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pibVtrtti tvtry Thursday morning, in the on Irtniedisieiyever the Pott Office, Main Street, Eatoo, Obio, at the following rates: i!H 10 per annum, in advance. $2 00, if not pi id within the year, and $2 60 after tbe year has expired. . gTheierateewill be rigidlyeuforced. JJJ3 Mopxper discontinued until all arrearage re paid,aulessat the option of the publisher fT All communication! addressed totheEd lor wtU be tent Tree of pcslage to insureat entioa., tSTVIo communication inserted, unless ac ompanied by responsible name. Poetical. From the N. Y. Journal of Commerce. PUSH ON! —A LAY OF DESTINY. BY HENRY J. SERGENT. Aw&ka end linten. Everywhere From upland, grove and lawn. Out breathe the uuiveraal prayar, The orison of morn. Arise', and doo thy working garb ; All nature is astir: Jat honest motives be thy barb, And UMfuluem thy spur. top not to list the boisterous joers, (Us would be what thou art,) They should not e'en offend thine ears, Still less disturb thy heart. What though yon hare no shining heard, (Inheritance of stealth;) To purchase at the broker's board The recompense of wealth Pa A on! You're rusting while you stand, Inaction will not do; Take life's small bundle In your hand, And trudao it briskly through.. . Push on! Don't blush because you have a patch There's many a small cot roofed with thatch la Happier tnan a mruue. Pnahon! The world is largo cnougi For you, and me, and all ; You must expect your share of rough, And now and then a fall. JJut; npapiin! act out your part Bear smilingly your load; . There's nothing like a cheery heart To mend a stony road, Push on! Jump over all the ifi and butt ; There always nome amu mum To lift life's wagon from the urst, Or poke away the sand. Remember, when your sky of blue Is shadowed bya cloud; The aun will shine as soon for you Aafor the monarch pioud. It ia but written on the moon That toil alone endures; - The king would dance a rigadoon With that blithe soul of yours. Posh on! You're ruwting while you stand, Inaction will not do. Take life's small bnndlo in your hand, And trudge it briskly tbrongh. l'utihon! Miscellaneous JOHN SMITH AND HIS SON JOHN. BY CLEMENT W. ESTER. . Jt was a anug little cabin, that of John Smith's, when he built it; and it was a decern place to lire in when John Smith junior was born. But time cuts up his copers with al most everything, and amongst other things log cabins. In the course of years he enme near upsetting that of John Smith, tie made "leaks" in the roof, so that John had to get UD nights, when it rained, and move Ii is bed. first (o this, and Iheu to that corner of the room, to dodge the streams that enme pouring down upon it. Then he pulled off the bat tens, and let the snow come drifting in, in dead of winter time, between the hewn and half-hewn logs. And then he sent a rain storm, and the water came pouring down the bill, on the side of which John's house stood A smart man, in two hours, might have turn ed the torrent in a direction where :t would have done no harm: but John chose to let come and do its worst; the result was, nearly one-bauof the under-pinning of Ins house was piled up in the cellar. Didn't he pull back again? Not he. There was a grog shop v iihii! a mile and a half of l.is bouse and there he had rather apend his time, than in building a stone wall. "Idleness is the parent of vice," 1 have read somewhere. Drinking is the parent of idleness I know. Smith had one nesr neighbor, and but one. His nume was Churchill; and he had settled in the woods there only one or two years advance of Smith. He was' an industrious, hard-working and kind man. Everybody loved him; and never a clergyman travelled that way who wouldn't leave bis road a couple miles to stop with Joe Churchill. 1 here was so much of the "help yourself and welcome" tine in bis conduct, that they fell at home when they could get under bis roof, and sit down to bis bnndsume fore. Yes, everybody loved him everybody except John Smith. And why did not cur roan Smith love him also? How could he help loving so generous and noble a friendf That's a secret I neer pried into. True, I have heard people guns t the cause, but their guessing brd so much to do with bonds and deeus, and probate Joins, that 1 never troubled myself to under stand it. Smith was seldom heard to speak bis neighbor, never in positively good terms. 'I guess be is good enough Methodist," would answer sometimes, when interrogated s to bis .character; at others he would give peculiar twist to his face and say -"Ask ministers, they ail put up there, tud 1 guess thty know all about him." . But all Smith's hatred and spitefulness cou'd not keep little John from visiting neighbor Churchill's. When hi hsda leisure hour, he was sure to spend it there, even the risk of a smart scolding when he tome. Ellen Churchill was only one year younger thaa himself, and he loved dearly to be with her. And who wonders? She was a wee bit of a thing when John first got acouaint ed with her; but even then she would chose butterfly the whole afternoon in the same field where be was working, or sing bits pretty tonga to him, as he plied the amongst the weeds. Young as he was, John loved and she loved him in return. When John was sixteen yeari of age, began to take a good deal of interest in things bout his horr.e. His father spent most of time away from home, and he was left to moat of thewoikon the little farm. He ttiougnuui, out not like bit father, indolent, He toiled incessantly, and toiled hard. tried to make hit mother happy,- and would . speak encouragingly, bravely and nobly for boy when aba looked tad, or spoke of bard lot ' 1 Toward evening be wpuld walk over farmer Churchill's, and taking Ellen by bind, they would trip across the field, over to the banks of a little brook, which through the pasture.' There they would sometimes in animated conversation, sometimes in thoughtful silence, till the whip poor wills commenced their night tongs Theft tbey would Walk tlowly back; again. John wtnJd bat pretty Ellen's white lorenead mm I will B7 W. 0. GOULD. "Fearless and Frc l,$0perAsnlim inAdvance. NewSeries. EATON, PKEBLE COUNTY, 0. APRIL 19, 1855 Tol.ll.Ko. 44. K '1)1? Iff I 1 i ft it of of he a at at got of hoe he bis do grew He a ber to the and ran tit, and t the gate, promising to love her till they met again, and the.1 trip gaily nome, wnismng some sprightly tune as he went, thinking of the little treasure he had just leu oemnu. One night John came home an hour later than usual, and found his mother in tears. It was no new thing to see ber weep; but her grief seemed now more intense than he ever knew it before, and he tell anxious 10 Know its cause. Still he did not like to so lar in trude unon it as to ask any questions. He sat down by his mother's side, took her hand in his own and tenderly begged ol ner not to cry. "Be of stout heart, deer mother; father will come home by and by, and then I will beg of him not to go to hcribner'a pluce any more." "I fear it is too late," replied the mother, her sobs incressing, "your falher I fear is lost forever. I have learned this evening, that our little farm is mortgnged to Scribner, and that the sum it is morleaged tor is so large that your father has no hope or expectation of redeeming it." If a clop or thunder had broken upon jonns ear Irom a cloudless sky, n couiu not nave astonished him more. He sat a moment in breathless silence. Tears were struggling be tween his evelids. but he strove to suppress them, and succeeded. His mother Ceased ber crying and looked him in the face "What shall we do, jonnr- "I'll tell you what I will do," said John, after a moment's hesitation, " i7 redeem the farm. lean doit; young at J am; and I will:" There was energy in his speech, though his utterance was nearly choked with griet. Big thoughts were those revolving in the mind of our little hero, young as he was. The next day John worked as usual. one cotild have told from his appearance, as he struggled away at his labor, that anything hadiccu'rred to change the run of his thoughts. Half an hour after sunset, hestood at the gate of farmer Churchill. Ellen met him, and they sauntered across the field to their favorite resting place; nnd here they sat down "What's the matter, Joint !" .Ked Llicn, "1 notice you have not spoken since we leli the gate." "Ellen," said John, with a good deal or se riousness, "do you love me 1 ' More than a hundred times before this, LI len bad t"ld John she loved him. but it had been when they were in a playful mood, and as one child opens hislieaitto another. Now she was called upon to speak in a different strain. She knew that she really loved lain, almost as she loved her own being that she was happy in his presence, and sad even at heart, when he was away, she almost wor- shipped him; pnd yet what should she sn to this abrupt question r She hungdown her head to hide a tear that was stesling over her cheek. John's quick tye saw it, and it was enough. He clasped her in bis arms, and hug gee tier closely to his breast. "Yes, I know you love me, dear Ellen, and I was cruel to ask such a question. But I want to ask you one more. Could you love me four years without seeing me once in that time t" This was a strange question, and it was no matter of wonder that Ellen hesitated to an swer it. "What can you mean, John?" she asked, after a moment's silence. "You know that 1 would love you even forty years, should we be spared so long, and should our lives be snared. But what can you mean by asking such a question ? It cannot be that you think of leaving me to be gone four years. Certain ly you would not do that, John?" For a moment John found it hard to speak; but he summoned up all his courage, and bis thoughts found utterance in words. "Dear Ellen," said he tenderly, " I cannot stay here longer. I have toiled eorly and late ever since I was large enough to work in the fields but nil 1 could do, and all my poor mother could do, we have obtained only a tol erable livine. We hove not enough before hand to build a new Darn, or repair our oiu log house. Now we learn-- my mother learn ed yesterday that the house, barn, land and all art mortgnged to Scribner, the grocer, for nearly their lull value. my lather lias uronx them up. The mortgage lias yet four years to run, and I thought if I could get work in some of the large towns, on Ihe seaboard, I might possibly in that time redeem our liomt and save fs from utter ruin. Perhaps, if I were away, father would do better, at least I think he would harvest the crops I have labored so hard tosecure. I shall speak to him ana my mother to-morrow, and if thev are wilting, l shall feel bound io try my fortune somewhere else. It is our only hope." Ellen listened with painful silence. She had never thought of seperation before, and it came terribly home to her young heart now. But she saw in the project of her lover some thing worthy of greatness; and she determin ed not to give him additional pain by raising objections. " "Go," she said, as the hot tears now cours ed freely down her fair cheek "go, and 1 will leve you and pray for you every day." Night wss now gathering in the valleys snd about the hill tops. The notes of the whip poorwillwere heard in the distance, and the young lovers were warned it was time to re turn home. Just then they heard a slight rust ling in the thicket on the other side of the stream. Possibly it was farmer Churchill, for El'en found him not et home when she ar rived there. The next day John spoke to his mother of his plan of redeeming the farm, and though he could not inspire her with much faith in its success, be obtained her consent to his ma king the trial. The father wsa not so soon to give wsy, for he knew that if his son were ab sent he must be more at home; but his oppo sition was not violent, and he was at last coax ed to say that "John is a good boy and may go where he pleases." Un the tollowmg Monday morning, Join took what clothes his mother ha 1 prepared for him, carefully tied them up in a large band- kerchief, hung them to a stick cut for that purpose, in the thicket by the brook, lilted them to bis shoulder, shook hands with his father, kissed bis mother, and with as ttout heart as could be expected in one of his years, left the log cabin in which he was born. At the foot of the hill, and hid from the view either cottage, he met Ellen,' who had come here to give him a narting kiss, bhe was not all gaiety, nor was the all in (ears; but with strength becom us womnntiooa, sne urgeu him to keep up a good heart, and rely on her constancy until bis return. He answered her with tn assurance of his nndyingatiecuon.and the expression f his determination to return home at the end of four years whether lie should have accomplished his object or not. i iiey embraced and parted. When John came opposite me near cottage of farmer Churchill, be found the good farmer himself, standing at the gabs. He approached him to give bim a parting shae of the band, Uncle Joe, at at was sometimes called, drew in a of him gently aside to the corner of the yar i, and they conversed together for some time. All they said I might tell the reader, if I knew; but when they parted Uncle Joe was seen to slip a couple of silver dollars into the boy's hand, and was heard to tell him to beware of bad comnany, to trust in Cod and, to remem ber his "Id mother. To all, or any part of which, John was too much affected to make any reply. In a short time he was again on his way to the bustling cities on the seaboard, some one ol wnicn ne nopeu io earn uic money that should pieserve to his mother her home. Now, John Smith, the seniour. bestir your self I Your only boy, oneof the best boys that ever was on a New England hill-aide, has left you to harvest your own grain and get ready for winter. Keep away from tht grog-shop, and you will do well enough. Uo tture, and everything besides will be neglected! At the time I speak of, 1 do not know as John Smith would have heeded the caution of an angel. He was going down hill, and when this is the lact wuti any one, n is seldom that good advice avails anything. When he gets down there, and sees the folly of it, perhaps he will turn back not now. Smith went down. He kept away from Scribner's long enou to get into his house and bam, the vegetables and grain his son had taken so much pains to cu tivate, but the next year his lences were eft unrepaired, and his ground implanted. Weeds sprung up where corn had grown lux urinntlv, and everything about me onte trini ty farm, looked like ruin. His wife fenced and planted a small garden patch, but beyond tin.-, little was done. And so things went on for three long years until John Smith had become a poor miser able inebriate, w ith scarcely a coat on his back, or a pair of shoes to his feet. A burn ing thirst was in him, calling for alcohol terrible conscience was nauuinig mm. vts pair seemed written in his face, and on his soul. One day farmer Churchill met him Smith was too far gone too low down to think of furlherenmityjand when the good farmeroffer ed his hand, Smith shook it heartily. He felt tha' Uncle Joe was really a good man, an-j Hint there had been no actual cause for bis hostility to one so kind and generous. "And now," said Uncle Joe, "I want you to come to my house this evening. An old friend, a clergyman, will be there, and will be very glad to see you." Smith was taken by storm. Before he could think what he was about, he bad promised to go. And yet, how could he fo, all rags and matters as he was. He went borne and told Ins wife what he had done, and for the first time in three years, asked her advice. "Where there's a will there's a way," said the good woman, and she set ab ut mending his torn garments. Ejr rue time the son was gone he was m tolerable trim, and he set out for farmer Churchill's, a threshold he hadn t crossed fur twelves years. His wife went with him. They were treated with the utmost kindness, and John was delighted with the clergyman He had expected to find a haughty, self righ teous, upliraiding'aristocrat. Instead of that, he found a man of humility, a man of all kind, ness of heart. John Smith himself can hardly tell how itceme about, but before leaving far mer Churchill's, he promi ed that clergyman he would never drink any more. And he never did never, at least, to my knowledge. He set about mending his fen ces, repairing his house, and getting food and clothing for himself ami wife; and when spring came, he sowed and planted, as he had done years before. Everything went well with him and but for that mortgage hanging over his head, would have been happy.- Where was hia son I A lew- months after his departure from home, a drover, who arri ved back from Boston, and who knew him, inthat city, said that he was engaged in hoist ing cotton into a loft. A year afterward, an other acquaintance saw him in a wholesale store, though in what capacity he could not say. And then in a year afterward, some body had seen him as head clerk in a large wholesale establishment. This was all peo ple iu his native town knew af him. Wheth er his mother, and farmer Churchill, and El len knew anything of his location or employ ment, 1 will not venture to soy; but 1 will say that Mrs. Smith went regularly to Scrib ner's, and paid the interest on that mortgage, in Boston bank notes; that farmer Churchill occassionally had a letter from the same place and that always when be got one, Ellen would rejoice over the event until she cried fur very gladness. Four years have passed sway since young John Smith, with his bundle on his back, took his way toward the seaboarl. Then he was not quite seventeen years or age; now be is nearly twenty-one. In this long time has he regarded well the advice of his good friend the larmerr Has he remembered ins mother, and thought often of his home and of Ellen? Perhaps, we shall see. Let us go on with our story, July hps come. The rich grain is waving in beauty in the fields. The mowers are in the me dows. The ye'low cora leaves are rustling in the gentle breeze. Uvcr there stands Ben Scribner's grog shop, iust where it stood four years ago. Bui the doors and shutters are closed. Ben's custom en have left him, and Othello's occupation is gone. Look over the lull yonder! t here comes a pretty one-horse buggy, containing a single individual a gentleman, I should judge, from his appearance. He looks out from his beaming countenance. His hat raised, that his high forehead may catch the cooling breeze, tie gazes about him hall la miliarly, as though he recognizes in those old hills and volleys the acquaintances of past years He drives straight to the door of Ben Serib ner, and leaps from Ins carriage. Ben is cool iug himself in the little back parlor, but meets the stranger at tht gate. Altera lew words in a low voice they enter the house together and Ben turns to his desk. In a snug little drawer he finds what he is searching fur, and evidently with some reluctance hands it the stranger. The latter looks over the paper carefully.folds it up pu a it in his pocket b ok aim nanus him a roil ol uauk notes then he leaves the house, jumps into his carriage, and is away. - I'll bet my inkstand that paper was tlie mongage oi Jonn smith's larml Farmer Churchill has risen from bis dinner, and is sitting in bis arm ohair for t moment' rest on the piazzi of his pretty vJhile collage, Ellen is not les beautiful than she was four yean ago. bhe u singing, but she stops hear a remark of her father. "It is just four years ago to-day," taid the rood farmer, "since your John Smith left us. I wouldn't wonder if we should-see bim here before the mouth is out." - "Why not to-day, Mher?" asked Ellen, "he promised he would return in four years whether he waa successful or not." in then Mrs. Churchill appeared, and sai i a car-! riage was coming with only a single f-en'leman it. She had seen it from the window enter' the valley a li'.ile way south of the cottage. Only a moment elapsed and Hie carnage was i atthedoor. The young stranser within turned , his eye for a moment toward the piazza, and then sprang to the giound. Ellen's eye had caught the stranger's. W ith the agility of a fwn, she ran io ine gateway, aim was in his arms; Jonn amun a sou jvuii nau goi uacK again I 3 a, , i , . . , . . , farmer unurcnill n oemeeiy less nnppy than his daughter, for he loved John olready as if he was hit own son. But his joy found oiher channels through which to display him- eif than in kisses and embraces. Ho cave inhn' hand a henftv sh:ike. welcomed lnm to i,l house, oruered his horse to he put in t ie .(hie. and himself walked with bim over to! the log cabin to see his mother. )n the way there, he uiid Jonn ot me reconciliation be tween him and his lamer, oi me complete reformation the latter, and assured lnm that an abundance of happiness now reigned where before was strife and misery. John had not lost all his boyishness, and clapped Ins hands for joy whtn he received this intelligence. He felt even more like doing the same thing when on reaching home, and after being cov ered with ki&es, he heard the snine story from his mother's lips, and saw the brght smile on hei bappy countenance. His father soon came in, and with tearful eyes, but in deep thank fulness, welcomed back again-back to abet ter home than he left his long tbsi-nt son. Just then Ellen came rushing in, and declared she could nol stay awoy from where there wos I so much happiness, xoung joim now tooK from his pocket-book the manage he had i just purchased of Scribner, and proposed that! it be consigned to the flames. His father took I it gently from his hand, rend it aloud to the coniD.iiiy, and after imploring his kind! Father in heaven that there might be kept no; morr double record of his vices and his follies, did with it a? John had desired. That evening John and bi.cn met at their old retrtat by the brook-side, and renewed the embraces with which iliey lied parted h'Ur years befiire. Not the less pleasing of their declarations this time, was the one, that come wtal or woe, their days of separation were at an end. ' In the course of a few weeks, a joyous wed ding party assembled at the cottage of farmer Chutchil1, and the same kind-hearted clergy man who reclaimed his faiher, now joined John in the holy bond of wedlock, with the woman he loved better than himself. A hap pier couple never entered married life, and happier parents thau those of John ond Ellen, never gave sway a son or daughter. BY CLEMENT W. ESTER. THE UNKNOWN GUEST. A REMINISCENCE IN THE LIFE OF WASHINGTON. to to One pleasant evening in the month of June in the vear 17. a man was observed enter- in,? the I orders of a wood, near the Hudson river, his appearance that of a person above tho common rank. The inhabitants of a country village would have dignified him with ihe title of "aouire." and from his manners pronounced him proud; but those more accus turned Io his society, would inform you that there was something like a military air about him. His horse panted ns if it had been hard pushed for some miles; yet from the owner's frequent stops to caress the patient auiiiwl.he could not be charged wilh the wont of human ity, but seemed to be actu ated by tome ur gent necessity. The rider forsaking a good road for a by path leading through the woods in icateu a uesue io avoiu me guze ui omer ravcllers. He had not left the house where he inquir ed the direction of the above mentioned path more than two hours, before the quietude ofi the place was broken by the noise of distant thunder. He was soon atier ou;igeu wuis- mount, travelling becoming dangerous, as darkness concealed surrounding objecls.except when the lightening flash afloided him a mo mentary view of his situation. A peal of louder and longer duration than any of trie-preceding, which now burst over his head, seeming as n would renu ine woous assunder, was quickly followed by a heavy fall of rain, that penetrated the clothes ot the stramferere he coulu obtain the shelter ol larte oak which stood at a little distance. Alnrnst exhausted with the labors of the day he was about making such disposition of the saddle and his overcoat as would enable him o nass the meht with what comfort circum stances would admit, when he espied a light elimmeriug IhrouL'h the trees. Animated wiih the hope ol tetter loadings, ne ueiermineu proceed. The wav, which was steep, became attend ed with more obstacles the farther he advan ced. Ihe soil being composed of claj which the rain had rendered so solt thai his lee; slipped at every st'-p. By the u '.most perse VClaliee, IIIIS Ulllicillty was uiiuiiy utcieuiiic without any accident, and he had the pleasure of finding himself in fiontof a decent looking farm house. The waicti uog began uarKinf which brought the owner to the door. " ho is there f ' said he. "A friend who has lost his way and is search of a nlace of shelter," was the answer. "t ome in sir." addei me speaher, "anu whatever my house will aflord you shall have with welcome." "I must provide for the weary companion my journey," remarked tne omer. but the tarmer uauertooK ine iasK, anu ni ter conducting the new comer into a room where his wile was seated, he led the horse to a well stored barn, and there provided him most bountifully. On rejoining the traveler, lie observed: " That is a noble animal of your's, sir." "Yes." was the reply, "and 1 am sorry that I was obliged to misuse him so as to make necessary to cive you so much trouble with the care of him: but I have to thank you vmir kindness to both of us." "Idid no more than my duty, sir," said the enteitainer, "and therefore, am entitled to thanks. But Susan," added ho, turning to hostess, wilh a half reproachful look, "why have you not given the gentleman something to eat ?" Fear had prevented the good woman from exercising a well known benevolence: lor robbery had been committed by a lawless band of depredators but a few weeka before in'that neighborhood, and as report stated the ruffians were all well dressed, her imag ination suggested that this man might be of them. At ber husband's remonstrance, she now readily engaged in repairing her error, by pre paring a splendid repast. During the meal there was much interesting conversation among the three. As soon as tbe worthy countryman perceiv ed that hit guest bad satisfied his appetite, informed him that it was now the hour to name among ine nations or i.ie eami, gram that we may be enabled to show our gratitude for Thy goodness, by our endeavors to fenr end obey Thee. Bles3 us with wisdom in our council, success in battle, and let our victo littie ries be tempered with humanity. Endow.also votions, inviting him at the same lime to be present. The invitation was accepted in these words: II would afford me the greatest pleasure commune with my tieaveniyrreserver, i- ter the event of the day: such exercises pre- pare us for the repoae we seek in sleep. The host now reached the Bible from the shelf, and after reading o chapter, and sing ine. concluded the whole with a fervent pray er; then, lighting a pine kno, conducted the person he had entertained to his chamber, wishing hima good night's rest, and retired to sn adjoining apartment. "John," whispered the woman, "that is a good gentleman, and not one of the highway- men. as I supposed.1 "Yes. Susan." said he, "I like him better for thinking ol his uod, man an ins Kino in ouiriesafier our wtllare. I wish our Peter had been at home from the army, if il was only to hear this good man talk; I am sure Washington himselfcould not say any more for his country, nor give a better history of the hardships endured by our brave soljiers." "Whs knows, now," inquired the wife, "but it may be himself, alter all, my dear ? for they say he does travel just so, all alone, sometimes." "Hark ! what's that'.?" The sound of a voice came from tlie cham ber of their guest.whojwas now;engagediin his private religious worship. After thanking his creator for his many mercies, and asking a blessing on tbe inhabitants of the house, he continued: And now, almighty Father if it be Thy holy will that we shall obiain a place and our enemies with enlightened minds, that they may become sensible of their injustice andwillingto testore liberty and peace. Grant the petition of Thy servant, fur the sake of Him Thou basl called ihyueioveu oon ; nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done. Amen." The next morning the traveller declining the pressing solicitation to breakfast with his dost, declared it was necessary for him to cross the liver immediately, at the sarf e time offering part of his purse as a compensation for what he had received, winch was reiuscu. "Well, sir," continued he, "suico you will not permit me to recompense you for ycur trouble, it is just I should inform you upon whom you have conferred so many ouiigations and also added to them, by requesting your assistance in crossing the river. I had been out yesterday, endeavoring to obtain some in formation of our enemy, and being aloue.ven tured too f ,r Iroin the camp. On my return, I was tnrprised by a f"r ,pir.i party, nnd only escaped bv rav knowledge ol the roads, arid the fleetness of my horse. My name is George Washington." Surprise kept thd listener si ill for a moment then, arterunsuccessiuny repealing ine invi tation to partake of some refreshment, he has tened to call two negroes, with whose assis- tnnce he placed the horse on a small rafl ol timber that was lying in the river, near the door, and soon conveyed the General to the opposite side of th river, where he left him to pursue his way to the camp, wishing him a sale and prosperous journey. On his return to the house, he found that wihle he was engaged in making prt peration forconvevini the horse across the river, his illustrious visitor had persuaded bis wife to ccent a token of rememl,erance, which me family are proud of exhibiting to this doy. Th(? above is oneof the hazards encounter ed by this great patriot , for the purpose of transmitting to posterity uie treasures we now enjoy. L,el US acKnow;ecge uie uencina re ceived, by ourenueavors io preserve uieiii in their nun v: and Keeping uieir rememoerauce the treat Source whence these blessings flow we may be enabled to render our names worthy fbe ne enrolled wun mat oi me lamer oi is country. A Western Merchant Swindled by a Confidence Game Operation. a in of for il for Mr. Alfred Hall, a merchant residing west, now on a visit to this cuy lor ihe purpose oi purchasing gouds, was on Saturday swindled out ol UU by Augustus u. ueneuici. wnose acquaintance he made at the Pacific hoiel, Greenw ich street. It appears that Mr. Hall rrived in the city in the early part of the week, and put up at the above Hotel, where Ueneditl scrapeu acnuaiiiianee wun mm, unu bv h s souvi'.y or manner and unremitting at tentions, soon gained the esteem and confi dence of Mr. H-, and the two were together most of the time, visiting saloons, theatres and other places, and eating, drinking and almost sleeping together, un Saturday, tseneuict, thinking that the time had arrived to put his new friend to some use, borrowed S8UU riom him, givfiig him as security a check on one of the city banks loi a mucn larger sum. Air. Hall, supposing all was right, pocketed the check and thought no more of Ihe matter until Sunday morning, when on inquiry, he discov ered trie check to be worthless. He then went before justice Welsh and staled the facts in the case, and that magistrate issued a warrant for the airest of Benedict, and the officer De Binder, and Counsellor Lolor, Clerk of the Court, stared in pursuit of him. After con siderable inquiry, they found that he had gone to Jamaica, L. 1., and pursued him thither. bul arrived a short time after he has left for Newion. To this place they also followed, and. on reaching it, found he had started for Astoria. After hiring a rresti horse, they con tinned their pursuit, and over hauled him just as he entered that place, with ot the bor rowed money tn Ins pockets. He wasbrough back to the city and committed to prison by Justice Welsh, to await examination. Aeu York Tribune. no the that one he at KTSally the house maid, in tbe corner pa rum apples. Enter Ubidia, who seats riimsell opposite to Saily, without saying a word for fifteen min utes, but finally scratching Ins bead, breaks silence with There's considerable imperceptible alterin' in the weather since last week. Sally 'Taint so indutible and injudicious cold as 'twas; the thermomicon has lowered un to 400 higher than zenith. Obidia I think's likely, birds of thatspecie fly a great quantity higher in warm days than in ccld ones, well, saiiy, we cnaps are go ine to raise a sleigh-riue. I should be super natural bappy if you would disgrace mi with your company. Sally 1 would be snpercatural glad to dis grace you, but our folks tuspeot company) can't go. Obidia I'll go home and thrash them are beans that have been lying in tha barn siah darned long lime. ir-xitubicia. One square, (or less) 3 insertions, lf " fcacn aaouionai nireriion, a Three months, ... 1,00 " Six mouths, ,00 " Twelve months, ... 8, 0 One fourth of a column per year, 16,W " half " " " " column " " 0,00 All overs squsre charged as Iwcaquares. IT Advertisements inserted till fordid ttk expense of the advertiser. JOB WORK Execu'ed at this Office with oeataess at) espatch, at the lowest possible rates. THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN. Well, here am I, arter my night't walk one more in the village where I was born. Tht sun is up now, and shining brightly. Things appear the same, and yet different. How it it ? There ws a big tree that used to stand at that corner; and where is Carver's cottaget Three days ago I landed at Portsmouth. It was on my birth day. For ten long years have I been sailing about on tbe sea, and wander ing about on the land. How things com over me 1 lama man now; but for all that, I could sit down and cry like a child. It seems as but yesterday since I ran away from home. It was the worst day's work that I ever did. I got up in the morning, at sun rise, while my father and mother were asleep. Many and many a time had I been unkind to my dear mother, and undutiful to my father, and the day before he had told me how wrong I was. He spoke kindly, and in sorrow; but my pride would not bear it. I thought I would leave home. What is it that makes me trem ble so now f My father coughed as I crept along by bis door, and 1 thought I heard my mother speak to him; so I stood a moment with my bundle in my hand, holding my breath. He coughed again. I have seemed to hear that cough in every quarter of the world. When I had unlocked the door, my heart failed me; for my sister had blessed me the night before, and told me she bail something to lell me in the morning. I turned back, opened the door of htr little room, and looked at her; but my tears fell on the bed-clothes, and I was afraid it would wake ber. Half blinded, I groped down stairs. As I hurried away, I felt I suppose, as Cain felt when he had murdered his brother. My father, my mother, snd my rister hod been kind to me; bull had bceu unkind to them, ami, in leaving ttieiii thus, l lell as il I naa been murdering them oil. Had 1 been a robber, I could not have fell more guilty. But what do I say that for ? I was rubbing tlie id of their peace. I was Heal ing that from them the whole world could not make up to them; I ul cn I went. O, that I could bring back that hour ( ,i The hills look as nuiple as they did when I used to climb up them. The rooks are caw. ing among the high elm-trees by Ihe church. I wonder whether they are the same rooks ! There is a shivering that' conies over me as I get nearer home. Home! I feel there is no home lor me. Here is the corner of the hedge, and tha old se t ; bul father k not silting there. There is the patch of ground my sister called her garden; but she is not walking in it. Ard yonder is the bed room window; my mother ia not ooking out of it now. I see bow it is. 1 here are none of the here, or things would not look as they do. Father would not let the weeds grow in this lasliion, not the thatch tall in; and my mothei and sister never stuffed tnatnraw ihiough ibe broken panes. Uul l will rsp at the door. How hollow it sounds ! Nobody s'irs. All it as silent as the grave. I will peep in at tha window. It's an empty house,that is clear. Ten long years 1 How could I expect it to be otherwise ? I can bear bard-vork, and hunger, and thirst; but I cannot bear this. The elderberry is in blossom as it was when I ran aw ay; and Ihe woodbine is as fresh as ever, running up to the window that my moth er opened tocall after me. 1 could call after her now, loud enough to be heard a mile, if I thought she would hear me. li s or no use stopping here I I will cross the church-yard, and see if the clerk lives where he did; but he will not know me. My cheek was like the rse when I went away i but the sun has made it another color. How narrow the paih is between the grass 1 it used to be wiCcr, at least 1 thought so; no matter. I he old sun-dial, I see, is standing there yet. The last time I was in that church my fath er was With me; and the text was; "My son, hear the law of thy mother." Piov. i, 8. O, what a curse do we bring upon us when wa despise God's holy Word 1 My uncle lies under Ihe vew-tree tbere.and he had a grave stone. Here it is. It is writ ten all over now, quite to the bottom : "In memory of Henry Haycrolt." But what is the name under I "Walter Haycroft." My fnther ! niv father.' "And .Mary, his wife." 0, my mother ! are you both gone t God's hand is heavy upon me. 1 do feel it in my heart and soul. And there is another name yet, and freshly cu. "Esther Haycroft, their daughter, aged twenty-four." My father ! my mother ! and mv sister ! - Why did nut the sea swallow me up when 1 waswreckeu: 1 unserved it. What is the world to ine now ? I feel, bitterly feel, the sin of disobedience; the words come home te me now; The eye that mocketh at bis fath er; and despiseth to obey his mother, the ra vens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it." Prov. xxx, 17. but yet I recollect how my dear falher snd mother used to point us to the Lamb of God, wnich taketh away the sin ol the world. "There is no refuge besides," said my mother "Christ is sole and willing to save." I paid but little attention to these words once. O, may I never forget them now '. Guardian Monkey Faces. A certain member of Congress; from one of the Eastern States wtsspeuking one dsy on some important quesloin, and became anima ted, during which sat a brother member, bit opponent on the quesloin, smiling. This an noyed him very much, and he indignantly de manded why the gentleman from, was unhung at him. "1 was smiling at your manner of makinc monkey faces, sir,'' was the reply. un, 1 make nienkey faies, do if" Well. sir, you have no occasion to try tbe experi ment, for nature has saved you the trouble." The hammer was distinctly heard amid a roar of laughter, calling the home to order. 1 a rjrr"Davy, do you know your letters f" "Yes, sir, two of 'em." "Possible; what are they?" "Let'er go, and let'er rip." "Smart boy, go to the tub and wet voni hair; a brain of kuch fertility cannot be kept too moist." DMore trouble coming." taid Mrs. Parting ton, laying down tbe paper, "there's '.he Stale of affairs; I suppose it'll soon be applyin for admission into the Union," and the old lady resumed her darning with a look of patriotia anxiety. UTWhalever the wind may do in winter, it cannot be denied that in Spring "it turns over a new leaf." ETA new novel, by "Sam Slick," entitled "nature andhuman nature," will soonsppear.