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133 T X3.l.Eilir.
NOLUMEAVIII
GOD SAVE TILE FLAIL,
ET OLIVER WENDELL DOLNEg
Washed in the blood of the brave and the bloor,n ,
• ing,
Snatched from the altars of insolent foes':
Burning with star.fires, but never consuming,
Flash its broad ribands of lily and rose.
Vainly the prophets of Baal would rend it—
'Vainly his worshipers pray for its fall;
Thousands have died for it, Millions defend it,
Emblem of justice and mercy to all.
Justice then reddens the sky with bet terrors;
Mercy that comes with tier white-handed' train,
Soothing all passions, redeeming all errors,
Sheathing the sabre and breaking the chain.
Borne on the deluge of old usurpations,
Drifted our Ark oler_the desolate_seas;
This was the rainbow of hope to the nations,
Torn from the storm-cloud and .flung to the
breeze.
God bless the Flag and its royal defenders!
While its broad folds o'er the hattle.field wave,
Till the dim star-wreath rekindle its splendors,
Washed from its strains in the blood of the brave
/Viileis(G 4 Ml_BlAL.ltstrY.
'TIIE TRAGIC WEDDING.
I am-no profdssed-stery-writer, but—the
:are many tales that I have listened to of the
early times, when the red man vainly strove
o wreak his vengeance t n the defenceless set
tlers of our frontiers, to gain the ascendancy
gone fromliim forever. These tales are in
variably interesting:—first, because they are
full of thrilling, incidents, and then again be
cause they are true.
The story of the Tragic Wedding is one
among the many that I listened to from
the lips of an aged friend of mine (a pioneer
in the settlements of Western Virginia) du
ring the long November evenings of 184-,
when banishing from my mind, as much as
possible, the dogmas of the "learned corn
.nientator," I betook myself to the happy fire
side, to gether profit and recreation from the
old man's narrative.
"Just fifty years ago this very night," be
gan the old man,
one evening, t'on the iden
tical spot where Squire P---'s house now
stands, iccurred a tragedy the remembrance
, of which fills me with horror.' It was one
of the most cold-blooded transactions that in
my residence in the wilderness of seventy
years ever came to my knowledge; it filled
the whole region, around with consternation,
causing mothers to hug more closely to their
bosoms their helpless inflints, and the hardy
men to take up arms and 'swear vengeance
on the heartless perpetrators. Listen, and I
will tell you.
"A few of the more hard and darin
. .
the early settlers of 31 became a litt'e
dissatisfied with their situation, there, and
removed into this then wild and unexplored
region, distant about thirty miles from any
settlements; and, finding a fertile soil anecad
vantag,eous location, built themselves houses
and made clearings. Things went on pros
perously with them, and they lived with but
little fear of the Indians, as none but a strag
n•lino• hunter or two had been known to visit
the vicinity since a battle between a large
party of settlers and the tribe which occa
sionally located themselves there occurred,
in which the Indians were signally defeated,
and more than half their number slain.
"The settlement numhered some twelve
families, who were located within a circuit
of two miles. My elder brother and sister
.were among the number. Among them, : as
a matter of course, was a fair sprinkling of
lads and a lassies, of whom Mary S , of
the latter.sex, was a universal favorite of old
and young, and the belle of the settlement.
She was, my young friend, a girl that was a
girl—not one of your sentimental, pale-faced,
wasp waisted, dainty Misses of the .present
time; but a bright eyed blooming brunette,
who could spin tow and weave the cloth of
which her dress was made. Oh, she was a
charming girl. and wherever she went hap
piness followed her footsteps. _Her guileless
—heart shed tits kindly influence all around
her, imparting to all -who came in contact
with her a kindred feeling.
"Jack H—was exactly her counter-
iart, brave, generons, intelligent and enter
prising, a 'perfect model of a man in charac
ter as well is in form. And as there was al-
ways a rivalry among the young beaux of
the settlement in striving to gain the favor
and approbation of Mary, so among the girls
each strove to gain the attention of Jack
The knowing ones among the old folks plan
lied deep sehetnes for enttapping - the young
couple into alliance best'suitod to their own
particular• interests; but Jack and Mary, dis
'regarding the wishes of others, had taken
'this matter into their own hands, like sensi
ble young people as thy were, and in spite
.of the plotting of the old ladies they had
come to. perfect understanding, and formed
4tn intimacy which nothing but death could
:sever.
44 .A.t. the time of which I speak this mat
ter had - long_beee settled, and all the neces
sary arrangements made for the wedding of
.'the likeliest .couple in the settlement,' as the
.old ladies said. Young and old gathered to
gether at the spacious (for those times) house
of Capt.,S---- to eelobrate the nuptials
of Jack and :Mary; ,arul- ample were the pre
parationsfor the feast. Bright-I*d damsels
• with .blushing eheeks, and gallant, hardy
nen - where there. Tho worthy parion from
he nest settleiuent -was there, and:by his
.IPaarially Nelmotwrletrusx , r"loToutitsztl in. 1 3 '460Eirti©..9 .namcit
WAYNESBRO';FRAN4LIN COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 2.7,186 k
side sat another sersonage with whom in these
fastidious times, it woul' 6e oeme seen-.
lege to,associate the man of GoD—I mean
the fiddler. But things ain't now as they
were then. All was joy, all was gaiety.—
Ah, little did those gathered there dream of
the awful fate that.awaited them.
"I was just then twenty-two, and having
Inertia my worthy wife—peace be to her
mouldering ashes—only a , few months be
fore, I was unprepared to go with my broth
er and sister at the outset but was intending
to follow as soon as my affairs could be ar
ranged. I had been out a week trapping sa
ble; and knowing what was to come eff,- I
made it on - my way too be present. The gaie
ty of the party was at the height. The cer
emony was just being performed. The. min
ister had pronounced the solemn words—
'whom God bath joined together let no man
put assunder,'—the kiss was exchanged, and
all were crowding around the happy pair with
congratulations, when a yell, wild and hi
deous, rent the air— the deadly war whoop
of the Indians. •
"Terrible was the consternation of all, faces
a moment before radiant with happiness turn- '
ed in agony of horror to heaven. In an in
stant the doors were burst open, and savage
after savage, with glittering-knite-and-tonia
haw k, rushed in• to slaughter. My God, what
a moment was that! . The hideous yells of
the savages—the shrieks and groans of the ,
dying—they ring in my ear to the present I
day !—I saw the bloody tomahawk cleave the 1
skull of poor Jack as he vainly endeavored !
to protect his bride. I hear her wild shrieks
as the deadly knife pierced the bosom of the 1
lovely Mary. I saw the savage arm uplift -1
ed, 1 felt"the stunning blow, and knew no
more.
"How long I remained insensible I have
no means of knowin•.. I awoke as from-a-;
a fearful dream I was near y crushe an
covered entirely•with dead bodies, to which
circumstance .1 probably owed my life
With a struggle I extracted myself from the
dead upon and around me, and stood - upon
my feet. The sun was shining high in the
heavens. Oh, horrors, what a sight met my
eyes! There, in their blood, lay every one
that had formed the bridal party, not a soul
had escaped! Involuntarily I put my hand to
my head and felt for the scalp; I found the
fracture. I had been struck with the back
of a tomahock and only stunned, and being
covered by my friends the Indians had neg
lected to scalp me.
"One by one I examined the bodies of all,
to see if life was remaining in any I found
two or three whom the savages had. neglect
ed to ,scalp—but not one was alive. The
sight was too horrid for human vision. My
brain reeled, and I fell 'to the earth. Coming
again to my senses, I hurried from the dread
ful spot, stepping over the mangled corpses
of my sister and brother, and the bride a❑d
bridegroom in the embrace of death. I pass
ed to the next house. An aged lady and
four children lay dead in their bed. •I pass
ed to the next—death bad been there too.
The smoking ruins of others told but too
plainly the tragic story, there was not a liv
ing being beside me in the settlement.
"When I think-of-that-awful night—o£
the horrors of the morning as I awoke to sen
st6ilirryb-lood em (Iles in lily VtillS 7 at
my head swims. From that time I swore
vengence on the red skim, It has long
since been accpmplished. Not one of that
tribe lives to [ell the story."
On my return home that night, I-thought
I saw indians in every bush. And when. at
last I slept, I saw the cold glare of the eyes I
of murdered men and women upon me—[
was pressed dowa by the weight of deadbod:
ies The incidents of the tragic wedding,
as I heard it from the old man's lips, for a
long while moved me as a panorama; so deep
was the impression made upon me by the
old man's story.
Bachelorism versus Matrimony.
The following contrast of bachelurisrn and
matrimony 'is doubtless the- production of
some ill-natured fellow who has received
"No" for an answer. it is quite clever in
its way, though a little too rough, perhaps,
on the divine institution : "The poor bache
lor, indeed ! Who is petted to death by the
ladies with marriageable daughters ? invit
ed, to tea and evening parties, and- told to
drop in just when it is convenient? The bach
elor. Wholives in &over all his days. and
when he dies has flowers strewn on his grave
by the girls who could not entrap'him. The
bachelor. Who strews flowers on the mar
ried man's grave? His widow? Not a bit
of it; she pulls down the tombstone that a
six weeks' grief has set up in her heart, and
goes and gets married again—she. does
Who roes to bed because time hangs heavy
on his hands? The -married man. Who
gets scolded for picking out the softest part
'of the bed, and for waking up the baby when
he turns out in the morning? The married
man. Whn has wood to split, househunting
and marketing to do, the young ones to wash
and the lazy servants to look after?- The
married man. Who is arrested for whipping
his -wife? The married man: Who gets di
vorced? The married man. Finally, who
has the scriptures on his side? The bache
lor. St. Paul knew what he w4s talking a
bout when he said: 'He that marries does
well; but he that marries not, does better.'"
The Providence Journal tells the follow
ing story aboutaomember of Congress from
the-Pacific coast: Orogen sends a fresh back
woodsman to Congress who had never seen a
railroad till he came on this season. He had
had beard much of the tricks &sharpers,
•ied was determined to keep his' eyes open.
He kept them open so wide that when the
conductor came and tore .off the coupon of
his cur ticket, ho siezed that worthy o
by the throat, and had nearly made a. cad
of hint before ho could be persuaded at no
wrong bad been done. That man I make
a sharp representative at Washington.
The late Dr. Miller, of Princeton, as all
his students' will remember,•abounded in an
ecdotes, whiehlre had 1- a e o rs classes
trona year to year,: to illustrate the points
made in his lectures. One of them occurs
to us just now, as being specially applicable
to the new converts-that-have-recent come
into the churches within the bounds of our
circulation. A celebrated Judge in Virgin
ia, was in early years, skeptical as to the
truth of the Bible, and especially as to the
reality of experimental religion. lie had a
favorite slave, who accompanied him in his
travels around his circuit. As they passed
from court house to mint house, they fre
quently conversed on the subject ofreligion,
the servant, Harry, venturing, at times,rto
remonstrate with his master against infideli
ty. As the judge had sufficient confidence
in Harry's honesty and sincerity, he asaed
him how he felt, and what he'thcrught on
various points. Among other things, Har
ry told his master that he was very often
sorely tempted and tried by the devil. The
Judge asked llarry to explain to him how
it happened tliat the devil attacked him
(Harry) • who was so pious a man, so sorely,
while he allowed himself, who was an infidel
Hand - sinner, to pass-unnoticed-and—untempt-=
ed.
. Harry asked, "Are you right sure master,
that he does let your pass without troubling
you?" .
"Certainly I am," replied the judge, "I
have no dealings with him at ill. Ido 4ot
even so much as know that there is any such
being in existence as the devil. If there "s
-ang such a being he never troubles me." '
"Well," said Harry, "I know that there
is a devil ; and that he tries me sorely at
times "
. afterwards, when the Judge
had gotten through his docket, he conclu
ded to go on a hunt for wild ducks on one of
the streams which lay across his road home
ward. Harry •accompanied him. As they
approached the river they espied a flock of
ducks quietly floating on its surface. The.
Judge stealthily crept -up to the bank and fir
ed upon them, killing. two or three, •and
wounding as many others. Ho at once threw
down his gun and made strenuous efforts,
with the aid'of clubs and stones, to secure
the wounded ducks, while he permitted the
dead ones to float on, for the time unnoticed
by him. Harry, as he sat on the seat of the
carriage, watched his master's movements
with deep interest, when he returned, said
to him :
"3lassa, while you was a lashin' in the
water arter dent wonnded du ks, and letten'
de dead ones float on, it jis camp to my mind
why it is dat de debit troubles me - so much
while he ldti you alone. You are like. the
'dead ducks; he's sure he's AA you safe.—
I'm like de wounded ones, trying to git away
from him, and he's afraid I'll do it, so he
makes all de fuss arter me and jist lets you
float on down de stream. 'He knows he can
git you any time; but he knows its novi or
neber wid me. If you were to begin to flut
ter a little and show signs like you were (m
-in' to git away from him, he would make
„inst_as_big_a_splashin' arter_ you as he does
arter me."
Matrimony in Olden Times
Rev. T: L. Cuyler, in a recent letter from
Greenfield, Conn., relates' some interesting
incidents of his early history. He says:
Amon, the amusing reminiscences of those,
days is the famous courtship of the Rev.
Stephen Mix, of Weathersfield. He made a
journey to Northampton in 1695, in search
of a wife. He arrived 'at the Rev. Solomon
Stoddard's and informed him of the object
of his visit, and that the pressure of homo
duties required the uttniist despatch. Mr.
Stoddard took him into the room where his
daughters were, and introduced him to Mary,
Esther, Christiana, Sarah, Rebekah, Hannah
ancl then retired. Mr. 31ix, addressed Ma
ry,, the eldest daughter said he had lately
been settled at Weathersfield and was desir
ous of obtainiog' a wile, and' concluded by of
fering her , his heart and hand. She blush
ingly replied that so important a proposition
required time fur consideration. lie rejoin
ed that he was pleased that she asked for
suitable time for reflection, and' in order to
afford her the needed opportunity to think
of his proposal; he would step into - the next
room and smoke a pipe with her father, and
she could•report to him. Having smoked a
pipe and sent a message to Miss .Mary that
he was ready for her answer, she came in
and asked for further time for consideration.
He replied that she could - reflect still further
on the subjeCt and send her answer by letter
to Weathersfield. In a few weeks he receiv
ed her reply, which is perhaps the most la
conic epistle ever penned. Here is the mod
el letter which was, soon followed by a wed
ding: • •
NORTIIAMPTON, 1696 •
'Rev. Stephen Mix,
•
Yes,
Mary Stoddard.
The matrimonial Mix ture took place oa
the first of December, .1696 and proved to be
compbundcd of most congenial elements.—
Mis was pastor of that paradise of onions for
forty-four years.
A loquacious gentleman finding himself a
passenger in a stage coach, with no one but a
prim and taciturn maiden lady of some forty'
winters, endeavored in vain to engage in con
versation. At length night came, and as
nothing was said both fell-asleep. The stage
finally stopped, and the. driver announced to
the lady that she had arrived at her place of
destination. Her fellow passenger being a
wakened at the same time thought he Would,
co l pel the lady to exchange a word at Lear
and addressed her : "Madam, as we
never again, probably, sleep in the same
rooni.together, I bid you a very respectful
farewell." A serene. and silence reigned
again.
Premonition: o
The following article Is copied feout Ban
„ ,f Ilefalt7t, MAIN Viordc_a_appeats.
to contain much good advice, which it is es
sential for all to know :
An incalculable amount of sickness, suffer
ing and sretnature death would be avoided
e
...---
ever ar, iwe cou be induced to heed
thew nings, the premonitions, which kind
ly nat e gives of the coming on of the great
enemy, disease. Many a mother especially,
has lost a darling child, to her life-long sor
row, by failing to observe the approach of
disease, in, some unusual. act or circumstance
connected with her offspring.
1. If an, adult or ehild wakes up thirsty
in the morning, however apparently well at
the moment. or the preceding evening, there
will be illness before noon always, infallibly.
It is generally averted by remaining warm
in bed, in a cool, well-ventilated room, eat
ing nothing, but drinking plentifully of some
hot tea, all day; some little may be eaten in
the afternoon by a child. But as long as a
person wakes with thirst' in the morning,
there is an absence of health—there is fever.
If, when not habitual to biro, one is
waked up early in the morning with an ineli-r
nation to stool, especiallyif thre is a feeling
-of-debility-afterwards v it-is-the— pre mon i tion
of diarhcea, summer complaint, dysentery or
cholera. There should be perfect quietude,.
etc., as above; in addition, a piece of warm,
thick; woolen flannel should be wrapped
tightly around the abdomen, (belly ;) the
drink should be boiled milk; or far better,
eat pieces of ice all the time, and thus keep
the thirst perfectly subdued; eat nothing but
boiled rico, corn starch, sago or tapioca, and
continue all these until the tiredness and
thirst are gone, the strength returned, and
the bowels have been quiet for twelve hours,
returning slowly to the u_sual activities and
diet.
3; If a child is silent, or hangs around its
mother to lay its head on her lap, or is most
unusually fretful, or takes no interest in its
former amusement, except for a fitful mo
ment at a time, it is certainly sick, and not
slightly so. Send at once for a physician,
for you can't tell where or in what form the
malady will break out; and in children espe
cially, you can never tell where any particu
lar ailment will end.
4. When there is little or no appetite for
breakfast, the contrary having been the case,
the child is sick, and should be put to bed,
drinking nothing but warm teas, eating not
an atom until noon, then aciting according
to developments.
5. If a child manifests a most unusual
heartiness for supper, for several nights in
succession, it will certainly be sick within a
week, unless controlled.
ti. If there is an instantaneous sensation
of sickness at stomach during a meal, eat not
a particle more; if just before a meal, omit
it; if after a meal, go out of doors, and keep
out in active service for several hours, and
omit the next meal, for all these things in
dicate an excess of blood or bile, and exer
cise should be taken to work it off, and ab
stinence, to cut off an additional supply, un
til the healthful equilibrium is restored.
7. A kind of glimmer before the eyes,
making reacling"or sewing an effort, bovvev
• 11-yo-u-ina-y-feel,-w-ill-certaialy-bo--fa
lowed by headache or other discomfort, for
there is too much blood, or it is impure.—
Exercise it of in the open air, and omit a
meal - or t s wo.
8. If you are not called to stool at the ac
customed hour, (except when traveling, then
let things take care of themselves—do noth
ing,) eat not an atom until it is done, for
loss of appetite, or nausea, or loose bowels,
or billiousness, is certainly impending.. Ex
ercise freely out of doors, and drink 'cold
water or hot teas to the fullest desired ex
tent. ,
9. If there is a most unnatural indisposi-
tion to exertion, you need rest, quiet and ab
stinence; exercise in weariness never does
any good, always harm. But if causelessly
despondent, or there is a general feeling of
discomfort, the blood is bad,• :warm the feet
unload the bowels, eat nothing for twelve
howls, and be out of doors' all day.
10. If, without any known cause, or spe-
cial pain, you are exceedingly restless, can
not sleep, or if you, do, it is dreamy, disturb
ed, or distressing, you have eaten too much,
or are on the verge of some illness. ' Take
nothing next day but Mt drinks and toast
ed bread, and a plenty of out-door exercise.
In all these cases a thorough washing with
soap and hot water, and vigorous bodily fric
tion, greatly expedite restoration.
What Hope Did
It stole on its pinions to the bed of dis
ease ; the sufferer's frown became a smile--
the emblem Of peace and love. •
It went to the house of mourning, and
from the lips of sorrow there came a sweet
and• cheerful,. song.
It laid its bead upon the arm of the poor.
Which stretched forth at the command of
unholy impulses, and saved him from dis
grace and ruin.
It dwells like a living thing in tho bosom
of the Mother, whose son tarried long after
the promised time of his coming, nod saved
her from desolation and the "care that kil
loth."
It hovered about the head of the youth
who bad become the Ishmael of society and
.led him out to works which even his ene.
mies praised
It snatched a maiden from tho jaws of
death, and went with an old man to Heaven.
No hope 1 my good brattier." Have it—
keep it always with you.. Wrestle with it,
that it may not depart. It may repay your
pains. Life is hard enough at best; but
bop shall lead you over its mountains, and
sustain you amid its billows. Part frith l
besides but keep thy, hope,
Some lnd:e:, ute paints as, fiddlers 'use ros•
in—to aid tb:.4.11 in drawing a beau.'
The•_ beautiful extiact Which ' follows is
copied from the, IlteCollectioris of acOuntry
Parson•'
Tlie.dead are the oily people who, never
grow, old.. Your little brother 'or sister that
died king ago remains in death and in re
membrance the same young .thing forever.
It is foirrteen years this evenin,o , since the,
writer's sister left this world. She was fif
teen "genre old thou—she is fifteen years old
yet. I have groird older since by fourteen
years, but she has never.changetlas they,ad
vanced ; and if dad spares me to four-score
I never shall think of as other than the
youthful creature she faded. , .
The other dayrl listened as 'u poor woman
told of the dnath of her first-born child.—
Ile was two years old.' She had 'p. small
washing-green, across which was stretched a
rope thht came in the middle close to the
graund. The boy was leaning on the rope
swinging backwards and forwards, and shout
ing with delight. The mother went into
her cottage ; and lost sight of him for a min
ute; and when she returned, the little man
was lying across the rope, dead. It had got
under his chin; be had not the sense to I
push it away, and he was suffocated.
The-mother told-meT-and-I-believe
that she never had been the same person
since ;—but the thing which mainly struck ,
Inc was; that though A is eighteen years ,
since then, she thought of her child as an
infant of two years yet; it is a little child
she looks for to meet at the gate of the Gold
en City. • Had her child lived, he would
have been twenty years old now; he died,
and he is only two; he is two yet; he will
never be more than two. The little rosy
face of that morning,
and the little half ar
ticulate voice, Would have been faintly re
membered by the mother had they gradual
ly-dte-d-in t - o - b - o7vh - oed man hood ; - but that
day stereotyped them ; they remain unchang•
Have you seen, any reader, the face 'that
had grown old in life, grow young, after
death ? the expression of many years since,
lost for long, come out startingly in the fea
tures, fixed and cold 7 Every one has seen
it; and it is sometimes very strange hol
rapidly the change takes place. The marks
of pain fade out, and with them the marks
of age. I once saw an aged lady die. She
had borne sharp pain many days with the
endurance of a martyr; she had to bear
sharp pain •to •the very last. The features
were tense and rigid with suffering ;—they
remained so while life remained. •
~ Popping the Question
To us gentlemen this popping the ques
tion is no easy matter. It drives, I verily
believe, a bashful man almost into hysterics.
Many a cold sweat, many a choking in the
throat, many a knocking of the knees to
gether have these poor rascals before they
can summon courage to ask a girl to have
them. But it isn't so, •egad, with all—some
do it with an easy impudence—some do it in
a set speech—some do it_bccause they can't
help it—and some never at all,' but' get mar•
fled, as it were, by instinct. Only give two
lovers fair play, kick your match making
aunts to the deuce, and m life for it the
most • emuro wt ins a way o beinfr t' under
:stood, even if, like old Sir Isaac .Newton,
they have to
,make it with their fodt. As
they get cozier, they will sit gazingin each
other's eyes, till at last, when they least ex
pect it, perhaps the question will pop out
like a cork from a champagne bottle. It's
all nonsense, this lending young folks a help
ing hand=—take my word for it, all they wish
is to be left alone; and if there be any con
founded youngsters about, let them be put
to bed or drowned, it don't matter a fig
which. If lovers have no tongues, haven't
they eyes, egad ! and where is the simple
ton that can't tell whether a girl loves him
without a word en her .part ? 'No one ad
mires modesty more than .I. do ; but the mot;
delicate angel of them all won't disguise
her little heart when you are with her. A
blush, a sigh, a studied avoidance of you in
company, and a low, thrilling, trembling of
the voice at times, when . no one else is by,
tell more than the smiles of a thousand co
quettes. Ah, you needn't, Amy, shake your
head—you'll no doubt be soon enough—but
if you full in love, as you will, my word on
it—the very echo of one footstep will make
your heart flutter like a frightened bird.—
Jeremy Short.
Truth Stranger than Fiction
The Doylestown (Pa.) Democrat prints
the annexed historic strange, and vouches for
its truth.
• A few years ago there was living in a nor
thern county in Pennsylvania 'a poor family.
The mother was fond of reading. One day
. •
alpedler came along with books to sell, which
she wanted, but was unable to buy for she
had no money. He asked her if she had no
thing to give in exchange for . them', and she
said nothing but her children. Be said ho
would take one of them and a bargain was,
struck for a fine looking boy. The pedler
dressed him up nicely and took him off. •Years
rolled round; and the child was not heard
from. Ho bad become almost us one dead.
Within a few months a gentleman living at
the, county seat of this same county dreamed
a dream. He 'dreamed Chat somebody had
died and left a legacy of six or seen thou- i
sand dollars to the brother of the little boy
given away for the books, and who was now
doing business in that same town. her
ith'
morning he told the brother of his 'dream,
who laughed and said he knew no 'one who
would that amount of money. A
few days afterward the brothm received no- ;
tico by mail that he been left alegicl of Bei
ven thousand dollars, and it_was-by_thii little
boy who had been bleu awhy by the pedler..
flo had settled in the. Welt and done well,
and had died or been killed in the army, al
ter making a will in favor of his brother.
51521.00. 3Poz• Year
:A Bit ofßomanoei
60,14 well, be Supposed' 1 at in these
latter, days of intense activitY . ip all depart
ments of hurried industry, when the titne,
talent and energies of nearly every one are
devoted to money getting. th e romantic
would:stand but every poor show. 'But k
have a case in' point which goes to prove
that the days of romance are not over, but
that the sentiment still exists,.even timerix
our, own practical, go-ahead people. It will
be remembered that a low years since the
factory girls of Lowell projcated• and cora
menced publishing a literary paper; edited
by themselves, culled the Offering, Its con
tents exhibited talent, genies and literary
culture of no moan order., Down' in St.
Louis there was,a, nterchatit_etwaged in tie.
selling of dry'(* b oods—a man of taste and
cultivation. Astray copy. of the Offering
fell into his hands. It attracted him to the
extent of causing him to become a subscri
ber, With the writing of one of the cor
respondents or editors he 'was partintilarly
struck. There was a peculiar lovable and
womanly character about them , that made an
impression, deep and lasting,. it would seem,
upon his mind and heart. lie ventured on
writing to the author. In due season 'a re
louse
Sp' eatne. A long, correspondence eusn•
ed At length the gentleman proposed an
engagement. The lady declined until tliey
had met. • lie was soon toing to New York,
and made arrangements to proceed to Low
ell. Au interview was bud. Both parties
were pleased. Au engagement anti marriage
followed. The gentleman is now a partner
'in one of our heaviest dry .goods houset
with a branch in St. Louis, and counts his
annual profits by tens of thousands. The
"match" has proved an eminently happy
one every way. The wife (the writer of the
Offering) hasshown herself equal to ' any
position, and graces our "first society,"• as
it to the "manor born."
The Richmond Examiner of the 9th ioet
says:
"Men are asking one another, is them no
remedy? Is it a fatal necessity that we
should sit still, with folded hands, and see
the affairs of the Confederacy. ..going front
bad' to worse, by reason of one constant sys-,
tem of perverse passion and obstinacy, of
which we can all trace the course in the past
and foresee the miserable ending? If the
Confederate Congress cannot or will not con
stitutionally interpose to stop us on this slo
ping descent to perdition, or if any remon
strance, action or resolution of that Congress
is
,sure- to be-'constitutionally' and contempt
uously baffled and snubbed by a vote—what
then? Have, we enclosed ourselves in an iron
circle of necessity, out of winch egress is
gene? -Have 'we put ourselves into an inex.
.orable piece of machinery, wound up to go
for six. years certain; and the spring once
touched, are we bound to revolve in it like
blind mice, though we know it is. whirling
us to the devil? Men, we say, are asking
themselves these questions, and especially
the question, is there no remedy?
"Yes, there is ono remedy—conventions
of the several States—and to begin with a
convention of Virginia, here in Richmond.
All men say that a General-in-Chief is need
• d4tat- r -when-the-law—is—proposeada.
sumed that Congress has not the power to
make it. Well, a convention has full pow
ers. The constitution is interposed. Well,
conventions make constitutions. Let us have
a convention—a convention full of powers—
the convention of Virginia first of all. The
Legislature of Virginia is in session—let it
call a convention of the State.
Artemus Ward sap, he . went to Washing
ton, and put up at the leading hotel, where
seeing the landlord he accosted him with:
"How d' ye do, squire";
"Fifty cents, sir," was the reply.
"Sir?"
"Half a dollar. We charge twenty-five
cents for looking at the landlord and fifty
cents for speaking to him. Ifyou want sup
per, a boy will show you to the dining room
ft r twenty five cents. Your room being in
the tenth story, it will cost you a dollar tG
be shown up there."
"How much do you or a mac for breath
in this equinomikal•tavern?" I 'said.
"Ten cents a breath," was his reply.
PUNOTUALITY.—Did you ever see a man
who was punctual, who did not prosper in,
the long run ?, We don't care who or what
he was, high or low, black or white, igno
rant or civilized—we know that if he k did
as he agreed, and was punctual in all his en
gagements, he prospered.
There is a chord of love running through
all the sounds of creation;, but the ear of love
alone can distinguish it.
We should not forget that life is a flower,
which is no sooner fully. blown than it be—
"ins to wither.
The passion of acquiring riches, in order.
to support a vain expense, corrupts the pu
rest hearr.
In all delicate cases •where blame is duo,
you will generally bud the following law act
ed upon, viz Ile poor man accused, the
rich man excused.
A. retired actor, with foundness forpoul-1
try, was asked why ho named a favorite hen
"blaeduff?" fie replied that it was because
he wanted. her to "lay on.'
Why is it \a serious thing tir produce in
faht-Ditit.ton for your (Hauer ? • Because it
is a lamb-on-table affair.
'Why,is a broken chair like ono who de
spises yon.? , - lioceuse it can't bear you.
There are two fruits of folly visible in the
world; men will not do-when they eau, and
afterwards: cannot when they would,
NUMBER 33.