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From the Non-Slaveholder. THE QUAKER. BY. J. G. WHITTIER. The Quaker ot the olden time! How calm nnd firm and true, Unspotted by its wrong and crime 1 1 o walked the dark earth through! The lust of power, the love of gain, The thousand lures of sin Around him, had no power to stain The purity within. With that deep insight, which detects, All great things in tho small, And knows how each man's lifo affects The spiritual life of all. He walked by faith and not by sight, By love and not by law; The presence of the wrong and right, He rather felt than saw. He felt that wrong with wrong partakes, That nothing stands alone, That whoso gives the motive, make His brother's sin his own. And pausing nut for doubtful choica Of evils great or small, He listened to that inward voice Which called away from all. Oh Spirit of that early day, So pure and strong and trui, Bo with us in tho narrow way Our faithful fathers knew. Give strength the evil to forsake, The cross of Truth 'o bear, And lovo and reverent foar to make Our daily lives a prayer! THE SLEEPING SLAVE. Ah, sleep ! alas tho day's at hand : On tree and flower the morn dews stand; One hour, nnd on heaven's arched blue The rison sun will spring to view, And thou must greet him from tho wave, Midst flowers,and de's,arid light a Slave! Yet sleep that hour is all thine own, And dreams may on its wings he strown, Bright as if waited from afar lly genii guests of moon or star. Brighter than on his eyes may rest, Tho slumbering lord of east and west. Dream wretched one hut not of time, Nor e'en thine own remembered cliino! Dream not of mother, wifo or boy, Of childhood's games, or freedom's joy ; Forget thy native valley's stream Forget thy father's house yet dream ! Dream of tho world beyond the gravo, 'Tis broad, I ut in it walks no slave ! Of Heaven, where many mansions be, Of Him, who orders tine for thee. Of Him, who notes thy tears and sighs; Dream thus and conquer Slave, ariso ! ' The following beautiful passage is from a Poem wiitten by George Vashon, rt colored young man of Pittsburgh. We find it in tho Tribune. THE SEASONS. First, Spring came tripping on from Southern bowers, And strewed her sunny path with fragrant flowers, Bade the still brook from out its torpor wake, And freed, from icy bonds, the captive lake, Then smiling back upon the smiling land, Resigned the rule to Summer's warmer hand. Earth, in the genial chaniro reioicinT much. Glowed like a picture 'neath a Guido's touch, And lovelier grew, with each succeeding day, i ill autumn seized tho sceptre ami the sway She, to enhance the beauty of the scone, Tinged with rich brown each leaflet's bril li.int green, Cast o'er tho land tier sad vet lovely smile. Then sank beneath dread Winter's chilling lie, Dread Winter, who, w ith no kind feelings warm, Evoked, in envious rage, the blighting storm; And, conscious that no gift she could bestow, To equal Summer's, Spring's or Autum'a glow, Blew spitefully her freezing breath on all, And strove to crush Earth 'neath her snowy pall. MISCELLANEOUS. THE BUSHEL OF CORN. BY T. S. ARTHUR. Farmer Gray had a neighbor, who was not the best tempered man in the world, though mainly kind und obliging. He was a shoe maker. His name was Barton. One day, in harvest-time, when every hand on the farm was busy as a bee, this man came over to Farmer Gray's, and said, in rather a petulant tone of voice Mr. Gray, I wish you would send over and drive your geese home.' 'Why so, Mr. Barton what have my geese been doing?' the farmer said in a mild, quiet tone. They pick my pigs' ears, when thev are eating, and go into my garden; and I will not have it!' the neighbor replied, in a still more petulant voice. 'I am really sorry for it, neighbor Barton; ut what can I do?' Why, yoke th em, and thus keep them on your own premises. It's no kind of a way to let your geese run all over every farm and garden in the neighborhood.' 'But 1 cannot see to it now. It is harvest time, friend Barton, and every man, woman, and child on tho farm, has as much as he or aha can do. Try and bear it for a week or so, and then I will see if I can possibly rem edy the evil.' 'I can't bear it, and I won't bear it, any longer,' the shoemaker said. 'So if you do not take eara of them, friend Gray, I shall have to take cars of thera for you.' 'Well, neighbor Barton, you can do as you please,' farmer Gray replied, in his usual qui et tone. 'I am sorry that they trouble you, but 1 cannot attend to thera now.' 'I'll attend to them for you, see if I don't, the shoemaker said, still more angrily than when ho first called upon farmer Gray; and then turned upon his heel, and strode off has tily toward his own house, which was quite near to the old farmer's. 'What upon earth can be tho matter with them geese!' Mrs. Gray said, about fifteen minutes afterwards.' 'I really cannot tell, unless neighbor Barton is taking care of them. He threatened to do so, if 1 did'n't yoke them right off.' 'Taking care of them! How taking care of them!' 'As to that, 1 am quite in tho dark. Kill ing them, perhaps. He said they picked at his pigs' cars, and drove them away when they were eating, and that he would not have it. He wanted ine to yoke them right off; but that I could not do now, as all tho hands are busy. Me then said, that if I didn't take care of them, he would. So I suppose he is engaged in the neighborly business of taking care of our geese. 'John! William! run over and see what Mr Barton i3 doing with my geese,' Mrs. Gray said, in a quick and anxious tone, to two lit tle boys who were playing near. The urchins scampered off, well pleased to perforin any errand. Oh, if ho has dared to do anything to my geese, I will never forgive him'.' the wife said angrily. Il-u-s-h, Sally! mako no rash speecho. It is more than probable that he has killed somo two or three of them. But nevermind if he has. Ha will get over his pet, and be sorry for it.' 'Yes; but what good will his being sor ry do me! Will it bring my geese to life!' 'Ah, well, Sally, nevermind. Lit us wait until we learn what all this disturbance is a bout.' In about ten minutes, the children camo home, bearing tho bodies of three geese, each without a tie.nl. 'Oh, is'nt that too much for human endu rance!' exclaimed Mrs. Gray. 'Where did you find them?' 'We found them lying out in the road.' said the eldest of the two children. 'And when we picked them up, Mr. Barton said 'Tell your father that 1 have yoked his geeso for him, to save him the trouble, as his hand3 are all too busy to do it.' I'd sue him for it!' said Mrs. Gray, 1n an indignant tone. 'And what good would that do, Sally!' Why, it would do a great deal of good. It would teach him better manners. It would putiish.him, and he deserves punishment.' 'And punish us into the bargain. We have lost three geese now, but we still have their good fat bodies to eat. A lawsuit would co-it us a good many geese, and not leave, us even so much as the feathers; besides giving us a world of trouble and vexation, No, no, Sal ly; just let it rest, and he will bo sorry for it, I know." 'Sorry for it, indeed! And what good will his heing sorry for it do us, 1 should like to know! Next, ho will kill a cow, and then we must be satisfied with his being sorry for ii! Now, I can tell you that I don't believe in that doctrine. Nor do 1 believo anything about his being sorry; the crabbed, ill-natured wretch.' 'Don't call h.ird names, Sally,' farmer Gray said, in a mild, soothing tone. "Neighbor Barton was not himself when lie killed the geese. Lik'i every other angry person, he was a little insane, and did what he would not have done had he been perfectly in his right mind. When you are a little excited, you knaw, Sally, that even you do and say unreasonable things.' 'Mo do and say unreasonable things!' ex claimed Mrs. Gray, with a look and tone of indignant astonishment,- 'nia say and do un reasonable things when I am angry! I don't understand you Mr. Gray. 'May be I can help you a little. Don't you remember how angry you were when Mr. Melton's old brindle got into our garden, and trampled over your lettuce bed? and how you struck her with the oven pole and knocked oil ono of her horns!' But I did'nt mean to do that, though.' 'No; but then you wero angry, and struck old brindlo with a right good will. And if Mr. Mellon had felt disposed, ho might have prosecuted for damages.' 'But she had no business there' Of course not. Neither had our geesoany business in neighbor Barton's yard. But perhaps, I can hulp you to another instance, that will bo moro conclusive in regard to your doing nnd saying unreasonable things when you are angry. Vou remember the patent uuuru: 'Yes; but never mind about that.' So you havo not lorgotten how unreasona ble yon were about the churn. It was'nt good for anything you knew it was'nt; and you'd never put a jar of cream into it as long as you lived that you wonld'nt. And yet.on trial, you found that churn the hestyou had ever used; and now you would'ut part w ith it on any consideration. So you see, Sally, that oven you can say and do unrea sonable things, when you are angry, just as well as Mr. Barton can Let us then consider him a little, and give him timo to get over hi3 angry fit. it will ba much better to do so. Mrs. Gray saw that herhusband wasrisht 1.... -.Ml r i. i: . . .i rt uii, sun inn inuignaiitat tne outrage com mitted on her geese. She did not, however, say anything about suingthe shoemaker for old brindle's head, from which the horn had been knocked oil", was not yet entirely well, and one prosecution very naturally suggested the idea of another. So she took her" three fat geese, and after stripping oflf their feath ers, bad them prepared for the table. On the next morning, as Mr. Gray was rro ing ; along the road, ha met the shoemaker; and as they had to pass very near to each oth er, the farmer smiled, and bowed, and spoke kindly. Mr. Barton looked and felt very un easy, but farmer Gray did not seem to re member the unpleasant incident of tho dav before. It was about eleven o'clock ofthesame day, that.ono of tanner Gray's little boys cainaruii mng to him, and crying 'Oh, father! father! Mr. Barton's hogs are in our cornfield.' 'Then 1 must go and drive them out,' said Mr. Gray, in a quiet tone. 'Drive them out!' ejaculated Mrs. Gray. 'Drive them out, indeed. I'd shoot them; that's what I'd do. I'd serve them as he served my geese yesterday.' 'But that would'nt bring the geese to life again, Sally.' 'I don't care if it would'nt. It would be paying him in his own coin, and that's all ho deserves." "Vou know what the Bible says, Sally, about grievous words, and they apply with stronger force to grievoas actions. No no I will return neighbor Barton good for evil That is tho best way. Ho has done wrong, and I am sure is sorry for it. And as I wish him still to remain sorry for so unkind and unneighborly an action, 1 intend m iking use of the best means for keeping him sorry. 'Then you will not be revenged on him, any how.' 'No, Sally, not revenged. I hope I have no such feeling. For I am not angry with neighbor Barton, who has done himsslf a much greater wrong than he has done me. But I wish him to see clearly how wrong ho has acted, that he may do so no mcro. And then we shall not have any cause to complain of ii i in, nor ho any to bo grieved, as 1 am suru he is, at his own hasty conduct. But while I am talking hero, his hogs are de stroying my corn." 'Anil so saying, farmer Gray hurried off towards his cornfield. When ho arrived there, ho found four large hogs tearing down his stalks, and pullihg off, and eating tho ripe ears of corn. They had already destroy ed a great deal. But he drove theui out ve ry calmly, and put up the barsthrough which they had entered, . .id then commenced gath ering up the half-eaten ears of corn, and throwing them out into the lane, for the hogs that had been so suddenly disturbed in the process of obtaining a liberal meal. As he was thus engaged, Mr. Barton, who had, from hi own house, seen the fanner turn tho hogs out of his cornfield, camo hurriedly up, and said, 'I am very sorry, Mr. Gray, indeed I am, that my hogs h.-.vo done this. 1 will most cheerfully pay you for what they have de stroyed.' 'Oh, never mind, friend Barton never mind. Such things will liappan occasionally- My geese, you know, annoy you very much sometimes.' 'Don't speak of it, Mr. Gray. They did'nt annoy me as much as I imagined they did. But how nm?li corn do you think my hogs havo destroyed? One bushel, or two bush els! Or how much! Let it bo estimated, and I will pay you for it mist cheerfully.' 'Oh. no. Nut for tiio world, friend Bar ton. Such things will happen sometimes. And, besides, somo of my men must have left the bars down, or your hogs could never nave gone in. sso doa t thtun any mora a bout it. It would bo dreadful if one neigh bor could not bear a little with another.' All this cut poor Mr. Barton to the heart. His own, ill-natured language, and conduct, at a much smaller trespass on his rihis. presented itself to his mind, and deeply mor- uueu nun, aiicr a iewmoments silence, lie s lid 'The fact is, Mr. Gray, I shall feel better it you will let me pay for this corn. My nogs siiouiu not uo lai'.enod at your expense, Htid I will not consent to its being done fto l shall insist on paying you lor at least a bushel ol com; for I am sure they have de stroyed that much if not more.' But Mr. Gray shook his head, and smiled pleasantly, as lie replied 'Don't think anything moro about it, neigh bor Barton. It is a matter of no considera tion. No doubt my caltlo havo often tres passed on you and wiil trespass on you again. Let us then bear and forbear." All this cut the shoemaker still deeper, and ho Iclt still less at cuss in mind after he had parted from the farmer, than he did be fore. But on one thing he resolved, and that was, ti pay Mr. Gray for the corn which his hogs had eaten. 'Vou told him your mind pretty plainly, I hone, Mrs. Gray said, as her husband came in. 'I certainly did,' was the quiet reply. 'And 1 am glad you had spirit enourrh to do it. I reckon he will think twice, before lie kills any more of my geese. I expect you aro right, Sally. I doi't think wo shall be troubled again.' 'What did you say to him! And what did ho say for himsellP 'Why, ho wanted very much to inv mo for tho corn his hogs had eaten; hut 1 would'nt hear to it. I told him that it made no differ ence in tho world. That such accidents would happen sometimes.' 'And that's the way you spoko your mind to him!' Precisely; and it had tho dosired effect, It mado him feel ten times worso than if I had spoken angrily to him. Ho is exceed ingly pained at what he has done, and says he will never rest until he has paid for that corn. But I am resolved never to take a cent fur it. It will bo the best possible guaranty I can ha.-o for liis kind and neighborly con duct hereafter.' 'Well, perhaps you are right,' Mrs. Gray said, afier a few moments of thoughtful si lence. 'I like Mrs. Barton very much and now I coma to think of it I should not wish to have any difference between our families.' 'And so da I like Mr. Barton. He has read a good deal, aiid I find it very pleasant to sit with him, occasionally, during tho long winter evenings. His only fault is in his quick temper but I am sure it is much better for us to bear with, and soothe that, than to oppose and excite it, and thus keep both his family and our own in hot water.' 'You are certainly right,' Mrs. Gray said, 'and I only wish that I could always think and feel as you do. But I am a little quick, as they say.' 'And so is Mr. Barton. Now, just the the same consideration that you would de siru others to have for you, should you exer cise towards Mr. Barton; or any one el bo whose hasty temper lead him into words or actions that in calmer and more thoughtful moments are subjects of regref' On tho next day, while Mr. Gray stood in his own door, from which ho could see all o ver the twoor throe acres of ground that the shoemaker cultivated, ho observed two of his own cows in his neighbor's corn field, brow sing away in quite a contented manner. As ho was going to call one of the farm hands to go over and drive them out, he perceived that Mr. Barton had become aware of the mis chief that was going on, and had already started for the field of corn. 'Now you will see tho effect of yestorday's lesson,' the farmer said to himsell; and then paused to observe tho manner of tho shoe maker towards his cattle, in driving them out of the field. In a few minutes, Mr. Barton came up to the cows but instead of throw ing stones at them; or striking them with a stick, ho merely drove them out in a quiet way, and put up the bars through which they had entered. 'Admirable!' ejcaulated farmer Gray. 'What is admirable?'' asked his wife who was within hearing distance at tho mo ment. 'Why, the lesson I gave our friend Barton yesterday, works admirably.' 'How so. 'Why, two of our cows wero in his rorn field a few minutes ago, destroying the corn at a rapid rate.' 'Well! what he did do to them!' in a quick anxious tone. 'He drove them out.' 'Did he stone liicm, or beat them.' 'Oh, no. lie wa3 as gentle as a child to ward them.' 'You arc certainly jesting." 'Not I. Friend Barton his not forgotten that his pigs were in my cornfield, yesterday, and that I turned them out without hurting a hair of one of them. Now, suppose I had got angry, and beaten Ii is hogs, what do you think the result would havo been! W liy, it is much more than probable, that one or both of our fino cows would have been at this moment in the condition of M". Melton's old brindle.' 'I wish vou would'nt say anything more about old brindle,' Mrs. Gray said, trying to laujh while her face grew red; in spite ol her efforts, to keep down tier feelings. 'Well, I won't S.illv, if it worries vou. But it is such a good illustration, that I can ¬ not help using u sometimes.' '1 am glad he did'nt hurt the cows,' Mrs. Gray said, nfler a pause. 'Ami so am I, Sally. Glad on moro than one account. It shows that he has mado an effjrt to keep down his lusty, irritable tem per and if he can c'o that, it will bo a fa vor conferred on llio whole neighborhooc; for almost every one complains, at times, of this fault in his character.' 'It is certainly the best policy to keep fair weather with him, Mrs. liruy remarked: 'for a man of temper could uunoy us a grout deal." 'That wo d, policy, Sally, is not a rood word,' her husband replied. "It conveys a thoroughly seltish idea. Now, we ought to look for some higher motive of action than mere policy motives grounded in correct and unselfish principles. 'But what other motive but policy could we possibly havo for putting up with Mr. Barton's outrageous conduct!" 'Other, an 1 far higher motives, it seems to me. We chcittld redact that Mr. Barton has naturally a hasty temper; and that, w hen ex cited, he does things for which he is sorry afterwards and that, in nino cases out of ten, he is a greater sufferer from tlieso out breaks than any one else. In c.-.r actions to wards him, then, it is a higher and much bet ter motive for i.a to Le governed by a desire to aid hi.n in the correction of this evil, than to look iiien ly to the protection of curselvcs from its effects. Do you not think, so!' 'Yes. It does seem so.' 'When thus moved to action, wc aro, in a degree, regarding the whole neighborhood; for the evil of which we speak all'ceis all. And, in thus suffering ourselves to be govern ed by s ;eh elevated and unselfish motive?, wo gain all that wo possibly could hive gained undir the mere instigation of policy and a great dcs.l more. But to bring tho matter into a still narrower compass. In all our actions towards him, and every ono else, we should be governed by the simple consid eration is it right! If a spirit of retalia tion be not right then it cannot lie indulged without a mutual ii j try. Of course then, it should never prompt us to action; for if cows or hogs get into my field or garden, & destroy my property who is to blamo most? Of course, myself. I should have kept my fences in better repair, or my gato closed. Tho ani mals aro certainly not to blame, for they fol low only the promptings of nature and their owners should not bo censured, for thev know nothing about it. It would, then, be very wrong for ine to injure both the animals and their owners tor my own neglect would it not?' 'Yes, I suppose it would. After this; there was no moie troublo about farmer Gray's geeso or cattle. Sometimes tho geese would get among Mr. Barton's nogs; ana annoy tlioin while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly. If they became too troublesome, he would drive them away, but not by throwing sticks und stones at them, as ho once did. 1 Late in the fall, tho shoemaker brought in his bill for work. It was a pretty largo bill, with sundry credits. 'Pay-day has come at last,' farmer Gray snid, good liuinoredly, as tho shoemaker pre sented his account; 'Well let us see' and ho took the bill to examine it, item after item. What is thisP ho asked; reading aloud. 'Cr. By one bushel corn, fifty cents.' 'It's somo corn I had from you.' I reckon you must be mistaken. You nov. er got any corn from me.' 'Oh, yes I did. I remember it perfectly. It is all right.' 1 J 'But when did von fret it. friend It ,ni I mil sure that 1 hav'nt the most distant recol lection ot it.' 'My hogs eot it.' the shoemaker fin id. in rather a low and hesitating tone. 'Your hogs!' Yes. Don't you remember when my hogs broke into your field, ami destroyed your corn?' 'Oh dear! Is that it? Oh, no, no, friend Barton, I cannot allow that item in tho bill.' 'Yes, but you must. It is perfectly just and I shall never rest until it is paid.' '1 can t indued, ion could til help your hogs getting into my field; and then, you know, friend Barton' (lowering his tone) 'My geeso wero very troublesome.' The shoemaker blushed, and looked con fused; but farmer Gray slapped him familiar ly on tho shoulder, and said, in a lively. cheerful way 'Don't think anything more about it, friend Barton. And, hereafter, let us endeavor to d'i a.i ivc would be dme by; and then every thing will go on smooth as clock work.' 'But you will allow that item in the bill)' the shoemaker urged, pcrsevcriugly. 'th, no; I eould'ut do that. I should think it wrong to make you pay, for my own or somo of my men's negligence in leaving the bars down.' 'But then' (hesitatingly) 'those geese. 1 killed three. Let it go for them.' 'If you did kill lliern we alo them. So that is even. No no; let the past be forgot ten; ;md if it makes belter iieiuliliors and friends of us we never need regret what lias happened. Farmer Gray remained firm, and the hilt was settled, omitting the item of 'corn.' From that time forth, ho never had a better neighbor than the shoetn iker. The cows, and hogs, and grcse of both, would occasion ally trespass but the trespassers were al ways kindly removed. The lesson was not lost on either of them, far even farmer Gray used f t feci, sometimes, a little annoyed when bis neighbor's eif.le broke into his field. But in teaching tho sh jeniakor a lesson, lie had taken a hltie of it to himself. WHAT WILL OTHER PEOPLE SAY. There is a false necessity with which wu industriously smrmiiul ourselves a circle that never expnu Is; whose iron i.ever changes to ductile go! I. Tin re is the presence of pub lic o; inion; the ii.tnh ruble restraint of con ventional forms ! ruder this despotic influ ence, men and women cheek their best im pulses, suppress thair noblest feelings, con ceil llu-ir highest thoughts. I j sell longs for f ill communion with other souls, but dares not irivo utterance to its yearnings. What hinder.! The fear of what Mr.-. Clark or the Misses Sheldon wi'l siy; or the frown of some s-'ei; or the i.n itliciuu of some synod; or the f.i!.hiou ol'some c!iqii"; or tho laugh of soma chib; er th misrepresent -ltion of tome poiiti?al party. Thou i.rt al'ra.id of thy neigh bor, and knowest l!o u not that lie is equally afraid of thee? !!e. has humid thy hands ait. 1 t'.iou hast iVtiiTed his fact. It were wise fi r both to snap the imaginary bond-, nnd walk onward nnshaekl.il. If thy heart yearn for love, b; loving; if thou wor.idst free mankind, be free; if thou wmildst have a brother iVnk to t'.iee, I. lV:i!: to hi:u. "Put wJ.j! taii! v'.hcr people ?" What does it concern thee what they sav! Thy life ii not in thair hands. 'J'in-y gi'.o thee nothing of real value, nor take from thee any thing that is worth the having. Sutaa may prmui.e iho kingdoms cf the earth, but lie lias not rn acre ol n to give. II,; may ol- fer in the prico of his worship, but thi ro is a lliw in t.ll his title deeds. Eternal and sura h the promijc: "Blessed s.ra the l.ieek f.r th ay shall inherit tho earth." ' IJo.t I sha.ll Is uiisundcalood, lniirerro-si-uto.!.-' .!,: I I;ju itr! They who throw stones hi v, h it is tibove them, receive the uiia silos back again by the law of gravity, and lucky aro t!;. y if i!u-y do not bruise their own fice.s. WoulJ that 1 could fcrsuadc nil those who rca..! this, to he truthful and free; to cast lik'i rope.-, iaf san.l, all fear of sects and par ties, ciuns and class.-. W h :t i:i th re of joyous freedom in our so cial int. ra iinJi ? Wo meet to see each oth er; and net a poop do we gel under the thick, stilling veil which each carries about him. W e vi sit to enjoy ourselves; and cur host tikej av.ny all freedom, while we destroy his own. If tho host wishes to ride or walk, lie dares not, lest it seem impolite to the guest. If the guest wishes to read or sleep, ho dares not L-si it seem impolite to tho host; so they both remain slavis, and feel it a relief to part ceni any. A few individuals, mostly in for eign 1 mils, -arrango this matter with wiser freedom. If a visitor arrive, they say, " I am busy to-day; if you wish to ride there aro horses and saddles in iho sialics; if you wish to road there aro books in the parlor; if you want to work tho men are making hay in tha fields; if you want to romp, the children are at play in tho courljif you want to talk to me, I can bo with you at such an hour. Go where you please, and while you stiy, do as you please.". Child A Lake of Blood. Dr. Dick estimates the number of those who havo perished di rectly or indirectly by War ut fourteen thou sand millions. Edmnnd Burke placed tha number at tliirty-fivu thousand millions. El ihu Burritt, the learned blacksmith, has taken the estimate of Dr. Dick, and assuming tho average quantity of blood in a common sized person, states that tho veins of those fourteen thousand millions would fill a circular lake of more than seventeen miles in circumfer ence, nnd ten feet deep in w hich all the na vies of the world might floit. DRY GOODS AND GUOCEHIES, BOOTS nnd SHOES, (Eastern nnd Wes tern,) Drugs and Medicines, Paints, Oil and Dye Stuffs, cheap as the cheapest, and good as the best, constantly for sale at "TlfESCOTTS. Salem, O. 1st mo. 30th. J- Mct'Ll'Ri:, k Co. DEALERS in Produce, No. 11 Front st. between Main and Walnut, Cincinnati, Ohio. AN TLS L A X E It Y P V B LI C ATI ONS. " Persons wishinrr to furnish thprnselvoa iviih anti-slavery Books and Pamphlets, can do so i... n: i la . vy tuning uu j. bLIZADETII JONES, at Her boarding house, west end of High street.