Bedford inquirer and chronicle. (Bedford, Pa.) 1854-1857, July 10, 1857, Image 1
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.