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AM D. BAILEY, _ . [SELF-DEPENDENCE AND SELF- IMPROVEMENT 7 THE FIRST rtioni., AND TILE FIRST DUTY OF EVERY NATION.] il•
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• 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.