1 , - T -11 1. period man six momns. ana nosaoscnoerwui oe t liberty to discontinue his paper until all ar rearages are paid, except at the option ot the editor. Any peraon subscribing for six months will be charged one dollar, unless the money is paid Advertising Rates. One inserVn. Two do. Three do I sqstre , 12 n s, 24 li s, f 36 li inesl $ 50 1 00 1 50 months. $1 50 2 50 4 00 6 00 10 00 15 00 $ 75 1 00 2 00 6 do. $3 00 4 50 7 00 9 00 12 00 22 00 $1 00 2 00 3 OG 12 do 2 squares lines lines 3 squares & lines or less, 1 square, 12 lines 2 squares, 24 lines s squares, 36 lines J half a column, $ 5 00 9 00 12 00 14 00 20 00 e column. 35 00 y- All advertisements must be marked with 'r;imber of insertions desired or they will be rtinued until forbid, and charted accordingly 9 f rlrrf 5orfrij. THE SO.G OF THE CAMP. BY BAYARD TAYLOR. " Give us a song!" the soldier cried, The outer trenches guarding, "When the heated guns of the camp allied, Grew weary of bombarding. The Dark Redan in silent scoff, Lay grim and threatening under ; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff, No longer held its thunder. There was a pause. The guard man said, We storm the forts to-morrow ; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." Then lay along the battery's side. Below the imoking cannon Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. They sang of love, and not of fame, Forgot was Britain's glory ; Each heart recalled a different name, But all saug "Annie Laurie." Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rote like an anthem, rich and strong. Their battle eve's confession. Dear girl her name he dared not speak ; Yet as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Wasned off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean, burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. And once again a fare of hell Baincd on the Russian quarters, With screim of shot and burst of shell. And bellowing ot the tnortars- An Irish Nora's eyes are dim, For a singer dumb and gory ; An English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie." Ah. soldier! to your honored rest, Your truth and valor bearing. The bravest are the tenderest The loving are the daring. THE BLIND MAN'S WREATH. A STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE. CONCLUDED. J "Not yet? The day would still come, dear est, delay it as I might, and is it manful thus to ihrink from what must and cught to be ? 1 have to begin life in earnest, and if I falter at the on set, what will be the result ? I have arranged everything. .Mr. Glen, our clergyman, has a cousin, an usher in a school, who wishes for re tirement and country air. I have engaged him to live with me as companion and reader. Next week he comes ; and then, Mary, farewell to Wood land!" "No, not farewell, for you must come here very often ; and I must read to you still, and you must teach me still, and tell me in your own noble thoughts and beautiful language of better and higher things than I once used to care for. And then our walks oh, Edward, we must con tinue to see the sunset from the cliffs, sometimes, together. You first taught me how beautiful it was. I told you of the tints upon the sky and upon the sea, and upon the boats with their glis tening sails, and you set the view before me in All its harmony and loveliness, brought it home to my heart, and made me feel how cold and in sensible I had been before." "Ah, Mary," said Edward, mournfully, "near you I am no longer blind !" The book she had been reading fell unheeded on the ground, she trembled, her color went and came, as she laid her hand timidly on his arm. Indescribable tenderness, reverence and compas sion were busy within her soul. "Edward, you will not change in anything to wards us ; this new companion need not estrange you from your oldest and dearest friends your mother's friends ! Let me always be your pupil, jour friend, your sister!" "Suttainer, consoler, guide! Sister above all ch yes, my sister ! Best and sweetest title siy it again, Mary, say it again!" and sizing ter hand he kissed it passionately, and held it for a moment within his own. Then, as suddenly relinquishing it. he continued, in an altered tone, ' My sister and my friei d, until another comes to claim a higher privilege, and Mary shall be forever lost to me." She drew back, and a few inaudible words died away upon her lips ; he could not see her ap pealing, tearful eyes. Mistaking the cause of her reserve, he made a strong effort to regain composure. "Do you remember when you were a child, Miry, how ambitiously romantic you used to be, and how you were determined to become a duch ess at least V "And how you used to tease me, by saying you would only come to my castle disguised as a wandering minstrel, and would never sit at the table between me and the duke, Edward ? Yes, I remember it all very well, foolish children that we were ! But I, at least, know better now. I am not ambitious in that way any longer." "In that way? In what way then do your aspirations tend ?" "To be loved!" said Mary, fervently ; "to be loved, Edward, with all the trust and devoted ness of which a noble nature in susceptible to know that the heart on which I lean has no thought save of me to be certain that, with all my faults and waywardness, I am loved for myself alone, net for for any little charm of face which people may attribute to me." Edward rose abruptly, and walked up and down the room, which, from his long stay in the house, had become familiar to him. "Mary," he resumed, stopping as he drew near her, you do yourself injustice. The face yen set so little by must be beautiful as the index of your soul. I nave pictured you so often to my self; I have coveted the blessing of sight, were it only for an instant, that I might look upon you ! The dim form of my mother, as I last beheld her in my infancy, floats before me when I think of you, encircled with a halo of heavenly light, which I fancy to be your attribute, and a radiance hovers round your golden tresses such as gladdens our hearts in sunshine." "Ah, Edward, it is better you cannot see me as I am. You we uld not love I mean you would not think of me so much." "If I could but see you for a moment as you will look at the ball to-night, 1 tancy I should never repine again." "The ball to-night ! I had quite forgotten it. I wish mamma would not iusist on my going. I do not care for these things any longer ; -you will be left alone, Edward, and that seems so heartless and unkind." "Mary," said one of her sisters, opening the library door, "look at these beautiful hot house flowers which have arrived here for us. Come, Edward, come and see them too." They were so accustomed to treat him as one of themselves, and were so used to his aptitude in many ways, that they often did not appear to remember he was blind. The flowers were rare and beautiful, and yet no donors name accompanied the gift. Suddenly one of the girls cried' out, laughingly "I have guessed, I have guesse 1. It is Edward. lie has heard us talking about this ball, and must have ordered them on purpose for us. Kind, good Edward!" and they were loud in their expres sions of delight all except Mary, who kept silently aloof. "Mary does not like her flowers?" said Ed ward, inquiringly, turning in the direction where she stood. "No," she replied, sorrowfully, "it is the ball that I do not like, nor your thinking about deck ing us out for it. As if I cared to go." "Look at these lovely roses," said the elder sister, as they were selecting what each should wear ; "would not Mary look well with a wrea h of these roses in her hair ?" "Yes, yes!" exclaimed Edward, eagerly, "and let me weave it for her. You know, Mary, it is one of my accomplishments ; you were proud of mv earlands when you were a little girl. Will you trust my fingers for the task ?" 'If you really wish it, if it does not seem too trifling, yes," said Mary, gently, with a troubled expression upon her brow, usually so serene, as she moved so reluctantly away. "But it must seem such a mockery to you, poor Edward ! and then, without waiting for a reply, she hur ried to her room and did not show herself again until the family assembled for dinner ; while Ed ward, seated between the sisters, who were in great delight in their anticipations of the even ing's amusements, silently betook himself to his task. Early after dinner, the large, old-fashioned drawing room at Woodlands was deserted. The momentous business of the toilet had to be gone through, and then a drive of five miles accom plished, before Mrs. Parker and her three lovely daughters could find themselves at the ball. Ed ward was the only occupant of the room. Seated at the piano, on which the fingers idly strayed, he now and then struck chords of deep mel ancholy, or broke into passages of plaintive sadness. "Alone , alone ! How the silence of this room strikes upon my heart how, long this evening will be. without her voice, without her footstep ! And yet this is what awaits me what is inevi tably drawing near. Next week I leave the roof under which she dwells ; I shall hot hear her singing as she runs down stairs in the morning; I shall not have her constantly at my side, ask ing me, in her sweet, childlike eartnestness to teach her to repeat poetry, or give expression to her music. The welcome rustle cf her dress, the melody of her laugh, will soon become rare sounds to me. Within, around, beyond, all is dark, hopeless, solitary. Life stretches itself wearily before me, rlind and desolate as I am ! ' Mother, mother, well might your sweet spirit shrink when you contemplated this for your miserable son ! How strange those last words ! I thought of them to day, while I made her a wreath of roses, and when her sisters told me of thj numbers who flock around her. Every flower brought its warning and its sting." "Edward, have 1 not made haste? I wished to keep j'ou company for a little while before we set out. You must be so sad ! Your playing told me you were sad, Edward." She was standing by him in all the pride cf her jouth and loveliness her white dress falling all around her peaceful form, her sunny hair sweeping her shoulders, and the wreath sur mounting a brow on which innocence and truth were impressed by nature's hand. The sense of her beauty, of an exquisite har mony abont her, was clearly perceptible to the blind man; lie reverently touched the flowing robe, and placed his hand upon the flowery v reath. "Will you think of me, dearest, to-night? You will carry with you something to remind you of me. When you are courted, worshipped, envied, and hear on every side praises of j our beauty, give a passing thought to Edward, who lent his little help to its adornment." . "Edward, how can you speak so mockingly ? You know that in saying this you render me most misc-able." "Miserable! With roses blooming on your brow and hope exulting in your heart; when life smiles so brightly on you, and guardian an gels seems to hover round your path ! " He spoke in a manner that was unusual to him. She leaned thoughtfully against the pi ano, and, as if unconscious of what she was doing, disengaged the garland from her hair. "These poor flowers have no b'oom, and this bright life of mine, as you think it, has no enjoy ment when I think of you, sad, alone, unhappy, returning to your desolate home, Edward." "Dearest," he returned, inexpressibly moved, io not grieve for me. Remember, my mother left her blessing there." "Was it only for you, Edward ?' There is a moment's 6ilence ; he covers his face with his hands ; his lofty, st-lf-denying spirit wrestles with himself; when, gently the wreath is laid upon his knee, her arm is passed round his neck, her head, with its glory of golden locks, is bowed upon his breast. Oh, Edward, take the wreath, and with it take myself if I deserve it. Tell me that you are not angry, that ycu do not despiro tre for thif. I have been so unhappy; I have so long wished to speak to you " "Mary, Marv, forbear ! You try me bevond my strength. Beloved of my soul, light of my sightless eyes, dearer to me than language can express, you must not thus throw yourself away." He wmld disengage the arm that is clinging to his neck, but she nestles closer still. "Mary," he cries widly, "rcmcn.lcr ! Blind, blind!" "Not blind near me ; not blind for me. Here, Edward, here my resting place is fcuud ; nothing but death shall separate me from you. I am yours, your friend, your con&oler, your wife. Oh, tell me you are glad." Glad! His previous resolutions, his determi nation to owe nothing to her pitying love, all faded in the unequalled happiness of that hour, nor never returned to cloud the life which Mary's devotion rendered henceforth blessed. This is no fiction, reader no exaggerated pic ture. Some, who peruse this, will testify out of the depths of their hearts how, in respect and admiration, they have watched Mary fulfilling the promise of her beautiful sympathy and love. She has never wavered in the path she chose to tread ; she has never cast one lingering look at all tAio resigned in giving herself to him. Joyous, tender, happy, devoted, she has seemed always to regard her husband as the source of all her happines ; and when the music cf her children's voices has been heard within their dwelling, not even her motherly love for those .ear faces wnose sparkling eyes could meet and return her gaze, has ever been known to defraud their father of a thought, or a smile, or the lightest portion of her accustomed care. No, dear Mary ! Years have passed since she laid her wreath on his knee ; the roses, so care fully preserved, have long since withered ; but the truth and love which accompanied the gift are tresh and bright as then rendering her, as her proud husband says, almost equal, even on earth, to those angels among whom, in heaven, he shall see her see her, at last, no longer blind. In Bangor, Me., there resides a certain William S , a teamster, w ho is noted for his jollity, and also for keeping late hours, as he usually goes home at 2 o'clock in the morning. Well one stormy night about a year ago, William con cluded to go home early, and, accordingly, he arrived at his house at just midnight. In answer to his knock, his mother opened a window and inquire! "Who is there V "William," was the reply. "No," said she, "you can't come that over me; my William won't be home for two hours yet." Toor Bill had to wait till his usual time. A young lady said, the other day, that she was sorry she could not fight in defence of her country's liberty, but she was willing to allow the young men to go, and die an old niaiJ, which she thought was as great a sacrifice at anybody could be called upon to make. Miss Que asked "the pleasure of Capt. .Tones' company to tea." At the time appointed, the Captain, Lfcing in command of the Iufle Company, made Lis apmarance with tLe whole of Lis company in parade dress. WANTED, A HOME. BY PAULINE. Among the advertisements in one of our yes terday's papers, you might have noticed the fol lowing : " Wanted, a Lome for a very nice little "girl, with a lady, where she would be instructed in her book and sewing. She will be found perfect ly useful, and she is an excellent little girl, and of decent parents. Please call at 375 street, fourth floor."- Thos! who have no occasion for the services c such little girl need not accompany me to the place in person. They Lave but to travel in mind to 375 street, and ascending the four weary flight of stairs, they will find tLemselves in a room forlorn enough, but scrupulously neat. Bare of furniture, to be sure, and of everything in fact that goes to make a comfortable home, but even in its desolate condition are the evident marks of a gentle and refined mind. And by the one dormer window sits the moth er, the presiding genius of this meagre abode. Pale and wasted to a shadow is she, and clad in the scanty, faded garb of poverty ; but about her, as about her room, reigns that unraistakeable air of which speaks the lady not the conventional creature of fashionable life, all flounces, feathers, and folly, with a heart as hollow as Ler own empty cologne bottle, but the lady born, one of nature's gentlewomen. Patiently has she struggled with the little ones left her, the offspring of the stout young laborer, who won ter true affections, who, after scraping together a comfortable little Jiome, was suddenly struck down by a fatal fever, leaving her to the mercies of a bard world with four helpless young things to provide for. Through all has she work ed, and clothed and fed them as best she might, until the "hard times" of last winter and the gradually increasing hard times of the pres ent summer have driven her up into the desolate garret. One by one of her pieces of furniture, relics of her happy home, when the mechanic father of her babies was alive, were obliged to go, and still she could not make any headway against the cruel pressure of no money and no work which bore so badly against her. Two of the little ones, Katie and Jimmie, the next to the eldest and the next to the youngest, have fallen the victims to disease consequent upon insufficient diet and impure air. A richly dressed lady, all satin and jewelry, has mounted the long stairway, and puffing and pruning, sits down in the only chair in the room to ask the anxious mother a few questions con cerning the "nice little girl." The questions are hard and abrupt. The lady objects to her name, Isabel is not a proper name for a servant girl. " She was named when we had plenty around us. and when we did not dream of her having ever to go out to service," replies the sighing mother. The lady objects to the paleness and thinness of the little girl. " She will pick up and grow stout as soon as she has proper food and enough of it, patiently responded the mother. The lad; objects to the age of the little girl. The mother sighs for an answer. But at length, the lady concludes upon taking her, is unwilling, however, to pay anything for the services of so small a girl, although she is willing to hear her read and spell " once in a while," and at the same time assuiing her that " she shall be kept steadily enough at her nee dle." It will not do. The mother pleads for ever so little a week, and finally concludes that she can not part with her lay unless she can get a few shil'iugs a week for her services. The stout lady goes off in a pet, muttering about the insolence of " them that hasn't a rag to their Lacks." The bundle of satin, selfishness and lace has no sooner gone than her presence is supplied ly a plainly dressed Quaker lady, whose mild, serene countenance expresses nothing but love and hu man charity. This visit proves a true God-send to the needy widow. The 'wanted home' is found. The lit tle Isabel's pale cheeks will soou bloom out with the roses cf health. The weary mother will find work enough to do at a fair price to keep herself and " baby." The " book" will be taught to the young Isabel, and wholesome precept and exampe taught with it. Let us bit ss God there is still soma good left in the worla, and let us pray that many more like the benevolent Quaker lady may be raised up to Comfort the down-troddcu and needy. The death of a printer is thus described in an English paper : 'George Woods to of his profession, the type cf honesty, the ! of all; and although the 7 of death has put a . to Lis existence, every of his life was without a '.' How many pleasant reminiscences revive in our memories whilst thinking of a departed friend, like secret writing brought out by the kindly warmth of the fire. Make use of others, if you can do so legitimate ly ; a dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant cau see further than the giant himself. Did you ever know a lady who was too weak to stand up during psalm time in church who could not dance all night without being tired ? A chap, being asked what Le would do if he were banished to the w.iods, he s.iid he thought Le should split. In the new Territory of Nevada a snow storm in May, killed all the grasshoppers just as they were beginning to get troubesome. What the Southern Confederacy asked three months ago "Let us alone." What the South ren Confederacy ask now Give us a loan. In order to deserve a true friend you must first learn to be one. The injustice from which a man Las most to fear Ls hi own. I From the Home Journal. MATRIMONIAL INFELICITIES. BY IRRITABLE MAX. Seeing the Seventh Home. There it is again ! ' exclaimed my wife, in her most provoking tone, as I entered the Louse at a rather late hour on Saturday evening. There what is again ?' I asked. 'Why, your staying out till midnight, and eating oysters,' she replied. Not an oyster," I said; -you are much mis taken if 3 ou think I Lave tasted of any. Ail I Lave partaken of Eince breakfast tbis morning Las been a bite of the rations of our artist-soldier friend of the Seventh, and a sip of elderberry wine. 'Has the Seventh regiment returned Lome?' asked my wife. It Las,' I answered, 'and a noble aud Learty reception it received.' WLat tijae did it arrive ?' my wife inquired. Oh, about four o'clock,' I said; 'but the sol diers did'nt reach the armory till late in the evenin". So I concluded to stay down town and welcome our friend.' Yes that is always the way,' she remarked ; you think nothing of staj-ing away from your family, witnessing all the military displays, while I am obliged to remain at home, and watch the children. And this evening while you've been enjoying yourself listening to pleasant con versation, I have been setting up for you till my head aches, and I am read to fall asleep.' Then why,' I said, 'did you not go to bed ? Now, if there be one thing I dislike more than another, it is to have my wife sit up for me when I am out. I wish to gracious women would know enough to go to bed when they are slee py.' I shall, probably,' replied my wife, 'follow such a course in futuie, for there is no telling what will suit you, I sometimes think I will, endeavor to please you, but will do everyting for my own gratification.' Very well, I replied, 'you suit yourself and, of course, I will be satisfied.' To-day, for instance,' my wife continued you said you would be home early, and wished me to have dinner for you at five o'clock. I dil Lave it ready for you, and what is more I had one which I knew you would like. Some of the dishes I prepared; but five o'clock came and 'my lord did not make Lis appearance. He was look ing at the Seventh Regiment marching up Broadway, and never gave a thougnt to his poor wife at he me, who was waiting dinner for Lim and worrying Ler life almost out because fjrsootb it was spoiling.' What! the dinner or the life?' I asked , cru elly. Both, my lord,' she answered. Proceed my lady, your lord is all attention,' I said. I Lave nothing more to say,' she added, 'and now I think I will retire. Good night,' But,' I exclaimed, I have not been to dinner yet, and I don't think it would-be justifiable for you to go to bed and leave me here to starve; for if there be one thin? I dislike more than another it is to be starved to death. I think' she answered, 'that tlicrc is very little fear of your ever coming to that pass. You know where the refrigerator is, and you can Lelp yourself to anything you find in it. I am not going to set the table and get dinner for you aft er midnight. Besides, you told me. I think, that you had been dining with the artist soldier of the Seventh off ot his rations. If that is the case, I don't see why you should want another din ner.' Good gracious!' I exclaimed, 'I only sid I had 'a bite,' You don't thiik I coul J make a meal off of salt corned beef and stale bread, do you?' Why not if your friend, who is quite as par tial, and accustomed to more delicate fare than you are, could ?' Oh, that is very well. I replied, 'for you to say; but remember, he is used to it by this time while I am not. By the way, I brought home for your especial delectation, a bit of the ration're ferred to there it is; Lelp yourself.' Well, e - claimed my wife regarding the meat with evuleut surprise and lepugnance, 'they have cut it the wrong way.' Oh,' I replied, I imagine it matters very lit tle to the soldiers in which maunner it is cut. if they get enough of it.' You don't mean to say, my wife added, 'that our friend who paints such elegant landscapes. LasliVed on such food ever since Le Las been a way ? I mean to say, I replied, 'that that bit of corned beef is an excellent sample of what the government provides for the soldiers. The quali ty of it, I am assured, is better than what is usu ally given out. If any private soldier has Lad better food than that, he has been obliged to pay for it out of Lis own pocket. I am inclined to think that some cf tur poor fellows don't get even enough of inferior rations.' Then the' must have a hard time, said my wife, 'and the government is o blame. I have a great mind to offer my services as cook to one of the regiments.' 'That would be extremely patriotic,' I said; but it seems to me that patriotism, like charity. shculd begiu at Lome. And as I Lappsr- to l greatly in want of something to eat at this mo ment, I wish you would get it for me.' Can't you get it yourself,' she repled. 'just as well as for me to go down stairs to the refrigera tor at this late hour. I am tired, and half sick, and don't feel as if I could take a kingle step morn than U absolutely necessary. Very well," I aruwered, l will get it mvstlf ; but I do not sec theuieof your sitting up for tne, if you won't get me anything to eat when I come Lome. TLe fact is you Lave Lad your dinner, and now you don't care whether I Lave mine or not- If you Lad been Lome at the Lour you prom ised to be, said my wife, 'you would Lave Lad a nice dinner; but now, 1 really do not much care wLethcr you have any at all. Besides, I think it very injurious to eat just as one isg icg to bed. You would rest much better if you would go without eating, and your appetite f jr Lreak f.ist would Le good.' That is certainly the coolest proposition I have had made to me- to-day, I said. Go t bed without my dinner ! Ycu mig) t as well ask nie to go without my breakfast after I get up in the morning. No, the fact is I am hungry, and I want my dinner. I didn't get any down t wn, for I knew you would find fault with me if I did, and compute the number of loaves of bread, quarts of milk, pairs cf shoes, stockings, and gloves for the children, and bonnets and silk dretscs for yourself, that the money for my din ner would have purchased. No matter if my dinner had only cost fifty cents, you would Lave made s wonderful ado about it, and I should Lave Lad Le dyspepsia on account of it. I Lave grown wiser than when I was first married, and have learned, if I would enjoy peace in my Lome, not to ent dinners away from my own mahog any.' I am certainly pleased,' my wife said 'to hear yc u tpeak thus; but I should like to Lave you act up to wLat you say. I Lave not seen a week since we were married, butthat you Lave dined out once, if not oftener, in it. Yon Lave taken dinner dwn town twice, to my knowledge this very week, and I am not certain that you have gone without your dinner to-day. At all events it seems hardly probable. As for me Low many times let me ak. Lave I dined away from Lome in the nine long years we have been mar ried ? I don't think it Las been a half a dozen times, and yet you find fault with me for rot get ting dinner at midnight. Really, I said, 'I do dot see the relation be tween the first part of your sentence and its con clusion. I can't understand what your dining out Las to do wilh getting dinner for me at this hour. That is always the way you seek to avoid aa explanation with me. If the gramatical con struction of any rernaik Oosu't please you, uty I can't help it. You can-arrange it to suit your self, while yon are getting your dinner; but for my part, I will Lid ycu good night, for I an go ing to bed.' And she went. A Western Wedding Tee, A minister settled in one c f our frontier west ern villges, in which the primitive manners of a pioneer lifi Lad been smoothed and polished by refinement and eultivatien, was seated in Lis study one day, endeavorir.g to arr. nge the Leads of Lis to-morrow's discourse, when Lis attention was called by a loud knock at the door. "Won't you walk in?" asked the minister politely. Very much oblergei!, squire. I don't know but we wi3. I say, you are a mini ter, aia't you ?" "Yes." "I reckoned so. Well you see, Betsy and me that's Betsy, a fust rate sort of a gal, any how " "Oh, JotLam," simpered the basLf'd Betsy. "You are now. and 3-011 needn't deny it. Well, Betsy and I Lave concluded to LiUh teams, and we want you to do it," "You wis.h to be married." "Yes, I believe that's vhat they call it. I say, though, before ycu begin, let us know what is going to I tLe damage. I reckon tisii't best to go it tlind." "Oh, I never set any price. I take whatever the- give me." "Well that is all right ; go ahead, minister, if you please, we are in a Lurry, as Joe's got to fin ish plantin the potater patch afore night, and Betsy she's got to fetch the butter." Thus abjured, the minister at once commenced the ceremony, which occur ied but a few mo ments. Kiss me, Betsy," said the delighted bride groom, "lou are my 01a woman, cow. Am t it nice ?'' "Fust rate," was the satisfactory reply. "Hold on a jerk," said Jotham, as Le left Lis bride abruptl3, and darted out to tLe gate wLere the wagon had been left, What's your Lusband gone out for ?" atkeJ tLe minister, scmewLat surprised. "I expect it's the sassiges," was the confused reply. Just then Jotham made Lis appearance, dang ling iu Lis Laud a pailful of tLe 'sassiges.' wLicli Le Landed to the miuister, with tLe grin of one conferring a favor. 'We aint got much money," said Le, "and so we thoi:ght we'd paj- you in sassiges. Mother made Vni, anJ I reckon they are good. If they ain't just -ou seil them back, and we'll send you some more." The minister expressed a gratitude which Le was far frrt. feeling 'sassiges' King anything but a favorite dish with Lim, and the happy cou ple withdrew, supposing that they Lad done ev- erytlung in order. TLe miuister Las since made a rule to exclude sasigc' from U e 'list of articles Le is w i'ling to receive as wed-ling fees. At a party recently given in Bucks County, five 3-oung ladies Lere weigLed, and the aggre gate weight was seven hundred aud ?venty-to lOunda average. tne hundred and fifty two poundbreach. They raise heavy crops in e ' 1 Bucks. in 1 n rv no
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers