• e • - • I . . 1 - L.. . . .. - , , y 9 1. .. . . .. [l . l ';', ,: L 1 . ..,.• , , ... ~, , ~ ... • . . , . • _ , • I •' . 1. "). , . 0 • . D : ' E H. '© : . 9 .- 44.- ‘.-_-.§..." ____ ~• • , . • .' * I l itZlik. -1 0 .11 i i. ' -. ' • • . . • I . I . 'ED -: : ' . . . ' . . :. . 7 1 -7. .. '. ... 14 . „ ' ; " e ---..., ' .. . • . f • . - "...L. - 7 - 4" ,01(• • - • . .. . ~ 7:. . . . . • ' . . . . . 133 r W. 1131a,lx•• , ~ , A.m. Irk.c9Lizilpiada.clokit Faixi.l.7l.lr ZTe•Witaironzaiple. - . . . ...moo ,30 . 46: ,•._ ~,.; . •. • • _- =-..- ...., I t:P ..••••• . .• " .1 e r -I, - API .0 ~e, 4tr- Itita - e --if Its you", --- - - BOW - ' —7,-) V OLUME ,XX 3PCI.IOIVICIAL.L. • SPEAK GENTLY, MOTHEIL Gently, mother, gently, Chide thy little one, 'Tie a toilsome journey -- 1 - 11 - krerliegturf Many a vale of sorrow, Many a rugged steep Lieth in ha pathwey— ml full oft it will weep-- Ohl Oen, gently,—gently. Nindly, mother, kit.dly, peak in tender tone; That dear child, remember, Echoes back thine own; Teach in gentle accents, Teach in words of love; Let the softest breezes, Kin d ly—mother—kindly. Would'et thou have the setting Of a gem most fair In a crown of beauty, It Were thine to wear*? Mother train with caution That dear little one; G id e, reprove. and ever Let-the-work-be-done Gently—mothe r—geritly. Take four pounds of rags and a bunch of shavings, An old tin pan and a bunch of straw; Then steal an old-hat-of somebodyls-leavings, And swear its your own to get clear of the law, Next get an old stocking and stuff it with paper, And, if it's possible, put in a mote; 'hen-get-some - old - straw and-a--nutmetr - grater, --- Then make them . all up in a nice little roll. Put all these things i t a net of red, And glistening beads must cover them all Then fasten it on the back of your head, And you '•a love of a waterfall."-- AlCitsiC3MMaLl4k. - NlE r '. ONE of NATURE'S NOBLEMEN My thoughts were far from any noblemen of any kind as I stood amid a throng of oth ere in one of the elegant dry goods establish• raents, situated on the fashionable promenade of our thriving metropolis. I was one of many who lined the polished counters, looking with admiring eyes at the beautiful fabrics so temptingly displayed The half hour's abscence of the obliging clerk, who would find the style I required only in a distant part of the house, allowed me t o be entertained with watching the streams of fair ones coming and departing. Beautiful faces alight with happy life and the excitement of 'shopping; older counte minces with —'l'm determined to drive a bargain!' looking forth from wrinkles, and just perceptible 'crows' fee•,' evidences of how burran nature unconsciously displays itself. And the diversion it was to hear those different voices—one sounding so sweet and Clear, that, it produced more smiles on the faces of the polite and obliging salesivin and•eaused the very goods to be handled with cheerfulness that was a marked contrast to his fellow•clerk, whose customer 'was de• ploring high prices, and disparaging materi al, to h: querulous sharp tones that set some sensitive nerves on edge. And while I waited, and made mental crit icisms to amuse myself, an incident occur red a little out of the common observation of shop visitors.., A slight, small woman, pale, sad-eyed, and wearing faded black name with a new influx of visitors, walking timidly and casting half frightened glances at the piles of pretty stuffs., A bright new material on the counter near where I stood, caught her eye; she tremb• lingly inquired the price, when she was told, my sharp eyes saw the bill twisted in the quivering fingers with a perplexed, troubled air, and my ears heard elle rutin:lured— - 'Annie would need ten yards!' 'Will you take it? She lifted a pale, meek face, and answered sadly— 'l cannot; I didn't think it would be so much.' She was turning away, when a gentleman who like myself bad been looking and listen ing, drew near, asking of the clerk— 'What does the lady want? - I will wait 'upon her—you attend to those customers be low.' The respectful manner in which he was obeyed, made me at onco aware that be was the proprietor, and I was a little surprised at what followed. How many yards did you want, madam?' Her astonishment was amusing— can't take it sir.' am not talking about that,' with a smile Ujust answer my question.' • He cut off more than she falteringly men tioned and while he was packing it up she found voice to tell him that ill health had forced her to ielinquieh the work with which ahehad obtained a support for • herself end two rfithetleas Pet , the; oldest girl--barely seventeepwas going to teach in a week ,end she needed a dress to. make -her presentable.., ' He made no reply, taking in . silence the little bill- she' .offered--the very last of a 'email boird, and from' his own ilsorttnonnaie added a greeribaek, the amount - of • which I .optil not see, slipped both between the cord heart stria WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA, FRIDAY MORNING; MAY 31, 1867. which bound the parcel and handed the lat ter to her with.— 'There tell your daughter a strange! wish es her auccees,' He walked away hastily to avoid ber tear ful thanks, and the little woman looked as she turned to depart like one in a dream. I t was a simple act, unobtrusively, quiet ly done; and not a week before that same gentlemanhad been pronounced uncharitable, because his same would not be put down to swell the list for aid towards some mission ary scheme. life may -withheddi-l-haenes_ektnce -from a popular enterprise that promulgite his name to the/world, but for true unostentations ohariety, (I've learned - this was not the _only - _ - -case)-he-is—l-th ought-then-a ad—thin-k -now—cif 'Nature's Noblemen•' Dearly I should like to give his name but it would seem like desecration to draw aside the veil from such noble goodness. So let him in secret dispense his charity while angels praise, and-surely God-will-reward. An Earnest Radical Letter The following letter from Gen. Brisbin, of 'the U. S. A., to a citizen of this place, has een--luitad-ed-us-firr-pu - blieation; — % commend the spirit in which it is written:— Sunbury Gazette. LEXINGTON, KY.. April sth 1867. MY DEAR SIR: --Your letter of the 10th of March is received, . and as I am always glad to here from my native State, I thank you for sending me a word of cheer. You seem surprised that I can speak out so plain ly and still live here; but you will be still more surprised when I tell you that there are many people here who believe in my doe trines,-and that a radical--party-is - growing up-whit h=before , a-_ , year , wil weep,the-S tate.- I owe,my personal safety however, mainly to the fact that I am a good shot anti perfectly willing to shoot I thank God that the rein of mobs and Bowie knives is nearly. over, and ft 7 ee. speech will soon prevail throughout the South. I, for one, shall strive for the right u ntil the right prevails, and while I live here I shall speak and do just as Pwould-in-Penney- Iva nia-and—w h en —I--:can! _do that-it is time to-fight-again.-T-his--aoun try must now be free, and human rights 4 free press, and freo speech prevail from the coast of Maine to the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing is to be gained by concealing the truth; the people love a - bold man, and will even pardon a mistake now and then if they know_he--w-ho-imakes it_is an honest_man. , -- If politicians knew how much the people read, how well they 'understand, how honest they are, and how they hate and despise a demagogue and political trimmer, men would teach what they pretend to believe. The day of demagogism has gone by forever; the people think and act for themselves,-and they will demand and compel their represen• tatives to be truthful and honest men.— Sonic men there are who waft about with every political wind that blows; they never have a party or principal but ate always hanging on to some- party— Sound them, and you find them poor, weak, vacilating devils, shuffling about, agreeing with everybody, and afraid to say their souls are their own. Like limper eels you can toll them up from the nape of their necks to the heels of their boots and not find a bone in them, The trembling politicians of Con necticut rejected the suffrage Resolution in their Convention, and the people rejected them. Good! It will learn them to be just and honest next time 'When representa tives will not be true to their doctrines and obey the wishes of their people, the people must stand from under and let such demo gogues fall. We want men who have tongue enough to tell what they believe and cour age enough to practice what they tell. Such men the people will honor and trust, while they will hate, despise and defeat political tricksters and trimmers. Ynura troth • JAMES S. BRISBIN, U. S. A. A N. BRICE, late U. S. A., Sunbury, Pa. WE DO FADE ASA LEAF.—As the trials of life thicken, and the dreams of — oth — er days fade, one by one, in the deep vista of disap pointed hope, the heart grows weary of the strugg!e and we begin to realize our insignifi cance. Those who have climbed to the pin. nacre of fame, or revel in luxury and wealth, go to the 'grave at last with the poor mendi cant who begs pennies by e tbe wayside, and like him are soon. forgotten. Generation, af ter generation, says an eloquent modern wri• ter, have felt as we feel, and their fellows were as active in life as ours are now. They passed away as vapor, while nature wore the same aspect of beauty as when her Creator commanded her to be. And so likewise shall it be when we are gone. The heavens will be as bright over our graves as they are now around our' path; the world Will have the same attraction for offspring yet unborn, that she had once for ourselves, and she has now for our children. Yet a little while, and all this will have happened! Days will continue t o move on, and laughter and song will be heard in the very chamber in which we died; and the eye that mourned for us will be dried and will glisten with joy; and even our children will cease to think of us, and will not remember to lisp our name. 'ls anybody waitiog on yon miss?' said• a polite dry goods clerk to a young girl from the country: . 'Yes, sir,' said the blushing damsel, 't h a t's my fellow outside. Ue 'wouldn't come io.' . • A Wisconsin paPer tells the story of a man wbo eloped with another's wife, but on go ing to the hotel breakfast table, in Chicago, where such coogeoialapirits most do congre gate, and was filled with consternation at see ingl his own wife:with ,the , loan Whose ; do mestic peace be thought lathed wrecked for ever. After consultation, each escorted his own . lawful wife back to his donated 'hearth. stone. 4 Midnight Beene in Gen Grant'a Camp. The battle of Arbela was the eloquence of daring on the part of the young Msdedonian. That of Thermopylae a the eloquence of patriotism on the part of Leonidas and his fielots. The battle of Autterlits was the eloquence of bravery on the part of the young Corsican. The scone of Valley Forge was the eloquence of faith on the part of Washington. The scene after the battle of the Wilderness combined all these elements, and added the eloquence of silence. The welLknown re, ultof thTitAlerce_eon filet was adverse to the armmy of the United States. General Lee had flung one wing of his army between our force and the base of eir-suppliesowhich-wcruld - rerpriTe - ariother battle to regain them. Each division and corps commander kcew this sad conditidn of affairs. They were all summoned to a coun cil of war, to be held at the headquarters at one o'clock at night. They were the saddest -steps-evertaken - by - that band of - devoted hearts. Fifteen thou , and brave soldiers dead or dying, or wounded, were lying on the field hard by• One after another entered, and after mak • ‘'sless-sa-ltrte-silently - torrk - ttreirwea s. Generals Schofield, Need, Burnside, Sickles, Howard, and others, I belive, were there.— Not a word was spoken. A full half hour thus passed by. Their emotions were too deep for utterance. Hope of millions hung on the decision of that council. At length General Grant asked each one in succession if they had any advice to prof fer. Each one answered with a sad pion• osyllable, nol The commander then wrote a few lines, and handed the slip to General Mead, and he retired. This_was_repeated_until all were- gone, and the General was left alone. One of the staff of a division commander, who was sick . , was the last to retire, and he is author ity for the above. All were ignorant of each other's order. They felt assured that - retreat had been di rected. Any other alternative would have been believed to be madness. lied they known that the order had_beett_pivpn van ce,i n stan Lan d_uttiversal- m uti ny—wettld have been raised. That eloquent silence for which he has ever been noted, war the key to his success there. The next morning each corps moved, and- Gen. Lee, he perceived it, with vehemence exeltiimed: "Our enemy have a leader at last, and' our cause is lost!" He had bid his officers the night before to let their soldiers sleep long. But now he sees the army whom he thought utterly defeated moving round between him enclitic base of his supplies. tie hastened to begin retracing his course, and confessed to an artilery officer of the Confederate army that the doom of their cause was sealed. A Story for Swearers A gentleman once hoard a laboring man swear dreadfully in the preset ce of a number of his companions. He told him it was a cowardly thing to swear so in company, when he, dared not to do it by himself. The man said he was not afraid , to swear at any time or any place. give you ten dollars,' said tha gentle man. 'lf you will go into th - e village church yard, at twelve o'clock to-night, and swear the same oaths which you have uttered here, when you are alone with your God ' 'Agreed ' said the man, 'tis an easy way of earning ten dollars.' 'Well. yru come to me to-morrow, and say you have done it, and the money is yours' The time passed on; midnight came.— The man went to the graveyard. It was a n i g ht of pitehy darkness. As he entered the graveyard not a sound was heard; all was still as death. Then the gentleman's words 'alone with God,' came over him with a wonderful power. The thought of the wickedness lie had committed, and what he bad come there to do, darted througYhis mind like a flash of lightning. He trembled at his folly,_ Afraid to take another step, he fell an his knees, and instead of the dreadful oaths he came to utter, the earnest cry went up, 'God be mareiful to me as a sinner!' The next day he went to the gentleman, and thanked him for what •he had done, and said be had resolved not to swear another oath as long as he lived.—Harpers Weekly The Best Inheritance The'fbllowing paragraph we clip from one of Henry Ward Beacher's recently published sermons: "Not money, not honor, not even a gobd name is the. best inheritance of a child— Far above all secular gifts is a parent's` good name; but there are some good things that are better than that; namely, those trans missable moral qualities which put the soul, from the first, under the dominion of the higher instinct. From my mother I had a legacy which 1 would not be able to thank God enough for in this world, if I was to live for long ages. ave you not reason to 1. 51 thank God that you rang from such par ents as yours were? A d do you not know that the nature which they handed down to von was one that represehted, as it were, in our journal, the point at which . they left the confliot having gained victory upon vic tory, that your warfare might be less and your victories. easier? And that which you have inherited of tendencies toward things noble and true, and away from things selfish and false, you may transmit with argumen live power. - Here is a great lesson of life.— A sharp old gentleman. traveling one West, got beside his wife in ti crowded ear by le, questing the young man . who sat beside • her to "please watch that 'woman while ho wlni into another ear, as she was likely to have fits.' admit no guest 'aro your; soul that the watch-dog is sour bosom bath' att A. Smile, Oh, the strange witchery of a smile! Tell me where is there a heart so stubborn or so cold that it will not acknowlcidge the charm of a smiler -I do not mean the fawning Smile of flattery, the studied smile of !Worn, the cutting smile of revenge, the bitter smile. of selfish triumph, the frozen smile of haughty pride, or the mocking smile of hidden sorrow; but I mean that frank, truthful, soul-born smile that bursts like a radiant sunbeam over the countenance when one human soul seeks' the sympathy and communion of another.- -Hova_purely—bean-t iful-or,ez pre Bei ve—t 110,4,1 lent language! Words are but impotent mockery in its presence! How all-potent its powers! It bids-the drooping spirits rise and _ . Boar upon the pinions of its own reawakened melody; drives " the lurking phantoms o f doubt and jealousy from the Clouded mind, sod fills it with the cheering light of hope, and tells joy to sing again! Such a smile blessed memory brings the now.__ lt rested_ on my pathway for one moment like heaven's was rays. The face from which it shone was a very plain one, yet at that moment it seemed an angel's. I never met another smile like that. Memory's loveliest trees- urea may a c e—that one smile must ever re tain its heaven lighted beauty. Often when I turn brain-weary with the ceaseless toil of thought, or beart•sick of the world, its hol low homilies, its soulless mockery, or longing for one ray of youth, that one smile in all its pure beauty . comes before me and bids me "be reconciled to human nature." There is character, too, in a smile. I care not what may be the countenance-4et—me—see-its—nat--- ural smile, and I will tell you of the soul it reveals or masks. Every kind, truthful smile, is a ray lent us from the brightness of our spirit home, -by which we_ may lighten the dark places or dispel the clouds which arise along the way of our fellow travelers. They cost nothing, and I would that in this world of weariness and mourning there might be many more such smiles. Ventilate your Children's Rooms. Most parents, before retiring to rest, make it ty-to-v isit-th e-slee pi ng-room-of-tfreir ehtldren - Tli6y - driisli in - order To that no danger is threatening their little ones. But if they leave the room with closed win dows and doors, they shut in as great an en -emy-as - fire although his ravages may -not be so readily detected. Poison is there, but deadly. Morning after morning do many children awake weary, fretful and oppressed. "W,hat °malt mean!' "What can- it be?" the mother cries. In despair she has recourse to medicine The constitution becomes en feebled, and the child gets worse. The cause perhaps, is never traced to overcrowd ed sleeping rooms without proper air, but it is nevertheless the -right one An intelli gent mother having acquainted herself` with the principles of ventilation, will not• retire to her own room for the night without hav ing provided sufficiency of air for her child ren, in the same manner that she provides and regulates their nigh teovering, or any oth er requisite for refreshing slumber. Some times by judiciously lowering a 'window; and at other times by leaving a door open, this end may be attained. In many houses the day and night nurseries communicates.-- W ben this is the ease, the window of the farther roc= should be left open, and the doors between the rooms left open. Even in severe weather, young children can bear this arrangement if they are not exposed to a di rect draught. Narrow Escape from the Grave. A Washington correspondent of the Boa ton Tranacripl tells the following story, which makes huge drafts upon the reader's credulity- 4 A gentleman of New Albany, Floyd county, Indiana, a respectable and perfectly credible man, now a clerk in Pen sion Butean, Washington, was formerly a soldier in company F 59th Indiana Volun teers. In 1862 he was stationed at St. Lou is. While stationed there he was taken down with small pox, and apparently died; placed in a conffin and immediately entomb ed_ _As the soldier's tomb was rather tepid, ly filled five other coffins were soon piled on his. He lay there two and a half days, when he became somewhat conscious and his first feeling was , a suffocating sensation. His screams alarmed the German sentinel guard ing his tomb, who frightened, ran, dropping his gun, which was discharged. The report aroused Mr. M. still more to a sense of his condition and awful location.. Ile redoubled his screams bringing a rush of soldiers to the tomb, who soon got him out and relieved him from his terrible confinement- He' is eonfi dent he should have suffocated in fifteen min utes. He says that though never conscious of his dreadful situation, his mind was al ways active and his sensations . unspeakably delightful seeming to float through scenes of surpassing beauty, amid strains of delicious music, such to use his own words-as he nev er heard since. For obvious reasons be does not wish his name to be published bat your correspondent will vouch for his character. TILE Witt OF THE DREINHARD.-4. die a wretched sinner; and I leave to the world a worthless reputation, a wicked example, and a memory only fit to perish. I leave to toy parents swots , and bitter ness of soul all the daps of (heir lives. I leave to nay brothers and sisters sbame, and grief, and reproach of their acquaint ances. . I. leave to my wife a widowed and broken heart, and a life of - lonely struggling, want and suffering. _ I leave to my children a 'tainted' name, a ruined position, a painful ignorance, and the mortifying recollection of afather)" , ,who, by. his life diegraeed humanity, and ,11 is prem ature death joined the greet c ompany of tham,who are never to enter the kingdom of GOd. . •• IV,hat is fashion? Dinner at witintght, and ti I:ca,tiacho ill the ttkOrtliPg'. Old Knaimattoka. The following beautiful extract is , from a let: ter of a woman in Washington to the N. Y. Independent saw a ple of knapsacks the other eve• . ning at the cottage on Fourth Street; kn. sacks and haversacks- left behind for de" keeping by the boys who went to the front and never came back. The eloquence of these worm oaten and mouldy bags cannot be written. Here was a piece of stony bread uneaten, the little paper of ogee; the smo ked tin cup in which it had boiled so of - ever the=h — asty fir = if br iitt=l4l - sly fil 7 e - on .40 eve or Attie. - There Was the letter, • sealed, airooted and never sent, for the soldiers could not always -gct-even-a-s tam p.=Here-was - a - letter - h - aff written, ommeneed, 'Dear Wife. How I want to see you. "Dear Mother, my time is nearly ont! The rusty pen just as it was laid 'down in the halt filled sheet by the gal lant and loving land which hoped so soon to finish it---Here was a - scrap of patrioticpoe try, and inspired lyrics carefully copied on sheets of paper tinted with red, white and blue. Here were photographs of the favor. ite Generals, and photographs of the dear ones • t home. RPM were_letters_of_heart,_ breaking love, and loyality to duty, and ho ly faith and cheer, written at home; and here was the Testament given him by the one ho loved best—his mother, soiled and worn. For the American soldier, if he did not read it, still hewn auy__his-Testamen-t--aa-a talisman to save him from harm. Here were tit ose mementoes of brave,living, loving lives gone out. They never came .back. The - mourners - artrome - do - not know where they fell, or whether they were buried. To one unfamiliar with the soldier's life these rel ics might mean little. To me they mean all ?eve, all - suffering, all heroism. — I look on them, and again seem to me the long lines of marching men filo past, dust covered and warm on their way to battle. I see the roads of Virginia simmering in the white beat,liii ed with exhausted men lying down to sleep and to die, after the last defeat, here the cry of the wounded, the moans of the dying, see the half filled grave of 'the unburied dead. _ _ 9 dl _the_awffil_reAlity--_ of- -war - comes --back. Peace walks amid the May time flowers, and already our soldiers seem almost forgotten. Days of war and deeds of valor ,seem like dreams gone by." Marriage Under Difficultied Some time since a gentleman:called:on the clerk of one of our neighboring (minty courts to get a marriage license. It was given . him, ind the circumstance passed from _ the mind of the clerk until three weeks afterwards the same gentleman called for another license, bringing his fast to have it cancelled. Upon being - questioned in regard to the farmer li cense, he said he 'did not marry that gal be cause she was too smart' for him; she wanted to know how much money ho bad, what he was going to do with it, , where he was going to take her, &c, &c., and he had concluded that it was best not to many a gal that knew so much. The license for 'gal' No. 2 was given, and he went off perfectly happy, but returned the neat day for another license, to be married to still a different lady. This time he gave as a reason for not having us ed the second limp that 'gal' No. 1 bad heard of the second engagement and gone to the priest and told him that she was engaged to the gentleman, and forbid the performance of the ceremony; 'but,' said ho, I've got her this time; she don't even know that I am ac quainted with this gal,and I'm going straight home and get married before she has time to know anything of it. If anything, however, should happen to prevent this marriage, I'll be back again to•morrow for another license, for there are a whole field of gals after me.' Bat be succeeded in his last effort and did not return again. These facts were related to us by the clerk of the court.Rich,trtond Despatch. Don't Take Newspapers The man that don't take newspapers was _in_ town_ the other day._ He brought his fam ily in an ox wagon. He still believed that Millard Filmore was Presidemt, and wanted to know if the 'ffamschatkians' bad taken Cuba, and if so,•where they had taken it. He had sold Ma pork for six cents when he might have got ten. One of his• boys went to a blacksmith shop to be measured far a pair of shoes, and another misstook the mar ket house for a church. Lie hung his bat on a meat hook an patiently waited one hour for 'meeting' to begin. One of the girls took a lot of seed onions to the post office to trade off for a letter. She had a baby which she carried in a 'sugar trough' stooping occasionally to rock it on the side walk; when it cried she filled its mouth with a cotton handkercheif, and• sang 'Barbara Allen.' The oLlest boy had sold two 'coon skins' and was on a bast. When last seen he had called for 'sody and water,' and stood soaking gingerbread in it, and making' wry faces. The shop keeper, mistaking Ms mean ing had given him a mixture of salsoda and water, and it tasted strongly of soap- But he'd 'imam tell of sody water, acid was bound to give it a fair trial, puke or no puke,' The old man bad a tea kettle he,wanted 'fixed up' and he carried it to the milliner shop. The clerk thought the man was crazy, but notic ing .the hole in the kettle, politely told hint that Dreylusti& Worark could mend •it for him. lle then" Ica an old, plow to thejew eler's to have It lainted and sharpened.' We told the fellow be ought. to read the papers, but he would not listen to it Ho" posed t o 'internal Improvements,' and he -thought quake • was a wioked invention. "If it.wasn't for hope the heart would as tho old woman said when ahe buried ,her seventh • husband—and looked anxiously among the funeral crowd for anoth- Cr. „ . There is no Death. "There is no death. An angel . form Walks o'er the earth with silent tree], He bears our beat limed ones awayp, And then we call them dead,” Beautiful the thought contained within those lines, "There is no death." Adtt awe t to thibk t is earth is but a resting , place, ' epp g-stone to yonder shining home of p e and happiness, a connecting tie to bind us to a land where sorrow_ ;a - ftiiifiltr - whrand oar" —"' known, where grief and care will never en ter. "There is no death." Nollife is but a vast ocean, bearing us onward to realms im mortal, where the spirit shall forever dwell with its-God. Like angels walking on silent waters, like beautiful shadows stealing o'et the quiet eafth, so float we mortals on the cloud waves of life, which border on the shores of etern ity. ' And though hard to part with_loved and near ones, they are not "dead." No; they have only gone before, to put on their "robes of immortality." . Hand in band with that "angel form" they wander in a world of eternal bliss and unfading bloom- They aro not "dead." W: • but_laid-ther e eath the green sod, to be bout upward on angel wings. "Room, gentle flowers, our loved ones m^ul.l past to Heaven." • How sweet a thought! Passing to fleas , . •irrmgh a pathway of flowers, to bloom brightly there before God's throne. Oh, "there is no death!" Tie but a silent sleep we take, ere we awake in glory to dwell with gocl. - 0! -- may - we - all - rimprove — life's hours, those hours laden with smiles and tears, pleatirtres and cares, sunshine and storms, that when the "angel form''---bids—us—come, we may be prepared to enjoy the blessings of a world where truly it , may ba said, "there is no death." "Reckon I couldn't drive a trade with ynn, Squire," said a genuine specimen of the Yan kee pedlar, as he iitiood at t'te door of a mer chant is St. Louis. "Lrookon you: calculato—_about "you can't no ways." "Wall; I guess you needn't get huffy l bout it. Now, here's a dozen genooine razor straps, mouth two dollars and a half; you may hey' em for-two-dollars.." — "I tell you I don't want any of your atrops, so you may as well be going along." "Wall, now, look here, Squire. I'll bet you twenty-five dotars that if you' make me an offer for them ere strops, we'll have a trade yet." "Done," said the merchant, and he staked the money. Now," said he, chatiagly, "I'll give you sixpence or the strops." "They're your'n!" said the Yaekee ' as he quietly pocketed the stokes. "But,"eontin ued be, after a little reflection, and with a buret of frankness. "I calculate a joke's a joke; and if you don't want them strops I'll trade back." The merchant looked brighter.— You're not so bad a chap after said he. "Here are you strops; give Me the money." "There it is,"'said the Yankee, as he took the strops and banded back the sixpence.— "A trade is a trade, and a bet is a bet. The next time you trade with that ere sixpence don't buy razar-straps. - AN Esuusti OPINION.—The last inaugu ral of President Lincoln made a strong im pression in England. The British Standard speaks of it as "the most remarkable thing of the sort ever pronounced by any President of the United States from the first day until now. * * * Its Alpha and its Omega is Almighty God, the God of justice and the Father of Mercies, who is working out the purposed of his love. * * * It is invest ed with a dignity and pathos which lift it high above everything of the kind, whether in the Old World or the New. * * The whole thing puts us in the mind of :the best men of the English Commonwealth; tl ere is in fact much of the old prophet about it." "Boss, I want twenty five cents," said a* jour. printer recently to his employer. Twen ty-five cents! how soon do you want it, Joriti?' 'Nest Tuesday week. As soon as that?. You can't have it, I've told you so often that when you are in want of so large a Bum of money you must give me at least four weeks notice. A Main editor says a pumpkin in that State grew so large that eight men could stand around it; which statement was only e qualed by that of the Hoosier who saw a flock of pigeons fly so low that he could shake a stick at them. 'What are yoti doing there, Jane?' - 'Why, pa, lam going to' dj e doll's dress red.' 'Bat what have you got to dye it with?' 4 Be er." • 'Who on earth told you that beer would dye red?' Why, ma sai3 it was beer that made your nose so red, and I thonaht—' ‘ll.ere,tSn:ian, take Ibis child,' An old lady reading that well-known ciao. teflon, ''fie tempers the wiod to the F born lamb,' remarked that it, wasn't true, for alto •had known great storms to happen just after the sheep had been shorn.' a Qttilp, who has heretofore been liberal io his views, now'believes there are two thineu destined to be eternally lost—his umbrella and the man who Flute it; The people 'Who didn't draw the Opera Howe all say now that they intended to give a good deal of it away in charity it they bad drawn it, It seems that Providence knew 'eta to well to trust. 'ant. Bury your troubles.' but • finn't -liarAr a rouod the grave-yard , eqnktrin t h is ghosts to hatlut YoP, is 1r 42, NUMBER 47
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers