fiforii inquirer awmMtmkti.
BY DAVID OVER.
Read!!
SALE OP THIS MAIN LINE.
LETTER No. 5.
SUMMARY OF THE RESULT IN
1855, 1854, 1853, AND 1852.
How stand the books for 1855? The
Canal Commissioners report
COLUMBIA ROAD.
Receipts, $857,059 84
Expenditures, 442,138 50
Reported profits, 414,921 34
PORTAGE ROAD.
Receipts, $18,150 09
Expenditures, 256,457 75
Reported loss, $238,307 66
TIIE CANAL.
Receipts, 243,007 77
Expenditures, 217,236 60
Reported profiis, $25,771 17
Net profits of Main Line, $202,384 85
In making up the statement of the Co
lumbia road, the Canal Commissioners tn.
elude repairs to the bridges, thus increas
ing their repair account over that returned
by the superintendent; but exclude $49,-
500 paid for five locomotives, and $8,549
19 spent in various small improvements.—
They also exclude sundry other payments
made that year on the road, as will be seen
from the Superintendent's aceount with the
Btute Treasurer, to be found in the report
•of the former, lie thus reports his pay
ments on the road from December 1, 1854,
to November 30, 1855:
Motive Power Account, 1854
and 1855, $360,866 52
Repair Account, debts and
bridges, 85,958 65
He reports debts contracted
and unpaid, 91,005 36 |
Total, paid and unpaid, $537,830 53
Deduct debts of 1854, paid
in 1855, but charged to
1854, 58,168 55
$479,661 98
Add damages, 8,493 50
Add pay of Collectors, &c., 11,895 09
Add uew track, 133,101 30
(lost of 1855, $633,151 87
Reported cost by Canal Cotn
uiisdooers, 442,138 50
Mis-statement of C. Board, sl9l 013 37
On the Portage there is also a discrepan
cy, in consequence of the Board throwing
out certain branches of expenditures, but
it is unnecessary to publish the details j
as the system pursued by the Board is very
apparent.
A brief comparison, however, between
the figures furnished by the Auditor Geu6-
ral's report, and the Canal Commissioners}
will prove instructive. The latter officers
represent the revenue of the MaiD Line, in
1855, at $1,108,217 70, the expenditures
at $915,832 85. The Auditor General re
ports the moneys paid out on the Maiu Line
in 1855, as follows:
Construction, $586,645 64
Motive Power, 582,852 43
Repairs, 335,371 51
Lock keepers, 31.41" S, I
Damages,
Oolloetors, &c., 34,330 10
rf'anal Commissioners and in
cidentals, i,154 12 |
$1,586,404 30
•Deduct work on new Prrtnge
road 453,115 02
Expenses of Main Line, $1,133,289 28
Expenses reported by Canal
Commissioners, 9 L>,832,85
Difference, $217,456 43
Total expenses, $1,133 289 28
Total receipt.*:, 1,108,217 70
Excess of expenditures over
receipts, according to Au
ditor General's report, $25,071 58
This is very different from the slb2,-
384 85 of net profits, of which tbo Canal
{jo r d speak in their report. And be it re
membered, this calculation excludes the
work on the New Portage, excludes the in
terest on the cost, and includes simply the
payments upon the line. Counting the in
terest paid, the Commonwealth's loss in
1855 from the ownership and management
of the Main Line, was between eight and
nine hundred thoatand dollars.
In 1854, the Canal Commissioners re
ported the revonue from the Main Line,
$1,179,010 17; the expenditures, $945,-
86* 13—net profit, 233,142 04. How
t r ue this is, may be seen from the report of
the Auditor General, gtwing ell the pay
ments uiadc on the Line for that year:
A Weekly Paper, Devoted to Literature, Politics, the Arts, Sciences, Agriculture, &c., &c—Terms: Two Dollars per annum.
Construction, $615,812 01
Motive Power, 758,199 07
? c P, airß ' 383,584 87
Lock keepers, 26,261 50
Dama g es 30,916 85
Collectors, 34>617 74
Canal Commissioners' office, 5,824 72
1,855,216 76
Deduct amount spent on New
Portage, 454,141 38
Amount spent on Main
J ; ine ' 1,401,075 48
Amount reported by Canal
Commissioners as spent, 945,868,13
Difference between tie two
statements, $455,207 25
If the amount spent on relaying the track
of the Columbia road be subtracted, the Ca
nal Board's statement would still be $293,-
536 92 below the truth.
AinouDt spent on Main Line
in 1854, exclusive of wrk
on New Portage, $1,401,075 38
Receipts reported by C. C., 1,179,010 17
Balance agaiust the Line for
ISi >4, $222,065 21
This is also exclusive of interest on the
cost of the work, aud represents only the
money actually paid out that year. In
cluding the interest, the loss would prove
to have been over oue million of dollars,
instead of the $233,142 04 the Caual
Board were dreaming about.
A similar reference to the books for
1853 shows that the Maiu Line did not
clear the $352,862 32 claimed for it by the
UaDa! Board. Tbey reported the expendi.
tares at $1,021,470 17. The Auditor
General reports the total expenditures at
$2,124,265 30. Excluding work ou the
new Portage, they were $1,516,419 76,
and excluding the entire amount charged
to construction, $866,048 47, the expenses
are reported by the Auditor General at sl,-
258,216 83, or $236,746 66 mote than the
amount reported by the Canal Commission
ers. Instead of the Main Line oleariug
$352,862 32, the figures stand thus :
Spent on new track Columbia
road, .locomotives, motive
power, repairs, lock keep
ers, collectors, damages
and Crnal Commission
ers, $1,482,185 91
Receipts from Main Line re
ported by C. C., 1,374,322 50
Balance against the Line $107,863 41
To sejure the alleged profits, the Canal
Board exclude from expenditures the money
required for relaying the track of the Co
lumbia Road, for new locomotives, for dum
ages incuir :d, &c., &c.
In 1852 the Canal Commissioners report
en the profits of the Main Line at $485,-
561, and fixed the expenditures at $906,-
058 44. These the Auditor General's Re
port shows to have been $1,480,340 20,0r
$968,551 02, exclusive of the entire Con
struction account. Including the amount
paid for re-laying the track of the Columbia
railroad.
The expenditures were $1,190,154 99
Receipts of the Line, 1,391,647 4t
Apparent profits, $192,492 45
Against which are te he charged sundry
debts created and not paid. Ou page seven
of their repoit for 1853, the Canal Board
ask for an appropriation to pay $84,577 52
of debts contracted in 1852; and others
were developed in subsequent years. In
addition, no estimate is made for deteriora
tion of stock, for replacing which heavy
payments were afterwards made necessary,
though always omitted by the Board; and
all reference to interest paid is omitted.
Including these offsets, the apparent profits
dwindle to nothing, and a heavy account
rises against the line
In my next I will throw the operations of
several years into tabular form, so as to
present a clearer and more condensed view
of the period embraced. ADAMS.
Drawing a Pension
* Well, my lad, where are you travelling
this stormy weather alone?' asked an in
quisitive landlord, in the north of Vermont
during the last war, of a small lad, whose
fatbor was engaged in smuggling, and had
sent him. young a* he was, with an impor
tant message in advance of the party.
'Going to draw my pension,' was the re
ply.
'Pension!'echoed the asto*-'-l <1 land
lord. 'What does so small ajaov -is you
draw a pension for l '
'Minding my own business, anu jotting
that of others alone.'
The landlord sloped.
[[/"There is a girl in Possurotown
whose lips are so sweet that they stick
together every morniDg, by the boney
tbey distil, and she can not open her
mouth uutil she has parted her lips with
s silver knife. She will be a treasure to
her husband, not only on aeeount of her
j sweotness, but because she cam occasion
ally keep her mouth shut.
Trusting an Indian Chief.
A FACT.
One of the first settlers in Western New
York was Jndge W., who established him
self at Whitesboro, about four miles from
Utica. lie brought bis family with him,
atnoug whom was a widowed daughter with
an only child, a fine boy of abot four years
old. You will recollect that the country
around was an unbroken forest, and this was
the domain of the savage tribes.
Judge W. saw the necessity of keeping
on good terms with the Indians, for as he
was nearly alone, he was completely at
their mercy. Accordingly, he took evety
opportunity to assure them of bis kindly
feelings and to secure their good will in re
turn. Several of the chiefs came to see
him, and all appeared pacific. But there
was oue thing that troubled him; an aged
chief of the Seneca tribe, and one of great
influence, who resided at a distauce of six
miles, had not yet been to see him; nor
could be by any means ascertain the feel
ings of the Sachem, in respect to his set
tlement in that region. At last he sent
him a message,and the answer was, that the
chief would visit him on the morrow.
True to his appointment, the Sachem
came. Judge W. received him with marks
of respect, and introduced his wife, Iris
daughter and the little boy. The interview
that followed, was deeply interesting. Up
on its results, the Judge conceived his se
curity might depend, and he was, there
fore excedingly anxious to make a favora
ble impression upon the distinguished chief.
He expressed to him his desire to settle iu
the country, to live on terms of amity and
good fellowship with the Indians; to be
useful to them by introducing among tbem
the arts of civilization :
The chief heard hiiu out, and then said,
"Brother, you ask much and you promise
much—what pledge can you give of your
faith !"
"The honor of a man that never knew
deception," was the reply.
"The white man's word may be good to
tbc white man, yet it is but wind when
spoken to the Indian," said the Sachem.
'I have put my life in your bands,' said
the Judge; 'is this an evidence of my good
intentions? I have placed confidence in the
Indian, and I will not believe be will abuse
or betray the trusl that is thus reposed '
'So much is well,' replied the chief; 'the
Indian will repay confidence; if you trust
him he will trust you. But I must have a
pledge. Lot the boy go with me to my
wigwam; I will briug him back in three
days with my answer.'
If an arrow had pierced the bosom of the
mother, sbo could not have felt a deeper
pang than went to her heart as the Indian
made the proposal. She spraug from her
seat, and rushing to the boy who stood at
the side of Sachem, looking into his face
with pleased wonder and admiration, she
encircled him in her arms, and pressing him
close to her breast, was about to fly from
the room. A gloomy and ominous frown
came over the Sachem's brow, but he did
not speak.
But not so with Judge W. He kuew
that the success of the euterpris, the very
life of the family depended on the decision
of the moment. 'Stay, stay, my daughter!'
said he. Bring back the boy. 1 beseech
you. I would not risk a hair of his head.
He is not more dear to you than me. But,
my child, he must go with the chief. God
will watch over him He will be as safe in
the Sachem's wigwam as beneath our roof
and in your arms.
1 shall not attempt to describe the agony
of the mother for the three ensuing days.
She was agitated contending hopes and fears.
In the night she awoke from her sleep,
seeming to hear the screams of, her child
calling upon its mother for help! But the
time wore away—and the third day came-
How slowly did the hours pass! The morn"
ing waned away; noon arrived, and the af
ternoon was far advanced, yet the Sachem
came not. There was gloom over the
whole household. The mother was pale and
silent, as if despair was settling ooldly
around her heart. Judge W. walked to
and fro, going every few minutes to the
door, and looking tbrongh the opening iD
the forest towards the Sachem's abode.
At last as the rays of the setting su n
were thrown upon the tops of the forest
around, the eagle feathers of tbo ehieftain
were seon danoing above the bushes in the
distance. He advanced rapidly, and the
little boy was at bis side. He was gaily
attired as a yonng chief—his feet being
dressed in moccasins, a fine beaver skin
wae over his shoulders, and eagle's feathers
were stuck in his hair. He was in excel
lent spirits, and so proud was he of his hon
ors that he seemed two inches taller than
i before. He wae spon in his mother's arms.
BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY. JULY 10.1857.
and in that one brief moment she seemed to
pass from death to life. It was a happy
meetiug—too happy for me to describe.
'The white man has conquered,' said the
Sachem; 'hereafter let ns be friends. Yon
have trusted the Indian; he will repay you
with confidence and friendship.'
He was as good as his word, and Judge
W. lived there many years, laying the
foundation of a flourishing and prosperous
community.
~A HARD CASK
Poor people have a hard time in this
little world of ours. Even.in matters of
religion there is a vast difference be
tween Lasarns and Dives, as; the following
anecdote will illustrate.
Old Billy G had attended a great
revival, and in common with many others
he was 'converted' and baptised. Not
many weeks afterwards one 6f his neigh
bors met him reeling home from tbo court
ground with a considerable brick iu his
bat.
'Hello, uncle Billy,' said a friend, I.
thought you had joined the church.'
•So I did,' answered uncle Billy, make
ing a desperate effort to stand still—'so 1
did, Jeeuis, and would a bin a good Bap
tist if tbey had'ot treated u¥,so everlasting
meau at that water. Didn't you ever hear
'bout it Jeeuis l '
'Never did'
'Then I'll tell 'bout it. You see, when
we come to the ba'tizing place, thar was
me and old Jouks, the old squire *as to be
dipped at the same time. -Well, the min
ister tuck the'squire in fust, but I didn't
mind that much, as I thought it would be
jest as good when 1 cum, so lie led bim
iD,and after dippin uuder he raised him
up mighty keertul, and wiped his face aud
led bim out. Then cum my turn, aud in
stead of lifting uic out be did tL e
'squire, he gave me oue and left me
crawling' about on the bottom like ad d
mud turtle "
K7"T understand, Mr. lones, that you
can turn anything neater than any mar. iu
this town.'
'\"es, Mr. Smith, I said so.'
'Well, Mr. Jones, I don't like to brag,
but there is no man on earth that can turn
a thing as well as I can whittle it.'
'Fob, nonsense, Mr. Smith, talk about
whittling, what can you whittle as well as I
can turn it?'
'Auytluug, everything, Mr. Junes. Just
name the article that 1 cau't whittle, that
you can turn, and 1 will give you a dollar
if 1 dou't do it to the satisfaction of all
these gciitienten present.'
'Well, Mr. Smith, suppose we take two
grindstones, just for trial; you may whittle
and I will turn.'
Mr. Smith slid.
GOOD RULES-—Profane swearing is
abominable. Vulgar language is disgusting.
Loud laughing is impolite. Inquisitivcness
is offensive. Tattling is mean. Telliug lies
contemptible. Slandering is devilish. Igno
rance is disgraceful, and laziness is shameful.
Avoid all the above vices and aim at use
fulness. This is the road in which to be
come respectable. Walk in it. Never be
ashamed of honest labor. Never act the
hypocrite. Keep good company. Speak
the truth at ail times. Never be discouraged
but persevere, and mountains will becouto
molehills.
Young man commit these rules to memory
—live by them—let nothing sway you from
them. They will make you a true man.
HANCOCK.—It is quite a singular fact
that Hancock was not originally elected aa
a delegate to the Continental Congress at
Philadelphia. Illness of Jas Bowdoin's
wife compelled him to remain at home, and
aud Hancock was chosen as his substitute.
To this trifling circumstance Hancock is in
debted lor the proud distinction he has gain
ed of having his name enrolled—where al\
the world may read it—foreuust on the roll
of Independence.
A man tried in Boston for stealing a
horse aud wagon, being called to speak for
himself, said: "1 bavo nothing to say in
particular. The fact is, when I get half or
two-thirds drunk I thinkeverything belongs
•to mo". Whereupon the Boston Post makes
this parenthesis. "Thers are soute very
sober people who act as if thoy think just as
Joe does when he is druuk.
The Niles Enquirer records the good
luck of a oitken of that village, who, while
bathiug in the river, discovered, after an
industrious "scrub" of his person of about
five minutes, a pair of drtwers which he had
lost two years before.
More pleasing than the dew-drops that
sparkle upon the roses, are tears that pity
gathers upon the cheek of beauty.
EMPEROR AND ARTIST.
ODC David painted for the Eoglish Mar
quis of Douglas a standing portrait of Na
poleon of the sizo of life. He was accus
tomed to paint the imperial features with
out requiring Napoleon's personal attend
ance. The Emperor, therefore, knew
nothing of this portrait till it was brought
one day to the Tuillories for his inspection.
It represented his Majesty iu his cabinet
ns he had risen from bis desk after a night
spent in writing—a circumstance indica
ted by candles burning in their sockets.—
Those who had seen it considered it, as
far as the head and features were consid
ered, the most perfect lescmblance that had
yet been obtained.
Napoleon was delighted with it, and ea
gerly complimented David. Still,' said
h, 'I think that you have made my eyes
rather too weary; this is wrong for wor
king at uight does not fatigue me; on the
contrary it rests tue, lam never as fresh
in the morning as when I have dispensed
sleep. Who is this portrait for! Who
ordered it? It was not I, was it.
'No, sire, it is intended for the Marquis
of Douglas.'
•What, David?' returned the emperor
scowl tug, 'lt is to be given to an English
man?'
'Sire, he t3 oue of your Majesty's grea
test admirers, and is, perhaps, the most
sincere living appieciator of French ar
tists.'
'Next to mc,' replied Napoleon tartly,
after a moment, he added, 'David, I will
buy the portrait myself.'
•Sire it is already sold.'
'David, 1 desire the portrait, I say, I
will give thirty thousand francs for
it.'
Your Majesty, I cannot change its des
tination,' said David, indicating by a des
criptive gesture, that he had already been
paid.
'David,' exclaimed Napoleon, this por
trait shall not be sent to England, do you
Lear? I will return your Marquis his
money.'
•Surely your majesty would not dishon
or uie?' stammered the artist, at the fame
time noticing that the Etuperor, having
exhausted persuasion, was preparing for
active interference.
'No, certainly; but what I will not do
either, is to allow the enemies of France
to possess me iu their country, even on
canvass.' Fo saying, he directed a stur
dy, kick at the paiutiug, and the imperi
al foot passed vigorously through it.—
Without a word, be quitted the apartment,
leaving a wonder stricken audience behind
him. David had the picture cairied hack
to his studio, aud subsequently mcuded
aud restored it, and forwarded it to its
ownct. It is likely that the merit of the
portrait, as a work of art aud as a likeness
is now somewhat lost in the superior at
tractions of the patched rent, aud that it
is considerably greater as a metueuto of
his Majesty's wrath, than as a specimen of
the skill of his artist in ordinary.—Good
rich''s Court of Aapoteon.
COMMON MERCIES.-A gentleman was once
stopped in the streets of London by a stran.
ger, who asked him, "Did you ever thauk
God for your reason ?"
"1 don't know that I ever did," the gen.
tleman replied.
"Do it quickly then," said the stranger,
"for I have lost mine."
Though this was spoken by one who had
lost his reason, it certainly contains a very
rational sentiment that should impress every
rational mind. Our common mercies are
often disregarded, merely because they ar e
common. And we rarely maka a due esti
mate of tliettt, until we are deprived of
them.
These mercies are very numerous; and
'hough small, when separately considered,
are great in the aggreate, and deeply in
volve our well-being. We are very apt to
think that happiness depends on grout bles
sing; but it must be evident to every reflect
ing person, that our daily comfort is largely
derived from ten thousand little convenien
ces with which we are constantly surrouned.
"If 1 should count them, tbey are more iu
nuutbei than the sand.''— JV*. Y. Observer.
The triumph of a woman lies not in ad.
miration of her lover, but in the respect of
her husband; and that is gained by a a con
stant cultivation of those qualities which
she knows he most values.
ff/"*'Mr. D—, if you'll get ray pants
done by Saturday, I shall be forever in.
debted to you.' 'lf that's your game they'l 1
not be done, sure,' sa'd the tailor.
KF"Dou't you remember old Towzer,
dear Kate, old Towxer so shaggy and
kind; how he used to play, day and night,
by the gqtc, and seize interlopers be
' hind'
INITIATING A DOMESTIC.
Mrs. Walter Fairfield wished to initiate a
new domestio in the secret of doorkeeping.
'You will be sure, Biddy, and not suffer a
person to stand long in the vestibule with
out answering the bell.'
'Certainly not, ma'am, may it please yonr
ladyship,'
'And there will be ladies calling, Biddy>
about whom 1 must give you certain instruc
tions, I hope you will learn to disorininate
cbaraoter. All is not gold that glistens,'
"And don't I know that by the brass-pin
Aicbscl O'Flathery gave me of a thanksgiv
ing eve ?'
'Biddy, there will be a young lady very
genteelly droased, with a pink drawn bat and
a rioh embroidered gray cloak, and when
ever she inquires for me be sure and aay, she
is out.'
Biddy looked wild-'And what else should
I say if you're gone, mistress ?'
'But that's not it, you stupid girl; at any
rate you are to say I am out, even if I am in
my parlor ohatting with a friend.'
'And to another who comes in a brown
velvet hat and marabout feathers, and short
satin cloak, you are to say the same, 'she is
out.'
Biddy nodded ascent, and awaited furtber
orders.
'To a young lady who calls with a music
hook under her arm, lam out. To a young
gentleman with a little file of papers, who
has a large quantity of whiskers about his
fa*e—recollect, Biddy, to him aay, I am out
yes, out of the city for a few days. To
an elderly lady who is dressed in black, who
will demand very uuuivilly to see me. be sure
Biddy, aud say to her, I am out.'
'Lord help me, ma'am, and to whom shall T
say you are in ?'
•First let me see your power of mcnytry
To whom, Biddy, have I directed you to say
not at home ?'
'To the mn so very hairy—to the sun
like woman in black—to the pink hat and
the velvet one.'
•Right, Biddy, you certainly promise well
—now be sure and practise as well. All
other ladies who may call from twelve to two
be sure and admit them in the farther draw
ing-room.'
Biddy oourtesied.
'I think,' replied Mrs. Fairfield to her hus
band that same evening, 'we shall have a
treasure in this young Irish girl—she really
seems to have a good understanding.'
Mr. Fairfield hummed a tune to the words
'when 1 cui read my title clear,' &c.
The next morning a geutleman called ar.d
inquired for Mrs. Frirfield. He had huge
whiskers, but Biddy coucluded it ws not
the young man she was warned not to admit
so she threw open the drawing-reont.
to Mrs. Fairfield, Mr Sykes has called.
Mr. Sykes, why Biduy, that is our min
ister; just uucover the mirror in the Iront
room—it looks hideous, and the miaister
will not observe what you are doing in the
distance.'
'I called, Mrs. Fairfield, to secure your
valuable aid in inducing housekeepers to pa
! tronixe Mrs. Wheeler's Intelligence office.
—Mrs. Wheeler's is a member of our ohurch,
and a very worthy woman, dependent on her
own exertions: she will select only those fe
males whose utoral characters are well estab
| lished.*
'A worthy object, Mr. Sykea ! I certain
ly will give it my warmest encouragement.
Of oourse she will secure no places for those
given to theft, lying, and similar vices, and
this will make quite model homes for us all.
Tho practice of artful deception, Mr Sykes,
has caused me unparalleled mischief.—
Church members and all others, ought to
instill sound principles into domestics.'
Mr. Sykes admired the Christian spirit
that pervaded Mrs. Fairfield'* discourse.
He wished all his church was aswoitby;but
alas !
The bell rang, and a voung man inquired
for Mrs. Fairfield. Biddy bowed him ia
also, hut not a sign of a name wonld he give
as to who called.
'ls he light complexioned, BiddyP
•Yes, ma'am, barriog his hair.'
'O, I know who it is, and all complacen
cy and smiles, Mrs. Fairfield entered, when
10, Mr. Simonds had called for the pay
ment of a Parisian head dress, amounting to
the sum of ten dollars, worn at Caradori's
last conoert. She could have killed the
Iriah girl for admitting him.
next morning the lady in the pink
hat called, and Biddy, of course, let her in,
forgetful of her orders.
•Mrs. Fairfield, I bare brought you Mis*
Ellen's tuition for daneing three quarters
seventy 6ve dollars.'
Mrs. Fairfield put it on the osrd rack,
remarking that would show it to her
husband, and again gave Biddy a tirade for
I disobeying orders,
VOL. 30, NO. 28.
Finally the lady in deep blaek called,
and Biddy inade no scruple to aay, 'my
mistress bade me say she was out.' The
woman looked imploringly•—will you ny to
Mrs. Fairfield that that small bill for mak
ing a doien of shirts foi Mr. Fairfield, is
again presented, and must be paid.'
Biddy did as the woman directed, bu*
the poor seamstress had to wait a little 100.
ger. And Biddy was that day dismissed
for stupidity and want of discrimination.
Mrs. Fairfield, in future, is going to Mrs
Wheeler's office, to procure good, truthfuj
honest help; for she says it is a duty sh*
owes to the woman, on account of being
connected with her in the same church.—
She says, moreover, she mast have a new
cloak similar to Mrs. Blair's which only
cost fifty dollars: so the dancing master*
and the seamstress, and the music master
and the French milliner, must wait, for she
has already expended twice that sum over,
when her husband bad given it to her ex
pressly to pay those hills,; but she still
maintains, like many nominal Christians,
that one must dress fashionably to be re"
spected.
EDGAR A. POK..
AT a course of lectures recently gireo in
Baltimore, by Dr. Mcßabe, the- following
tribute to the genius of Poe was strikingly
and impressively read:
He was prcseuted as a Strang', and won
derful man of our own times and acquaint
ance—might in his wcakoess and weak in
bis mightiness. A subtle miad a vicar**
of tha pen—a combination of the worm and
the God—of dust and deity—a modern Pro
metheus, chained to the rock of a fatal mor
tal malady—a man who came an age before
his time, and passed away like the lightning
from the scroll <>f heaven; who oonquered era
be fell from the topmost round of the ladder
of Fame, but then fell inglorioasly—a man
from the ark of whose soul the dove went
forth, to briDg back no olive branch to tell
of the subsiding deluge of the waters of aor
row that flooded over his soul, in whose
window came the "dark and ominous bird of
yore" croaking still its "nevermore," for
bidding the cup of Neptune, and staring
with its wild and fiery eyes into all the con*
voluted labyrinths of the past beak into bis
proud and bleeding heart, a child of sorrow
and of song, whose death tubes were put on
in a kennel aod whose last sigh was breath
ed in a hospital. Misfortune seemed to work;
hiui from the cradle to the grave. The
house of a stranger was the home of his io.
fancy; he never knew a mother's love and
now his restless spirit, like the wandering
Jew, seemed ever crying for a "surcease of
sorrow/" and when in the deep and passion
ate eloquent* of despairing grief we hear him
shrieking to the dark, impersonation of his
destiny :
"Tell roe truly, I implore.
Is there, is there no balm in Gilead I
Tell me truly, I implore!
Tell this soul, with sorrow laden,
If within some- 'Usta.it Aidea,
I shall clasp some sainted maiden,
Whom the angels-name Lenore t
a rare and sainted maiden,
Whom the angels named Lenore f
That solemn, hopeless response—Narer
more—tells that not only did he narturo
the cypress for bra grave, but tiwt no voice
from out that "distant Atdeo" whispered of
peace beyond the portals of tbe tombs
Ah, that "nevermore I - ' how sadly il
strikes upon the soul, as we recall the oir
cutostances of Foe's death! He died &
druukard ! What comment upon tbe pow-*
erlessness of the noblest intellect, of the
highest genius, to struggle unaided against
the deuion of visious habits ! There wee
balm in Gilead—there was a physician there
—and he might hare been healed. But no
—be did not—would not apply the remedy
—-and be died- miserably, madly be died!
you tako this woman to be
your wedded wiCkF asked an Illinois meg*
istrate to the masculine of a oouple who
stood before him- "Wall, sqaire, you
| roust be a tarnal green hand to ask me
such a question as that ar. Do you think
that I'd be sack a plaguoy fool as to go to
the bar hunt and take this ar gal from the
quiltin'frolic, il I wasn't houscriptuous
lv sartain and determined to have hsr !——
Drive on with your business, end don'*
ax foolish questions.'
A CHRONIC COMPLAINT.— Woman (te
little boy)—"Jiuimy, ere your folks ell
welll"
Little Boy—"Yes ma'am, ell but Sslly
Ann."
Woman.—"Why, whet's the matter with
bert"
Little Boy. Oh, nothtn' particular—
only she had the hoopin cough oucc, and
she ain't never got over it. The sough
ain't of any account now,-hut she has the
hoops desperate.