The Wellsborough advertiser. (Wellsborough, Tioga County, Pa.) 1849-1854, May 29, 1851, Image 1
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[SELF-DEPENDENCE AND SELF- IMPROVEMENT 7 THE FIRST rtioni., AND TILE FIRST DUTY OF EVERY NATION.] il• MAL'. 6 . 1 2112 ...... 1 85 1±........................Lm...............- 1:;:‘-....; - [ I. s , , these, men were without shoes • ., • ',.., ---•,, had one shoe and some nld coat or a ragged 4. - • , v -„, -rs had their , _ _ • . -4 else- - -i'' -'''• -...,1, 1 momentyou, hear an alarm, SC --'/- .1 7 ;• ' - if- panthers..- Run any,' NVa1•1! !!•'-- - .iv—for the farthest ..--• ~,,.. ..ay to the fire.'';: ~ ' .;i ° a wood 0 gi: ...; , , •,' . :. 1 ,- ,7 2 , • , , k• - , ... ... :; ~.,.:. ': `.;;.'' &•• • 1- , .. .- • i'. ,1 1 .•:'. ''..' 1 ~ - • ._. '1: ' 4 '-' ji , c. rl r .:,. e .:,. ~. . 4 1 . 1:..... , • F. .:.: ~ . i • BY WILL VOL. 2.-.•1NO. 43. )LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH 6r. BY cLAn.,. leusTos. They have laid thee in The grave, Addle, The cold and 'silent tomb ; Thy soul has fled from earth, Addie, To thy eternal , home. We miss thy joyous laugh, Addie, And thy steps so light and free, As if borne on zephyrs soft and cool, From the distant, rolling sea. But thou hast found thy rest at last, Life's cares shall vex no more— , . Thou hast left behind thee sorrowing hearts, Whose . grief is deep and sore— We followed thee to the grave, Addie, We saw the cold, damp sod Placed on.thy breast sooyous once, And gave thee up to cod. 'Twas a bitter, bitter pang, Addie, To rend true hearts in twain, To close those dark deep eyes, which Will Ne'er beam on us again. • Beneath the earth that fell, Addie, Upon thy silent tomb, The hopes that we had cherished oft Forever were supprest.- The LOVE we feltfor thee, Addle, Remains as true and pure, As though we had mot left thee now To see thee nevermore ! For in the Eden-bowers of God, These gardens far above, There blooms, still brighter than on earth, Our blighted hopes and love. ligotoritat Sttettb. THE HEART'S SACEIME, INCWENT AT THE BATTLE OFGEP.M.AINTUWN BY LAWItr...cCE LA.BRE. We have heard the story Of a young man who lived throuah the perilous times of our country. He was ardent and pa triotic, and •thirsted to be a sharer in the ',glories which our brave armies plucked from the bristling bayonets of the enemy ; yet he had been withheld; from joining the ranks by aged and infirm parents, whose only support and .comfort he was. As he looked upon the feebleness of their old, age, and thought oldie perils they would be ex posed. to, with no defender to their helpless-, ness, he would sigh for the destinies of his country, and resign himself to the duties of the small farm that was their support. He could not desert them and leave them to the mercy of the Vagabond stragglers from the enemy's camp, anti worse, traitors of his own country. - Instances , were too fresh in his memory, of reverend heads and hoary locks having been crushed to the dust' by midnight plundersrs and assassins, and , his love for the authors of his being left him nothing but prayers for his oppressed country. But he had other affections growing in his breast like spring flowers,'shedding a per.' fume of holiness upon his spirit, like the Christian's inspiration. :.There existed, since their childhood, an attachment between him and the only daughter bf a widow, who resided but a few rods froM his father's ; and that attachrbent had ripened into mu tual declarations of love, when the parties became sufficiently old to appreciate the glow of true devotion. A time was set• for theconsummation of their vows, which was the evening of the ever memorable 25th of December, 1776, at the time when Wash ington was making his perilous but trium phant passage across the-Delaware, amid floating ice, and suffering from the intense cold of the season. The two families were now united, George removing his bride and her mother to the house of his father. But still he was not happy—he could not banish from his mind an oppressive anxiety for the welfare of his country, and the doubtful struggle which she was maintaining, in the hope of acquiring that freedom for , which every heart so warmly prayed. In a week from the night of the passage of the Delaware, Washingtohimet a detach ment of the enemy'at Princeikon, which he defeated with small loss, witlilithe exception of several officers, among whom-was the gallant and brave General • Mercer, while that of the enemy was upivards of one hundred killed, and the remainder, about three hundred; taken prisoners: The Gene ral then retired to winter quartets at Mot ristown, which he did not leave until the latter end of May, with an army amounting to but a little over seven thousand meit, al though Congress had Offered recruits boun ties in land, with an increased pay. - At this time George burned to enli i ist in the ranks of his countrymen,! and share theit sufferings and their glory. But his young Wife- looked in his face with weeping eyes, whose eloquenCe added to .he - infirmi ties of his parents; deterred biml, from the sacrifice. Besides, as . the roads" - became more passahle, and the season Mr s ire tempe rate,' robberies an 4 midnigbilliexOuraions of straggling Hessians and skinnera vere. More frequent, and the house of one of ;their neighbors' had been pillaged, the inmates brutally murdered, and the dwelling 4t on fire, within sight of.their friends; who 'could offer them no assistance, expecting, as: they did, every moment.to meet a similar fate. F , In this sfate of -disquietude passed away the summer, until the intelligenee reached George of an engagement between . the Anierican• and English armies at Brandy wine, on the 11th of September, when the republican- forces were compelled to retire, after a day's hard fighting,-with a loss esti mated at three hundred killed, about six hundred wounded, and between three and four hundred made prisoners. This reverse of American arms aroused anew the patriotic feelings of, George, and he at once communicated . his intentions ,to his father, ,who offered no impediment to his immediately joining the army, and help= ing to retrieve what now had been sounfor. tunately lost. " Go, my son," said he. "I am beyond service myself; but, like Abraham of old, lam willing to offer my son to-the sacrifice. Let the plea of protection to-your parents be no longer an excuse to keep you 'from the ranks of those brave and deVoled men who follow Washington, but receive our blessing, and bid farewell to your young cannot whose love of her country I am sure cannot be less than her affection for your. self. If you fall,, it is in a just and holy cause." - This was the heroic advice, but nowise uncommon in the mouths of our venerable sires. George communicated his design to his mother, and afterwards to his wife ; but the latter would not listen to his arguments, and wept and beseeched him not to leave them to the mercy of the mercenary rob bers, that overrun the country in the Neigh borhood of the British armies. Earnestly did he plead the sufferings of his country men, and the necessity of his presence among those who are battling for the bless ings of liberty—to nothing would she lis ten—no argument would ' convince her. What was a single arm in the mighty strife ! Despairing and impatient, our hero resolved to leave for the army The ensuing night, and for this purpose he made all necessary pre parations for his secret departure. His gun and Itnnpsack were deposited in the barn, and a letter of farewell written which he was to leave to be read after his depar ture. Midnight at length came, melancholy and gloomy to George; but he arose from his bed, to which he had retired in the early part of the evening -to lull suspicion, and kissing his wife affectionately as she lay asleep, he hurried to the barn, accoutred himself as well as his few equipments would allow, was soon on his way to join the ar my. He•bad not far to travel as Wash. ington had encamped within eighteen miles of Germantown, and but half that distance from his own residence, and long ere day light on the first of October, he had prey sented himself within the lines of:the Ame rican army, and made known hiS desire to enliSt, and that morning's reveille, as it beat the time to rise, was answered by the pre sonde of George . Madden. But what consternation did the morning's dawn bring •to the-hearts of his wife and parents ! His non-appearance was at first scarcely noticed, until the former perceived a letter lying on the table directed to her self, wherein George informed her of his resolution, and urged the necessity of his assisting in the struggle for freedom. • "If I fall," it said, " remember me—l shall tile in a just and glorious cause. If I live—trust me, it will be in the enjoyment of a freeman's glorious privileges." Ere the letter was concluded, the forsaken wife had fallen senseless on the floor. The father felt a glow of • patriotic pride thrill his heart at this devotion in his son, while the mother knelt and clasped, her hands in silent prayer. The poor wife at last came to her senses, but it was to tirander about the house weep ing, continually calling upon her husband, insisting that she should never see him more, and marvelled - at his cruelty in de serting her. -She was not of Spartan mould, and possessed not those stern virtues which prompted those ancient heroines to lay the last particle of affection upon the altar of their country's freedom ! No, she asked nothing more than the love and presence of her husband—a devotion which remained paramount in her heart, permitting the pre sence of, none else. Grief! she could not submit to be left thus alone. The act must be revoked that made him one of the army. She would seek him—she would implore him to come back to those who loied him, and to whom he was all the world. On that same day ere the sun had reached the meridian, unbeknown to any one, she left her home, and after three hours weary travel, she stood beside her husband in the camp, beseeching him to re turn. Those who heard her earnestness were melted l her tender entreaties—those rugged soldiers who would rush madly on bayonet and cannon—march ba'refoot over frozen ground and through deep snow, sus tained only by fervent patriotism—they wept as they beheld this fond and timid wife clinging to her husband, and with eloquent endearment, begging him` for the love .he bore her, to.return once more to the desolate hearth now left without a protector. Im possible! he had enlisted for the war—the army could not spare any of its number, whith, even at best, was too small to cope with a large force, better disciplined and better clothed. Impossible ! he . could not with any decent grace, retreatlrom a posi tion so recently assumed. He consoled her as best he could, but assured her of the int praeticability of leaving the 'army. She mist submit ; it would be a sacrifice Ino greater.than had been made by thousarids. Theriiiiae- no remedy but to wail in hope— the end was certain, and the consequences -- 1 7----- WELLSBOROUGH, TIOGA 'COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY HORNING HAY 2941 1851. would be glorious.. But what could the poor wife do? Ah ! a thought has struck her. She will seek the tent of Washing. ton—at his feet she will lay her petition. Behold the hero in his tent—the great, the God-like,_ in whom arc joined all vir tues—created -for the age and for the cause, doing what none else could. Before him is kneeling the wife ofkGeorge Madden. Her petition has not been in vain, her tears have not been without effect. She holds in her hand a paper that will restore her to her husband. But before she goes to the officer of his regiment,- she reverently takes the hand of his benefactor and presses it to her lips ; a tear falls upon -it which the good man sutlers to remain, and sends her from his presence with a benediction, and words of hope and comfort! • Again she is in. the presence of her hus band—she shows him his discharge with a beaming countenance, and words of joy. " Now you will go home with me George, and we will again be happy—oh, how happy !" But no glow of satisfaction lit up his eye, no gladdening emotions shed their radiance over his features. The discharge was recognised, and she led her husband from,the ranks of his de voted companions ; but he went not forth with that manly dignity and firm step with which he entered the camp as-a volunteer. The eyes of the hardened soldiers were upon him—he fancied scornfully—his head dropped upon his chest, - and suppressed whispers hissed in his ear like so many ser pents, each a voice of reproach and shame; but the timid and loving woman that led him forth from the camp of war, was Un conscious of all this. She heard no whis pers of 'reproach, she saw no scornful eyes, she was only conscious that she had re covered her husband; and what cared she for eyes and lips ! The pickets were pas sed, and the last guard stared rudely in her face as she approached him and muttered something that she did not hear. She prat tled ramblingly to her husband, fond crea ture, all the way, telling him how happy she should be, and father and mother : but he answered her not, still walkin - g, gloomily by her side. - Little cared she though, and still she wended along, and still she prat-, tied. 'Poor, timid, tender creature ! She did not imagine what a load.of shame she had piled upon the head of her husband She could'not 'think bow'deePty she lied wounded him. She had him safe, all her own again, at last, and she could not dream of 'any future woe, brooding sorrow ! But he thought—he brooded over his discretion of his comrades, and remembered the ex pression of .their faces, as he suffered him self to be. led out of the encampment. And that night in his dreams, be heard the booming cannonage, the crack of musketry, the clash of steel, and the pealing shout of victory ; but he bad _suffered a child to tie his hands, and when ho struggled to free himself, he heard a cry of " Shame ! Shame !" that awoke him from his uneasy slumber, with cold sweat upon his brow, and his tender wife slumbering peacefully by his side, With her white and delicate arm clasping his panting chest ! When morning dawned and the day cal led him to his duties, it , found him a strangely altered 'man. The caresses of, his wife seemed loathsome to him—he could not bear her presence, bat sought every Opportunity-of shunning her. But once during that day did he speak to her. The poor creature could not bear his cold ness, and her heart overflowing with feelings that became insupportable she seized hie hand and looked earnestly in his face, while her eyes glistened with tears, and ex claimed : ," 0, George ! why do you behave so coldly ?, It is killing me, George—you must look kindly—you must speak to me, or I shall die !" He pressed her to his bosom a single mo, meat, and then, looking earnestly in her eyes, said : " Mary, you have disgraced me ! I can never look man in the face again !" - She spoke not, but returned his glance with a proud eye, and suddenly quitting the room, she left her husband wondering at the strangeness of her own - behavior. Her absence was but for a moment, and return ing, she placed in the hands of Georgo the gun and knapsack with which he had ac- coutred himself the previous night. " There George, return to the camp. Toll General Washington - that the wife gives her heart to the cause of her country. If every American gave as much we would be invinciblei! Go! God bless ybu r This is my sacrillce . You will bid me fare well—you will now speak to me—you will look as yea used to do ! That is soine happiness. 0, I could not bear your dis pleasure !" Need we say how the heart of the young patriot leapt with excessive joy, - and how he pressed the yielding form of his• beauti ful wife to his bosom? Shall we describe the tender parting and the affectionate fare well—or shall we cover with the veil of si lence seines! so sacred ? We prefer that the imagination of the reader should sup ply a scene dscription cannot do justice to. George Madden was once more enlisted into the rank's of his countrymen, where he was received with applause. • At this peiod Philadelphia was occupied by the British under Gene).al Howe, who, annoyed at some fOrts on the, Delaware, detached a portion of the royal army to re duce them. Washington improved this op- portunity to attack the remainder of the British army encamped at Germantown. The attack was. made on the fourth of Oc tober, and was maintained on the part of the Americans with great severity, but : they were eventfully repulsed with twice the loss of the enemy, owing to the inexperience of part of the troops, and the presence of a thick fob, which embarrassed their move ments. It was ascertained that the Ame rican loss amounted to two hundred killed, six hundred wounded, and four hundred made prisoners. But how fared George Madden ? How fought the new recruit ? . An old man—a survivor of the ranks— tcdd us that he fought with the ferocity of a tiger and that just previous to the com mencement of the attack, a young stripling presented himself to the officer and re quested to be pineed side by side with the hardy battlers for liberty. His request was granted—for no time was allowed for ques tions and considerations—and be was placed by the side of Madden, who only noticed him by a look of approval as the troops 'wheeled into line. He fought bravely and well, foot to foot, sometimes—last 'to breast. But in vain the contest—useless the struggle. History tells of that disas trous struggle, and how, like the waves of the ocean, the brave troops Of General Washington, under their heroic leader, ga thered and broke, again and again upon the resisting forces of the enemy, but' without effect, only to meet defeat Ad death ! - Night shrouded the victory of our oppres sors, and hung gloomy and thick over the camp of our desponding, but not discou raged countrymen. . But the early light of the succeeding day beamed upon a spectacle of worse horror. There lay heaps of the dead, the wounded and the dying. Jut a little apart from the rest, upon a green mound, stained only with their own blood, lay two embraced in the faithful embrace of death. The elder and more manly form was recognised as that of Madden, the other the fair volunteer of the preceding day. They were locked in the last embrace, and, in trying to part them it was discovered that the slender and delicate form was - that of a woman! The hearts of the veterans grew big as they gazed upon ihis melancholy spectacle, and they forebore to part them, but they placed them locked in cash other's arms, in the same graye, and as the earth was thrown ,over them, no sacred rite was per formed, but the tears of brave soldiers were sufficient pleaders at the bar of heaven, and their sad thoughts an appropriate fune ral prayer for the sweet rest and perpetual happiness •of two such rare spirits ! From the Lezcisiturg Chronicie.., Item -ot Revolutionary 'History. Major James Rees died at Geneva, N. Y., March 24, 1851, aged 85 years. He was born in Philadelphia, of a Welch family, and was in early life the confiden tial clerk of Robert Morris the illustrious Financier of the Revolution. Mr. Rees held the office of Quartermaster General under General Washington in the time of the Whiskey Insurrection, in 1794, also under Generals Wilkinson and Izard, in the -war of 1814, was land agent and cashier of the bank of Geneva, and lastly, postmaster under General Harrison—all of which stations he filled with advantage to all concerned, and retired with unspotted honor. With the- best opportunities for,be-, coming rich, he preferred a moderate but sure competency. The following incident related by Major Rees—illustrative of the real hardships and privations of the stales men and soldiers who won our - Nation's Liberty—was communicated to the New York Literary Workl: "It was in the year 1781, that Mr. Mor ris one morning early said, Jemmy, I wish the horse and :chaise to be ready at ten, and that you accompany .me to meet Gen. Washington on the Square.' At the mo mentappointed I was ready, and proceeded with Mr. Morris to the junction of Market and Broad streets, Philadelphia. In a. few moments I saw the General and his servant approaching on, horseback. The General dismounted, and saluted Mr. Morris with gravity. They both sat down on a log in . that place. Their discourse at first was upon the miserable state of the army from the want of 4ead and clothing, and the General said : The head of my column will soon be in sight, on our way to the head of Elk.' The discourse soon varied to the prospect of raising flinds to procure supplies for his famishing troops, and I could perceive that tears wine in the' eyes of both. Said Mr. Morris, Dear General, I have made my last effort—my notes are in the market in sums varying from five pounds to five thousand dollars. I have al ready received twenty thousands from some .friends, (meaning Quakers,) and have that sum .here ready for your military chest, -and will-forward to you other sums as they may -come in, with flour and pork also.' The General seized the hand of Mr. Morris, saying, ' May as infinite God bless you, my dear-Morris, for this timely relief! It will save my-men from starving, and may tvin us a victory.' The fears rolled - down their cheeks, and I was unable 'to avoid weeping like a child. It was now that I heard the drum and' fife, and soon there advanced_ the head of . a column of pale faced, ragged in-, faritry,-gaunt and lean; hitt their counte, nances brightened as they beheld their chief in-conversation with the great paymaster.' Multitudes of these. men wero without shoes to their feet; isome had one shoe and some one boot—apart of an old coat or a ragged blanket. M g ay of the officers had their garments pa ched on the knee and else where, with loth of' various hues. This column was n its route to the Bay of Che sapeake, with the hope and purpose of Washington to intercept the march of Corn wallis, with ghat success it is well known— and that it ended gloriously at Yorktown, ,as it ended th w ar." Stitt ift-igteiTang. c Deaf Wives. / The incid nt' we are about to relate oc.; curred some years since, in the Granite State, and as we abide beyond striking dis-, tance of the' parties and their immediate friends, we shall be a little more free in our description of the circumstances than we otherwise should be. Nathaniel Ela, or " Uucle Natr as he was generally called, was - the corpulent, rubicund and jolly old landlord of the best hotel in the flourishing village of Dover, at the head of the Piscataque, and . was-ex cessively fond of a bit of fun withal. He was also the owner of a large farm iregew Durham, '-about twenty miles distant, 'the overseer of which- was one Caleb Ricker, or " Boss Kale," as termed by the nume rous hands under his control, and sufficient ly waggish- for all practical purposes of fun and frolic. Caleb, like a wise and prudent man, had a wife; and so had " Uncle• Nat," who was accustomed to visit his - farm every month or two, to see how matters went on. On The occasion of one of these visits, the following dialogue occurred' between Uncle Nat and Mistress Ricker : "Why, to tell you the truth; Mrs. Rick er," said Uncle Nat, " I have been thinking about it, for some time, but' then she is so very deaf as to render conversation with her extremely difficult—in fact, it reqUires the greatest effort to make her hear anything that is said to her ; and she is consequent ly very 'reluctant, to mingle in the society of strangers." "If' you think so, and will risk it," said Uncle Nat, " she shall accompany me on my next visit to the farm," and this having been agreed on, Uncle Nat left for the field, to acquaint Bosd Kale with What had . passed, and with the plan of future operations, touching the promised visit of his wife. It was finally settled between the wicked wags that the fact that their wives could both hear as well as anybody, should 'be kept a profound secret, until disclosed by a personal interview of the ladies themselves. The next time Uncle - Nat was about to " visit the farm," he suggested to his wife that a ride into the country would be of service to her; that Mrs. Ricker, who had never seen her, Was very anxious to receive a visit from her, and proposed that she should accompany him on that occasion. She readily consented, and they were soon on their journey., They had not, however proceeded far, when Uncle Nat observe() to her. that he was sorry to inform her that Mrs. Ricker was' extremely deaf, and she would be under the necessity of elevating her voice to the .highest pitch, in order to converse with her. Mrs. Ela regretted the misfortune, but thought, as she had a pretty strong voice, she would be able to make her friend hear her.. In a few hours after, Uncle Nat and his lady drove up to the door of his country mansion, and Boss Ricker, who had been previously informed of the time of Uncle Nat's intended arrival, was already in waiting to help to enjoy the fun that was to come off at the meeting of the Deaf Wives ! Mrs. Ricker, not expecting them at the time,.happened to be engaged with her domestic duties in the-kitchen ; but, observing her visitors through the win dow, she flew to the glass to adjust her cap and put herself in the best trim to receive them that the moment would allow. In the meantime, Boss Kale had ushered Uncle Nat and his lady into the parlor, by way of the front door, soon after which, Mrs. R. appeared in the presence of her guests. . " Mrs. Ricker, I will make you acquainted with Mrs. Ela," roared Uncle Nat, in a voice of thunder. " HOW do you do madam," screamed Mrs. Ricker to Mrs. Ela, with her, mouth dose .to the ear of the latter. " Very well, I thank you," replied Mrs. Ela, in a tone of coriosponding elevation. " How did you leave your family ?" con tinued . Mrs. R., in a voice quite up to the pitch of her first effort. "Alt very well, I thank you—how's your family 1" returned Mrs. E., in a fey which called into requisition all the power of her lungs. - . In the meantime, Uncle Nat and Boss Kale, who were convulsed beyond the pOWer of endurance, had quietly stolen . out' of the door, and remained under the 'windo w, lis tening to the. boisterous -conversation of their, deaf wives, which was continued on the same elevated letter of the staff for some time, 'When Mrs. .the sane led ger-fide key she had served from the first, thui addressed her lady guest i " - What on earth are you hallooing at me for—l a'nt deaf?" " A'nt.you, indeed?" said ,Mrs. E., " but pray: what are you hallooing to mo for— I'm sure Pm not deaf?' - • Each then ;came gradually down to her ordinary key, when a burst -of laughter from Uncle Nat and Boss Mho t the win. dow, revealed the whole trick, and even the isvuoLE ladies themselids were compelled to j. the merriment they had afforded tit= siders- by the ludicrous character of interview. How to Behave at Firei. The moment you, hear an alarm, scri like a pair of panthers. Run any wayi cept the right way—for the farthest round is nearest way La the fire. you happen to run on top of a wood so much the better, you can then gets ; ; view of the neighborhood. If , a breaks out on your view, break for it; mediately—but be sure you : don't jump a low window. Keep yelling all the ti and if you can't make night hideous ert4 yourself, kick all the dogs you'corne acl and set them yelling too—'twill . help c zingly. A brace, of cats dragged up si by the tail would ben a powerful auxilia If you attempt this however, you had' ter keep an eye claw-ward. When, reach the scene of the fire, do all you to convert it into a scene of destrite Tear down all the fences in the vici If it be a chimney on fire; throw salt d it, or if you can't do that throw salti rat's tail, and make. him runup; the will be about the same. If both' be ll impractible,. a few buckets' of water , ciously applied, will answer almost asl Perhaps the best plan would be :to jerl the pump handle and pound down the c' ney. Don% forget to yell all the whik it will have a prodigious effect in frighte; off the fire: You might swear a little, if you can do it scientifically.--,—lf you long to the " Eagle,"'d—n the!" Hope, to the " Hope," d—n the t Ea g le," an to neither, don't be partial and d—n bl The louder the better of course ;= and' more ladies in the vicinity the greater ! necessity ,for " doing it brown.' Shyl the roof - begin to smoke, get to-work inp earnest, and make any man "smoke"l interrupts you. If it is summer and tl. are fruit trees in the lot, cut their) dOwl prevent the fire from roasting the ak Don't forget to yell. . d Should the stabh. threatened, ,carry out the cow-al: Never mind the horse—he'll, be alive Il 1. kicking, and if his legs don't do their.d‘' let him pay for the roast. Ditto as to hogs—let them save their own. bacon: L, smoke _for it, When the roof begins:J-, , burn, get, a craw bar • and pry away stone step, or if the steps be of 'wood, C. cure an axe• and chop them up. Next ~ 1 away the wash boards in the basent i story, and if that dont stop the flarnesa j the chair boards on the, first floor shaol. similar fate. Should the devouring eleti,l:7 still pursue the, even tenor of its way, had better. ascend to the second . st 1 Pitch out pitchers and tumble out the4t . 1 blers. Yell all'the time. . If you find a baby abed, fling it into second story window of the house across way, but let the kitten carefully down ,i •:! the work basket.. Then draw out the, ; 1,1 , reau drawers and empty their contents of the back window, telling some body; upset the' slop barrel and rain water hcil head at the same time. Of -.course 31 , , will attend to the mirror. The furtheri ' can be thrown the more pieces can be ma, If any body objects smash it - over his he 4 Do not, under any circumstance , drop t ; tongs down from the second story—thel might break its legs, and render the pc , thing a cripple for life; set it straddle', your shoulders, and carry it down card, , ly. Pile the bedclothes on the floor 'a l show the spectators that you can " beat ti : bugs" at knocking a bedstead apart aid. chopping up .the pieces.. 1 By the time you have attended A/ these things, the fire %Via certainly btrarri ' ted, or the -building bitrnt down. In eitl 7 , case your services will be no longer need. - , .z and of course you need no further dir. ' Lions. , , , Preaching to the Point. Passing along on Wednesday evening at the south is our nfternoon—: Montgomery, Alabama, I stepped into, t, c l Presbyterian lecture roornovhece a sla was preaching. "My bredren," said he, " God blf your souls, ligion is like de Alabama rib In spring comes fresh, an' bring in all:, old logs, slabs an' sticks dsit had, been lyi on de bank, an' carry dem down do rent. Byrneby de water go dowa=den log coteh hero on dis island, den a slabge; cotched - on de shore, and de sticks. bend ' Bushes—and .dere dey lie withered ttre dry in' till dere comes 'nother-fresh.: lus' e'., dare comes -lone 'vival o"ligion-r—dis .olit sinner bruder an"dat old beckslider.brudei; '' i l an' all •de folk seem comin', an' - might ' good times. But, bredren, God bress you: souls, bymeby 'vival's gone—den , dis ,911 Sinner-is stuck on his old sin, din dat-914- backslider is cotched where he was. - eforeli on jus' Such, a rock, den one arter 'nothei 1 dat had got ' 'ligion lies. alt 'long , de sho : an' dere dey lie - till 'tiother 'mill: ~ : :-. tubbed S bredren, God bress yo ur soule kee - ._ ,„ in de current!" . / ' I thought this illustratien I etioil . 4,i .: for a more elegant dress;endi rlf tie, Oakl,. of'other than his own race:— , --- :::-: ,' , - ! .: • kiVESTMIN EDITOR . VMS, pale by-tap Scriber last week, and was so - overcall that ho has since been unable to attendl• his usual duties. 'Thus too much for himli A' (MEAT MAN will neither trampl e on - • . • worm, nor sneak to a king.