.try Maly. VOLUME XIX CARRIER'S ADDRESS TO THE PATRONS ON THE - "171.1.1n58 I,l.accord." thrice blessed Patrons! once more in turgid rhyme, I pour my thoughts along the stream of Time; ime t e oary messenger oeiv -r Indifferent to each mortal Offering ; Cold, cheerless as the dreary Arctic galie Which serves to freeze a peasant, or set a trite, „ It soars above the peerless world of thought,— As Tempests break o'er some enchanted spot, When from the shady glen, the woodman's notes, toe songster's fe - Fithbirthroats, an d-screaming,-rushing-through-the-nridnight_air,_ Create a medley bordering on despair; While mountains rise in pure Mittonic And bury all in one Sitanic pile. ' Thus Time : the hoary monitor of life, - Sits gloating o'er the narrative of strife, Blasts the germ, and Withers every flower, Born in the morn of manhood's' sylvan bower, Wrinkles the brow that youth and beauty crown'd, Plants thorns where bright roses strewed the ground, — sighs mournfully o'er - Hope's - ambitious - slave And ends our fortune in an uhmarked grave., But dark as Fancy paints the . march of Time, It cannot twine a laurel from the wreck of rhyme, Nor blot one star from History's brightest page, 'Tis glory's coronet of Freedom's age.— Th-native-land-l-thoulairest-orthe free, Thy blood bath crown'd the Child of Liberty ! Thy hills and vales are robed in joyous light, The morn bath burst the fetters of thy night, Thy blood•stnined armies vanish from the field, Where Treason's bleeding legions blindly reel'J, Victorious in the proudest sense of Right, They bore their banner through our darkest night; Until in glory—eery star displayed.- It shone on eery battlement that Treason made, When Angels snarl!, and the green earth was gay, Glad to behold the signs of coming day. But lo ! an adder crept from Treason's lair, Forc'd its-dying throes to court despair, And with one dastard parracidal blow, Struck Freedom's holiest martyr low! Thou art not dead, thou art not•dead ! , Immortal garlands deck thy brow,' • Sleep on, sleep on, soft be thy bed, Rest r ficati=thy-mighty-labori-no-- Rest ! where the clang of clashing steal, Is heard no more in frantic fray, Where screaming r e nor cannon pea Shall ever wake thy sleeping clay. -A country freed from slavery, Shall be thy proudest monument, Rest ; glorious martyr of the free s — Thy work was done—we are content. Oh land of the fre'e,,in oldness and gloom, Thy bright tears shall water the Patriot's tomb, But green as the myrtle twining that -name, Shah ever be kept his laurels of fame, The Angels will turn a • listening ear, To the wails of thy grief, tie music to hear, The form of tlry 10'd one, though laid in the sod, Has gone to possess his glory with God I But turning away from glory and 'fame. What virtue can forttine bestow on a name I The good are the great, since life is a span, God measures the soul, 'Us that makes the man. ! Ah what is man ? a withering flower, Borne by Time's tempest through one fleeting haur, A bubble that skims life's dark turbid wave, But for a moment—then sinks to its grave. Thus spring will come With her leaves and flowers, Her sunny skies and bright dewy bowers, Her bosom will sparkle with jewels of Truth, And Beauty will bail her, goddess of Youth. But summer will bear the palm of her pride, In the strength of manhood, though Beauty deride ) The.song of her reapers heard o'er the plain, When the hills and vales are' smilln s with gratn. But Sumter will fly, and Autumn will come, The fist fruits are gather'd—aye to the tomb ! Sad is the heart, but 'tis folly to grieve, Destiny frowns,—Timo cannot retrieve. Next hoary Winter broods over the soul, And ere it shall burst from mortal contra!, Lingers to speak with hid ble ik frigid blast,— Angels oft weep tint his voice is the last ! Ah, what is man! forgotten and lone, He begs for a grave, or seeks for a throne. Hope is his anchor, and fortune his soul,— The future unhcods the shrine of his goal ! But I stn growing sentimental, Surely this will not content•all, Some will praise and others quibble, 'Tis the fate of those who scribble. Like the bards of ancient glory, Heard in many a doul tful story, • Verse, I claim—like fickle women Or the air that dandies swim•in,— Wl'ill deceive each gentle reader, Like the gaudy fashion leader,— Bless me Ladies, 'do a worrier, How You like love's silent thunder;— ' Launch away,—don't be afraid, Ere you die d wrinkled maid. And ye gents, of two and thirty, See! your handkerchiefs are eirty, Have -compmsian—drs not tarry, Hurry up the cakes and marry.— Here's to all a•happy New Year, May your wants be very few here, May they be less still, when you, Pass beyrnd the ether blue. Here's my hat kind friends, beforo b I shall wave PI ins more blessed, far, "to giVo Than receive"-- - this - truth - shalr • Well you' know the septet joy, When you aaw th 4 CartieL Boy. Tramping-through the mire-and tairy • Shall he, t an he, ilak in vain .2 • ":- THE A citizen of New Jerse y was lately' arrest cd forfieggini, , V Woman, and excused the 'net liy sayink that he vas:near sighted, and thought if was his.wifei . . , . . . r 1 -.. ,!..,-.- aim ... . . ' - st* -:- „. .... In _ • - - ..L „._ ~. 0. A n ~,.., , „..,, •1. ;.-- 1, i . :wil . • - ........- ,V. -ILL • © . . " y,: „,.„.„....,.. ~.„•••-,-,,,,,,,,,,,,... 7 - . . WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 6 1860. 03EITX-C.ALLI. BEIIBIADR. 1 hear the dry voiced insects call, And "dome," they say, "the night grows brief," r hear the dew:drops pattering fall ea rem ea e ea ~~■~ Yonr-nightlamp-glimmers-fitfully; • ' I watch below, you Bleep above; Yet on your blind I seem to see ' Your shadow, love—your shadow, love. The roses in the night•winds sway, Their petals glistening in the dew. As they are longing for the day, I long for you—l long for you! But you are in the land of dreams: Yout - eyes - are aimed, your gentle breath So faintly comes, your slumber seems Almost like death—almost like death. Sleep onk but may my music twine Your sleep with strands 'of melody. And lead you, gentle love of mine, - To - dream - of - me=to - drearit — of me. r= "4"MrlirN'lgiVl WELTRIA'S REWARD. `SaY yes, papa; do please. 'What is it, darling?' 'I want you to help that poor man in the jail, papa. He has no one to be kind to him, and he feels so bad; it makes me feel sor ry.' 'Who told you about him, Wellie?' 'Why, I saw him when I went to the jail a with - Mrs. -- Hapgood yesterday, and after we came home she told me he had no friends, and no money to get a lawyer to—to—l don't know what, but' Mrs. Hapgood said it would get him out of 'jail, anyway. Now; papa, you're a lawyer, and won't you do it -without money?-- Say-yes f like-a-good-papar his abon his neck and kissed him again and again. It was not in the great lawyer's heart to ing—this only child—requested at any time, certainly not when the same fountain-spring of benevolence that welled up so sweetly in his child's bosom, gushed from his own heart and whispered of common humanity urging him to alleviate the sufferings of his erring brothers in this uncharitable words of ours, where many are willing to render assistance down life's bill, but very few in the difficult ascent. . But for a moment linVestitated, while the eager, earnest child, with loving epithets, was pleading, 'Say yes, papal."Yhere's a good papal' Welthia, I am astonished? Behave your self, child. Miller, why don't you make her stop teasing? That comes of letting her , go with Mrs. tlapgood to the jail yesterday.— Ever since she came home she has been teasing about something or telling, me of the horrid wretches she saw there. You ought to know better than to let her "goj but you never consult my wishes,' and Mrs. Mil ler Wa4liburne arranged the folds of her silk morning robe, and leaned mournfully back upon .the velvet cushion. 'What is it so terrible that my birdie is doing?' and he passed his hand lightly over the brown curls. don't like the way Mrs. liaptgood is bringing her up,' said the lady petulantly 'She is always talking some Quixitie idea into her head, such as going jute the jail, and I do not want my child 'to mingle into such scenes.' 'Tattle, Mrs. napped is ono of the no- Met - women God ever placed on this earth. Due has been my teacher, my more than mother, through life; and I am perfectly wil ling she should lead my child iu the 'same path; for what little of good there is in my heart is owing to the principles she has in culcated. am pleased to see the kindness of heart this little one manifests...by the in terest she takes in the sufferings and sorrows of others. 'Mrs. flapgoo.d wished Wellie to go with her yesterday, and I unhesitatiirgly gave my consent, as I knew she would be as safe there as here. Mrs. Hapgood's project is a noble one, and think 'she will succed in'recluitning many a fallen oue from the the gulf of ruin I )eneath his feet, and the most abandoned. there would not dare to treat her with rudeness. Bow did the men behave, Wellie?' 'They,wasn't all men, papa; some of -them were little boys like Charley. Wilson. Mrs H.apgood took them some flowers, then she read to them out of the Bible a long time, and then she had a school and great, big men as big as you, p pa, said their letters, and some wrote. Ipro tlfat'we all sung one of my hynins, a then we came home, Mamma said they would be rude and noisy, but they wasn't: and they said I was a good little girl, and Mr. Monroe said I was an angle; he didn't. think I wore a white dress, and had wings, and flew in the sky, did he papa? But suddenly jumping up, 'you did't say you would help him yot papa.' 'Yes, I will do all I can for him, darling.' And;-with—a—fare well--kiss ,-- the—delighted child hounde_d_away to :tan Mrs Homo°, the joyful tidings, while, with a groan of dismay Mrs. Vashburno.turned to her hus band: ',tardy, Miller, you do not think of leav 7 sag your business to •plead for some misera• We creature, whom you do not snow any off' • anow whom Wellie means. It is young Monroe, formerly book-keeper at Wilson's. Ire wag arrested • for forgery a short time ago; and if any ono • merits pity, ho does; so I 49. r i aAtaill3r NOl747o3l 2 "EtrUpor i Neutral I.XL . PC:O.7LitiCIES a,313.C1. 11,01161.023.• shall do all I can for him.' • And Mr. Wash borne left the room, while his wife returned to her eouch, with the firm belief that Miller and Mrs.. Hapgood would ruin the whole b family yet. 'That child, Wellie, talking and singing with the horrid creatures; it is terri ble but there is no nse es . 3 ' ter will have bis own way.! Miller Washburne, left an orphan when but a fel months old, bequeathed by his,dy ing mother to her girlhood's friend, Mrs Ilspgood, loved the childless widow, who fOstered the parentless child as a mother.— A mother she had_bee-n-t)---hint----in-tal-ttrose long days of childhood; and upon his mar ring, finding his wife illy fitted to command hr a household, he sent for that ,one true friend to come, and, among other cares, guard the wee pearl God had consigned to his protec tion. _ Dignified and quiet, yet always pleasant, Mrs. Hapgood's sixty winters sat very light ly on her head. A truly benevolent woman was Mrs. Rap good, not in showering pence upon some wandering vagrant, but in searching out'the truly suffering, striving to-alleviate their soy row, and rescuing the errit , from a path of vice, and infamy; but her last and greatest folly, in Mrs. Washbitrne's eyes, was enter ing the county jail, to assist, relieve, and it possible, reclaim some of the many hildren confined in that soul hardening place. But - let us follow AlrWashburne upstairs where be rapped at a door, receiving Mrs. }lapgood's pleasant 'come in' in return. 'I was wishing to see you, Miller. This' little girl,'—and she put her hand on Wel lie's head--'wishes to go with me to visit the. prisoners, this afternoon. Are you willing she should go?' 'Yes, and I will accompany you, and see how young Monroe's case stands' 'Wellie came in a few minutes ago, and told me you had promised to do something for Mr. Monroe; she did 'not know what,'— And_she_smiled quietly upon little brown eyes. Half an hour afterwards, as they entered the room where Nathan Monroe was confin ed, little Wellie skipped gaily across the floor, and touching the bowed head, said, I'm hero, and Mrs. Ilapgood is hero, and p..ppa ivhere - , too, - Are you glad?' Wheu thellfwyerr — cliffe — teith — frn fhTlk long gpferencc, there was a firm look in his eyes; find to Mrs Hapgood's anxious inqui. sponded: is innocent, and I will save him.' , And . ho redeemed his word. The almost lost was saved) and the lawyer led the inno cent man from the shadowy felon's doom, looming so black before him, to freedom and honor, 'God bless you all?' said he, as the trio met him for the last time. 'I am' aoina' far av from here to try my fbrtune in a strange place; but though I can never, never express my gratitude, I am • assured . that God will sometime place it in my power to repay, at least a part 6f the kindness you have done me; atid if my life should be the price, I will do it. Once more bless my good angel!' and for a moment• his lips touched the child's forehead, then he was gone. Time passed ,swiftly, one by one, Mrs. Hopped, with Mr. and Mrs. Washburne, were laid beneath the waving willow, until none but Wellio remained; and as the wife of the young merchant, Edward Wynne, trod the streets of her birthplace. But the accumulated wealth of years melted away t bes fore speculation's frown, and the beggared merchant, with his little family, wandered westward, to retrieve his fallen fortunes In the bustling western city, where he made his boine, he soon found• employment; but fortune seemed to sport with the struggling man even here, for the firm by which he was employed losing several thousand dollars, charged it to his inattention and careless ness, and he was thrown .from employment. After months of ceaseless searching, which drained the last•dollar from his light purse, he obtained another situation; but, within three weeks a heavy robbery was committed in the store; suspicion fastened upon Edward Wynne; an under eleik asserted to have seen him conceal the money; and because lie was a friendless stranger the tale obtained ample credence. Welthia'Wynne, her husband in a prison. er's cell, was lelt penniless, homeless, -and friendless, to fold her babes to 'her bosom and endure suffering—suffering such as she had never known before;, but hers was not a heart to sink under Misfortune, and though very littlehopes for the future illumined her path, she unfearingly trod the daily routine of almost superhuman labor to procure bread for her helpless children: God only could read the future, and in His wisdom her faith rested. --- Thr • It was, evening; and in the library of a no ted lawyer the lump burn% brightly, shed ding its brightest luster upon the Erce of an elderly gentleman sitting by the table busily mooning the endless parchment in prepara tion la the coming court term, Lines of-care and suffering cross the broad high brow, and shadow the dark eyes with a kindly look, as though he had passed through the fiery furnace of sorrow. Ile is interrupted by a servant announcing 'A woman 'nu business, sir,' and with a kind respectful air he rises to greet the poorly -glad-woutank-but,-as-be.-motions her to a seat,- -and-inquires-lier--busioes..oe-glres - no sign of recognition, Probably they arcstrangers; but that cannot be—yes it is— the fairy-like Wellie Washburne of our memory, and the Welthia Wynne of later years; and so chang ed I • .; In a voice, faltering with the danger of a rude dismissal, she told-the talc of Cror hus bands danger, of their povcrty.aad friendlas situation, concluding by asking him to,Plead her husband's cause,iu, the pinning triuL . •We have no recto offer you, but we will labor as your slaves our lifetime. Oh, do not refuse me! 'What is so little to you is life or death to us V and a gasping sob' clos ed the appeal. • Igo hesitated no longer, but said, 'rum very busy, but I will do my best for If fH "~^ 1 11 a 77 ose Do time writing to.his former acquaintances, to certify to his precious good character; audit you will give me the address I will write in the morning.' 'You may address my father's brother, Lemuel Washburne, L—d,.Connecticut.' 'Jw -- L=--d your native place, ..)ITs. — Wynnel' 'lt is. illy father was a lawyer there.' _._'_AticLyour_name—wat3-•••••--r • 'Welthia Washburne! 'My God, I thank thee I' came fervently from his lips, but, rising, as he noted the look of astonishment with which she regard ed him, he, added. 'Pardon me, madam. It is unsafe in the streets. I will send the carriage to take you home.' _And he rang the . bell for the servant, scarcely heeding the expression of gratitude poured fourth by the pale, care-worn, but hopeful, thankful woman, as she left him a lone. That,night, as he restlessly paced the lux urious apartment, he thought of that time so long ago, when this woman, then a gleeful child, plead to save him from a fate worse Ilitin - deftifi, and a prayer of thankfulness as cended to the Great Being, that it was his privilege to restore light and happiness to that desolate home—that in this hour of per il the hand of Providence had led her to his w I ee,tb_r_i_e_e_w_i 1 1 ingly_gi_ven_aid_;_ while in the low tenement room where Weal thin Wynne laid her children to rest, inno cent babyhood breathed a prayer for 'the good gentleman who was going to bring pa pa back.' After anxious days of waiting, the morn ing of Edward Wynne's trial came.and found the busy lawyer at his post. He had never worked upon an almost hopeles§ cafe with greater linergy, but he had gained a clue and he was satisfied. Impassible he sat, until the principle wit ness against the prisoner was called, and bad given hi s testimony, then with—a=stern countenance h o arose and addressed...4lle 7 ife" man. 'What time in the- evening — was - it when you saw the prisoner coneealin: the In. •' 'At—at half.past seven,' faltered the crea ture, quailing beneath the searching look. 'And I can prove that at half past seven you were in a saloon on ninth street.' And hastily following up his advantage, the man was soon arrested for the robbery, and overcome by fear, he confessed the deed. That night as Edward Wynne sat with his family, talking gratefully of the late deliver ance, the door opened and their benefactor entered. When the gratitude they felt would have found vent in words, he said. 'No, you owe me nothing—l have but paid a debt. Mrs. IV . yiine years ago when you were a little child, you and.your family sav ed me from a fate worse than death, and made me what I am, without reward, except such as your own hearts gave you. In sav ing Mr. • Wynne, from a similar fate I have only repaid a part of the great debt I owe you All I have I owe to you and yours, and think you I would see you want while I have the power to assist ? Step over to my office with the, Mr. Wynne, and we will arrange a plan I have for placing .the mer chant's staff in your hands again. ' And he tried to smile, but bis lips quiver ed, and a mist of tears gathered in•his eyes, and Mrs. Wynne sobbed her mingled greet ing and blessing to him she now knew as Nathan Monroe. And this was Welthia Washburne's re ward. Causes of Sudden Death. . Very few of the sudden deaths which are said to arise from diseases of the heart, real ly arise from that , cause. To ascertain the real origin of sudden deaths, the. experiment has been tried in Europe and .reported to a scientific congress held at Strawsbourg.— Sixty eases of sudden death were wade the subject of tyhorough post mortem examina tion; in these cases, only two were found who had died from disease of the heart: Nina out of sixty-six had died from appoplexy, while there were forty-six cases of conges tion of the lungs, that is the lungs were so full of blood they could net work, there not being room enough for a sufficient quantity of air to enter' to support lite. The causes that produce congestion of the lungs are— cold feet. tight clothing, costive bowels, sit ting still until chiliad after being warmed with labor or a rapid walk; going too sudden ly from a close, 'heated room, into the cold air, especially after speaking, and sudden death being known, an avoidance of them May serve to lengthen many valuable lives which would otherwise be lost under the ver dict of heart complaint. That. disease is sup posed to be jnevitable and incurable, hence Many may not'take the pains they would to avoid sudden death if they knew it lay in their power. PROPHECY ABOUT CIIIIISTMAS.--T hi s year Christmas day 101 l on Monday, of which event an Old song.prognosticatos: If-Christmas - daron - lronda • be A great wintcr thit year you'll see, And ilia of 4rinAs both loud and shrill, Butin'tto summer, truth-to - Stern winds shall there -bo and strong, Full of tempests and lasting long . While battles they shall multiply, . - And great plenty of 'beasts shall Ilk;- ' fle Aarl be found that etealethaught, ' Though thou be Fink thou &est not. Retnetuber_the poor and needy,- just now Sleep and Death As a man begins to be about fifty years old, especially if ofsedentary habits, the feel ing on rising in the morning is as if they bad not gotten enough sleep—not as much as th: to have more, but cannot get it. Theilook upon a healthy child sleeping soundly, with feelings of envy. But it is curious to ob serve that there is a blig's to all in the. act of going to sleep, a bliss we become cognizant of only when we- happen to be arousedjust _as-we-are— a hingiuttr - a — strong sleep; and there are Strong physiological reasons to sup pose that this state_ia_a_counterpart—of—the great event that comes to all, the act of dy ing. In fact, those who have, in rare cases, been brought back to life when on its ex tremest verge, and.in several cases as to those who have been recovered from drowning and other modes of strangulation,or simple smoth eriags, the expressions have been on return ing to • eonsciousness, "How delicious "Why did you not let -me go?" An eminent man, thus brought back, rep. resented-that the last rememlieliA sensations of which he was conscious were as if be were listeninc , to the wok, ravishing strains of mu. sic. Let us all, then, cherish - the thought that our approach to the sleep of the grave is the strict counterpart of the approach oaf sleep, of which some nameless writer has beautifully said: "It is a delicious moment, the feeling that we are safe, that we_shall_dro, _end_ A. sleep. The good is to come, not past. The limbs have been just tried enough to render the remaining in .one position elelightful, and -the - labor - of - tlre - day - is — d - orie. gentle fail ing of the conceptions comes slowly creeping over us; the spirit of consciousness disenga ges itself more and more with slow and blush ing degrees, like a fond mother• detaching her hand from her sleeping child; the mind .seems to have a balmy lid• closing over it, like the eye, clo - sing,.more closed, closed al together, and the mysterious spirit of sleep has gone to take its rounds. Losing his Memory. Some thinos in the preface of Mr. Buch anan's new book says the Boston Journal would seem to show the the "Old Pahli unettonaty is getting 'too old to remember facts with perfect correctness. He says, for instance, that he — "never doubted the sue- 71u even o t e war, even during its most gloomy. periods;' that he always be- lieved that the powers of the Constitution "are sufficient for almost every emergency, whether in peace or war;" and that be "nev er violated any of its provisions." Now • here is what the same man, then President of the Unird States, said in his last mes sage to Congress, only five years ago, when the storm of the rebellion was just looming up: "The fact is, that our Union rests upon public opinion, and can never be•cemented by the flood of its citizens, shed in civil war.— Ir it cannot Hie in 'the affections of the peo ple, it must one day perish. Congress pos. sasses many means of preserving it by concil iation, but the sword was not placed in their hands to preserve it by force." Now, then, could this man, who believed that the sword could not preserve the Union, and that the Government had no right to wield it, "never doubt" its success? In that same message, also,he said of the power to coerce a State into' submission that was at tempitng to withdraw from the Union, "that no suck power has been delegated to Congress or any other department of the Federal Gov ernment." now, then, could he Say that the powers of the Constitution are sufficient for every emergency of peace and war? The truth must be that, if this - ancient politician retains any conscience, he has' certainly lost his memory. FANCY DREAMS.—Some young ladies re Bard marriage as a fairy land, where violets and roses perpetually blossom, where the cedar tree and the citurnon tree ever flour ish—where the waters of tranquility and sweetness uninterruptedly flow. Tell them there are briars in their stead; though they do not contradict., yet they do not credit you, for they believe that their love, their devo tedness, for each other, will exempt them from the cares, the vicissitudes,'and the ma ieties pertaining to humanity. All lovers, before marriage, conceive that their destiny will be an 'except;on to the general rule The future with them will be toujours coul eur de rose. Could you give them a sketch in the pages of their future history, they would not believe a word of it; they would set you down as a misantrophe, a painter of gloomy and unnatural scenes, an inimical re presser of the hopes and aspirations of youth. The dark spots that the telescope of your experience might discover they would regard but as mole hills in the moon. If they would but reflect a little, how much misery they would avoid. A LESSON FOR FAST YOUNG MEN.—Sain nal Caswell, Bransted, N. H., is one hun dred and six years of age and has never drank intoxicating liquors not used tobacco in his life He has never worn Epeta c les, and his eyesight has been perfectly good till within a year. He has mowed grass every summer since he was twelve years old, till the present. and has never had a physician but three times and those lately.—His wife is_ iviEg in-good health- at- the-age-of-ninety- TuE invention of In dia rubber is a perfect. _ for some of the slab-sided old maids TA t :is a-false-Inuit for females—bust and nec perfect imita tion of flesti and blood, and dell calculated to deceive. At the circle where the. tine and false neck are connected, is worn a . ,band or ribbon;,or a wide necklace, which com pletely conceals the junction. HOPE brightee's up she darkest holii 09.00 Amos* Year • Novel Remedy. A good story is told of a fellow who put . up at an Indiana Cabin on the Wabash, and who, after eating an enormous supper of' cu cumbers was attaek • . • • . • ,V/0028t1 o the house, upon being consulted, 'l'll go and fetch mother; 'cause, stranger, I I do reckon she be the awfnlest best hand for curio' colic in the whole Wabash hot- . tom' She went into another part of the house, I and ten minutes after one of the ugliest,.sal `=part of the lowest, littlest old women I ever saw in any wUld,eamelibliblinj in: Her gait was hardly a decent hobble; it was more like that of a rheumatic ostrich. Her nose and chin almost-met over the sunken cavity doing duty as a mouth, and as she shuffled toward um she mumbled as if chew ing the cud. - On the end of her nose was a great wart, with four or five grey bristles straggling-from it.' `Stranger,' says she, 'Betsey Jane tells me she reekona_you"ve-got the colie - powerful.-- Now, I've bin so myself nigh to a hundred times, I reckon, in the cowcumber. season ' ; and Betsey Jane she's been that way-; Rich ard, he's bin that way. and the biggest end of the rest of the family' Producing a mus ket ball--an ounce bullet of lead—she as sured_ree:that-I-would-lie-all right - in five minutes after swallowing it; that lead was death on 'cokes' Being terribly racked, and hardly-knowing - what I. seize eu - let, and. with a single gulp, down it went . — No sooner was it down than I repented of having swallowed it. I remembered to have 'heard that lead was poisonous. Starting up, I cried out : _ 'You old wretch, yon have- killed me ! Lead is deadly poison. I can feel it cold,. in. my stomach .now. It will kill me.' 'Ha, ha, hal he, he i he!' laughed the old crone; 'he, he, he !' in a shrill, cracked voice yer ! don't pester yourself with the idea. Why, stranger, that bullet's bin in the family nigh onto twenty, years. Richard,, he has swallowed it; the biggest end of the children, they've swallowed it; and I've swal lowed it well nigh on to forty times.' 'You ?' I cried, starting from yore • &wallowed thisThdaro bullet!' 'Sartin ! that same bullet _every_ ber season for nigh twenty years.' 'You old • • 1 ' '• . • the house REPROVE NOT WITR MEWL —Be ever ; ., gentle with the ch,ildren - lits given you. W „atch them constantly;* _ them earn estly, but not with anger:: rio. the forcible language of scripture, 'Be not bitter against them: 'Yes, they are good boys,' I once heard a kind father say. talk to theta pretty much, but I do not like to beat my children; the world will beat the6.' It was • a beautiful thought, though not elegantly expresed. Yes, there is not one child in the circle round the table, healthy and happy as they look now, on whose head, if long spare,: the storm will not beat. Adversity may wither them, sickness, fade, a cold world frown on :hon. But, amid all, let memory call them back to a home where a law of kindness reigned, where the mother's repro. ving•eye was moistened with a tear, and the father frowned more in sorrow than in anger. OVERWORK.—Unwise above many is the , man who considers every hour lost which is not spent in reading, and writing, or instudy and not more rational she Who thinks every moment of her life lost that does not find her sewing. We once, heard a man advise that a book of some kind be carried in the pock et, to be used in case of an unoccupied mo ment. There are women, who, alter a hard day's work, will sit and sew by candle or g ‘ aa light till their eyes aro almost blinded; Vl* till 'certain pains abont the shoulders come on, which are almost insupportable, and are only driven to bed by physical incapacity to work any longer. The sleep of the over worked like that of those who do not work at all, is unsatisfaing and ,unrefreshing, but both alike wake up in weariness, sadness and languor, with an inevitable result, both dying. prematurely. To Lanrus.—What is the difference be tween a. mischievous mouse and a beautiful young lady? One ,harms the cheese, and the other charms the hes. Why is it that the moment of popping the question is so terrible to a young fellow that they frequently cannot utter a word? Be cause, then, they love the fair one beyond expression. • When does a man die for love ? then be dyes his red whiskers brown. Why is love like a duck's foot? Because it often lies hidden in the breast. Why is a marriage certificate like anArti cle the public could not do without? .1.12,0,5,' it is a noose paper. • TR.AIkisTENT YOUNG MEN.—Girls, beware of transient young men; never suffer the ad dresses of a stranger; reccollect that ono steady farmer boy or mechanic is worth all the floating trash in the world. The allure meats of a dandy Jack with a gold chain a bout his neck, a walking stick in his paw, some honest tailor's coat on his back, and a braiuless skull, can never make up the loss of a father's house and a good mothers coun sel. and, the soceity of brother and sisters; their affections last, while those of arra a young man are lost in the wane of the hon- 'Tie true. ey moon. It is said to be dangerous to be working ._ , with a sewing machine near a window when there is - a thunder stortn.also danger ous to near some sewing machines when theire-is• no thunder storm; • • - A Youtii fellow of tho-natue ut Taken. had . the inbigirtutre. to be refused in au Utter tit niarrjitge,:_•auci the , only, reason . th e Judy' eould giye.w&s i: ttec it they should homy tiny girls, they. would till . be ttlisi; y seat - COWOUM
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers